Forgive Me

a short story by

Anne
C/O Ed Clayton

Sunday 18 February 01

When I woke she was standing at the bottom of the bed. An old woman,
grinning with no teeth, and staring at me with no eyes. Needless to say
I was terrified and the fear did not diminish when she vanished in
front of me. I didn't blink - she simply faded away like a dream, all
but her damp smell and her pounding in my heart.

There is no doubt in my mind that she was really there, rotting at the
foot of my bed; I had been lying in bed awake for at least ten minutes
before I forced myself to open my eyes and saw her. She had probably
been watching me.

I sat up in bed, petrified for a long time after she had gone.
Eventually, I managed to slide out from under the sheets and I
anxiously looked out for her while I pulled on a pair of trousers, my
boots and pulled a fleecy top on over my nightie. My hair was standing
on end and my skin was cold and tingling. I expected a cold hand to
grab my arm from behind, or to hear a hiss and feel her dank breath on
the back of my neck.

Coat. Bag. Out of the flat. Outside the building. And I could breath
again.

I walked wherever there were people and caught a bus to my university
where I am in my final year of English Lit. I said hello to the
security guard, the human contact making me feel less nervy, and when I
reached the university library, I used the quiet lift for the disabled
to take me up to the fourth floor. I walked quickly to the back of the
floor, where they keep the occult books.

I had a quick look around to see if anyone I knew was up here.
Thankfully it was Sunday and the library was very quiet. I'm not
superstitious, I don't believe in astrology or witchcraft or ghosts.
Last year, I took part in and almost won a debate where I opposed the
existence of anything that was truly supernatural. So I didn't want
anyone to see me up here with the Elixis Book of Demons, Night
Creatures and Future Echoes Volumes I-IV spread out on my desk.

I didn't win my debate, because of Gary Hennessy. He was on the
opposing side and he won the crowd with his first-hand account of a
terrible, old woman who was standing at the foot of his bed when he
woke.

I don't believe in anything supernatural, yet I believe what I saw. I
saw her, the old woman, I smelled her, I heard her breath hissing
between her cracked lips. She was as real as the computer I am typing
this on, the words on this screen, and if she had a history - as Gary
Hennessy had sworn she had - I would find it out for myself.

I found her in the pages of a bulky book with a black, gold-trimmed,
leather cover. The writing was unbearably small, but it was the picture
in one of the columns that drew my attention; an illustration of a
wrinkled old woman with lank shoulder-length hair, hunched at the
bottom of a cot while a child slept soundly under the covers. In the
doorway, a father looked on at the scene in horror. The caption beneath
said simply: The Night-hag. I shivered, my hairs stood up all over me
again and I cried.

The illustrations in other books and dictionaries varied, as did their
descriptions, yet they were all quiet clearly similar to the thing I
had seen in my bedroom this morning. Some described her as
spindle-limbed, some said she had been seen floating up through the
floor and sometimes through the base of the bed itself, some said her
eyes were sealed shut with stitches as in a ritual punishment, others
maintained that 'while she may appear blind her gaze fixes her victim
to the spot'.

One book claimed that her purpose was to suck the life out of men,
women and children while they slept and that if they woke during the
process they would see her at the foot of the bed. Many said she sat on
the chests of men in their sleep and even had sex with them before they
woke.

All described or referred to her as an Old Hag or simply the Night
Hag.

That was what I saw this morning in my bedroom. And I was sickened by
the dread of having to return to my flat this evening. I was sure I
couldn't do it.

But then one book gave me the peace of mind to return home. A little
red book, twice the size of a pack of playing cards, held the solution
to my problem and as I flicked through the relevant pages I felt a
burgeoning sense of hope and then empowerment. It explained that I had
to tell someone what I had seen. Tell as many people as you can, it
said, and the Night Hag will seek them out instead of you.

As I said, I am well-known for my disbelief in anything weird or
supernatural. If anyone had even seen me in that section of the library
it would have made me seem ridiculous. The only other people I could
think to tell outside university were my mother and father and my
brother, which I did not do for obvious reasons.

And so I have written this.

I will upload it to ABCtales in the next few minutes and I hope that
you will understand, and forgive me.

Anne.