Nana lived right across the street from the park. Her sturdy blue clapboard house was surrounded by mature maple trees and her front windows looked out over the baseball diamond and the swings. All day long, she listened to the kids’ voices sailing up through the air from the playground. Nana had lived in this house for over fifty years. Her only son, Izzy’s father, had been born and raised here.

When Izzy pulled into the driveway, Nana was on the back deck, hanging clothes on the line. Still going strong at eighty-one, Nana stayed fit by walking her two rescued greyhounds three times a day, keeping up her volunteer work at the community kitchen, and hosting the neighbourhood book club, The Rowdy Readers Rendezvous, in her living room every Sunday.

Nana loved an opportunity to feed people, so when she saw Izzy coming, she dropped her laundry basket and hurried over to wrap Izzy in a hug before ushering her inside for pie and coffee. Then, Nana sat down next to Izzy and watched her eat.

“Now, where’s that girlfriend of yours?”

Izzy looked down at her forkful of cherry pie.

“About that. We. We broke up.”
“Oh, I see. Well, never mind that. I wasn’t crazy about that one, anyway. Fake smile. Don’t you worry. There’s someone good out there for you.”

Izzy put her fork down.

“Nana. I’ve been having these dreams.”

“Oh. Like scary dreams? Like nightmares? Tell me all about it, darling.”

“Well, sort of like nightmares. I don’t remember much except that when I have the dream, I can’t move. I was thinking it might be… the Old Hag.”

Nana was silent for a moment. Then she nodded quietly.

“Yes. It’s possible. Your great-grandfather was plagued by the Hag. Sometimes he couldn’t sleep for days.”
“So, what is it?”
“There’s theories, of course. The scientists say it has to do with the chemicals in the brain… your Great Aunt Hilda, now, on your father’s side, she was a psychologist and she used to say it was a response to bad experiences, like feelings of being helpless, you know. But out where I come from, they call these visitations.”
“Visitations from what?”
“More like from whom. They say these are otherworldly visitations.”
“Like ghosts?”
“Ghosts, beings, no one knows for sure.”

Nana looked off over Izzy’s head for a moment, then stood and turned towards the basement door.

“Come down with me, Izzy? I might have something that can help.”

The basement had a dirt floor, with old boards laid over the places where you were meant to walk. Floor to ceiling shelves lined the cement walls, and cobwebs hung in every corner. The shelves were stuffed with tattered cardboard boxes, old suitcases, holiday decorations, sports equipment, and garden tools. Nana pulled the string that turned on the bare light bulb and led Izzy to the farthest corner of the basement. She pointed her finger up to a box on the top shelf.

“There. Grab that for me, would you, honey?”

Izzy had to climb up on the lower shelves to reach the box. She lifted it down in a cloud of dust. Izzy put the box on the work table underneath the grimy basement window. Nana opened the box, pulled out an object, and carefully placed it on the table.

Izzy didn’t know what she was looking at. It was a piece of plywood, about one foot square, with rusty nails, corroded fishing hooks, serrated knife blades, and jagged pieces of metal sticking out from one side. There was a strap attached to one edge of the wood.

“It’s your great-grandfather’s hag board. He used to wear it around his neck, with this strap, see. It would lie across his chest and keep the Hag away.”
“Are you serious? You want me to wear this? I could get tetanus from this thing. Not to mention impale myself.”
“You only wear it when you’re sleeping.”
“Nana.”
“Maybe you could hang it on your bed. Here, let’s get it upstairs.”

Izzy left the house a while later with the hag board in a new box, and a bag full of things Nana had grabbed from her pantry—two loaves of homemade bread, half of the cherry pie, assorted fruits and vegetables, and a big can of coffee. Nana walked her out to the car.

“Now, you put up that board! And call me tomorrow.”

When she got home, Izzy left the hag board in the box and shoved it underneath the bed, figuring that was as close as she wanted to get to the thing. After a shower, a cup of tea, and a short journal entry about her day, she got into bed. She lay in the dark listening to the buzzing of the refrigerator. There was the occasional rumble of vehicles passing by on the road out front, but it was too quiet. She didn’t like it. She switched on the light and dragged the box from under the bed. She lifted out the hag board and set it on top of the covers.

It was an intimidating thing, built to stab and slice. The chipped wood and the rust on the blades made it look all the more sinister. She gingerly picked it up by its edges and hung it on one of the bedposts by its strap. She turned the jagged side away from her, so she wouldn’t accidentally graze herself in her sleep, and got back under the covers. Before too long, she felt herself drifting off.

***

The moon was full. Again. Izzy found herself in that place, suspended between the waking and sleep states, stuck inside a little sliver of consciousness. There, for a moment, she could see into both worlds. This was where it happened. First the whirring—it came from far away and drew closer and closer until it was a deafening noise right above her bed. It was so imposing, so huge, yet she couldn’t see it. Then, there was a flash and it was as if a laser beam or some other kind of energetic force hit her body and pressed her to the mattress.

Izzy was frozen. The only thing she could see was the full moon in the window. She struggled against the paralyzing forces holding her down, and tried to open her mouth, but she was unable to control even that small part of herself. Tears stung her eyes as she strained to turn her head towards the hag board, but suddenly the bed was shaking, then lifting from the floor. The bed shuddered violently before becoming still. It took a moment for Izzy to understand that the bed was floating in midair. Izzy fought for breath, the terror crushing her chest.

The moon was gone. There was only bright light. There were people. Beings. Small beings. All around her. Izzy realized they must also be suspended in the air, just like the bed, and even in her frightened state she thought that it was impossible. Ridiculous.

None of this is real.

One of the beings came closer. They hung above Izzy, and peered at her. The being had a massive cranium, with huge bottomless eyes that took up most of their face. There was no nose to speak of, and only the suggestion of a tiny mouth. The mouth curled upwards at the corners, fixed in a perpetual smile.

The being was very slight, except for the head, and looked almost like a doll. In another place and time, the being might have been almost cute, even with their strange elongated fingers, and extra long thumb. Izzy knew that the smiling mouth was a mask meant to hide what was behind their eyes. Izzy could see there was malevolence there.

This is just a dream.

The being sprayed something in Izzy’s face, and she felt herself grow numb. Then, the being was holding an object, like a glowing egg, and waved it in front of Izzy’s eyes. Suddenly, Izzy heard them speak. Or rather, she heard their thoughts. The being spoke right into Izzy’s brain, projected their thoughts into the centre of her mind. The presence of the being inside of Izzy’s mind was crushing. Violating. The inflicted thoughts were not in any language, but Izzy understood them, nonetheless.

You will come with us now.

The beings were gone in an instant, and the bed dropped to the floor with a colossal bang. Izzy was left hanging in midair. Her blanket fell away, and she drifted towards the window. Struggling was impossible. She passed through the window glass like it wasn’t there, and then she was outside, in the cool night air. She could feel the wetness of the grass and the green of the garden wafting up on the night breeze. She was defying gravity, being lifted up, up into the night sky, above the rooftops and chimneys, up towards a blinding white light. Izzy couldn’t see, couldn’t process what was happening. Her brain felt like it was on fire, her thoughts giving over to bedlam.

The light grew more intense and as she got closer Izzy could see its source—a massive object that hung above the neighbourhood, a black sphere that blocked out the stars and pulsed with a low whirring sound and bright lights. She was pulled towards the sphere and just before she was about to crash into it, an aperture appeared on the surface. Its blades opened with a great scratching sound and Izzy was sucked inside.

Izzy woke up on a mushy floor. It was cold. And dark. It was as if the outside world no longer existed. It took a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light, but when her vision focused she could see that she was inside of a featureless room. It was unlike any room she had seen before, everything was round. The wall arced up into a large dome above her head. There were round portals that appeared and disappeared on the wall, but where they led, their purpose, she couldn’t ascertain. Like deep, black pits, it looked as though they went nowhere.

Izzy had done survival training when she was a teenager. She remembered that in a traumatic situation the first orders of business are to assess damage, attend to injuries, and gather resources. There was another rule, but for a moment she couldn’t think of it.

“What was it? What was it?”

Speaking out loud helped Izzy to orient herself.

“Oh, right. The fourth rule. Defend yourself.”

She tried to turn over and her head began to throb. She was dazed. Izzy stared at the ceiling and gently moved her feet and legs, her hips and then flexed her core. She lifted her arms over her head and turned her neck. Nothing appeared to be broken. She slowly sat up. Apart from the headache she seemed to be mostly unharmed.

It was then that Izzy noticed the smell. It was something like the smell of cheese, but with a hint of dirt, and more fermented. She took a minute to assess and soon realized that it was coming from the walls themselves, as if they were made of organic material.

It was a while before Izzy could stand, but when she did she used her hands to feel around the dark space. The round portals on the walls continued to appear and disappear, sometimes seeming to move in a sequence. After watching the patterns for a time, Izzy realized that these weren’t portals, but graphics. Perhaps this was some kind of writing. Or a signal. Izzy took a step back from the wall and tried to interpret the patterns of the circles more deeply.

There was movement to her left. Izzy spun around and standing in front of her was the being from the night before. Izzy went cold with dread. The being stood just over three feet tall and was wearing a thick black catsuit, but with a turtleneck.

“A turtleneck. So odd. You wouldn’t think an alien would be wearing a turtleneck.”

Izzy said this out loud. The being did not respond, but just stood there, staring. The fear was doubled by the absurdity of the situation, and Izzy felt faint.

“I want to go home. You have no right to keep me here.”

Once again the being did not speak. Izzy knew they were not capable of speech because their mouth didn’t open. Perhaps it wasn’t a mouth at all. Perhaps this was a mask. Izzy spoke again.

“Where am I?”

This time the being responded by booming their thoughts into Izzy’s brain. She was pushed back by the force of it.

You are in the presence of greatness.

“I don’t think so.”

That’s all Izzy managed to say before she fell to the floor and blacked out.