Nosferatu

Veronica (born Véronique in the early 18^th century) stands in front of the bathroom mirror in her New York apartment. She has her phone propped up against it, with the front camera facing her. She looks at herself critically on the tiny, slightly cracked screen. This is, of course, because she has no reflection in the mirror – Veronica is a vampire.

–

At first, she had been grateful that the “New World” was much less obsessed with mirrors than pre-revolutionary France. Navigating King Louis XIV’s opulent ballroom as a socialite had been a nightmare best avoided altogether. In America, people mostly placed mirrors in private rooms. Unfortunately, Veronica could hardly risk visiting a coiffeur, for fear of being found out.

Perhaps that was why she always had a strained relationship with her hair. She mostly limited herself to trimming the split ends herself (as even the undead are not spared those). For most of her prosperous, long un-life, she had worn it long; before the 20^th century, this was mainly due to social norms. After that, it was because of the inconvenience of having it cut professionally. It was very difficult to find a salon (or even a barbershop) that would fit her in after dusk and comply with her request to have the mirror covered. Although she had used excuses in the past, she hadn’t dared to visit the same shop twice. Hence, over the centuries, there were only a few exceptions when she allowed herself to indulge in this luxury.

One such occasion was in the early 1920s. At the time, the “flapper bob” was all the rage, one that even the reserved Veronica couldn’t abstain from. So she took the necessary precautions to avoid accidentally reveal her true nature. The experience of having her hair cut to lip-length, her shorn nape brutally exposed, stayed with her for a long time. For the first time ever, her hair was above her shoulders. And she adored it.

Later, on a day in 1929, she passed by a movie theater and saw a poster for a German silent movie called “Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror”. She’d heard it was an unlicensed production based on Dracula. (Of course, the vampire himself was nothing like portrayed on the screen. She had met him during one of his visits to America, when he was using his then alter ego, Bram Stoker. She remembered him as a rational, level-headed man who greatly enjoyed the irony of writing a novel based—loosely—on himself.)

In any case, she ended up spending a quarter dollar and saw the movie that same evening. She liked it. But more importantly, it planted an idea in her head: she was fascinated by the idea of becoming a bald vampire. She couldn’t even say where this notion came from (or admit aloud that she had it), only that there was something intriguing and authentic about it. Perhaps because it would offered the world a glimpse of her true, monstrous form. For almost 100 years, it lay dormant in the depths of her subconsciousness, unquestioned.

Fashion changed as the decades passed. Veronica had hesitated to make another appointment under false pretenses, so her hair had grown. It had been easy to blend in with the trends over the years. Putting curlers into her hair before she lay down in her coffin for the day was easy and well-practiced. Brushing, braiding, and tying her hair in a ponytail or knot was also easy enough without a mirror.
The 2000s in particular were a time of unimaginatively simple hairstyles: long, straight, and layered.

With the advent of technology, her grooming routine had become somewhat more manageable. Camcorders, and later phones with front cameras, allowed her to work around her unnatural lack of a reflection.

–

In late December of 2024, she’d gone out with “the girls”. (As an immortal, undead being, it’s not easy to maintain friendships. Veronica had changed her identity regularly, but to stay sane, she had to socialize with normal people occasionally.)

After a night of drinking a few glasses of wine, she walked home with her high heels in her hand. The winterly coldness of the sidewalk didn’t bother her in the slightest, as her own body temperature was almost as low. Fortunately, it was still a few hours before dawn when she arrived on her block. There, at the movie theater on the corner, she saw a poster for another movie called “Nosferatu”, a remake. Suddenly, a long-forgotten desire resurfaced. She knew it was time.

With some time left, she made a detour to buy a few supplies at a 24/7 store. In her apartment, she latched and locked the door, and finally felt at home. The blinds were always drawn and doubly secured by thick black velvet curtains, to prevent sunlight from penetrating her private space.

–

After slipping out of her black cocktail dress and putting on something more comfortable, she takes the plastic bag from the store and enters the bathroom. She places her phone in front of the mirror and splashes some water on her face. Veronica looks at herself critically on the small screen. Her long, dark, side-swept hair falls over her shoulder like silk. Despite her age, it shows no signs of graying. Her sickly pale skin catches the light from the dim ceiling lamp unfavorably. Still, this was better than working blind.

She lays out her tools in front of her: newly purchased hair clippers, a pair of scissors, a brush, and a comb. First, she brushes her hair, making sure to remove all tangles. Her hair reaches down to the small of her back, and she’s happy that this will be the last time in a long while that she’ll have to brush it in its entirety.
Next, she uses the comb to restore her usual deep side part and admires herself one last time. She fits the no. 1 guard to the clippers. On the way home, she had skimmed through the instructions and found that the device wasn’t difficult to understand. The unfamiliar hum of the clippers fills the room, and a smile flits across Veronica’s face. She doesn’t usually smile much, but this makes her excited.

With her free hand, she pulls some hair on the left side of her head taut and runs the clippers up to her temple. The soft crunch of the blades mixes with the humming sound. A strand about two feet long peels free as she finishes the first pass. She drops it, and it falls into the sink, light as a cobweb. Veronica is hyper-focused and is acutely aware of the stark contrast between her long hair and the fuzz left behind by the clippers. At that moment, she truly realizes the severity of the transformation she’s about to undergo.

She continues shaving off pass after pass along the side of her head, until only neat stubble remains from her temple to behind her ear. The evenly shaven ends of her hair give the stubble a captivating velvety sheen in the light of the bathroom lamp.
Veronica puts the clippers back on the ledge. Then she strokes the long, thick hair that falls over her shoulder with one hand, while running the other hand over the buzzed part. The contrast, which she now not only sees but also feels, sends an unusual, lively shiver down her spine.

Shortly after, she grabs the rest of her long hair and hastily gathers it into a ponytail. With no hair tie within reach, she holds it together behind her head with one hand. She takes the scissors from the ledge and unceremoniously cuts it as close to the skin as possible. Veronica’s hair is long and, despite a significant chunk already buzzed off, very thick. Cutting through the ponytail provides a bit of a challenge, but eventually the bundle of hair comes loose. She holds it lifelessly in her hand, like some kind of twisted trophy.

She moves closer to her phone to get a better look at herself. Her severely shortened hair now barely reaches her chin, and she can feel it brushing against her skin. The back is undoubtedly a mess. The last time she had hair this short (actually even a little shorter) was almost a century ago.

There’s no turning back now, but Veronica decides she might as well have some fun with her hair before it’ll be completely gone. She uses the comb to hold up the remaining hair on her head, and squints at the tiny screen of her phone. She’s not a trained professional, and giving herself the occasional trim hasn’t prepared her for this. Eventually, she simply starts cutting. With a few snips, she manages to reduce the length of her uneven bob to about ear level, more or less evenly.

Now she sports what could politely be described as an asymmetrical pixie cut. She combs her hair to the side, revealing the buzzed part. The cut is amateurish at best, of course, but to her surprise, it suits her quite well. The short, soft hair on top contrasts nicely with the severe look of the stubble. It flatters her long face and brings another smile to her thin lips.

Although she enjoys it, Veronica knows that this is just one step on her journey. So she picks up the clippers again, turns them on, and places them at her hairline. She takes a deep breath and runs the device through her impromptu pixie cut. A pile of cut strands falls to the floor behind her. She shaves off most of the hair on her crown in a few quick passes. To clean up the back of her head, Veronica relies mainly on her sense of touch to make sure she hasn’t missed any spots. The feeling of rubbing against the grain of the short stubble is incredible. A short while later, she finally turns off the clippers, and the silence becomes absolute.

For a long moment, she stares at the image of herself on her phone screen. She examines the shape of her head. Her scalp, pale beneath her dark hair, is clearly visible through the short stubble. Her thoughts return to the old movie: sharp features, bald head. The buzzcut doesn’t look bad – but it’s not bald yet.

Veronica takes an old bottle of shaving cream out of the bathroom cabinet. The blue can with red and white stripes feels cool in her hand as she squeezes out a sizable dollop and spreads it all over her head. Next, she takes a fresh disposable safety razor from its packaging (she had used a straight razor on her body before, but doesn’t feel comfortable to use it on her scalp).
She begins to drag it across her cream-covered skin in short, rasping strokes. There is some pulling and twinging; perhaps she should have gone over it without a guard on the clippers. Eventually, she finds her rhythm. Inch by inch, she denudes more of her scalp, occasionally rinsing away the stubble that threatens to clog the razor’s blades.

After finishing the initial shave, she runs a wet hand over her scalp, but still notices a few stubbly patches. She generously lathers her head again and shaves it once more. This time, her strokes are long and slow, going against the grain. After this second pass, she checks again to feel if she has missed any spots, especially behind the ears. This time, the examination is satisfactory.
Without realizing it, Veronica has started smiling again. She dries her hands and head, enjoying the amazing feeling of the cotton towel on her bare head.

In the living room, she takes a selfie with her phone (making sure the lighting is better here). She takes a moment to admire her new look: how the skin on her forehead blends seamlessly into her scalp, save for a slight gray shadow that suggests she once had hair. Before she lays down for the day, she sends a short message to “the girls” inviting them to go to the cinema with her soon to see a certain movie about vampires.

Author’s Note: As always, thank you for reading my story.

– rightdownthemiddle

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