The Hair Man®

Even in the dim light, Sebastian Zander’s tall frame was unmistakable. Zander said: “I promised to return. Is now a good time to give you the proof you requested?” Press rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Before he could say anything coherent, the Vampire approached. With one hand, he easily lifted the resisting Press out of bed, saying: “I recommend you dress both warmly and formally. It’s a cold night, and we’ll be traveling some distance to attend a ball.” Press thought: There’s no way I can fight someone so strong. He dressed in a Brioni tuxedo, a black cashmere overcoat, and wore a black woolen cap over his bandaged head. Soon Press was being carried through the cold air, held firmly in the claws of a large bird, or was it a bat? Borne by his leathery-winged companion, Press soared through the starry night, his mind overwhelmed by the rapture of flight. The quarter moon hung over his shoulders and the wind whistled in his ears. Below, the moon’s reflection danced on the shimmering surface of the Charles River. After a while, Press sadly realized they were descending. Soon they flew into the main entrance of Boston’s armory. Press watched as the large winged creature transformed swiftly back into Sebastian Zander, who now wore a black 13th-century tunic, leggings, and a long black cape, with a high collar and blood-red lining. The armory’s largest hall was decorated as the grand ballroom of a castle; its walls covered in ancient tapestries depicting Vampires biting into human necks. The blood shown on the tapestries was still a vibrant red. A ball was in progress. The attendees included many sinister-looking men and women, as well as other strange creatures. Some wore threadbare and ragged clothes; others were elegantly attired. Zander explained their clothes were from the place and time they became Vampires. All had burning red eyes and fangs. As Zander slowly escorted him through the ballroom, Press sensed Vampires being drawn to him, but Zander was telepathically shooing them away. He explained: “The aroma of human blood is a powerful attractant.” As they approached an elegantly dressed Vampire, Zander telepathically informed Press: “He’s 16th century Italian Prince Giacomo Ludovici, a member of the Vampire High Council and a powerful Pureblood. I’ll introduce you, but be warned: aristocrat/Purebloods are among the most arrogant beings that ever walked the earth.” “Prince Ludovici, this is Dr. Prescott Townsend, about whom I’ll soon be….” Press reached out his hand in greeting, but before Zander even completed his introduction, the Prince turned up his nose, turned his back and walked off. Zander told Press, “Don’t take it personally.” Since Press was a cosmetic and transplant surgeon, he focused on the faces and heads of the male dancers. As Zander steered him through the ballroom, Press noticed something odd about the heads of most of the male Vampires. Their hair was growing in misaligned, haphazard directions and they had numerous unsightly bald spots. Press wondered: Could they have had really bad hair transplants? The Vampires were dancing to strange music played on ancient instruments by weird, oddly dressed musicians. The tempo of the dance music kept changing, alternating from slow and somber to fast and lively, and then back again. Press had seen videos of many early horror films, and thought: Some of these Vampires look like Max Schreck in the silent film “Nosferatu,” some resemble Lon Chaney in the silent film “The Phantom of the Opera,” and others look like Bela Lugosi, in the film “Dracula.” Some dancers were unrecognizable ghoul-like creatures -- so hideous, they pushed Press to the verge of hysteria. Suddenly the music’s tempo accelerated, and the dancing became frenzied, almost maniacal. When the dancers were close to exhaustion, Sebastian Zander brought Press to the center of the ballroom. As the hall fell silent, Zander levitated high into the air, began glowing, and announced in stentorian tones: “Friends, I have the honor to present to you Dr. Prescott Townsend, cosmetic surgeon, scientist, and inventor extraordinaire. As I told you earlier this night, Dr. Townsend’s creativity has trespassed upon our ancient secrets.” The Vampires reacted with a series of cries and blood-chilling looks, driving Press into full panic. Zander raised his hand, silencing them. Turning to Press, he said: “I suppose the flight here and this ball are sufficient proof of all I previously told you. It is now left to me, in the presence of my comrades, to explain that like any group whose secrets and survival are threatened, we must defend ourselves. Earlier I tried various ways to discourage your research. “I caused many of your experiments to fail, and some of your patients to suffer problematic character transformations. I sent you nightmares, and even took on guises of a fortune teller, a lawyer, and a psychologist to warn you off. But your refusal to stop now compels us to eliminate the threat to our existence. Dr. Townsend, you are that threat. I must, therefore, give you this choice -- become one of us or be destroyed!” The fire in Zander’s eyes was fiendishly chilling, as he descended from the rafters to the floor, coming closer and closer. Press could do nothing, but watch as the Vampire opened his mouth, revealing long fangs protruding from his jaw. The burning-red eyes of all the Vampires were riveted on Press. Zander’s voice rose even louder, becoming deafening and terrifying, as he shouted: “This is not a dream! Become one of us or be destroyed! The choice is yours!” Just then Press’s cellphone loudly signaled a text, and he reached for it in the breast pocket of his tuxedo. Angered by the interruption, Zander’s powerful hands gripped Press’s neck and he black out.