"Ah, there you are William, I've been wondering when you'd be arriving."

"Good evening sir. I hope that my nightly visits do not bother your busy schedule Dr. Striker." William Nyxhelm greeted as he entered the home of Dr. Chad Frederic Striker. He looked around at the dusty abode. It was cluttered with all sorts of little inventions and bits and pieces of various electronic equipment. Stacks of books piled high on every available desk and stuffed into every shelf. He saw one that the doctor had just recently purchased and read, a new, recently published book entitled "Dracula" by an English author named Bram Stoker. Large lithographs decorated the walls, bright colorful pictures of various strange, fanciful creatures, all created by Striker himself. In a far corner was a richly decorated two-manual harpsichord of fine polished oak. Beside it was a large gramophone still playing Tchaikovsky's Pathetique, enhancing the room's dark, scholarly atmosphere.

The doctor was exceedingly talented, a researcher, an inventor, a musician, an artistic lithographer, and was very skilled in the field of medicines. "A brilliant man..." Nyxhelm had breathed to himself, when he had first glimpsed Striker's "eccentricities". For despite Striker's reputation for being aberrant and highly unorthodox, Nyxhelm found this all very attractive in its bizarre erudition, and wanted to become the student of this intriguing genius.

"Oh, not at all my young William! To be perfectly honest, I prefer that you come in the evenings when my work has toned down a bit and I can spare you some of my time. Now, what can I interest you in?" He motioned for Nyxhelm to sit down across him. There were pieces of some device rolling around on top of the table, and Striker had been examining each of the items closely and calculatingly. "Well, you could start by telling me what this pile of rubbish that you have dismantled is supposed to be..."

Striker looked up from his work slightly disgruntled and exclaimed in an annoyed fashion. "Rubbish?! You call this rubbish, this-this, wonder of mankind, this miracle, probably one of the greatest inventions since Edison's light bulb! This, my inexperienced apprentice is a telephone, invented by Alexander Graham Bell twenty years ago! Rubbish you say?! That's simply an abomination!"

Nyxhelm laughed despite being scolded by the older man. "Well, if it is such a great invention, why is it now lying there on your table in pieces?"

"I wanted to know how it works and how it is assembled..." And then he went into a deep and detailed description of how the telephone transmits sounds using electricity and his ideas of improving its design and capabilities. "Imagine if the telephone could not only convert sounds into electricity, but also light and pictures! If we could somehow transfer a copy of a photograph or a painting into the telephone, we could send the image for hundreds of miles across the country with just a blink of an eye!"

"That's a very interesting notion sir, but isn't that highly unlikely?" The Doctor smiled at the youth. "Well I see you are a skeptic, just like my wife... Anyway, I believe this following object would probably interest you more..." Striker stood up and led Nyxhelm into a room at the end of his house's hall.

When they reached the end of the narrow hallway, he opened the door and switched on the light. The light in the room was bright compared to the other rooms in the house and Nyxhelm gave out a sound that curiously sounded like a hiss and immediately turned away. "William! I deeply apologize, I had forgotten about your eye ailment!" He quickly flipped the switch off and made a move towards the pale, dark-haired youth but immediately stopped in his tracks. Nyxhelm stood straight, slowly turning to face him. His face was raw and mildly burnt, as though he had spent a day under the unforgiving sun. His tinted eye-glasses, apparently used to protect his light sensitive eyes had fallen to the floor and Striker saw for the first time the boy's metallic gray irises. He had no pupils, just a solid, shiny circle, as though someone had placed a silver coin in each of his eyes. It was ghastly to look upon, those strange silver eyes in that unnaturally burnt face. Striker watched as the rawness receded, once more returning to its original pasty color.

"My dear boy, what happened?" Striker asked, almost fearfully, yet full of concern and curiosity that echoed his medical background. "I..." Nyxhelm seemed to struggle for words. "I... have a skin condition! I cannot stand too much light..."

Striker felt that he wasn't telling the entire truth. "Skin condition you say? But how did you heal so quickly? What kind of ailment are you talking about?" Nyxhelm chose not to answer the questions, and smiled curiously, a strange close-mouthed grin. "Would you hand me my glasses Doctor?" He said simply, more of a command than a request. Striker obliged and stooped, handing the dark, oval glasses to his student. "But your skin--" he began, but was quickly interrupted by Nyxhelm. "You said that there was something you wanted to show me Doctor?" He tilted his head slightly, and for a moment his strange eyes gave off a sheer mad, almost demonic look before hiding them once more behind his tinted glasses.

Flustered, Striker immediately turned to the room, this time lighting only a candle. "Oh, yes..." He shone the light on a pair of large skeletal wings hanging on the wall. "Ah... This here's a glider built by Otto Lilienthal flown from 1891 to 1896... only about a year ago, yes I know, I am currently trying to improve his design by adding an engine to it..." The Doctor suddenly immersed himself in another long lecture of the machinery that he so loved, momentarily forgetting the incident before.

Nyxhelm listened intently to his ramblings with a sort of dull amusement until he whispered to himself, " Humans... Always dreaming of lifting off the ground..." The Doctor immediately stopped and looked inquisitively at his young student. "Did you say something?"

Once again Nyxhelm put on his eerie, toothless smile. "Oh no, I was simply murmuring some pointers to myself..." At that moment, Emily Striker, the doctor's wife, entered the room, cradling their baby in her arms. "There you are darling, I was wondering where you have been hiding! I just got home from my little chat with Mary and you're suddenly off playing with your little science experiments!"

She deposited her son in his father's arms and turned to the boy beside him. "And my, my, you must be young William Nyxhelm! My husband has been talking about you for some time now... It's a pleasure to finally meet you!" She extended her hand out for him to kiss, smiling somewhat lecherously and fluttering her eyelashes. Nyxhelm couldn't help but raise an eyebrow surreptitiously at this gesture but he took her hand anyway and gave it a light kiss. "It's a pleasure to you meet you as well, Mrs. Striker--"

"Oh, just call me Emily!"

"I'm pleased to meet you Emily, but now, if you'd excuse me, I think I better leave. Goodbye Dr. Striker, it has truly been a erudite evening." With that he gave a slight bow to the couple and then showed himself out and disappeared into the street.

"What a handsome young fellow! And intelligent too..." Exclaimed Emily. Striker in the meantime, sat cradling his son, deep in thought. "Such uncanny eyes..." He said quietly.