The Boy Who Grew Too Much Hair

By Ron A. Branch

Twelve-year-old, Mortimer Montroose, found a secret that cured baldness. In the beginning, it made him happy because it causes him to have hair for the first time in his life. But, the side-affects are more than he wants, particularly when his head produces too much hair, and another bald person, Rather Blatherskite, schemes to find out Mortimer's secret.

Nine other bald people once had discovered the secret box and the message "Hair will flow like a river when you eat of the orange seed sliver." Unfortunately, they never lived to enjoy their new heads of hair.

In this fast-paced story, Mortimer's hair-splitting troubles bring him to a point of no return.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 24, 2006
• ISBN: 9780595839018

Ron A. Branch

Whether spending time with his six sons, umpiring baseball games, or reading his original short stories to school students, Ron Branch is interested in encouraging kids to excel. He has served as a pastor and high school chaplain for 26 years. His wife, Terry, and he live in Mason, West Virginia.

Book preview

Copyright © 2006 by Ronald A. Branch

All rights reserved. No part of this book maybe used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN-13: 978-0-595-39503-3 (pbk)

ISBN-13: 978-0-595-83901-8 (ebk)

ISBN-10: 0-595-39503-1 (pbk)

ISBN-10: 0-595-83901-0 (ebk)

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 1

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Wah-hu-wah-hu-wah-h-h-h!

The day on which Mortimer Montroose was born brought great happiness to his parents, family, and friends. He weighed 8 pounds 13 ounces, was 21 inches long, and had no hair on his head at all.

Now, hairless babies are not unusual, but, over time, it became quite unusual for Mortimer, because no hair ever grew on his head!

Everyone kept waiting for hair to start growing from his head, but it never did.

It will come someday, his parents kept saying. But, Mortimer kept staying bald.

By the time he was five years old, Mortimer had been taken to several dermatologists and doctors. X-rays were taken. Tests were run. But, no one could figure out why Mortimer’s head grew no hair.

Finally, everyone agreed to be thankful that Mortimer was otherwise healthy, and that hair on the head was not all that important.

Everyone agreed—except Mortimer.

Once Mortimer started to school, his concern for having a nice head of hair grew, particularly because he was teased mercilessly about being so obviously bald.

By the time he was ten years old, Mortimer had heard every bald joke there was.

Hey, Mortimer! Want some dandruff?

Mortimer isn’t bald—he just has a tall face!

Hey, look everyone! Mortimer’s neck is blowing a bubble!

Mortimer could make a fortune renting his head out as a balloon!

Someone had even come up with the name Mortimer the bald-headed Remitrom. Remitrom is backwards for Mortimer. Remitrom made it sound like he was some creepy alien from outer space.

Mortimer became increasingly self-conscious because he could not grow hair like everyone else.

His parents tried to encourage Mortimer. After all, they loved him greatly. He was healthy. He had a good home. He had all that he wanted. He was advantaged in ways many other children weren’t.

But, much of the time, he could not see it that way.

To make matters worse, he was so embarrassed about being bald, he rarely played with other kids. He was a kid that did not have hair on his head, but certainly had hair on his mind.

Mortimer lived just outside of a small town in West Virginia. His parents, Dan and Diane, owned more than a hundred acres of land. Their house was situated along a brisk cold water creek that ran into a beautiful, clear river just about one hundred and fifty yards away.

Along the creek, large sycamore trees kept a stately guard on the strength of the banks to keep the waters from expanding its lines. A variety of hardwoods and a large thicket of pines populated the rest of the flat territory.

It was here that Mortimer spent much of his time, often riding his four-wheeler, and otherwise growing a deep appreciation for the solitude found among the trees and plants. His parents permitted a lot of freedom for him to roam the land, because they realized it presented Mortimer with a realm of stable friendship that otherwise was not being extended from his schoolmates.

One summer night when he was twelve, Mortimer could not sleep at all. So, he got up, put on his clothes, and slipped out his bedroom window, which he had been doing at times the last couple of years when the nights were starlit and warm. He never stayed out long, because it would most certainly anger his parents if they ever found out. It was sneaky, but kind of fun.

The moon shone brightly as he walked to his most favorite place, which was about a fifteen-minute casual walk from the house. It was a large Beech tree that had a large hollowed-out bottom just the right size for a boy like Mortimer to sit in and feel sheltered.

Mortimer felt very sad as he sat down, snuggled in, and prayed, God, why did you make me bald? Don’t you think my life would be so much better if I had hair on my head? I just cannot stand being bald any longer, God!

Mortimer soon became distracted from his distress to the tunes and sounds of the night. It was as though nature decided to play such music so as to soothe the heart and mind of a disheartened twelve year old boy. The crickets scratched out their music like a large stringed ensemble. A nearby bird chirped its little diddy as though attempting to impart a happy spirit to a saddened soul. The wind added its soft, background sounds to mellow the mood. Ground leaves rustled and tree twigs snapped all around like some sort of off beat, rhythmic accompaniment.

After sitting for a long while, alone and in the dark, Mortimer leaned back, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

Mortimer awoke just as the sun slipped its straight rays through the cracks of the dawn. Mortimer’s neck was stiff from having slept with it tilted back. But, as his eyes slowly opened, he saw something high up inside the tree he had never before seen.

What is that? he whispered. He squinted and blinked his eyes to clear his vision.

He stood up, and stretched as high on his tip-toes as he could. There just barely within reach, perched in a decaying portion of the Beech tree, was an old-looking box. With the tips of his fingers, Mortimer was able