The Hag

By Jean Marie Bauhaus

Michael Latimer is living the good life. He's head of his university's English department, he has a great marriage to a beautiful wife, an assistant who makes him look good at work… What more could he ask for? But when one night he finds himself immobile in his own bed as terrifying visions taunt and torture him, his life begins to crumble--along with his sanity.

 

Rational man that he is, Michael gladly seizes on a diagnosis of sleep paralysis--a sensible, scientific-sounding name for the ghastly night visits that plague him. But as he continues to grapple with his condition, his research takes him down paranormal rabbit holes that make him question everything he knows about the nature of the world, and evil… and Kathy, his wife.

 

Kathy is worried about her husband. He's been having trouble sleeping, and ever since it started, he's become more cold and withdrawn, even hostile. She hopes spring break at her parents' remote cabin in the Ozarks will let him get the rest he needs to return to his easy-going, lovable self.

 

But when his coldness toward her only intensifies once they're at the cabin, she can't resist the impulse to check his phone, convinced he's having an affair. What she finds instead is far more disturbing, and is only the beginning of Kathy's night of sheer terror.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jean Marie Bauhaus
• Release date: Feb 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798224308071

Jean Marie Bauhaus

Jean Marie Bauhaus is a traditionally-published and indie author of five novels and counting, as well as a number of novellas and short stories. She also writes freelance articles about dogs for a living.Born and raised in Oklahoma, she currently makes her home in the middle of the woods deep in the Ozark mountains with her own dog, a fierce and mighty Chihuahua named Pete, her husband of 13 years, and a gaggle of other four-legged dependents. When she’s not writing about ghosts, zombies, vampires and other things that go bump in the night, she can usually be found hiking the side of the mountain or trading her keyboard for knitting needles and curling up with a mug of tea and a horror podcast.Or at the microwave, re-heating her tea because she forgot to drink it before it got cold. #writerproblemsJean has a Bachelor of Science in Social Science, Psych/Soc emphasis, which means she’s smart enough to finish college but not smart enough to choose a major that’s actually useful. But it comes in handy for building psychological character profiles and developing post-apocalyptic societies.Easily spooked by ghost stories as a child, teen Jean faced her fears by forcing herself to watch horror movies and read Stephen King until she fell in love with the genre. As a grown-up (more or less, depending on who you ask), her tastes expanded to include a broader range of speculative fiction and romance, but she keeps coming back to the supernatural and paranormal. She has a strong affection for all things zombie-related, which is a good thing considering she’s currently writing a trilogy in that genre. Watch for Desolation of the Damned, the third book in her Walking Dead/ True Blood mashup Trilogy of the Damned, to come out in the summer of 2020.Sign up for Jean’s mailing list at jeanmariebauhaus.com so you never miss a new release, and come chat with her on Twitter @jmbauhaus or follow her at fb.com/JeanMarieBauhaus.

Book preview

One

MICHAEL COULDN’T MOVE. Not a finger, not a toe, not so much as an inch. His eyes were the only part of him that appeared to be free. They darted back and forth, frantically taking in his darkened bedroom, searching for answers, something to help him understand what was happening. His lungs also worked as he struggled to draw breath. His heart, too. It tried to jackhammer its way out of his chest.

He struggled with all his might to sit up. An icy hand pressed down on his forehead, keeping him in place. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. He tried to scream, but another hand clamped over his mouth. Others took hold of his arms and legs—how many hands did this freaking thing have? Or how many of them were there? They held him down with a force he couldn’t even begin to resist. He couldn’t see his attackers as his gaze roamed about the room. But it was his room, alright. He lay in his own bed. The dresser sat against the wall where it belonged, at the foot of the bed, with the TV perched on top. Where was his wife? What did they do to her?

He tried to call her name, even if only to mumble it against the hand covering his mouth. But no sound came. He could only think it. Kathy...

A light appeared before him, displacing the dresser and the TV. It was large and oval, like some kind of doorway. Or not a doorway, exactly. His mind grappled for the right word, seized on it, its implications sending a chill through him. Portal. A red and hellish portal. Where it led to, he didn’t want to find out. A shadowy figure stood outlined against the light, looming over him, dark and menacing, its shape vaguely human. It stooped to put its hands on the bed and crawled toward him. It changed as it moved, becoming more feminine before stretching out on top of him.

Michael screamed. Or tried to, anyway. All that came out was a thin, reedy whine. Another hand gripped his shoulder and shook him, and suddenly the spell was broken. The creature disappeared, along with the sinister light and the hands that held him down. Michael bolted up, panting, looking around the room. The dresser and TV were back where they belonged.

Michael, honey, are you alright?

His wife’s voice, thick and husky with sleep, greeted him from her side of the bed. He turned and found her propped up on one elbow, her sleep mask pushed up on her forehead, squinting groggily up at him.

I... I don’t know, he said, relieved to hear his own voice working properly. Something just happened.

You were whimpering in your sleep. Did you have a bad dream?

He shook his head. No. I mean, I was awake. I’m sure of it. Didn’t you see anything?

Like what?

He glanced back toward the television. There was this light, and someone standing at the foot of the bed—

All I saw was you, and all I heard was you whimpering. You had a nightmare, that’s all. She pulled her mask down over her eyes and laid her head back on the pillow. Go back to sleep. We’ve both got work in a few hours.

I don’t think I can. Michael looked at the clock on his nightstand. The digital display read 3:35 AM. He had to be up in less than two hours anyway, and he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep after what he’d just gone through.

He threw back the sheet and swung his legs over the bed, but stopped and considered Kathy. What if whatever the hell that thing was came back and attacked her? Shouldn’t he stay to protect her?

As if in answer, Kathy rolled over and pulled the sheet over her head, clearly determined to drink every last drop of sleep she could get.

Michael sighed and got up, keeping a wary eye on the spot where the doorway, or portal, or whatever it was, had appeared as he made his way into the hall. After a pit stop in the bathroom,