Emma & Julie Feel the Heat of the Plump Chap’s Gaze

Emma Avoids the Plump Chap

I loved walking around the bustling town in the summer, unburdened by heavy winter coats, and feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. A thin cotton blouse and short denim skirt were all that I needed to look good and feel comfortable. Still early, I ambled along one of the little lanes, making my way towards my favourite restaurant for lunch with my best friend, Julie.

One downside of summer was the burden of my hair. It was extremely thick and long, long enough to sit on. I loved it, and I enjoyed wearing it loose so I could flaunt it. I had always held the view that if one had long hair then what was the point of hiding it away in buns and braids. However, such was the temperature, I had relented for my lunchtime meeting. I had scraped all my hair to my crown and secured it into a high ponytail to keep it away from my neck.

My eyes flitted between the interesting window displays, occasionally peering inside or making a mental note to return later when I had more time. A little out of place was a plump little chap, hands clasped behind his back, standing smugly to attention. Behind him was a bland nondescript storefront. It was not like he was fat, but his plump appearance enhanced his smugness in a peculiar way. His stout presence with no apparent purpose was unsettling.

I tried not to stare, although I noted his clothes, including a crisp shirt and tie, were extremely smart. His round spectacles magnified his eyes, appearing to make them unnaturally large and give them an odd glow. And most notably, he had a completely barren head, as if no hair had ever grown there. He was not just bald in the classic sense, but completely hairless. His scalp gleamed, as if polished, exhibiting an unnatural glossy and reflective finish. For a fleeting moment, I envied the coolness he must enjoy, unencumbered by a blanket of hair.

I felt the plump chap’s piercing eyes upon me, wishing I had not worn such a short skirt, so I quickly averted my gaze to an uninspiring display of books in the nearest window.

Despite my earlier precautions, my ponytail had already slipped a little. The ends were slapping against my thin blouse as I walked causing me to perspire, leaving me feeling sticky. So, even more, I looked forward to meeting up with Julie to enjoy a cool drink in the welcoming shade of the restaurant’s canopy.

The Plump Chap Appraises Emma

The relentless sun beat down, a heavy blanket over the cobbled street. I stood in the cool embrace of my doorway, my bald head, polished to a gleam, offering no resistance to the heat but always staying pleasantly cool. It was a useful prop, my smooth dome, a visual promise of relief to others who studied it.

My designer glasses, carefully chosen, magnified my eyes, amplifying their intensity providing a glow that few could resist. It was a gift, this persuasive ability, coupling my mind to the radiating beacon of my eyes. A whisper of suggestion, a gentle nudge of the mind, and the world shifted to accommodate my desires.

A young woman ambled past, her back damp, a high ponytail bouncing against her thin blouse. Long, thick hair. Glorious, but a true burden in this heat. A perfect candidate for my aspirations.

‘It’s remarkably hot today, miss,’ I called out, my voice a soft murmur, designed to draw her in.

She paused, as if debating whether to ignore me, pretending to find more interest in the boring display of books in the window opposite. When she turned, she looked hot and bothered. Seeing me maintaining my cool in the shade must have been an irritation for her.

Her eyes, beautiful and tired, finally met mine. ‘Very much so,’ she replied, her voice a little breathless, as she took in my appearance.

I accepted that others might not consider me classically handsome. Being a little too short and even slightly overweight prevented me earning that epithet. However, I always dressed smartly, a trait that I knew was extremely important to women. So, I always strived to present myself impeccably. I liked to think the crisp white shirt with colourful tie, and tailored waistcoat with immaculately fitted trousers, attracted the admiration of every woman who passed by.

‘I can help you feel cooler,’ I offered, a confident smile playing on my lips. ‘Would you like to come inside, miss? You can have a glass of iced water while you are here, and you can even sit down for a rest.’

The offer was simple, innocent, yet it contained the hook to entice her inside so I could satisfy my yearnings.

‘Thanks,’ she said cautiously, peering suspiciously through the doorway. Gaining no hint of what she would find inside, I saw her eyes flick upwards, checking the signage on the premises. She was out of luck as I had painted over the words disclosing that it had once been a traditional barbershop. But that had been over ten years earlier when I took possession. Furthermore, I had disguised its former purpose by coating the glass of the narrow storefront with matt black paint. Since then, it had provided me with a sanctuary for indulging my unique passion.

The young woman sighed from the heat and stepped into the cool dimness of my abode.

‘Please sit, miss,’ I instructed, gesturing to the ancient barber’s chair. She did so, and I casually rotated the seat so that she faced the large, ornate mirror on the wall.

I filled a glass with iced water, carefully measured from the jug in my small fridge, and I handed it to her. ‘Thank you … er, sir. I am Emma, by the way.’

I allowed my gaze to settle on her in the mirror. She observed me, her stare unwavering, as she sipped the water, a liquid laced with my special herbal additive to make her more susceptible to my thoughts.

‘Emma,’ I pondered gently, ‘such a lovely name.’

‘Thanks. Yes … yes, it is,’ she said needlessly, grinning inanely. She was already relaxing, sinking, her pupils dilating ever so slightly.

I nodded, smiling back.

‘This is delicious,’ she murmured, her eyes fixed on my reflection in the mirror, but already losing focus. My magnetic gaze was taking hold. It was so easy, really. People were so open to suggestion when their physical discomfort outweighed their caution.

= * = * =

‘Now, Emma, as promised, I will be making you cooler,’ I announced, the words resonating with a quiet authority.

‘Er, yes,’ she mumbled, a hint of confusion in her tone. ‘This water has certainly helped,’ she added, handing me the glass that I put to one side. It may have helped, in more ways than she knew, but it mostly functioned as a prop, and I was about to reveal the true cooling agent.

‘I am pleased it has helped. Now, Emma, I will be taking most of your hair,’ I explained matter-of-factly, reaching for the cascade of her ponytail. It was truly magnificent. Large scissors, well-oiled and sharp, glinted in my other hand as I snapped the blades together. ‘Now, please, completely relax and look closely into my eyes.’

A flicker of resistance. ‘What?’ she squealed, a last gasp of her conscious will. ‘I did not want, er … no, sir, I like my hair …’

I chuckled, a low, satisfied sound. ‘Yes, but I like it even more.’ My voice dropped, becoming a deep, resonant hum. ‘Look at me, Emma. Look at me closely.’

Her confusion was palpable, an internal struggle doomed to be unsuccessful. ‘But … but …’

‘So, now I shall cut it, Emma,’ I insisted, my voice firm and unwavering. My eyes held hers, a silent command.

She looked dumfounded, her mind scrambling for purchase, yet she found herself imploring, ‘Oh, must you?’ The question was a plea, but it also showed growing acceptance of my will. I was winning the battle.

‘Oh, yes, I must,’ I tittered, my smile widening. ‘Now, please relax and do not concern yourself unduly. As I promised, I will help you feel cool, and I can only do so by taking your hair.’

‘Oh, really?’ Emma questioned, a laughably weak protest. ‘Oh, dear!’

‘No need to be alarmed,’ I chuckled, my hand steady as I swiftly crunched through her thick ponytail, severing it close to the scalp. The weight of it, the silky swish as it came away in my hand, was a profound pleasure. ‘Oh, it’s so lovely, Emma.’

‘I know,’ she shrilled, the words forced from her lips, an echo of my own delight.

‘You are going to miss it a great deal,’ I tittered, needlessly cruelly but I could not help myself. The vulnerability and the sheer helplessness she demonstrated was intoxicating.

‘Yes … yes, I will miss it,’ she whined, her eyes widening as I laid out her former hair reverentially on the shelf under the mirror.

‘I know that you are thinking you will report this, er, incident but, the fact is, once you are no longer under my influence, you will swiftly forget all the details,’ I explained. ‘You will not remember how or where it happened once you leave.’

This was crucial as it ensured I could continue with my activities unhindered.

Emma’s eyes widened further at my pronouncement showing a momentary flash of fear. ‘Stay calm, Emma,’ I urged, flicking open my heavy haircutting cape and enveloping her fully, from her neck down to her feet, securing it firmly. She was now ready for the next stage.

‘This is very tight around my neck, sir,’ Emma complained, trying unsuccessfully to force a finger under it.

‘Yes, that’s right, Emma,’ I chuckled unapologetically, making no adjustments. ‘Now I will be giving you a bowlcut. A severe little boy’s pudding bowl haircut so you will keep cool. It is such a fresh and precise style.’

My clippers hummed loudly, a menacing, eager sound.

‘No, please, not that!’ she pleaded, her voice choked. ‘That is not necessary.’

‘Ah, but on the contrary, it is entirely necessary,’ I chuckled, lifting the roaring hair clippers. The buzzing sound was another tool, a sensory overload that further cemented my control.

Using the edge of the blade on the buzzing hairclippers, I carved a precise perimeter around Emma’s head. High up her neck at the back, above her ears at the sides, and incorporating a short fringe on her forehead.

‘There, Emma,’ I announced. ‘You now have glossy and smooth cap of hair perched neatly on your crown.

Her vague expression demonstrated sadness, but she was unable to find any words to accompany her display of emotion.

Reversing the blade, I thoroughly shaved all the remaining stubble on the back and sides of her head to the scalp.

‘Delightful,’ I asserted. ‘Shaved down to the bone, guaranteeing you will stay as cool as possible.’

‘Down to the bone,’ she croaked disbelievingly. ‘But -’

‘Yes, indeed, Emma,’ I confirmed proudly. ‘A smart and severe bowlcut. You will feel considerably cooler when you leave here,’ I chuckled, removing the cape. ‘Just as I promised.’

I gestured for her to rise to her feet and, dumbly, she did so. I led her gently to the shade by the door, then waited with her until I observed the hypnotic effect fading. Her eyes sharpened, focusing on the bustling street. She looked from side to side, still showing signs of disorientation.

‘It’s remarkably hot today, miss,’ I said again, echoing my words from when I first called out to her from the doorway. It was a final flourish chosen to reset her mind to that earlier moment, reinforcing her new reality.

‘What? Er, yes, very much so,’ Emma said, before confusion enveloped her expression. As I fully expected, she gave no sign of recognising me. ‘Although, er … it seems to be getting a little cooler …’

‘Well, you certainly have a very sensible haircut for such blistering hot days. So many young women have ridiculously long hair that messily goes all over the place. It is no wonder they feel the heat so much. But your hair is very fresh and precise, miss. Indeed, just like a little schoolboy.’ My lips twitched as I suppressed a smile. Repeating the unflattering description that I had employed earlier, was another test of whether she recalled what I had done.

‘Thanks,’ she said brightly, as if pleased by my praise. However, her look of confusion suggested that she was unsure whether the comparison with a schoolboy was a good thing or not. That niggling doubt was a minor side effect, one that her mind would easily dismiss over time. I smiled knowingly.

Without a backward glance, Emma stumbled slightly as she left the shade of the doorway. The unrelenting sun beat down on her as she strolled along the street. She reached up behind her, stroking her neck and feeling the sun on her bare skin. She could sense something in her world had altered, but she was unsure what it might be. Pausing, she glanced behind her as if seeking what or who might have caused the change she was experiencing. But seeing nothing, she shrugged, turned back, and continued ambling along the lane.

Julie Comforts Emma

The sweltering heat was oppressive, making every step a chore. I was on my way to meet Emma for lunch, already fantasising about having a long, cold drink in my hand.

I saw her emerge from the bustling crowd, although how she looked was a shocking revelation. Emma’s usual cascade of thick, long hair, which she had often complained about in the heat, was gone. Replaced by something horrendous. It looked like the pudding bowl haircut that my young brother had in junior school, even shaved down to the skin on her neck and around her ears. My jaw dropped.

‘Emma! Is that really you?’ I called out, my voice laced with disbelief. ‘What’s happened to your hair?’

She looked in my direction, her expression a strange mix of confusion and a sort of dazed acceptance. She tried to explain, her words stumbling over themselves, her hand touching the abruptly shorn hair.

‘I, er, don’t really know, Julie,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I was just walking to meet you, and then I realised it was remarkably hot today, and then … well, then it was like this. It feels so much cooler now, though.’ She laughed, a forced, airy sound that did not reach her eyes.

A cold knot formed in my stomach. Emma was meticulous about her hair, loving her long locks. She would never do something like this spontaneously, let alone forget how it happened.

‘You don’t remember?’ I pressed, my voice hardening. ‘Emma, you literally can’t remember getting your hair cut?’

Her brow furrowed in concentration, but it was like stirring muddy water. ‘No, I … well, yes, I stopped for a cold drink at, er … well, somewhere. And I sat down. And that, I suppose, is when I had it cut.’

Emma looked genuinely bewildered, a blank spot in her mind where a significant event should be.

‘Where?’ I demanded, her blankness intensifying my alarm. ‘Where did you stop?’

Emma gestured vaguely back down the street. ‘Somewhere just back there. A doorway, in the shade,’ she muttered, her tone anguished as if the strain of probing her memory was causing her pain.

My gaze followed her gesture, and I spotted a covered doorway, with someone lurking in the shadows. It was a smartly dressed plump guy, with a bald head and wearing spectacles. He was staring at us from the doorway. Then, as my eyes met his, he furtively stepped back, no longer visible.

A chill, colder than any shade, ran down my spine. This was it, I decided. This was the source of Emma’s bizarre amnesia.

My heart was pounding. Just wait for me here, Emma. I just need to check something out.’

‘Fine,’ she said breezily, her expression vague. ‘I’ll wait for you here.’

Rather than moving to the shade or finding somewhere cool to sit, she had rooted herself to the spot, following my instruction to the letter. I suspected her bizarre behaviour was another symptom of whatever was troubling her. However, rather than guide her, I needed an explanation of what had occurred, so I simply left her standing there.

I marched purposefully towards the doorway where I had seen the plump man lurking, a surge of protective anger overriding my apprehension.

Julie Investigates the Plump Man

I heard the door click shut just as I reached it, suggesting someone had been watching me until the last moment. I banged on the door repeatedly, my anger building, and finally it swung open to reveal the man I had seen earlier.

The plump, bald man, his thick glasses magnifying his eyes, held my gaze, an unsettling smile playing on his lips. ‘Can I help you, miss?’ he asked. His voice was surprisingly high-pitched, almost effeminate, yet it carried an odd, resonant quality. ‘It is remarkably hot today. Would you like a glass of iced water?’

‘No, I don’t want any bloody water,’ I snapped angrily, allowing my temper to get the better of me. ‘Look, my name Julie, and my good friend, Emma, has just left here,’ I stated, trying to keep my voice even, though my hands were clenching. ‘She does not remember anyone cutting her hair, or even where she had it done. What did you do to her?’

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that prickled my skin. ‘Ah, the young lady with the beautiful long hair. Yes, I remember Emma. She seemed quite pleased with the result. She mentioned feeling a great deal cooler when she left.’ His tone was smooth, disarmingly calm.

‘She does not remember getting it cut!’ I exclaimed, my patience wearing thin. ‘She has a blank spot in her memory. What did you do to her?’

The man’s chuckle deepened. ‘My dear young lady, I simply offered a service. A very straightforward service. Is it possible that the heat simply overwhelmed her?’ His magnified eyes seemed to bore into mine, a subtle pressure at the back of my mind. ‘After all, it is remarkably hot today,’ he shrugged.

‘I do not believe you.’ I refused to back down, the knot of dread tightening. ‘There is something wrong here. Something very wrong.’ I stepped closer, my eyes scanning the room, searching for any clue, any indication of what had happened to Emma. The place felt oddly sterile, yet with a disturbing undertone.

As I prowled around the premises, my gaze fell upon a large black curtain along the back wall. It looked out of place with one edge held back, caught on something. Curiosity, or could it have been instinct, pulled me towards it. I wondered the draped material could be hiding.

= * = * =

I marched purposefully towards the curtain, the calm expression on the plump man’s face turning to one of dread. I swished back the curtain, and a gasp escaped my lips.

Hanging from hooks on a long metal rail, artfully arranged, neatly labelled, was a truly horrific display. Dozens – no, hundreds – of women’s ponytails. All were exceedingly long. A considerable number were very thick. They ranged from light blonde to the deepest black, with every hue represented in between. A macabre collection of severed hair.

Emma’s exceedingly long ponytail, suffused with her distinctive natural highlights, stood out amongst them. Tears stung my eyes.

‘What is this?’ I demanded, irately waving an arm, my voice trembling with anger and disgust. My stomach churned.

The man’s smile vanished. His eyes, magnified by the lenses, seemed to glow with an unnatural light. ‘They are … keepsakes … mementoes … trophies,’ he said, his voice now a low growl, devoid of its earlier pleasantries. The gentle hum of his presence intensified, pushing into my thoughts.

I knew, with chilling certainty, that I had stumbled upon something truly sinister. ‘I think it is time I called the police,’ I said, my voice shaking but resolute, despite the growing pressure in my head. Reaching for my phone, my fingers fumbled as I endeavoured to unlock it.

‘Well, if you must, although the excessive heat today would appear to be affecting your dexterity. Here, miss, have a nice cold drink,’ he insisted, thrusting a glass in my spare hand. ‘It will relax you and make you feel more comfortable.’

I was feeling hot and flustered so I quickly gulped down half the contents. ‘Look at me, miss,’ the man commanded, his voice suddenly sharp, cutting through my agitation. ‘Do you really think that it is necessary to contact the authorities?’

‘Yes,’ I confirmed but, surprisingly, it came out like an apologetic whimper as I struggled to navigate my phone’s screen.

‘Now, Julie, look in my eyes,’ I demanded, holding her startled gaze, waving grandly to my trophies. ‘Surely you agree it is a lovely collection. All systematically arranged by length, colour, and texture; they look superb, do they not?’

‘I … I … well, yes …’ I agreed, my gaze drawn, against my will, to his magnified eyes. They seemed to pulsate, to swirl with an unseen energy, pulling me deeper. The anger, the disgust, the terror that had permeated my mind began to recede, replaced by a welcome peace of mind. My phone slipped from my grasp.

He did not speak, but he continued to stare.

‘Yes,’ I added with more conviction, but with the word feeling foreign on my tongue. ‘They do look nice. Oh, and that is Emma’s hair,’ I chirped, ‘looking, er … well, just right.’ The horror of it had become strangely muted and distant, as I ran my fingers through my friend’s former locks.

= * = * =

‘I would have liked to add your hair to my collection, Julie, but it is too short and frizzy for my purposes,’ the plump man announced.

In the back of my mind, I knew I should have felt relief but, instead, I pouted with disappointment. ‘It is permed – and it is curly, not frizzy,’ I declared indignantly. ‘And when it is wet it falls below the middle of my back.’

‘Sorry, Julie,’ he chuckled, although his eyes remained cold. ‘Now, I want you to forget about your phone, find your friend Emma, and tell her there was nothing to see here. And then, once she has left you, you will come back here, and I will shave your head, completely bald, just like mine, and then I will polish it to a gleaming shine.’

His words were a command, an absolute. My mind, still fighting, screamed in protest, but my mouth, my body, felt compelled to obey his words.

I turned and fled, bursting out of the shop and back into the bustling street, the oppressive heat suddenly a welcome sensation compared to the chilling presence behind me.

Julie Reports to Emma

Weirdly, Emma was standing in precisely the same place I had left her, a serene look on her face. ‘Oh, hello, Julie,’ she said in greeting. ‘Where have you been?’

I put an arm through Emma’s and moved us away down the street, towards our favourite restaurant. ‘I just needed to check something out. Don’t you remember?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she murmured vaguely, although I was unconvinced. ‘And did you find something?’

‘No, nothing really,’ I muttered unconvincingly, a strange, forced lightness colouring my tone. ‘There was a plump chap and … and … with a disconcertingly shining bald head,’ I explained, but I felt like a puppet on a string, the words spoken by someone other than myself. I hated reciting them to my friend, hated glossing over what I had found, but I could not help it. I felt like part of my mind was missing, the detail gone, yet the core of a command remained embedded, a constant and insistent hum.

‘Oh, right, that is good then,’ Emma murmured dismissively in the distracted tone she had recently adopted. ‘Shall we get lunch.’

‘Sure, I said,’ grateful we had brought the headache-inducing subject to a close. ‘But I will go back … er, I might go back later,’ I chirped, wondering why I had felt the need to say that. After all, there was no reason to go back … er, wherever it was.

‘Oh, really. Will I come too?’ my friend asked airily, sounding unworried either way.

‘No,’ I shrilled hysterically, ending all further discussion.

As we hurried down the street, I forced myself not to glance back. But I felt the plump chap’s eyes upon us, a pervasive presence, his dark smile lingering in my mind’s eye.

= * = * =

Emma and I enjoyed a pleasant lunch, even if it was more subdued than usual because of our earlier confusing distractions. We did not discuss what had occurred directly. However, more than once, her fingers examined the bare skin below the glossy cap of hair perched on her head, and she would giggle disconcertingly.

Her action brought attention to her neck being completely bare, shaved to the bone. Each time she did it, a persistent whisper echoed in my head. You will come back here. You will come back.

The Plump Chap Greets Julie

I watched the two women stroll away together, without a backward glance. The first, Emma, with her newly shorn, boyish head, looking dazed but oddly content. The second, Julie, bristling with indignation and a commendable streak of defiance. Her curly mane of hair, while not ideal for my collection, presented a different kind of challenge. Unwisely, she had frizzed it unnaturally and that was not something that I could ever tolerate.

Julie’s spirit was stronger, her will more resistant. But I could bend even the strongest will, given the right focus. I had seen the initial shock in her eyes, the disgust as she pulled back the curtain to reveal my cherished collection. That sharp intake of breath, the trembling accusation. Oh, how I relished the struggle! It made her eventual capitulation all the sweeter.

Yes, she had planned to call the authorities, but she took stock of the situation with a glass of my refreshing herb-laced water. Then, holding my gaze, listening to my words, the wall came tumbling down. I had cut through her resolve like a hot knife through butter.

I had informed Julie that I would have liked to add her hair to my collection if it had been suitable. However, but she had allowed a bungling hairdresser to chemically frizz her hair, and it looked quite unseemly. So, instead, I told her to report back to Emma, telling her there was nothing to concern her. Then, once they had parted, I ordered her to come back to me so that I could improve her appearance by and help her feel cooler by shaving her head.

I had chosen my words carefully, planting a seed deep within her subconscious. Her wild hair was a minor inconvenience, easily remedied by its complete removal. And the bald head … ah, the ultimate mark of my influence, my masterpiece. It was more than just compliance; it was a transformation, a mirroring of my own liberated state.

I saw the internal battle in her eyes, the desperate struggle to resist, followed by the inevitable surrender to my will. The raw panic as she fled was glorious. She would come back, as I had ordered it. They always did. I had planted the seed, and I could see nothing wrong with that.

= * = * =

I spent the afternoon admiring my magnificent collection. Emma’s ponytail hung among its brethren, a testament to my skill. As the sun began its slow descent and the shadows outside grew longer, a familiar figure appeared in my doorway. It was Julie.

My lips curved into a subtle smile. She looked a little hesitant, her steps slightly mechanical, but she walked straight inside, just as I had commanded. Perfection.

‘Can I help you, miss?’ I asked, my voice a soft purr of welcome.

‘It’s remarkably hot today,’ she said, her voice a little flat, sounding almost rehearsed. ‘Please could you shave off my hair, so my head shines like yours. It seems a very sensible choice,’ she requested, though a flicker of surprise crossed her face at her own words. Her astonishment was the last whisper of her original will, fighting against the implanted suggestion, swiftly extinguished under my gaze.

‘Yes, a very sensible choice, miss,’ I affirmed, my eyes fixed on hers through the thick lenses of my spectacles. I savoured the moment, allowing my influence to fully take her over. ‘Please take a seat, and we can get you feeling cool and help you shine.’

She acquiesced, her movements stiff, but compliant. She sat down, her head bowed slightly, already submitting. I draped the cape, tying it firmly under the lion’s mane of her hair.

The buzzing of the clippers filled the quiet salon. ‘Now I will begin shaving your head,’ I announced with relish.

‘Oh … er, really?’ she murmured, her tone curious, her voice hitching.

‘Yes, Julie, I will start at your nape,’ I confirmed. ‘Head down, please.’

She swiftly pivoted her neck, lowering her head, her chin touching her chest. I started clippering the hair on the back of her head. Watching with satisfaction, the curled tendrils fell away from her head, bounced on the cape, and piled up around her on the floor.

She flinched, a pitiful squeak escaping her lips, but she remained still. There was no true resistance now, only a lingering discomfort. I worked quickly, efficiently, baring her head. I could feel her tension, her silent protest, but it was just a whisper beneath my dominant command. The frizzy hair fell in clumps, creating an untidy pile, too short for my collection, but the act itself was the true prize.

‘There we are, Julie. Your scalp now is now a lovely smooth and even surface,’ I proclaimed once the clippers had done their work. ‘And now for the shine,’ I announced.

‘Oh … er, really?’ she squeaked, her eyes willing it not to be true.

‘Yes, Julie,’ I said appreciatively, ‘so I will begin by lathering up your scalp.’

I spread the rich, fragrant foam over her skin, massaging it in thoroughly. I held up the razor, the metal glinting under the lights. As her eyes widened, no further words were necessary.

I expertly guided the razor over Julie’s scalp. As the blade glided back and forth over her skin, it stripped away the last vestiges of hair.

She shivered, but she did not move. Each stroke was a confirmation of my power, a liberation for her, whether she knew it or not. I rinsed her head, dried it, then thoroughly massaged a waxy serum of my own invention into her skin. Using a soft cloth, I meticulously buffed her scalp to a glorious shine, a mirror of my own. It looked as though no hair had ever grown on her head. A pristine canvas.

I led her back to my doorway, just as I had with Emma. The gradual transition out of my immediate influence was always a fascinating process to observe. Her eyes unfocused for a moment, then sharpened. The bald woman was ready to leave.

= * = * =

‘Can I help you, miss?’ I asked again, the usual prompt, as Julie’s eyes focused on the passing crowds as we paused in the shade of the doorway of my premises.

‘Yes … well, I am not sure, actually … I was feeling remarkably hot but, er, suddenly I feel a great deal cooler,’ she said, sounding surprised, ‘so, although this shade is nice, I will be on my way.’

Her words were confused, her memory of the preceding hour already fading, replaced by the simple, logical explanation I had provided.

‘Very sensible,’ I smirked, watching her step out into the cooling evening air. She lifted a hand, touching her newly bald head, a slight frown on her face. Then, as the last remnants of my direct influence dissolved, she smiled. A wide, genuine smile of relief as she accepted that the hot sun was no longer making her feel uncomfortable … even if she was unsure why.

‘Just shine on, Julie,’ I whispered, admiring her gleaming bald head as she turned and walked away.

Yes, another masterpiece for everyone to admire. Another soul touched by cool and sensible liberation. And I, the humble sculptor, remained in the shadows, ready to relieve the next suitable woman of her burden.

Epilogue

‘Excuse me, I wonder if I might trouble you for a glass of water and perhaps a brief rest?’ a woman called out, approaching the Plump Chap from the opposite direction. ‘It is remarkably hot today, sir.’

The Plump Chap turned to face her, and he smiled. ‘You took the words right out of mouth,’ he replied, his eyes twinkling as he took in her magnificent thick braid of auburn hair. He gestured grandly with his hand. ‘Please, miss, step inside.’

The End