Everything began when I was cleaning my grandfather's attic after his passing.
The old house had been gifted to me after I got into a good university—a reward of sorts. It was a family home my father had inherited but never used. The place was easily a few centuries old. A groundskeeper had been maintaining the yard and exterior all this time, but the inside? Not so much.
Today was the day the property was officially transferred to me, and since it was mine now, I decided to dive straight into cleaning it.
Why you may ask? To earn money of course, there were countless of things to be sold.
I wasn't interested in keeping the furniture, so I wanted to stuff it up in the attic. That old, stuffy place already had its fair share of junk.
"Hell, I'll need to hold a garage sale or something to get rid of all this... crap. Maybe some of it's worth something. This damn house is a few hundred years old—maybe there's an antique up here worth thousand."
That was my thought as I started rummaging through the clutter, dust mask on, my phone's flashlight cutting through the darkness.
Just shifting a box sent dust bunnies flying everywhere.
The ceiling was covered in cobwebs—some of them still housing live spiders.
I ignored them, swatting the webs away as I continued scanning for anything of value.
Old paintings... maybe. Toys, balls, and so much random junk. I checked over everything, but nothing caught my interest. Honestly, I was close to giving up—moving all of this would take days.
Then I saw it.
A small bookshelf, oddly covered in a towel, tucked away in the far corner.
I moved closer and noticed something strange—a faint pulse of light, trying to push through the fabric, which had long since begun to tear from age.
As I reached out, I felt an odd resistance. The cloth wasn't just draped over the shelf—it felt stuck, almost glued in place. And wrapped around it was a silver string, dull but clearly unusual.
"What the hell is this?"
I pulled harder, determined to get the cloth and string off, until both suddenly gave out—at the exact same time. They crumbled in my hands, disintegrating into dust as if they had aged a hundred years in a heartbeat.
"Weird… now what the hell is that pulsing light?" I muttered. "Don't tell me there are live wires up here. I thought this place didn't even have electricity…"
It was strange, but the glow wasn't coming from wires—it was coming from the old books.
Three rows on the shelve worth of them.
Each book looked ancient—thick, worn, and bound in faded leather like they had been written hundreds of years ago. And yet, each one glowed faintly with a soft, unnatural light.
"Jackpot," I said under my breath. "I'm sure someone would pay good money for these old-ass books… I hope so, at least."
I still needed tuition money. My father had only given me the house, telling me to sell it if I needed funds for school.
But why sell a house that was worth at least five times the cost of tuition?
Sure, I could've bought a car, maybe upgraded my life a bit—but I'd never afford another house this size again.
This place even came with a barn and a whole yard big enough for hundreds of trees. It was a huge upgrade from the cramped apartment I grew up in, all because it was close to my father's job.
Still, tuition didn't pay itself, so I started inspecting the books more closely.
At first glance, they seemed like old fantasy stories.
But the weird part was the glow—each one radiated faintly, like a toy with a half-dead battery. I reached for one, but it wouldn't budge.
Frowning, I read the title. Succubus—etched in curling, pink-glowing letters.
"What the hell is this even about?"
I scanned the shelves again. Each book had a strange title.
They each pulsed with their own distinct color, as if every one of them radiated a different aura.
None of it made sense.
As my hand shifted to the nearest book beside the one I couldn't pull earlier, it suddenly began to glow—this time in a deep, pulsing light red.
I recoiled instinctively. Something felt... off.
My heart started racing. My stomach twisted with a strange emptiness, like I hadn't eaten in days.
I turned to the next book, just to the right. It also glowed darker shade of crimson, but this one had a different effect—my throat went dry, painfully parched, as though I hadn't had a drop of water in years.
"What the hell…"
I reached back to the first book—the one that wouldn't budge—and touched it again. A sudden wave of dizziness hit me. My body flushed with warmth, almost like… like I was in love.
Still, it didn't move.
"What the hell is this…"
With hesitation, I tugged lightly on the second one—the one that made my stomach ache with hunger.
The moment I did, a shiver ran down my spine.
Something responded.
I let go immediately and glanced down, startled. Yep. My pants confirmed it—my "son" was up.
I took a breath, then another. Was I going crazy? Maybe I'd spent too long in the attic.
Maybe mold spores or dust were messing with my head. Hallucinations, right?
But I couldn't walk away. My curiosity wouldn't let me.
Gripping the book again, I pulled—not with hesitation this time, but with the urge to know.\
It glowed brighter as I tugged, my thoughts consumed by the need to open it.
To see.
That's when everything started.
The moment my old life ended.
And a new one began—one filled with hardships, not only with hunger, but with pleasure.