The Hag

There’s a certain beauty with monotony. It’s simplistic. Familiar. Routine. No surprises to throw someone off balance or any novelties to change what a person already has set. It takes a very disciplined approach to things, yet it does not ruin any of it. Knowing what to expect and exactly the steps to get there are a surefire recipe for the desired results. Just as scientific lab experiments have clear instructions with their results already given, the ease of knowing how things are meant to be gives the brain less thinking to worry about.

Every first Saturday for the first three months, she always deep cleaned her home. Throwing away anything carrying bad memories, tossing out old, withered papers, and tucking away the wintry decor. It was said by her great aunt that by doing so her home would be lighter for the springtime and welcome a breezy aura in the home.

Every first Friday of the next three months, she swapped out her wardrobe, linens, and curtains with strictly the colors of yellow, white and baby blue. The yellow represented the sun and all of its warmth and the light brightening the world for the birds and wildlife to bring about their lovely chirps and songs. White represented the soul starting anew, a blank slate, that can be painted with more delicate strokes instead of chaotic splatters. The baby blue was a call back to the sky; like the heavens above, it represented the vast opportunities one has in life. Life was limitless.

July and August were meant to be enjoyed. A time for relaxation on the beach and since it was too hot to do anything.

The ‘ber months were the most anticipated. The end of the long days, the chill in the air, and frost nipping at the noses of all. Every first Sunday, she cozied up her house, the icier the temps outside, the cozier it was on the inside, brought in her yearly harvest, and planned for the holidays. Each month she was to light the fireplace in order to bring back the warmth summer provided, but solely to

All of these things were important, yet none of it could be achieved without the New Year traditions first. A clean home to take out the bad luck from the previous year, a clean body, washed in unscented soap, dried and left as is, to wash away the woes of yesteryear, a clean mind soothed by prayers of gratitude and hopes for the new year along with a small note to write down old regrets and burned in the fireplace in order to wipe the away. Her great aunt stressed the importance of this ever since she was a little girl barely able to ride a bike. That last week of the year was meant to prepare for the new one, physically, mentally, and spiritually. Listen to me child, them hags’ll ride ya all year if ya don’t do it. They’ll take all the life out of ya before the year end. She laughed it off as silly old folk talk. Sure, she believed in mental health issues and exhaustion, but supernatural entities taking away your life was crazy. She did it anyway because it’s what was ingrained in her from a young age.

The past year was rough. Pulling doubles and graveyard shifts at the diner, only to be fired because some new hire didn’t like the way she handled a rude customer had ticked her off. Her mind couldn’t fathom why she was let go but knew dwelling on it wouldn’t pay her bills. She tried the unemployment office, but they had very few workers and the ones there were awful to her. Same with the other government assistance programs. All they saw was an abled body young woman who could just get a new job. Her last interaction with them was just the lady telling her to go get a job, as if she hadn’t been fired. Yes, employment is what she needed, but when every interview ends with you being told you’re either too inexperienced or overqualified for the position, you tend to go in a downward spiral of hopelessness.

It was December 31, and her home reflected the chaos that was her mind. A stack of bills piling on the table, clothes strewn about the furniture less living room, she had to sell many of her belongings in order to survive, and a kitchen that hadn’t seen soapy water or Fabuloso in days. Her limp body hung over the bed, eyes heavy, head pounding, and body aching. The phone showed the time being a quarter past 5. Her head looked up, saw the time, and immediately went down. Nothing was getting done tonight, no cleaning, no bathing, nothing. Lying down, rotting in her bed numb to the world around her, was the only objective that mattered in the moment. Her phone lit up again, this time a quarter to seven. She gazed back at it and nodded off. Sleep was the only thing that gave her a bit of joy, knowing she could shut off her brain, the worries of the day would be swallowed by the darkness.

She woke up with a jolt. The phone showed it was 9:20 and nothing in her home resembled a fresh start. Tossing the blanket off of her she got to work. Dishes loaded in the dishwasher, old food tossed in the bin, and groceries put away. Any dirty laundry went straight into the wash, clothes were neatly folded and put away. She put on the kettle, swept and mopped the floors, and began working on the bathroom. She cleaned from top to bottom not leaving even a single piece of floss in her trash. The time was ten minutes to 11, and she still needed to finish the laundry. By the time her clothes finished, she was ready to lie back down but knew that a good shower would bring back some energy. The bathroom steamed as she washed her hair. Suds filled in the coils turning the top of her head into a cotton ball. The water flowed steadily, yet a strange noise came from behind the wall. Confused, she looked up. The water slowed, dribbling out of the showerhead until it came to a halt. Her eyes widened. Shampoo trickled down the back of her neck and sides of her face; some of it even got in her eye. The stinging burn of shampoo caused her to wince. A few swears were muttered as she realized she couldn’t even finish her shower.

The sound of her alarm from outside of the bathroom caught her attention. The New Year finally came, and she wasn’t even finished bathing. Now, she was annoyed. She stepped out of the shower, watery footprints making their way into the living room, and grabbed her phone. A Happy New Year text was sent to her family’s group chat, then she tossed the phone back on the couch. The sound of water returned to the bathroom. Relieved, she started to stand when a black shadow shifted out of the corner of her eye. Her body straightened, the hairs on her arm began to rise, and she became painfully aware of her own breathing. Eyes darted across the room, searching for something, yet nothing was there. Cautiously, she stepped back towards the bathroom wanting to at least rinse out the shampoo. Her fire alarm beeped, making her jump back. Scared, she ran back quickly rinsing out her hair and scrubbing her body. Once she put on her nightgown, she headed back to the living room looking around for anything suspicious. When she realized nothing was there, she plopped on the couch and went back to sleep.

Her chest felt heavy, heavier than usual. Not even her morning jog made her breath this heavy. She tried to open her eyes to see if she’d put something there, but her eyes wouldn’t open. She noticed that her body too wouldn’t move and had become numb. Panicking, she thought that maybe her body was just too tired to cooperate, but the moment a hand pressed against her shoulder she froze. The hand rose dragged down her arm leaving wet trails down it. She dreaded to know what it was. Its body sunk deeper onto her, drawing its face closer to hers. Its breath fanned across her face like a dense fog on the countryside. The metallic smell mixed with rotting flesh made bile rise in her throat. Another hand grabbed her by the hair, holding her place as it used the previous hand to open her mouth. The sides of her face too became wet by whatever covered its hands. An inhale was heard as she realized the air in her lungs began to decrease. Her mind struggled to conceive any possible option of what it was that was doing this to her. She shook on the couch hoping it would release the grip it had on her, yet it didn’t budge. She shook, more violently this time around and it released its hand from her hair. Her body, finally defrosted from its paralyzed state, began to fight off the unseen entity from on top of her. Her hands pushed at a body completely wet and unnaturally warm. It fell to the ground with a thud but quickly got up. Her eyes cracked open just enough to see the pink and red figure in front of her. As her eyes opened more and more, she saw its retreating figure escape from an open window. Her vision, now fully adjusted to the light glanced around the room. Dark red footprints leading away from the puddle that sat in the middle of her living room. Bloody prints on her couch above the spot where she laid. Her breathing hitched as she brought up her arms. Streaks of red along her right arm and her palms covered in the sticky substance. Her eyes widened as she rushed to the large mirror hanging on her bedroom door. A large red splotch covered the expanse of her upper torso. Her hands trembled as the disbelief still clouded her mind, yet logic couldn’t explain what it was she encountered. She thought of her great aunt, although nearly overtaken by dementia, the old woman still held strong to those beliefs of hers. She wasted no time in calling her aunt, too afraid to fall asleep lest another one of those things haunt her tonight.