by Dan Dillard
Chapter 21
“It is estimated that upwards of 15% of the world’s population will experience the sensation known lovingly as Old Hag Syndrome. It manifests itself as one wakes, and often feels like something is sitting on or hovering just above the victim's chest. The common complaints are of a hideous looking creature, usually feminine and elderly, holding the person in their bed. Horrible odors and an inability to move are described along with the visions.
Psychiatrists call this phenomenon 'sleep paralysis' and attribute it to your five senses waking up out of order. One's brain wakes up before the body and tries to fill in the blanks. The motor skills haven't kicked in and the mind equates the paralysis to being held down. Panic causes olfactory, auditory and visual hallucinations.”
-Ethan Jacobs, Electronic Journal entry #59
..ooOOoo..
Knock, knock, knock!
The sound startled him and he lost his train of thought. He felt like it was early and glanced at his watch.It was probably Emily. He hadn’t been out of the apartment yet that day, so the normally-unlocked door was dead bolted, otherwise she would’ve walked right in.
He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling like he’d been dragged through the trash. He was covered in cold sweat, his face felt like sandpaper, and all his muscles were weak. The last dose of pills must have broken the fever. He felt certain that he looked terrible and smelled worse.
First thing after you open the door, shower.
Ethan made the ten foot trek to the door from the couch and opened it to find no one there.
“Hey! What are you doing up?” Emily said cheerfully, as she walked down the sidewalk that ran in front of his door.
Her car was parked off to the side; maybe she had forgotten something and walked back to get it. She was in business attire, complete with her hair up in the back, and carried a small white paper bag. Even though he was tired, he thought she looked delicious.
“I thought I heard you knock on the door. I guess I must’ve dreamt it.”
He was still fuzzy from the headache, nap, and drugs.
“Nope—didn’t knock yet, just got here. You feeling all right, baby? Aaron said you were kinda rude on the phone.”
She held her hand to his forehead and grimaced.
“Gross. You’re sweaty,” she said, and wiped her palm on her skirt.
Then she set the bag down on the counter and opened it.
“Yeah, I think my fever finally broke,” he said, and got back to her other statement. "Oh, and 'rude' would be understated. I called Kay a whore.”
“Nice. Surely he understands that you're sick. Did you explain how bad you felt?” she said, trying to stay on his side.
“No, my head was killing me, so I just hung up. I think he tried calling back,” he said.
Ethan still had some residual anger toward Kay. If Max was right, she hadn’t forced this thing to leave her and start terrorizing him, but she could’ve warned him of the possibility.
Changing the subject, Emily said, “I got us some sandwiches from the deli. I’ve never been a big believer in chicken soup. You hungry?”
She looked at Ethan in the way a mother looks at a child who just came in from the cold and must be starving. If she’d had hot cocoa in the other hand he might’ve called her ‘Mom’. He could see it made her feel good to have someone to take care of.
“I am starving, but I want to take a shower real quick. I’m sure I smell wonderful.”
She crinkled her nose and nodded her head in agreement, shooing him with her hands.
“I’ll stick them in the fridge. You want some company in there—once you rinse off, that is?”
Ethan was thankful that the motherly look had disappeared. He smiled and nodded.
He still couldn’t shake that jealous feeling. How often does she talk with Aaron?
As he watched Emily undo her hair and get undressed, the thought dissipated. Jealousy wasn’t like him, but the misplaced emotion was right at home with the rest of the strangeness. Something was in his head, playing games, and it needed to go.
Emily turned on the shower, adjusted the temperature, and then led him in by the hand and hugged him, her front to his back. Hot water warmed their bodies. Ethan felt the stress wash away and swirl down the drain. He closed his eyes and sighed, letting Emily’s hands work their magic. She soaped up a washcloth and bathed him gently and methodically, while repeatedly promising to make it all better and suggesting that he try to relax. They embraced, and for the moment, he loved her. The reality and the dreams matched. That feeling left abruptly when she kissed his cheek and left the shower. He stayed for another moment or two, enjoying the warmth and steam.
When Ethan opened the shower door, she already had her hair up in a towel, his bathrobe on, and was heading off to the kitchen before he even got out. By the time he dressed and made it to the living room, she had sandwiches on paper plates and was waiting on the couch with Slobber, who was tripping over himself for a sniff of the food.
“Are you hungry now?” She wiped a crumb from the corner of her mouth.
Emily put her hand on his knee and rubbed it a couple times. Ethan was feeling the low thud of a bass drum quietly building up volume in the back of his head. Instantly he was short on temper and didn’t want to talk anymore.
“Em, I think you should go.”
“I just got here. What’s wrong?” she said, halfway through chewing.
“My headache is coming back. I need to lie down. I don’t want you here if I lose it again,” he said.
The bass drum became a little clearer and more powerful as he tried to maintain a pleasant disposition. Apparently the fever hadn't broken after all.
Her playful look changed to concern, as if his pain was visible.
All Ethan could focus on was jealousy. It seemed that that was the only thing that held the pain back even slightly. Within seconds, the throbbing overwhelmed him, and he no longer cared about anything except silencing that pounding drum. He rushed to the kitchen and popped three pills into his mouth.
“Isn’t there anything I can do to help? Ethan?”
No answer from the kitchen. She got up to follow him.
“Babe?”
“Fine. I'm fine. Can you just stop fucking talking now?”
He was now enraged. The anger just made the pain worse. He stumbled to shut the light off because it seemed to be getting brighter, and then rushed to the couch to lie down before his brain exploded. Emily recoiled at his harsh words.
“I'm sorry, my head is killing me and I just need to sleep.”
He fell down on the couch, forcing Slobber out of the way. The dog snorted and trotted off to the bedroom. Emily watched him and then put her hands to her mouth like she was about to cry.
“What can I do?” she whispered.
“I don’t care what you do, just stop talking, he snapped.
Then the pounding took over and he heard nothing.
Emily walked into the bedroom and sat on the bed where she could see him.
“Shithead,” she said under her breath, “You’d better wake up in a much friendlier mood.”
She took her hair down from the towel and rubbed it out with her hands, watching him the whole time, her face reflecting both anger and disappointment. She dug through his dresser and found sweatpants and a t-shirt. She rolled the waist over until the pants stayed on her hips and then found a wash cloth in the bathroom cabinet. After wetting it, she folded it in thirds and laid it on his forehead.
Emily curled up on the end of the couch with a blanket from Ethan's bed and closed her eyes.
..ooOOoo..
Waking was much slower this time. His hair hurt. He could feel cold water on his forehead that occasionally dripped down the sides of his face. When he finally pried his eyes open, he sat up carefully and saw Emily on his bed. Ethan was glad she had stayed. He sat up completely and the cold wash cloth dropped into his lap.
> The little pile of terrycloth made him thankful for her, and it made him regret speaking to her in the way that he had. The light was back on in the room, but it didn’t hurt his eyes anymore. As he watched her, his heart full and feeling somewhat like a toad, she opened her eyes and looked over at him, brow furrowed and eyes blinking. Then she smiled slyly.
“Are you feeling better…asshole?”
He smiled, knowing she was joking, “Yes.”
“I’m going to blame your little outburst on that high fever you were running and let it slide. Do not let that happen again. It could be bad for your health…and the health of your scrotum.”
“I’m so sorry. These headaches are intense. They just come and go. Maybe I need something stronger than Tylenol.”
She nodded in agreement. “Yeah, maybe you do. Are they migraines?”
“I have no idea, never had one before, that I know of. Not like these. I’ll let you know if the feeling comes back so you don’t have to see that guy again.”
She rubbed his forehead, but her smile appeared strained. Ethan could tell that his outburst had taken a little luster off his previously sparkling finish. For that he was truly sorry.
“Well, I’m gonna go. I’ve been exposed to your plague long enough. You rest and I'll see you sometime tomorrow, okay?”
She checked his forehead one last time and he noticed that the feeling of both girlfriend and mother had gone. She was more like an emotionally detached nurse tending to a patient. It didn't make him happy.
“Right,” he said, “I’ll call Aaron tomorrow and work things out with him, I promise. And I’ll go back to the doctor if I’m not better.”
“Those are two great ideas. Both mine.”
She smirked a bit at that. He was glad for the small glimmer, but then she went back into clinical mode. She gathered her things and without saying another word, kissed him on the forehead, scratched the dog on the chin, and left. It was 9:00 PM—a good time to go to bed. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any dreams.
