Tanner's Beard:
As a man who wears his beard big and bushy (and also once had a job in a large corporation), this story still really resonates with me. I also kind of like Tanner and his skeletal/reptilian beard, even though the guy's more than a little psychotic. Enjoy.
WARNING - this one's not for those who have an aversion to epidermically gross horror.

Tanner's Beard

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by Stacey Dighton

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“You need to take out the rubbish, Tanner. You need to do it soon, too. It’s just sitting there stinking the place out. The bin-men come first thing in the morning before you get out of bed, and I can’t have another week where the rubbish bags are just overflowing with maggots spewing out of the top and climbing up the walls. If I see another fly I’ll just scream, I swear I will. They’re disgusting. You listening to me, Tanner? Are you listening?”

    Tanner Cromer sat in silence, his gaze fixed on an early evening TV game show, the volume turned way down, the subtitles on. He was eating dry roasted peanuts and stroking the fat ginger tiger. His wife’s voice was just a monotone drawl in an otherwise uninterrupted sea of white noise. He knew if he didn’t look up she’d eventually grow tired, and aside from firing a petty little insult, the collateral damage would be relatively minor. It didn’t matter. He was thinking about something anyway. Thinking about growing a beard. May – his wife – had always said he had a weak chin, and so what? Maybe he did. The jibe hadn’t bothered him at first, but it got him thinking. A beard could really work for him. Maybe it would make him look like a TV presenter or an explorer. Perhaps even an author.

    “The rubbish, Tanner? The bins? Jesus, you’re such a waste of space, you really are!”

    The white noise hissed, as the contestant on the game show got the big question wrong. What an imbecile, Tanner thought. The answer was obviously Constantinople. The guy had a good beard though.

    That settled it. He wasn’t going to shave in the morning. He was going to see what happened. Yeah, that was his plan. The fat ginger tiger nodded its approval. He would have given it a high-five if it didn’t have those stupid paws.

 

Week 1

 

Six days in and his face was itching like a bastard. His whiskers felt metallic and sharp like barbed wire. It was as though tiny people were boring holes through his skin with blunt things; like spoons or spanners. He’d liberally applied May’s face moisturizing cream – in secret, of course – but it hadn’t helped. It had just made his skin greasy which caused his eczema to flare up. Badly.

    He kissed his teenage daughter, Penny, goodbye as she headed off to school.

    “Ugh! Your face feels all scratchy, Dad,” she said. “I don’t like it.”

    “I’m growing a beard. It’s going to look great.”

    “Okay then.” She rolled her eyes.

    “You’re going to have a new and improved father, Pen,” he said, shrugging. “Beards are all the rage nowadays, you know?”

    “Yeah, on young people, Dad. Not old farts like you.”

    “Hey, not so much of the old.”

    “Whatever. I won’t be home for tea. I’m going round Harry’s.”

    “Again?”

    “Yes, again Dad!”

    He stifled a groan and tried to tell her to make sure she did her homework, but she was already gone. He wandered into the kitchen, grabbed a biscuit from the barrel, and turned to find May blocking his path.

    “You’re going to look like an old man, Tanner,” she hissed. “It’ll age you, that thing. You’ll look even older than you already do, which is way older than you actually are by the way. If I were you, I’d worry less about hiding your blotchy face, and more about losing some weight.” She pointed at his hanging paunch. “And getting a job, too. Yeah, worry about that. This period of self-reflection, as you call it, has been going on way too long already. Way too long. We need money!”

    “What are you worried about money for? My parents paid for the house, didn’t they?” Tanner’s mother and father had died in a boating accident on the Aegean Sea three years prior. The inheritance had bought their house outright and left them with a chunk of change.

    “We still need to eat. We still have bills to pay. Your father’s money won’t last forever.”

    “I’m looking,” he said, glaring at his phone. “I’ve put the feelers out.”

    “My boss, Tobias, earns a hundred thousand a year. A hundred thousand pounds, Tanner! I didn’t even know there was that much money in the world. Think about what we could do with that! Just think!”

    He placed a finger to his temple and closed his eyes. “Okay, I’m thinking.”

    “Now you’re being sarcastic.”

    The fat ginger tiger raised an eyebrow.

    “You know what?” he said. “Maybe I’ll go out and buy some beard oil and a trimmer for when it really comes in, you know? Like, real bushy and stuff?”

    “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?” She was angry, and that made him happy. “You never listen to anyone unless it’s about something for you. Something you want.”

   “I’ll be back in a bit,” he said, throwing on a jacket. “Back before you know it.”

 

Week 2

 

Tanner slouched topless in the bathroom, the fat ginger tiger at his feet. He ran a forearm across the foggy mirror, leaned over the sink and glared back at his ageing face. His eczema was getting really bad. There were big crimson patches either side of his nose, the skin cracked and flaking. His beard looked good though. It was entering its second week, during which the growth had accelerated impressively. His chin, cheeks and upper lip had a good dark covering now, like a thick carpet. You could barely see the skin underneath and his so-called weak chin was all but invisible. It should have been cool, except somehow it wasn’t.

    “I don’t know,” he said to the fat ginger tiger. “I’m not sure about this.”

    The cat licked its stomach and purred.

    “Do you see those little ball-shaped things? Right there, on the ends of the whiskers?” He peered closer at his image in the mirror. “I mean, what even are they?”

    The cat rubbed itself against Tanner’s bare shin and yawned.

    “You don’t look remotely interested,” he said. “Have you been taking tips from May? Or Penny, for that matter? They never hear anything I say or see anything I do.” He stooped down and reached for the magnifying mirror his wife used when plucking stray hairs from her bushy eyebrows.

    “Yep, there they are,” he said, now seeing the little balls clearly. They looked like tiny heads with tiny faces; little eyes, slitty little nostrils, and sharp, hungry looking mouths with twin rows of needle-like teeth. Their skulls were flat and pointed like the skulls of asps or vipers.

    “Woah. This is too weird,” he said, studying what he would later name his snake-whiskers. “What are you?” He glanced at his razor. “Maybe I should—”

    One of the snake-whiskers nipped at his face. It felt kind of weird, but good too, like someone had scratched an irritating itch. Another grabbed a flake of loose skin and peeled it away, swallowing it whole like it was devouring a crispy piece of fried chicken. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said. “I’ve never heard of little snake creatures growing out of a man’s face before.”

    The whiskers started to sway from side to side. They opened their tiny snake mouths and began to sing. It was like a soothing lullaby with a hauntingly, unforgettable melody. Tanner thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

    “Maybe I shouldn’t be so hasty,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see how it goes. For a little while at least”

 

Week 3

 

Tanner took a late morning stroll in the park. He liked the feel of the morning breeze through his new facial growth, which was now really thick and quite long. His eczema was also improving, thanks in no small part to the hungry little snake-whiskers and their insatiable appetite for dry, flaky epidermis. The autumnal sky overhead was clear, just like his schedule, and he felt positive. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was on the verge of something big.

    An old man passed by; a well-to-do looking bloke in a woolen overcoat and wide-brimmed fedora. He was stooped over a long cane with a silver handle, the masonic ‘All Seeing Eye’ engraved upon its polished exterior.

    “Good morning, Mr. Arthur,” Tanner said. “Long time, no see.”

    “I’m sorry, do I know you?” the old man asked, glaring at him through thick spectacles.

    “It’s Tanner. Bill’s boy.”

    “Bill’s dead,” the old man replied. “His wife too. Damn shame. I told them they shouldn’t have bought that bloody boat. I said it was a death trap, a catastrophe waiting to happen, and I wasn’t wrong. Never listened to me, that one. Too busy making crazy deals and trying to be the bigshot.”

    Tanner might have been offended, but he’d heard it all before. His dad and Old-Man-Arthur had fallen out some years before. Mr. Arthur had been his dad’s boss, his mentor, but as soon as his dad had outgrown the staid, dyed in the wool methods of Arthur and Arthur Holdings, he’d branched out on his own. The split had been acrimonious to say the least.

    “Well, be that as it may, I’m still his son,” Tanner sniped.

    “So you are. You’re a Cromer alright. I can see that now. It’s in the way you hold yourself.”

    “Thanks, I think.”

    “You grew a beard, didn’t you.”

    “I did,” Tanner felt the snake-whiskers jostling wildly against his skin. “Why? Do you like it?”

    “No. Never liked beards. Can’t stand them, in fact. They’re the mask of the lazy. You’d never have gotten a job working for me with a scraggly, scruffy face like that.”

    The whiskers snarled and hissed. Tanner could feel them pulling at the follicles buried just beneath his skin, as though they were trying to yank themselves free.

    “Oh, come on. Don’t you think it adds a little something? An air of respectability, maybe?”

    “If you need a beard to gain respect, young fellow,” the old man growled, “then you really are in a pickle. How can I say this plainly? You look like a homeless person in need of a bath, or one of those arty-farty lay-abouts that are always pleading poverty and looking for handouts. Just do yourself a favor, my boy. Shave.”

    “Well, I—"

    There was a tiny popping sound, and Tanner felt something small and bristly tumble from his face. It slid down the curve of his neck and dropped to the floor. He looked down at his feet and sure enough it was there, squirming along the pavement. A snake-whisker, free and fully mobile. It was about an inch and a half long, with a head the size of a cotton-bud.

    “Well, I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree on that point,” Tanner said, watching as the whisker climbed the heel of one of Old-Man-Arthur’s polished brogues.

    “Hmm, maybe so. As much as I’ve enjoyed this little interlude, I have someplace to be. Say hello to that pretty wife of yours. Mary, isn’t it?”

    “May,” Tanner replied, watching in horror as the snake-whisker disappeared beneath the cuff of the old man’s trouser-leg. “Her name’s May.”

    “Mary, May, it’s all the same to me.” With the conversation deemed complete, the old man shuffled away along the long path.

    Tanner ran a hand through his beard and felt the sharp bite of a hundred little mouths, all nibbling at his dead skin. He sat down on a park bench and listened as they sang to him; that same haunting, melodic tune. He closed his eyes and thought about Old-Man-Arthur and how incredibly rude he’d been. Why did other people have to be so discourteous all the time? Where were their manners?

    If Tanner had been paying more attention, he may have seen the old boy, now some way off, start to hop around like a crazy frog. He may have heard him cry out as his right leg spasmed uncontrollably. He may have even seen his cane give way as he collapsed into a hedge, a long line of crimson smeared across the concrete.

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    #

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That night while May was sleeping, Tanner got up and quietly headed for the bathroom. He stood there in just his boxers, his belly hanging like a heavy bag, his man boobs soft and drooping. He watched as his whiskers swayed and danced. Their faces with their deep red eyes and ravenous mouths were obvious now. He was going to have to do something to hide them. May didn’t usually pay him much attention, but if she did, if she spotted the creatures that now hung from his chin and cheeks, she would be so repulsed, so reviled, that she’d make him shave them all off. He couldn’t have that.

    The fat ginger tiger hopped up onto the edge of the bath and peered languidly at him.

    “What do you suggest?” he asked.

    The cat gave a soft meow and licked its paws.

    “I have no idea what you just said. You probably told me to put a bag over my head and suck it up. You’re really no help at all, are you?”

    No matter how hard Tanner tried, he couldn’t think of any solution to his problem. His mind was blank. Then he heard the soft jingling coming from the little silver bell that hung from the fat ginger tiger’s collar.

    “That’s it!” he said, “Charm pendants, just like your bell, but not a bell exactly. More like beads. Beard beads to be precise. Like a Viking warrior.”

    He opened his phone and typed in “cool beads for beards”. Google came back with a multitude of different types and sizes. He swiped through what seemed like a gazillion options before he found what he was looking for. Little silver skulls with holes for eyes and a tiny slit where the skull teeth parted in what looked like a soundless scream. Perfect. With just one click, a packet of skull-beads was on its way, premium delivery.

    “I bet you can’t wait,” he said to his snake-whiskers. “You’re going to look so awesome.”  

 

Week 4

 

“My boss, Tobias, is coming over for dinner tonight, Tanner. Remember? I did mention it.”

    Tanner was on the sofa, peering at his face on the phone. His beard, now at least four inches long and braided into little plaits, each with a silver skull-bead tying each one together, looked so cool. His eczema had all but disappeared too. He looked like a new man.

    “You guys are quite something,” he said.

    “What was that?” May asked.

    “Oh, it’s nothing, really. I’m just jabbering to myself. What time?” 

    “What?”

    “What time is he coming over?” Tanner was actually looking forward to it. He was going to show the prat with the puny little chinstrap what a real beard looked like. A real man’s beard.

    “About eight, although it depends what time he gets out of his meeting. He works such long hours, you know?”

    “Of course he does,” Tanner said, stroking his beard. “I bet he’s all kinds of important.”

    A snake-whisker lunged at him from the open mouth of one of the silver skulls and bit his fingertip, drawing blood.

    “Woah there, pal,” he said. “We’re on the same team, remember?” The snake-whisker bowed its head. Tanner’s furled lip turned upwards into a beaming smile. “We’re making progress here, my friends. Good progress.”

 

    #

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“So anyway, Tan. May I call you Tan?”

    Tanner peered over his plate of medium-raw beef wellington and leered with barely concealed loathing at the younger man’s goatee. Tobias had gotten a beard upgrade – the chinstrap was no more - but that was immaterial. His cheap David Brent imitation was no match for his own lush plumage.

    “You can call me whatever you like, Tobes,” he said, hoping the guy hated his name being shortened.

    “I was going to talk shop, but I’m a little distracted by your beard. You know, it’s kind of unique. Sort of medieval. I’m loving the skulls.”

    “Yeah, I know. They’re cool. Amazon, twelve quid. Anyway, May says you earn good money over there at…New World is it?”

    “Oh, don’t be so forthright, Tanner,” May said, blushing as she turned to her boss. “He’s always so forthright.”

    “It’s okay,” Tobias said. “I don’t mind talking about it. Yeah, we’re doing really good things over there.”

    “Like curing world hunger?” Tanner asked, necking his beer. “You want one?”

    “Oh, that’s maybe not such a good idea,” Tobias said. “My partner, Lara, and I are trying.”

    “Oh, how lovely,” May interjected, looking a little put out.

    “Yes, quite,” Tobias continued. “She says that alcohol lowers the old boy’s count, if you know what I mean?”

    “Right,” Tanner said, and opened another can. “Sperm can be a little picky like that.”

    “May’s been telling me you’re interested in re-joining the working masses, so to speak. Maybe even coming to work at the bank. May I ask if you’ve had any experience in the financial sector?”

    Tanner knew this was coming. “I have life experience, Tobes. Lessons I learned on the streets.”

    “Didn’t you work in retail?”

    “Manager of the month, three months on the bounce, if that’s what you’re asking.”

    “And you think banking’s for you, because—?”

    Tanner could feel his whiskers getting agitated and the braids loosen a little. “Because, she says I should.”

    “Oh, come on now, sweetie,” May said, flustered. “You’ve always had an interest in finance. He’s constantly asking me, Tobias, about what I do in the office. You’re always asking me, aren’t you, Tanner?”

    “Well, I do have more than a passing interest in money, so I suppose you’re right,” Tanner said. “Look, to be truthful, May thinks I’ve let myself go a bit.”

    “Tanner!” May cried. “I said no such thing. He really does exaggerate.” She turned to Tobias. “I may have said he needs to get back on the wheel.”

    “The wheel?” Tobias asked.

    “She means the hamster wheel, Tobes,” Tanner answered. “You know? That big, energy-inefficient, creativity destroying, corporate monstrosity that you all like to run around. Couple that with the whitewash they call corporate process, and then throw in the personality and individuality devouring parasite they call corporate culture, and what are you left with? Just smoldering ash and a head full of regret.” Tanner emptied his can. “It all seems a bit shallow.”

Tobias fumbled with his tie and glanced anxiously at May. “Maybe I will have that beer after all.”

 

    #

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Their dinner consumed, Tobias took Tanner to one side.

    “Look, old boy,” he said. “Despite your obvious lack of experience and your cutting observations about big company life, May’s asked me to see what I can, and, well, she works so hard for us and I really don’t want to let her down.” He paused. “I think I could work something out for you.”

    “Work something out?” Tanner said. “What, you mean like do me a favor?”

    “No, not as such. Look, we have an opening in front of house. A clerk position, in fact. It’s quite administrative – lord knows, I certainly wouldn’t do it – but as entry level positions go, it’s quite well paid. Up to thirty big ones a year if you’re interested.”

    Tanner tried to look bored. “I guess that could work. I assume there’s a pension?”

    “Well, of course there is,” Tobias said, incredulous. “One of the best. Healthcare too. And there’s the bi-annual bonus to think of. Nothing huge, I’m afraid, just a few thousand a time for clerks, but nevertheless.”

    Tanner sensed his wife glaring at him. Don’t fuck this up, her eyes said. Do not make a hash of this Tanner, or else.

    “I guess I’m interested,” he said. “When would I start?”

    “As early as next week, I’d say. Just give me a few days to sort out the paperwork and talk to the supervisor. No need to worry though. It’s just a formality. If I say it’s happening, it’s happening.”

    Tanner could feel his whiskers nipping and fighting each other. A little nasty one took a tiny bite out of his cheek. “Okay then,” he said. “Yeah, I think that sounds fine. Let’s do it.”

    “Excellent!” Tobias exclaimed, chinking his barely touched can of lager against Tanner’s empty one. “Cheers then old boy.”

    “Yeah, cheers.”

    “You’ve offered him a job?” May asked, pouring them both coffee which Tanner could care less for. “Really? You have? Oh, that’s just wonderful news. Truly wonderful, isn’t it, Tanner? Thank you, Tobias! Thank you so, so much!” She leaned forward and planted a huge kiss on her boss’s cheek, leaving two red lipstick welts. Not for the first time, Tanner was embarrassed for her. She was making a fool out of herself.

    “That will have to go, of course,” Tobias said, pointing at Tanner’s chin.

    “What will?”

    “That beard thing. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s cool and everything. It’s awesome, it really is. It’s just that—”

    “Just what?”

    “Well,” he pulled a patronizing, lop-sided grin. “It’s not really New World friendly, I’m afraid.”

    “And what is New World friendly, exactly?” Tanner asked, silently seething.

    “Well, let’s see. It’s perfectly pressed suits, immaculately polished shoes, smart ties, neat hair and smooth faces. It’s an image we’ve cultivated, and an image our customers expect. They come to us for perfection, Tanner, and the way we dress, the way we present ourselves, well, that’s our shop window.”

    Bullshit, Tanner thought. “But this is who I am now.”

    “Well, who you are will have to fit in with who we are,” Tobias said. “If you want the job that is.”

    “He does want the job!” May yelped. “You do want the job, Tanner. Don’t you? Tell him.” Her eyes implored him. “For pity’s sake, tell him!”

    The snake-whiskers nipped viciously at the soft parts of Tanner’s face, and he could feel the damp trickle of fresh blood beneath his lip.

    “She’s right. I do want the job,” he said, reluctantly.

    “Well then, that settles it. Congratulations, Tan’. You’ve got yourself a shiny new name-badge and a front row seat at London’s fastest growing, privately owned financial enterprise.”

    Tanner felt sick. He couldn’t think of anything worse.

    They stood and headed for the door.

    “Once again, Tobias,” May said. “Thank you so much. You won’t regret this. Tanner really can be a hard worker when he puts his mind to it.”

    “No problem at all. Glad I could help. Thanks again for the dinner.” Tobias turned to Tanner. “And sorry about the face hair, old boy”

    Tanner could feel his blood pressure rising. He was on the verge of saying something May would regret, but then a crazy thing happened, a thing that irreversibly changed the course of the evening. For some inexplicable reason, Tobias decided to reach over and tug playfully at one of Tanner’s beard braids.

    “No hard feelings, eh?”

    Tanner felt a clump of hair lunge at Tobias’s tweezer-like grip.

    “Yeow!” the bank manager cried as he pulled his hand away. There was a sizeable chunk of skin missing from his thumb, and blood poured from the deep wound. “I—I’m bleeding here!” he yelled. “I’m bleeding, for Christ’s sake!”

    Everything seemed to move in super slow motion from that point onwards. May took one look at Tobias’s wounded hand and ran headlong towards the bathroom. The fat ginger tiger hopped onto the arm of the sofa and licked its lips. Tobias’s face went ashen. Blood ran down his wrist, staining the salmon-colored cuff of his shirt. Tanner felt the fresh warmth of gore on his beard. He wiped it away. The longest braid started to unravel, and a dozen or more whiskers yanked themselves free. Tanner stood silent and motionless. He watched as they slithered along the carpet and crept up the young banker’s leg, their eyes red with venom, their mouths gnashing and nipping.

    “I have some antiseptic and a bandage,” May said. “But I think you’re going to need the hospital. I told you those bloody skulls were dangerous, Tanner. Heaven knows why you insist on wearing such ludicrous things. Don’t worry, Tobias. I’ll take care of every—”

    “What the hell!” Tobias yelled, as his leg started to jitter. “There’s something in my –” He stood and started to shake his foot. “There’s something in my trousers!”

    May screamed as he began to jerk and shake.

    “Get them off me!” he hollered. “Get these bloody things off me!”

    May bent down and unfastened her boss’s belt (how appropriate, Tanner thought) as a large red patch appeared in his beige slacks. She pulled his trousers down just in time to see one particularly vociferous snake-whisker take a bite out of Tobias’s calf.

    “Argh!” he yelled. “What is that? What in god’s name is that? Get these things off me! Please! Get them off me!”

    May turned to Tanner. Her expression was filled with panic and rage. He glanced at the fat ginger tiger who seemed be enjoying the whole charade, and looked down at the dozen or so snake-whiskers making a meal out of Tobias’s gym-toned thighs. He decided to do nothing. Why should he?

    “You might want to see a doctor about that,” he said. “It looks painful.”

    “What?” Tobias cried. “Of course it’s bloody painful! May? May, help me. Please!”

    “Of course,” she said. “I’ll help you. I’ll take you to the hospital.” She grabbed her keys and handbag without giving her husband a second glance. “I’ll take care of you, Tobias. I’ll take good care of you.”

    Tanner stood in the open doorway with the fat ginger tiger in his arms, and watched as May bustled her boss into her little Renault Clio. She scowled at Tanner through the windscreen as she reversed off the driveway. Tobias’s eye was bleeding now and there was a long line of blood from one nostril. A snake-whisker’s tail was wrapped tightly around his mutilated ear. The passenger window erupted in crimson spatters as the car roared away.

    Maybe the two of them deserved each other, Tanner thought. Sure, his beard had acted badly, but in this case, perhaps the end justified the means. The battle, after all, had been more than worthy.

    The bell hanging around the fat ginger tiger’s neck gave off a tinny jingle.

    “I think that’s what they call a technical knock-out,” Tanner said, and closed the door.

 

Week Sixteen

 

Tanner sat in his armchair, the fat ginger tiger on his lap. The TV was on, the volume turned way down. He enjoyed the solace of the white noise. His wife had left him, of course. Took his daughter too, but that was to be expected. His whiskers were so long now that they entirely covered his face. His vision was completely obscured, but that didn’t matter. He could see them, and they could see him. He had all the company he would ever need, thousands of tiny friends, forever hissing and nipping.

    Some weeks ago, with his eczema no longer a source of sustenance, the snakes had begun to eat living tissue. That was okay too. What did he need skin for? He had his beard. His beard kept him warm. Sure, the pain was sometimes unbearable, the sound of his flesh being devoured quite ghastly, but the snake-whiskers sang to soothe him, and he loved to listen to them. The melody was hauntingly unforgettable.

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