Category Archives: Writing

This is a short story from yours truly that has been published a few times in limited distribution publications.  Sharing it here for free.  Enjoy!

THE HAIR

by Michael Bradley

Edward looked in the mirror but saw no signs of change.  I must be going crazy.  He had been to the dermatologist again and they had referred him to the hospital.  Edward was a scientist with a prestigious job at the Smithsonian and could not believe he was headed to the hospital over a hair on his leg.  He had noticed it weeks ago, poking up like a solitary black spike an inch below his left knee.  Oddly, it filled his dreams.  He would wake up and turn on the lights only to see the solitary strand, defiant, seemingly looking back at him.  What was it trying to tell him?

More and more Edward had difficulty concentrating at work due to his preoccupation with the hair.  Even with his trousers covering it, he could not get the hair out of his mind.  It seemed to twitch both physically and mentally.  Of course, he had tried cutting it off.  But every time he did, it was back an hour later, the same length and the same determination to get his attention.

In desperation Edward went to a colleague with a doctorate in psychology.  The answer had been obvious and quick.  Get it seen by a Dermatologist and have them remove it.  His co-worker assured him that preoccupation with body irregularities was normal and even healthy.  It was nature’s way to get us to remove problems early.  Perhaps the hair was the result of some melanoma or squamous cell carcinoma.  Best just to get it taken off and be done with it.

That was a week ago.  The lab had just finished its tests and they were inconclusive.  The follicle and surrounding tissue were unidentifiable.  The testing cannot be sure all the affected tissue was removed, please consult your Dermatologist.  The Dermatologist was not pleased.  Never had they seen such a report.  Due to its content, Edward was advised to go the surgical center immediately, as they were not equipped to cut away large portions at the Dermatologist’s office.

Edward looked down at his bare leg.  The skin around the hair had not healed much from the slice taken off last week, but the hair stood un-phased by all the attention it had received.  What the Hell is going on?  Am I really checking myself into the emergency room over a single hair? 

Edward dressed and got into his Prius and drove down to the Emergency Room.  Every time he hit the break he felt the stiff hair pushing against his pant leg.  He tried not to think about it, but ended up almost running a red light because he did not want to hit the brake on yellow.  They have to be able to get this thing off of me or I’m going to go nuts! 

The admissions nurse groaned when he told her his condition and pointed him to the crowded waiting room.  He understood her disdain when there were people with real life saving needs coming in every fifteen minutes.  But, she had not shooed him off when she heard his Dermatologist had told him to come in.  Cancer could spread fast and she did not want the liability of sending him away.  Jobs were scarce right now.

It was almost nine hours later they called his name.  Luckily, they knew from talk behind the counter who he was and woke him with a few shakes.  “Edward Denton?  They are ready for you now.”  He got up groggily, immediately feeling the hair dancing in his left leg like some burrowing animal.  While it had twitched before, it went wild now.  Finally, I will get this damn thing off my leg.

At first the tired doctor at the end of a tough shift actually laughed out loud when he read Edward’s chart.  “A hair?”

Edward flushed in embarrassment, but he had waited too long for this and knew he had to deal with it.  “Yes, Doctor.  I know, it sounds stupid, but my Dermatologist insisted I come in right away.”  The doctor nodded and mumbled something under his breath about ’boutique doctors.’

The nurse had Edward disrobe and put on the open backed blue paper gown, making the whole ordeal even more humiliating.  When he was ready the doctor quickly examined the area, had it scrubbed with disinfectant and reached for the syringe.  “I must admit it is odd to have grown back with the surrounding epidermis removed.  There are certain species of blow fly that get under the skin and put a hair like strand out to breath.  Have you been overseas lately?”

“No, I work at the Smithsonian.  It’s been years since I had a vacation, and I spent that with my folks in New Hampshire.”  Edward barely felt the injection of the local anesthetic.

“Well, in any case, we’ll get rid of it whatever it is.”  The doctor picked up a scalpel.  “You probably want to lean back for this.  Most people don’t like to see their own blood.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to watch.  It’s all I’ve been able to think about for weeks and I want to know what the Hell it is.”  Edward looked determined so the doctor just nodded his head and started to cut.

“Nurse, come over and look at this.  You see there is no sebaceous gland, bulb or papilla.  It’s almost like a synthetic thread.”  The doctor and nurse were fascinated now, and other end of shifters came over to look as well.  “Have you had any accidents with sewing devices or industrial threading?”

“I’m sure I would have remembered something like that.  No, it is just a hair that always comes back.”  Edward was annoyed by all the extra eyes on his hair.  He felt the hair twitching back and forth madly.

“Do you see that?”  All the medical professionals moved in close to the doctor.

Edward seemed hopeful.  “You mean you can see it twitch too?  I was worried I was imaging it.”

“See it twitch?  Heck, it’s like some kind of ice skater doing spins and everything.”  The doctor took the scalpel away and asked for clamps.  “We’ll just pull this thing out and see how far in it goes.  You probably picked up some kind of foreign object and it is natural for a body to keep pushing it out, making it look like it is re-growing or moving.”

The doctor began to pull and the hair came out quickly, longer and longer.  Soon, several feet were hanging from the clamp and it showed no end to it.  He had the nurse and the others help him, and soon they were so dedicated to their efforts they lost track of what was happening.

Edward looked on with growing horror.  As each length of hair came out, there was no blood, but he saw his leg getting smaller.  It seemed that the leg tissue, bone and blood vessels were turning into even more hair.  Now his leg was crawling with the thick black strands and they writhed like snakes.  “Stop!  You’re taking out my leg!”

“Nurse, give him a sedative.  This thing goes deep, I think he is going into shock.”  The doctor turned back to the patient’s leg and froze.  The leg below the knee had completely changed to a coil of black fibers twisting and writhing where human tissue had been a just moment ago.  The audience of medical staff stood back with a collective gasp and watched as the fibrous mass continued to convert Edward’s body, reaching up past the left knee and moving to his hip area.

Edward screamed and could not stop.  Something inside him snapped.  Some dam holding back a secret knowledge burst.  “No!”  His scream became primal, curdling the blood of the onlookers, now all standing back from the table in horror.

Edward then realized he was not Edward at all.  He remembered he had been sent here long ago.  He had waited, alone in the chunk of stone on his long voyage, surviving on this new planet, sent here to conquer.  The host had been Edward Denton, the man who could not resist touching the meteorite sample which he had clung to for millennium.  He had taken over the host and assumed his identity, but it had gone wrong.  He had become his new host completely, forgetting his real nature.

Some part of him had remembered, had risen above the host to warn him, to remind him.  The hair.

He was the hair.

It was too late now, he had failed.  His only hope is that a piece of him would be preserved to find a new host.  Perhaps the slice from the Dermatologist now at the lab, or the pieces he had shaved off and put in the trash or the toilet.  Or even now, he could see with the last of his human host’s vision that the medical professionals looked on with disgust, fright, but with a hope of a Nobel prize in their minds.

If he got another chance, he would have to be careful.  He would not convert so much that he forgot who he was.  Next time, he would be more careful.

The doctor stood silent for a long time.  “Call the Center for Disease Control.  Get this area cordoned off and everyone in hazard suits.  This could be the discovery of a lifetime, let’s not make any mistakes with this.”

The former Edward Denton lie on the table, a black mass of seething strands.