Night Hag

Me and my partner wrote this story together

The pressure on his chest is near suffocating, despite the distance between his mind and body. He tries to draw in a deep breath, panting and struggling for air. All attempts to open his eyes, seemingly in vain, causes the realization that they are open. He squints, straining to survey his environment. His pupils begin to dilate bringing the room into focus. The shock and surrealness of being inside the same room his nightmare had taken place, leaves him unsure he is awake at all. However, the sensations of warmth from his blanket clashing with the wind from the ceiling fan, adding to the chill already creeping up his spine, makes him sure he’s awake. He fears he still might see her. But, the woman who’s been haunting his dreams was gone. 

Lying awake and shivering with cold sweats, he reaches out turning on his bedside lamp. The image of the old woman pressing down on his chest is still fresh in his mind. He saw her from behind, lying on him, wailing and pressing with great might. He couldn’t get over the third-person angle his dreams had been providing him. He felt outside himself, disillusioned, paralyzed with fear, which was appropriate given his condition. Sleep paralysis has been plaguing him for over a year.

                       ***

“Sometimes when the conscious mind becomes aware of REM sleep, and you begin to wake, one can experience a kind of full body paralysis,” says Hecate, Mark’s Therapist. Over the last six months, Mark has been seeing a sleep therapist; but, it hasn’t given him much comfort. She would in a dry mindless voice describe the causes of Sleep Paralysis and he felt she did not understand the terror it causes. Leaning back into the firm brown leather of Dr. Hecate’s office Chair, Mark pondered. This affliction makes him feel unsafe in his dreams, unsafe in his home, unsafe within his own mind. Mark felt trepidation at the prospect of sharing these feelings with his therapist. She has always described his sickness as something that could be treated with regular sleep habits or treatment of any mental health issues. He feels more comfortable with her considering him a chronic insomniac.  

Mark bids Dr. Hecate farewell, “Have a good night.” Hecate smiles but does not laugh and speaks to the other man in the waiting room, “I’ll be with you in a moment Peter.”

As the office door slowly swings shut Mark is momentarily taken aback by the appearance of the second man in the waiting room. The sharp Romanesque cut of his jaw left Mark immobilized. Dr. Hecate’s door clicking shut makes Mark realize he shouldn’t be staring. Awkwardly attempting to cover his unsocial graces, Mark makes an off-hand comment, “You look haggard, what nightmare brought you to our good doctor?’’ Peter forces a dim smile but seems mildly upset by Mark’s choice of words. Back peddling and a bit flustered, Mark tries to reframe his previous statement. “Not like you look like anything out of a nightmare, quite the opposite actually…”  The long unblinking stare they share proves this comment may have been as awkward as Mark feared. “Sorry for bothering you, have a good session.” Mark says over his shoulder while escaping his embarrassment. Leaving his therapists’ office, Mark turns to face the day, wishing night wouldn’t come.

Deciding to spend as much time as he can in the bright of the day, Mark goes for a long walk around his neighborhood. While strolling up the dull gray pavement, he takes mental notice of many a passerby, who seem very upbeat and carefree. They have no idea how much this perception fills him with envy.

Upon returning home, Mark immediately turns on his living room and bathroom lights. He would rather not have any dark corners staring at him. His bedroom is left quite dim despite the well lit hall, so he draws the door shut. “I think I may need to watch some Netflix and chill,” Mark says audibly to himself. His mood is slightly improved by his wit and he sits down looking for something light-hearted to watch.  Before long he could feel his mind drifting away.

Mark begins to drift toward his bedroom realizing he must have fallen asleep on the couch. He feels a spine tingling sensation that he isn’t walking but listing diagonally across the room. Turning around, Mark sees himself asleep on the couch; the room engulfed in a hazy shade of gray. A wind rushes past him, flinging Mark back toward himself. His vision snaps all the way around and upward, returning to a face up view of his living room. A view dominated by an elderly, fray haired, gaunt woman, shrieking and leaning into him, her teeth brought to bare. He is overcome with terror. Mark tries to force himself upright and any trace of air into his lungs. However, his willful struggle only results in an increase of pressure and volume of wails from his aggressor. Her ghostly animalistic rasp not unlike a death rattle sears his mind with white hot fear. One last immense, forceful push nearly carries him outside himself with agony. 

Breath fills his lungs. Mark shoots upright on the couch; he surveys the room, taking in every detail. The audience applause from a comedy sitcom rings out, causing Mark to recount his dream. He remembers the show was also playing in his dream. This realization brings him even greater discomfort because he’s seen other details in his dreams that seem so surreal. The momentary respite being the morning rays of light protruding through his blinds, fleeting as dawn always is. Daybreak at least meant he wouldn’t have to risk sleeping again.

A return visit to his therapist the following week proves less than comforting, especially when she prescribes an anti-depressant to help him correct his sleep habits. He did not enjoy the soft implication that there may be deeper mental issues at work in him. Furthermore, every recommendation Dr. Hecate made to him seems to be centered on getting more sleep.

This session Dr. Hecate seems a bit downtrodden, which only makes Mark more uneasy. Today it is her whom was shifting side to side causing the leather of her chair to squeak and squeal. “I am not sure that drugs will help me doctor,” Mark softly poses to his Therapist.

“Well, in this case, I strongly feel it would be helpful for you,” Dr. Hecate snaps back at Mark. She apologizes instantly, stating that another case was giving her troubles. At the end of his session Mark pauses while leaving Hecate’s office, overhearing a conversation between the doctor and her receptionist. “Has Peter called to confirm he will be attending his next appointment?” Hecate Asks while skimming over a file.

 “No ma’am, he hasn’t left any messages since missing his appointment last week.” The stern and dogmatic guard of the appointment log says.

Traversing the parking lot on the way to his car, Mark spots Peter pacing near the office building. Nervous, but unsure he’d have another chance, Mark decides to approach Peter. “Hi are you here for your appointment?” He asks, trying to conceal his interest for Peter in small talk. Peter turns to him a bit jarred by the sudden conversation. Peter’s face was ragged and his scruff overgrown. “Are you alright, Peter?” Mark asks, becoming somewhat concerned. Peter randomly smiles and his features lift slightly.

 “Would you like to have a coffee?” Peter asks, laying his hand on Mark’s shoulder.

“Yes, coffee… does sound good,” says Mark, trying not to smile too widely.

Mark and Peter drink their coffee in near silence exchanging only snippets of small talk. “The coffee is good here… do you come here a lot?” Mark asks, breaking through the silence.

“Yes, I tend to need stimulants from time to time, when I’m eluding sleep.” Peter says leaning forward to touch Mark’s hand. “Speaking of stimulating things, might you be interested in another coffee?” Peter poses the question, which confuses Mark as their coffees were nearly full.

 “We only just started with this one,” Mark says in a flustered tone.

“I meant perhaps at my apartment. I have a very nice espresso machine.” Peter raises his eyebrow slightly, awaiting a response.

Upon reaching his apartment, Peter re offers Mark an espresso, but it was clear he has other things on his mind, because their transition to the bedroom makes one think this dalliance has an expiration date. Mark gets the idea that Peter has invited him here partly to help him stay awake, which was understandable.

Sleep seems to be a shared concern for them. Whatever Peter’s intention has been however, he’s out cold now. Perhaps their encounter was over-simulating. Mark’s trepidation at falling asleep was ebbed by the fact that he was not alone, so, he soon joined Peter in unconsciousness.

Mark’s brush with romance must have been fresh on his mind, because Peter was making an appearance in his dreams. It was impressive how closely this visage of Peter was capturing his sullen expression. Trying to speak to him proves fruitless however, no words escape his lips. Following Peter’s gaze fills Mark with a familiar dread. He was looking at their motionless bodies planted in a sea of winding mist. Another familiar feeling rushes up behind him, but he feels no impact. Turning around, Mark sees his tormenter, who is accosting Peter. 

The old woman screeches, turning her head around to face Mark. He feels no pressure but is pinned in place just the same. Only the look on Peter’s face moves Mark into action. He lurches forward attempting to throw the woman away. Mark did not feel any collision, more like he had passed straight through the terrifying banshee. Now staring straight down at Peter, morning light floods the room cutting though the dense and threatening gray fog. Peter wakes with a start confused and disheveled. “How, what… just happened?” Peter asks, searching Marks face for an explanation. “You were there, I mean actually there in my dream. I saw you just as you are, but in my dream.”  Peter states sitting up and moving to face Mark. Unsure how to respond to Peter’s statement, Mark only says, “So was she.” The glance they share confirms their common nightmare.

Mark trades stories of nightmares, describing each grizzly encounter within his dreams. Peter interrupts only to add chilling descriptions of similar assaults upon his restless nights. Their faces grow stern as it becomes clear they were describing the same tormentor. “This is more than a dream, she is real.” Mark proclaims with an odd smile. Seeing clear confusion on Peter’s face he quickly adds, “At least we know we’re not crazy.”

 Peter cracks an effortless smile and adds, “Maybe now we can rest easy.”

The following night Mark again shares a dreamscape with Peter, but the main difference being neither of them are pursued by their common tormenter. She makes an appearance but stands at a distance merely observing them. The old hag seems to be creeping around the bedroom entryway baying and snarling, wary to enter fully.  Mark wants to hope the creature was fearful or losing interest, but it seems more as if she was simply looking for a new angle of attack.

Days roll into weeks and for all intense and purposes Mark moves in with Peter, splitting his time between work and Peter’s Apartment. The days are marked by sound sleep. Mark cannot recall his dreams for the last several days, if he was dreaming at all. He has even began to resume drinking coffee just for the flavor, and Peter hadn’t lied, his espresso machine was top notch.

Watching Peter run from the shower to his walk in closet, while mumbling about how late has was, Mark enjoys yet another espresso. “Drinking up all my beans I see,” Peter teases while hurriedly readying himself for work.

 “I’ll replace them, hand to God.” Mark replies, raising his right hand.

 “Better.” Peter jeers in return rushing out the door. Mark soon leaves to get more beans, perhaps because he had so expressly swore to do so, but mainly because he has so much caffeine in his system he needs to get out.

Mark visits a small corner bistro he frequents to buy some of their finest. As he leaves the shop Mark sees Dr. Hecate, which makes him quite uncomfortable, because he realizes he has failed to keep their appointments. Mark thought if he acted quickly and turned the corner, he could avoid her gaze. His hopes were dashed when her eyes settled directly on him. “Mark, how have you been?’ She says in a raised tone, b-lining straight for him. “I haven’t seen you for days.” She remarks off hand. Mark thinks briefly of saying he is sleeping better. He couldn’t quite say, I think my night stalker is less willing to attack people in pairs. That would ensure that he seems a bit unbalanced, so Mark simply assures her he would make his appointment the following day. Bidding good day to the doctor he makes for his car.

            He returns to Peter’s apartment feeling a bit down and anxious. The Doctor has always been a bit anxiety provoking but running into her today really upset him. He wasn’t sure what it was about their interaction that was making him restless. To distract himself, he decides to make some supper in anticipation of Peter’s return. His mood was lifted by the sound of a key turning in the front door.

            Mark tries to seem upbeat upon Peters return but he is clearly distracted. “You seem under stimulated, grown bored of our liaison?” Peter says, while feigning concern and wearing a fake pout on his face.

“Eeehhhh, no, not the case at all,” Mark replies laughing. “I just had a chance encounter with our good doctor Hecate, while out tonight. “ Mark adds. As the conversation continues, Peter tells Mark he could just stop going to his appointments, they never seem to help with their affliction. “I can’t just be rude like that. I’m not as abrupt as you.” Mark says in a mocking tone.

Although Mark was in a better mood after dinner he still found it hard to sleep. The loud sawing of logs emitting from Peter’s open mouth didn’t help matters either. He considers pushing his mouth shut. Laughing at the idea Mark shuts his eyes hoping sleep will come.

Awakened by the blaring sound of Peter’s alarm clock, Mark rolls over eyeing the time, he has only slept an hour or so. Peter offers to play hooky from work and drive him to the doctors, teasing and referring to him as Miss Daisy. “You’re all wit Peter, but I think I… aaaahhhh, can drive myself.” Mark speaks through his yawn.

            Mark manages to get into the doctor’s office without much trouble, only battling sleep once or twice. He walks through the door and receives a rather harsh sounding greeting from Hecate’s Receptionist. “Hello Sir,” she states sharply. While in Dr. Hecate’s office Mark struggles even harder to stay awake.  His clear exhaustion seems to have emboldened Hecate’s questioning. “Has anything new developed in your life that might be affecting your sleep habits?” She asks plainly.

”Nothing really negative; actually things have been looking up.” Mark says, smiling for the first time.

 “Appearances seem to be contradicting, Mark,” Hecate states while putting her hand on his shoulder. This is to Mark’s recollection, the only time she has ever touched him, but it is strangely upsetting and familiar. He must be very tired. Mark excuses himself from their meeting early. Due to his mental exhaustion he didn’t take notice of Hecate’s parting words. “I’ll see you soon.”

Walking to his Car Mark starts to think, although his mind was clouded by sleep deprivation, how odd the chance meeting with Hecate at the bistro had been. She had said something about not seeing him for days. Why didn’t she say weeks?

 While driving, Mark is surprised by how quickly the fog sets in, the road is entirely obscured. He drives a little faster due to a worry that he might fall asleep. The nearly silent rolling of his tires mutes completely. All is silent. He is asleep. The realization is immediate and is followed up by a crushing force wrapping around his chest

Mark looks down to see pale white arms constricting around him, pulling him back into his seat. The eeriness of the sight switches quickly to terror as a banshee wail cuts through the silence. She has found him again. He is pulled far away from the wheel. Mark sees the world careening around him. Hair begins to hang over his face and he starts to feel warm, very warm. He looks up to see a familiar face, just not the one he was expecting. Hecate looks down on him with a smile of inhuman width. The women’s grip is stronger than ever. Mark exhales his last breath. Hecate breathes in deep and pushes herself upright, reeling in all directions, cackling in a deafening high pitch.