He’d been scratching at the spot all day. It was right below his jawline, amongst three days’ worth of stubble. It wasn’t very noticeable, just a small red bump, but it vexed him to no end.

He’d gone to the bathroom twice at work hoping he could squeeze it, but it was yet to come to a head.

He was tempted to buy tweezers from the chemist on his way to the station, but the idea of using the mirror in a public restroom put him off immediately. He couldn’t imagine the horror of someone walking in on him.

Funnily, by the time he was home, he’d forgotten the bump. He’d been sufficiently distracted on his trip, and his hunger became his main focus.

It was after dinner that he felt the itch.

Finally in his clean and well-lit bathroom, he pulled out his tweezers from the grooming kit and scraped the skin he pulled taut with his other hand. A small black spike burst through – an ingrown hair, he thought while still pulling.

And pulling.

It was longer than he’d ever grown his beard and tapered where the tweezers held the tip, widening as he drew the strand out.

By the time he stopped pulling, it was out far enough to bend and find purchase on his jawline as the seven other legs followed.