The Sign by the Sink

Dr. Skull sat in the Sunset Smiles staff room in Phoenix, tapping his boot on the tile. His long black hair spilled down his back, bangs hiding one eye. He sipped from his thermos. The label said CHICKEN BROTH in messy marker.

Dr. Pinkie burst in, pink bob bouncing. She held up her phone.

“Look! I posted the haircut fundraiser reel. It’s already got likes.”

Dr. Hearts leaned on the counter, teal scrubs wrinkled like he had napped in them.

“Kids with overbites hate us,” he said. “This makes us look… normal.”

Dr. Mikey smirked. “Skull can go first. Hair down to your butt is not a look.”

Dr. Skull’s green eye flashed. His fangs showed.

“No clippers,” he said.

A flyer was taped to the sink: SATURDAY—CUTS FOR CASH.

From the hallway came four voices, nervous and loud.

Dr. Skull shoved the thermos into his bag and slipped out

Ticking Glass

Dr. Skull shoved through the lobby doors and nearly bumped into four kids.

Collin crossed his arms. “This place smells like mint lies.”

Brooke pointed at his fangs. “He bites.”

“I do not,” Dr. Skull said, and his bat wings twitched under his shirt.

Dr. Pinkie, a tooth-fairy dentist with a pink bob, clapped once. “Cocoa break next door. Five minutes.”

The small cafe had a pastry case and a corner table packed with ticking clocks. A wise-looking bearded clockmaker waved. “Name’s Mr. Gears. Want a speaking mirror? It repeats what you say. Great for practice.”

Dr. Mikey snorted. “Perfect. Skull needs practice saying, ‘Please cut my hair.’”

Dr. Skull’s green eye narrowed. “Stop.”

Brandon leaned close to the mirror. “Say you won’t drill.”

Will added, “Say you won’t laugh at our overbites.”

Dr. Skull gripped his thermos. The label screamed CHICKEN BROTH.

“Fine,” he blurted. “If you sit for exams, I’ll— I’ll let them shave me.”

The mirror boomed, “LET THEM SHAVE ME,” and Collin grinned, “Deal!”