A New Look in Snake Hair
The snake witch needed something stylish for the monster ball
Dierdre peered from behind her clear plastic face shield at the hideous reflection in the large wall mirror opposite and forced a smile. The deeply lined, greenish face that stared back observed her good humor without so much as a twitch in response. Large, dark eyes were bottomless pits of malice.
“So, what’ll it be today, Medusa?” said the hairstylist brightly.
The creature in the chair removed her heavy black headscarf. The mass of snakes rooted to her scalp hissed furiously at their sudden exposure to bright light. Dierdre stepped back smartly.
“I’m thinking of doing something different,” said Medusa, in the high-pitched voice that scratched at Dierdre’s nerves. “My usual wash, of course, but the Mythical Monsters and Creatures Reunion is this week, and it might be amusing to turn up with a new look.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Not really. They do it once a century and I don’t usually go. Bunch of sclerotic has-beens droning on about the heroes they ate and their ancient misadventures. But I’ve decided to give it another try this year. Perhaps I’m finally getting old.”
“Where is the reunion?”
“The Minotaur’s underground labyrinth, one reason why I’m going. It’s darker than my intentions down there so if I do attend with a new look there’s less chance making an idiot of myself.”
“I’m sure you won’t. And it’ll be nice to see your friends again,” said Dierdre, trying to lift the mood.
“I wouldn’t call them that. Those wretched Sirens will insist on singing again, the three-headed hound Cerberus will yap interminably, and we’ll have to endure the Harpies shrieking at everyone. But I am intrigued to see the Minotaur again. Minnie the Half-Bull was always such a bad boy!” she said and grinned, revealing an armory of yellow, dagger-like teeth.
The sight of Medusa’s lethal dental ware was unsettling, but Dierdre tried to remain cheerful. “Sounds exciting!”
The sound of a bell announced that Dierdre’s cell phone had received another text message — the third since the gorgon’s arrival. Medusa glared in the mirror; she hated modern contraptions.
“So, what do you have in mind?” asked Dierdre hastily.
“I’m not sure,” said the gorgon, and idly tickled her vicious vipers with fingernails sharp enough to parse steel. “Let’s face it, my options are rather limited. I tried braiding them once and all Hades broke loose.”
She was right. During one of their early sessions, Dierdre had foolishly tried to make an impression on her ghastly customer by suggesting that a new hairstyle might do wonders for the gorgon. But coloring or tinting her scaley horrors proved impractical, as did trimming them. The mere hint of a pair of scissors sent the vipers into a frenzy. Curling or straightening them was a non-starter. They tried tranquilizing the creatures, and Dierdre did succeed in corralling their limp bodies into the semblance of a hairstyle. But Medusa complained the hairdo made her look old.
“I don’t suppose they will go naturally gray if we leave them?”
“I doubt it.”
Dierdre reviewed the boiling nest of vipers from several angles. “How about a ponytail? A loose one?”
“How are you going to manage that, dear?”
“Well, you would have to do the heavy lifting, but I can direct you.”
“Seems like a lot of bother. But I suppose there is no harm in trying.”
“Let’s do your wash and rinse first.”
Medusa plunged her head into the washbasin, chiding her writhing snake hair which was incensed by the imminent deluge of warm water. Carefully standing back, Dierdre squirted soap onto the snakes — delivering a generous dollop to the most cantankerous ones — and showered the gorgon’s head. Fortunately, the sound of running water drowned out the arrival of yet another text message on Dierdre’s phone.
After drying the heaving mass of venom, Dierdre fetched a hairband. It took some time to maneuver the band in place, and the hairstylist almost got bitten, but they finally managed it.
“What do you think?” she asked, holding up a mirror.
“Not bad,” said Medusa. “I don’t know how long they will stand for it, though,” she added, trying to calm the hogtied snakes.
“Long enough for you to turn the Minotaur’s bull head!”
Medusa cackled and spat into the sink, to the hairdresser’s alarm although she did not show it. The green spittle corroded a gully in the ceramic basin. Another text arrived.
“What is wrong with that infernal machine of yours?” snapped Medusa, and went to turn around.
Dierdre shrieked for her to stop. The hairstylist would turn to stone if Medusa looked at her directly. Such a fate befell one of her employees who returned to the shop unexpectedly one night. Dierdre always saw her best-paying customer late at night and on her own. The stylist who interrupted them was immediately turned to stone when Medusa glanced at her. Dierdre kept the statue of the unfortunate woman in the basement.
“Good catch, my dear,” said Medusa.
Dierdre smiled wanly and shut off her phone.
“Is it him?” asked the gorgon.
Diedre nodded a yes; trying to conceal the truth from Medusa was futile.
“What is it this time?”
“It doesn’t matter,” shrugged Dierdre.
“My old friend Ego doing his work, no doubt,” said Medusa. “Did I ever tell you the story of Perseus?”
Without waiting for a reply, the gorgon described how long-ago Perseus — a tasty mortal but as dumb as a temple pillar — set out to kill the infamous snake-headed monster. He planned to use his shield as a mirror to avoid falling victim to Medusa’s lethal stare. But the shield’s polished metal provided a poor view of the gorgon, and when Perseus swung his sword to decapitate her, Medusa threw a fake head on the ground, jumped into a ravine, and disappeared.
“It’s amazing what you can do with a ball of clay, chicken blood, a few dead snakes, and some low-level sorcery” cackled the snake witch. Perseus returned triumphantly with the dummy head and became a hero. “The rest is Greek mythology,” she said. “The point is my dear, grant men what they desire without actually giving it to them. He’ll be clay in your hands.
“Thanks for the tip,” agreed Dierdre.
“Speaking of which, I should go.”
Dierdre took the cue and turned to face the wall mirror behind her. She watched as Medusa slithered out of the seat and deposited a thick wad of money on the counter. She cupped her writhing tresses with veined hands and appeared pleased with Diedre’s handiwork. Medusa glided toward the back door and paused just before leaving.
“If that husband of yours does not shape up bring him to see me next time I will take a look at him. You can use his statue as a coat stand,” she said and exited, her evil-laden laughter causing stray cats in the yard to go insane.
