The Hag: Part Three

Terrifying visions haunt a man as he lies paralyzed in his bed, causing him to question everything he knows about the world, his own sanity, and even his wife. A multi-part horror novella.

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HE WAS SOUND ASLEEP when she returned. Peeking in at him, Kathy breathed a gigantic sigh of relief. She’d been planning to confront him, but now she could wait and see if a good night’s sleep changed his attitude.

She’d done a lot of thinking during her hike. Sleep deprivation alone couldn’t be making him so cold. So mean. There had to be something else.

Quietly, she pulled the bedroom door shut. On her way to make a sandwich, she spotted his phone lying on the coffee table. She forced herself to ignore it and keep going. She wasn’t that woman—the paranoid wife who jealously checked her husband’s messages—and she had no intention of becoming that woman.

But as she sat munching her sandwich, barely tasting it thanks to the anxiety roiling in her stomach, she could think of nothing else. That phone could either confirm or put to rest her suspicions. If it was the latter, Michael never needed to know.

Throwing out her half-eaten sandwich, she poured herself a glass of wine. She’d already tossed back half of it by the time she settled onto the sofa, liquid courage seeping through her veins and making it easier to believe this was a good idea.

Reaching for the phone, she found it unlocked. That alone reassured her. Surely, if he were cheating, he’d have set a password. Unless, of course, he believed she was so trusting she’d never do exactly what she was doing.

Kathy squeezed her eyes shut. What was she doing? This whole thing was making her crazy. If he trusted her enough to leave his phone lying around unprotected, shouldn’t she trust him enough to believe he had nothing to hide?

She leaned over to set the phone back in its place when she noticed what was on the screen. He’d left the web browser pulled up to a discussion forum, a long thread of people answering the question at the top: “How do you kill a succubus?” The asker’s handle was sleepless_prof06. Michael always added 06 to the end of his usernames. It was the year he’d completed his PhD.

She scrolled through the replies. Suggestions included beheading, burning, a wooden stake through the heart. One creative responder suggested that binding the creature in iron would force it to reveal its true identity.

A heaviness settled over Kathy as she scrolled down the page. She clicked the other browser tabs to see what else he’d been looking at, and found page after page discussing succubi, demons and other nightmare creatures.

She’d seen enough. She returned the browser to the discussion tab, turned off the screen, and returned the phone to the spot where he’d left it. Then she drained the rest of her wine.

Maybe he was researching a novel. He’d always talked about writing one. Maybe that was why his satchel was so heavy. It was full of manuscript pages and research notes. She looked over at the desk as she considered getting up to look inside the bag, but it wasn’t there. Michael had moved it.

But that must be it. She laughed at the places her mind had gone. Lack of sleep might make Michael moody and withdrawn, but surely it wouldn’t make him psychotic. No way could he actually believe the things he’d been reading about.

Strangely, she felt better. Despite not having checked his texts and e-mails, she felt reassured he wasn’t having an affair. And if he was writing a novel, that was a good thing. The genre he’d chosen surprised her. She would have expected him to write something more literary. He’d never been a fan of horror or thrillers—that was more her bag. But for whatever reason he’d chosen it, she was glad he’d found a productive project to help him work out his issues. 

And he was finally sleeping. He’d get the rest he so badly needed, and return to his cheerful, lovable self.

Everything was going to be okay.

Relief washed over Kathy. The tears she’d been fighting all this time bubbled to the surface and spilled over, her body finally feeling safe enough to let them go. Michael wasn’t the only one who was exhausted. She felt worn out, too, both physically and emotionally. She also needed sleep. Tomorrow, everything would be better.

She stretched out on the couch rather than risk disturbing her husband by crawling into bed. She kicked off her shoes, pulled her grandmother’s quilt off the back of the couch, and turned off the light before nestling down into the cushions.

***

KATHY COULDN’T MOVE. Her entire body felt weighted down. Something bound her arms to her sides and held her legs together. Her mind fought its way to consciousness, and she opened her eyes.

Her husband stood over her, his features plainly illuminated in the bright moonlight flooding through the large picture window behind the couch. “Michael? What’s... what are you doing?”

“Who are you?”

Kathy blinked at him. “What do you...” She tried to sit up, but felt too heavy.

As if she could move, he leaned over her and pinned her shoulders to the sofa cushions, screaming, “Who are you!”

Kathy stared up at him, shocked and fully awake. Her mind raced as she looked down at herself. A large metal chain coiled around her body. The sharp tang of iron filled her nostrils. “What are you doing?”

“Answer me!” He shook her hard, making her cry out in pain and fear.

“Michael, stop! Why are you doing this?” But she knew. All that stuff she’d read on his phone—it wasn’t novel research. He actually believed it.

“Tell me your real name!”

“Kathy!” she screamed. “My name is Kathy! I’m your wife, damn it!”

He released her and straightened up, staring down at her as he backed away.

Kathy squirmed against the chains. She’d begun trembling uncontrollably. “Michael, it’s me,” she said through chattering teeth. “Kathy. Your wife of fourteen years.”

He shook his head, twitched a hand toward her. “Look at you, shivering. Reacting to the iron.”

“I’m c-cold, and I think I’m going into shock. Michael, please. Think! I’m not a succubus. They’re not real.”

His expression went from uncertain to knowing and triumphant. “How would you know about the succubus if it wasn’t you?”

Despite everything, Kathy rolled her eyes. “You left your phone on the coffee table. I saw the discussion thread. I thought you were researching a novel, not looking for ways to kill me!”

“You looked at my phone?” Considering everything, the sound of betrayal in his voice was almost comical.

“Yes, I looked at your phone. You’ve been acting so weird I thought you were screwing your assistant!”

He flinched at that, but he didn’t back down. “No. No, I see it now. I know the truth. I don’t know what you’ve done with my Kathy—”

“I am your Kathy!”

”But you don’t fool me. Not anymore.”

“Michael, please!”

“Everything you’ve been doing to me, whatever you’ve done to her, it ends. It ends right the hell now.”

He went to the front door and stepped out onto the porch. “Michael?” she called. “Where are you going? Don’t leave me here!”

The screen door opened again. The relief she felt when he stepped back inside died as soon as she saw what he was carrying. He took the gas can into the living room and screwed off the lid.

“What are you doing?”

Ignoring her, he turned around and splashed gasoline on the furniture.

An icy hand gripped Kathy’s heart, sending spasms of fear through her body. She trembled so violently it made her chains rattle. If she didn’t do something, Michael would burn the cabin down and her along with it. Squirming like an exposed maggot, she managed to roll off of the couch, falling on the floor with a loud crash. But Michael was too busy, too caught up in his murderous haze, to notice, or to care.

The chains loosened, and as she wiggled she realized he hadn’t fastened them with anything, but only wrapped them tightly around her. She kept wriggling until they loosened enough for her to crawl out of them. Her muscles still gripped with uncontrollable spasms, she balanced against the coffee table while she got her feet underneath her. Michael had his back to her, splashing gasoline over his desk and work chair.

As quietly as she could, Kathy gathered up the heavy chain. Holding a length of it in her hand, she crept up behind him. He threw the empty gas can aside and dug a lighter out of his pocket. Kathy moved as fast as she could as he flicked it open and summoned a flame, but not fast enough. He hurled the lighter, finally noticing her as he did.

They were each too late to stop the other. She lifted her arm and brought the heavy chain crashing down on his head as heat and flame erupted all around them. He went down to one knee, and she hit him again as fire raced across the carpet and engulfed the furniture. He fell face down into the fire. Heaving the chain aside, she grabbed him by the ankles and tugged as hard as she could, dragging him out of the fire, out the front door, down the porch steps and onto the lawn. She rolled him onto his back. He groaned, barely conscious, but he didn’t appear too badly burned.

She looked toward the car, and then back at the house, her stomach sinking. “The keys,” she muttered, and ran back inside. Or tried to. She didn’t get far. The desk where Michael always placed his car keys was consumed, as was the floor and everything else between there and where she stood. The heat and smoke were unbearable. Coughing, eyes streaming, she turned and ran back down the porch steps. As she stumbled onto the lawn, her stomach sank.

Michael was gone.

Scanning the yard, she saw no sign of him. She ran to their SUV, praying that somehow, just this once, Michael had left his keys in the ignition. No such luck. She looked back at the burning house, not sure what to do. Run to the road and head for the closest neighbor? That was at least a mile away. Maybe she could flag down help along the way. But what about Michael?

A crashing sound came from the side of the house. She crept past the driveway and peered toward the garden shed. The door was open, and the light was on. Suddenly, Michael appeared, outlined in the doorway. Kathy let out a yelp. He spotted her and charged. Only as she turned to run did her mind register that he held a machete.

“Oh, God!” The cry tore its way out of her throat unbidden. She clamped a hand over her mouth, panting through her nose as she ran. Without stopping to think or pick a direction, she dove into the woods. Thankfully, she knew them well. Better than Michael. He’d never shared her affinity for hiking. Not that it mattered. The forest floor was so thickly carpeted with layers of dead leaves, her every step echoed through the night, announcing her whereabouts to Michael and every other predator in earshot.

She moved as quickly as she could, which wasn’t very. Thankfully, the trees had only put out their tiny buds and were still a month away from being in full leaf, and moonlight poured through the canopy, lighting her way. The ground under the leaves was rocky and uneven, and thick vines of briars had grown up between the trees. The thorns snagged her clothing and cut into her legs.

At last she came to a dry creek bed, lined with more rocks than leaves. She knew where she was now, but the sound of Michael’s feet sweeping through the leaves behind her killed any sense of relief she might have felt. He remained otherwise silent, and she didn’t know whether that was more or less unnerving.

She followed the creek up the steep hill until she came to a stack of boulders forming a low bluff. She climbed up, scrambling as fast as she could to the top. A space between two of the larger boulders formed a sort of cave, large enough to squeeze into. Kathy lowered herself down into the crevice, trying not to think about what else might be sheltering in there.

It was only as she crouched on the narrow space of mossy ground between the two rocks, peering through a crack at the creek below, that the damp and cold set in. These spring nights in the mountains were chilly, and her ripped flannel did little to stave off the cold. She hadn’t even realized that she’d stopped shaking from earlier before the shivers started up again. Her teeth rattled, and she clenched her jaw to keep the sound from giving her away. Something with a lot of legs skittered across her hand, forcing her to swallow the urge to whimper.

Michael came into view through the crack, banishing all thoughts of her discomfort. He stood down in the creek and brandished the machete as he looked up at the pile of boulders. The sight of him like that filled her with a mix of terror and grief. An involuntary sob tore its way out of her. She clamped her hands over her mouth and forced herself to breathe evenly through her nose.

He didn’t appear to have heard. After a moment, he continued up the creek bed and passed out of view.

Kathy’s entire body went limp with relief. She pressed her forehead against the damp rock, heedless of anything that might creep or crawl there, and let loose a torrent of silent sobs, burying her face against her sleeve to muffle any sounds that might escape.

The nearby rustling of leaves abruptly cut off her tears. The faint rustle became a loud and steady crunch, getting closer. Kathy tried to shrink down deeper into the darkness, but fingers tangled in her hair and yanked. She screamed. Michael tugged hard, and she clutched his wrist with both hands as he hauled her out of the crack. Her feet slipped on the damp rocks as they tried to find purchase. Once her head and shoulders emerged from the tiny cave, she looked up and saw him peering down at her, his face cold and determined as he raised the machete over his head.

“Michael, stop!” she screamed, digging her nails into the soft flesh of his wrist. He grimaced in pain, but didn’t let go. Below, her feet finally found a tiny ledge to perch on, giving her some leverage. She raised up and let go of his arm, reaching instead for his legs, which she grabbed and pulled as hard as she could. He lost his balance and stumbled, falling to his knees. He scrambled to find purchase and keep from going over the rocks. But Kathy scrambled faster. She climbed out of the crevice and gave him a push. He tumbled over the edge, bouncing and rolling down the hill to the creek below.

Kathy got to her feet. She stood there a long time, her hands covering her mouth, torn between wanting him to be okay and wanting him to stay down. He didn’t fall terribly far. It might have injured him, but it probably hadn’t killed him. The machete lay a few feet away from his prone form. Wonder of wonders that he hadn’t impaled himself on it. Kathy considered climbing down to get it, but she didn’t want to get that close.

After a moment, he groaned. Her heart fluttered with a mix of relief and fear. He tried to move, but clearly had difficulty. “Just stay there, Michael,” she called. “I’m going to get help.”

She started back down the hill, giving him a wide berth as she made her way toward the cabin. From there, she would follow the driveway down to the road and walk to the neighbor’s place. She only prayed someone would be there. If not, surely they’d forgive a little emergency breaking-and-entering to use their phone.

She moved more slowly this time, more carefully. She’d covered about half the distance when she thought she heard movement somewhere behind her and froze to listen. The crunch of leaves warned her of pursuit. Swearing, she picked up the pace, coming as close as she could to running without impaling herself on a low-hanging branch, twisting an ankle on the rocky ground, or tearing herself up even worse on the briars.

When she finally emerged into the clearing, the fire completely swallowed the cabin. She felt its heat even before she stumbled out of the woods. The roar of the flames almost drowned out the sound of feet pounding through the leaves behind her. She stood frozen, not sure what to do. Take her chances and run for the road? Surely the fall had injured Michael. But was he too hurt to keep up? Injured or not, he’d already done a pretty good job of pacing her through the woods.

Hide. That was her only option. Remembering the shed, she took off toward it. As she rounded the side of the cabin, she looked back toward the trees, just in time to see Michael emerge. Not waiting to see whether he’d spotted her, she ran into the shed and turned off the light. She thought about pulling the door closed, but that would be a dead giveaway. Turning off the light might have already been a mistake.

She backed up into the corner beside the open door and bumped into something. It rattled with the sound of clanking metal and clattering wood. In the dim firelight that reached into the shed, she could make out a plastic barrel filled with gardening implements. As quietly as she could, she drew out a short-handled shovel and crouched down, waiting.

“I know you’re in there,” Michael called after the longest minute or two of her life. “You might as well come out. You’ve got nowhere to go. I’ll let you live if you tell me where Kathy is. All I want is to get my wife back.”

Kathy squeezed her eyes shut, but only for a moment. She remained still and silent, gripping the shovel like a baseball bat.

Cast by the light of the fire, his shadow loomed large on the floor and back wall as he approached the door. Kathy slowly stood, raising the shovel over her head. He took a step into the shed, and then another, and she brought the shovel down. Metal clanged against his skull and sent vibrations up her arms. The machete clattered on the floor as he went limp and dropped beside it, landing hard on his side.

Kathy tossed the shovel back into the barrel and wasted no time picking up the machete. She hid it deep inside the barrel for safekeeping and then turned on the light.

This time, Michael was well and truly unconscious, the rise and fall of his shoulder signaling he was still alive. She searched the shed until she found a roll of duct tape. Rolling Michael onto his stomach, she used it to secure his wrists behind his back. Then she bound his ankles before lifting them up and taping them to his wrists, effectively hogtying him.

By the time she finished, he began moaning. Kathy knelt beside him. “I’m going to get help,” she told him. “Please don’t move. You’re hurt, and you’ll only make it worse.”

His only response was another moan. She wasn’t sure whether he heard her, but she wouldn’t wait around to make sure. She climbed to her feet, retrieved the machete from the barrel, and set out on the long trek to the neighboring cabin.

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