The attic had always been the part of the house Alex avoided. It wasn't the dust or the boxed-up junk that turned him off—it was the smell.
Old air clung there like a forgotten library, dry and stale, tinged with mildew and the faint sweetness of long-dead insects.
The single bare bulb hanging from its cord swung gently when he shuffled inside, throwing slices of light across cardboard, trunks, and stacked furniture.
He rubbed a damp palm across his jeans. "This is gonna take forever," he muttered. His mom had left the chore to him—clean out Grandpa's things before classes start again. Nothing glamorous in that.
Grandpa never threw anything away. Newspapers, broken typewriters, jars of screws he never used.
The guy practically buried himself in his own crap. What makes me think I'll find anything worth keeping? I should be in my room, gaming or… watching something better.
Instead I'm stuck sweating like a pig, sorting through expired calendars.
He lifted one box lid, frowned at brittle yellow pages stacked to the brim, then dropped it back. "Worthless."
Another box: photographs of strangers—relatives maybe—but most so faded they looked like ghosts.
By the third, his breath was ragged and his shirt clung to his back. He wiped his forehead with a wrist.
Then in the far corner, half-hidden behind an old dresser, he noticed it: a long oak trunk. Unlike the other junk, this wasn't weak cardboard or mildew-stained plastic.
This thing looked intentional. Oak wood dark as mahogany, iron corners braced like armor. A heavy latch sat across the front, holding a broken padlock.
Weird. This doesn't look like Grandpa's style. Everything else up here is trash—why hide something like this so carefully?
Alex crouched down, fingertips brushing the trunk's surface. The wood was cool despite the stifling attic heat. When he pulled it into view, the scrape of metal feet against the floor echoed strangely louder than it should have.
"Alright… let's see what's worth all the trouble."
The lid resisted at first, then gave with a metallic groan. Inside wasn't the hoarder's clutter he expected—it was black cloth folded with care. Alex pulled the fabric aside, revealing a single object nestled like treasure.
A ring. Thick, forged from black metal. At first it seemed simple, but when he shifted it under the attic light, he swore faint lines—like veins—glimmered red within.
His stomach twisted. It looked wrong. Too alive.
Jesus, it's hot. Why is it so hot? It's not even sitting in the sun. Looks like something from one of those cheap fantasy games, or a prop you'd buy at a convention booth… but no, this thing feels real. Heavy. Breathing? Nah, I'm just fried from the heat.
But… it's kind of beautiful. Creepy, yeah. But beautiful. Something about it makes me want to slide it on—just to see how it feels.
He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. Grandpa didn't exactly strike him as a wizard or devil-worshiper, but if you found weird jewelry hidden away in some old chest, common sense said don't wear it.
Still, his hand moved before his brain agreed. The ring slipped over his knuckle, and suddenly it fit—perfectly snug, perfectly natural—like it had been made for him.
That was when the attic shifted.
A pulse bloomed through his veins, a faint vibration singing in his bones. He gasped, bracing a palm against a stack of boxes.
"Holy shit…"
At first he thought maybe the bulb overhead was flickering, but no—the air itself felt different. Dense. Charged. Static tingled along his skin.
And beneath it all, a voice whispered
"Mine."
"Who said that?" Alex's head whipped around. Nothing but shadows and dust.
He clawed at the ring, tugging hard. It didn't move. His skin reddened as if the metal had fused.
"Come on, off—"
It's not budging. What the hell is this? Calm down. Okay, maybe it's just stuck. Fingers swell, right? Nothing supernatural. God, I hate horror movies for making me even think that word.
…but I heard something. Clear as day. Was that my own head? Maybe dehydration. Attics aren't exactly air-conditioned. Yeah. That's it. Drink some water before I scare myself into a stroke.
He shoved the trunk closed, shoved the ring hand into his pocket like ignoring it would help. The whisper quieted, but the pulse never left.
That night, the dream came.
He wasn't in his room anymore. Satin sheets wrapped around naked skin, though he'd gone to bed in a T-shirt. The air smelled of heavy incense—sweet, spiced, clinging to his lungs. A faint glow lit red curtains swaying, shadows stretched tall across the walls.
Something warm pressed against his back. A breath, hot against the shell of his ear.
A woman's voice, smooth and dripping sin, "You wear it."
Alex jolted, trying to pull away. "Who—who the hell's there?"
Hands slid across his chest, fingers sharp enough to scratch but soft enough to tease.
"The ring," she purred. "At last, someone bold enough to claim it."
Alex squirmed. He could feel her breasts pressing against him, her lips hovering too close. "This—this is a dream," he said, voice shaking.
"Perhaps," she whispered. "Or perhaps you're already mine."
"I don't even know who you are!" He tried to push her arms away, but his body felt heavy, pinned by silken weight.
She chuckled low, a sound like velvet pulling tight. "You don't need to know me yet. Only this, You are chosen. By him. By the Seduction Demon Lord. And through me, you will claim what he once claimed."
"Seduction… what?"
Her lips brushed his jaw, and goosebumps broke across his skin. "Women's will, boy. Their bodies. Their hearts. With that ring, no one resists. Not neighbor. Not friend. Not family. All fall, all surrender, all open to you."
His body betrayed him. Heat spiked hard, shame twined with sudden lust. The words vibrated deep inside his chest, and worse—his cock stirred under the silk.
"Stop—" he rasped, though his voice cracked.
Her laughter slithered through the room. "Stop? No. Soon you'll beg me to push harder. I am only the whisper… but soon, I'll come for the rest."
Alex's head spun. He twisted to glimpse her—but her form rippled, a shadowy outline of curves, gleaming eyes like copper fire cutting through the haze.
Then her tongue traced his neck, and the dream broke.
He woke drenched in sweat, sheet tangled around his ankles. The ring burned faint-red in the dark, pulse matching his own pounding heart.
His hand curled around it, trembling.
"God help me… what the hell did I just put on?"