Hey everyone, I need some advice on what to do with a family bible I found at my Grandfather’s house.

He died nearly a year ago in December. We’d always been close, and since my own father passed away years ago from cancer, the responsibility of dealing with Grandpa’s estate had fallen to me.

I arrived one snowy evening just before Christmas, armed with trash bags and cleaning supplies.

The house was exactly as I remembered it- dated, yet welcoming and familiar. I felt sad. This house was a happy place for me, and I had a lot of good memories here. I dreaded selling it.

The interior was cold from having the heat turned down, l so I decided to light a fire in the fireplace while I worked. The flames spread quickly on the dry kindling, and crackled cheerfully behind the grate.

I poured myself a bourbon from the decanter (thanks Grandpa) and turned to the bookshelves.

Grandpa had always loved to read, and his shelves were filled with books. I had been looking forward to going through his collection and actually planned on keeping a few for myself. I smiled when I pulled down weathered copies of East of Eden, Kim, and All the King’s Men.

But the next book I pulled down made me frown. It was a family bible, fragile with age. The leather spine cracked when I opened it and flipped its dry pages.

I felt guilty for tossing it, but this just wasn’t for me. I was an atheist, more or less, and it just felt odd to keep a worn out bible. I flipped back to the front cover, where there were handwritten notes- a list of births and deaths in the family going back almost two hundred years. I was surprised to see my own name at the bottom.

Taylor Smith, b.1991, d. 2036

I shivered. It was so bizarre. Why was I listed in the family bible with a future death date?

The thing gave me the creeps. I was suddenly very aware of how alone I was in the house, on a cold winter’s evening.

I continued to pilfer through the books, but the rest of the evening felt tainted by that discovery. I glanced nervously over at the coffee table, where the bible sat innocently.

I polished off the bourbon and decided to open it again. It gave me an odd feeling, even to hold it. Like it was full of power.

And there it was. My name, with a death date of 2036. I hadn’t imagined it.

It felt wrong. I thought about putting it in the trash bag, with the other unwanted books. Then I looked up at the fireplace.

I know I shouldn’t have, but I did. I put it in the fire. And I watched it burn slowly, the pages curling with flame.

After that I felt much better. I even laughed at how silly I’d been to let a book spook me.

I went to bed with a clear conscience.

The next day I moved into the bedroom. I bagged clothes and shoes, half of them for Goodwill and the rest for the dumpster. It was only when I turned to his nightstand that I saw it again.

There was the family bible, sitting on a stack of books.

I thought I was crazy. Surely I’d had too much to drink last night and I’d dreamed the whole thing up.

I was curious. I had to open it. And sure enough, there it was:

Taylor Smith, b.1991, d. 2033

I felt my chest tighten with fear. Hadn’t it said 2036 last night? In.. my dream? This was unnatural. I flung it into a trash bag, tied it up and hauled it outside to the growing pile of garbage near the curb.

It’s got to be a joke. A cruel, horrible joke, I thought to myself.

But who would do that? Grandpa loved me. He would never do something like this.

I continued cleaning and purging, but the rest of the day I felt uneasy. The other stuff in the house was so mundane. Ordinary. I saw nothing atypical at all.

On the third day, I went to the attic.

There was a lot of crap up there, dusty furniture and piles of old junk. Most of it was trash, and I dutifully hauled bag after bag to the curb.

I went through all of the furniture as well. None of it was empty. Piles of old china and knicknacks clogged the shelves. Ok, plates to goodwill, and the rest to the trash, I thought as I segregated the items.

An antique dresser sat in the corner of the room. I pulled out the drawers and inspected the contents. Family photographs, scrapbooks.

And of course, the bible.

My heart dropped when I saw it. I felt nauseated. My skin grew clammy.

Slowly, I pulled it out and opened the front cover.

Taylor Smith, b.1991, d. 2030

I felt frozen with fear. My pulse raced, and my ears rang.

I flipped the pages, and this time a letter fell out. I carefully unfolded the yellowed paper.

This book is not what it seems. It may appear as a bible, but it is something far older and darker. It has been in our family for many years, and it is our role to protect it from those who search for it, those who would abuse it, and those who would use it to harm us.

I made the mistake of telling your father. He tried to destroy it, and it cut his life short. Do not make the same mistake that he did.

Keep it secret, keep it safe. If you do, you will live a long, happy life like I did.

Love,

Grandpa

I was spooked. I gave up on cleaning for the day and took the bible and letter downstairs to the living room. I needed to think. I lit another fire and poured a drink.

After a few minutes I felt brave enough to read the letter again.

I sat for a long time in his armchair, staring at the flames deep in thought.

I messed up. I’d tried to destroy the book three times already. And now it had reduced my life expectancy even further.

Now I understood there was some reason for my dad’s life being cut short. When he’d been diagnosed with cancer four years ago it had come as a complete shock. He’d always been healthy. I didn’t know how I felt about this piece of information.

Whatever this was, it had scared him, and he’d tried to destroy it. He’d tried to prevent it from getting to me.

I contemplated the bible laying on the coffee table. I decided to open it and look at it, really examine it this time. I picked it up and held it in my lap, opening to a page at random. The translucent pages rustled beneath my fingertips.

Grandpa was right. It wasn’t what it seemed to be.

It was a bible, sure.. but when I tried to read it, the letters swam before my eyes and the text grew hot beneath my fingertips. I got a brief flash in my mind of something horrible-

nails driven behind fingernails, flesh bubbling over fire, a pierced eye leaking a bloody milk, rope twisting around a slim neck-

before I snapped back to the reality of the armchair and fire.

It took a minute for my heartbeat to slow and my breathing to return to normal. I took a shaky gulp of my bourbon. I’d flung the bible to the floor, where it rested open to a page in Ezekiel.

I don’t know where I went or who those people were, but I had a strange certainty that they were my ancestors.

Maybe the ones who hadn’t cared properly for the book?

I can’t explain it. I knew it was a bad idea as soon as the thought entered my head. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from jumping up and reaching for it again.

If I was right, I’d be able to talk to him one final time..

…the earth spun around me in a nauseating swirl before spitting me out onto a blackened plane of hard earth. I struggled to move, my limbs heavy. Smoldering air burned my lungs. I lifted my head from the dry soil to see destruction all around me, piles of corpses, mutilated and burnt. I was startled when one of them jerkily turned its head and screamed at me.

“Don’t come here again!” His wasted maw gasped out. “It will draw their attention!”

I think I was flung back to reality by my own shock more than anything.

I’d know that face anywhere. It was the face of my own father. I’d gone looking for him, and I’d found him. But knowing what happened to him was so much worse than not knowing. Ignorance truly is bliss.

Whoever “they” were, they had come for him when he hadn’t protected the book. And now, they would come for me. My days were numbered too.

I slipped from the armchair into the floor. Tears streamed down my face. I was both thrilled to be alive and tormented by the idea of my father in that hellish, astral plane.

I slipped the bible closed with my toe. Enough of that for one evening.

It took me a long time to fall asleep that night, even with the help of one of grandpa’s pain pills I found in the medicine cabinet.

I left the house the next day. I knew I’d be back after the holidays to keep working on the place. Honestly, I needed to get out of there and clear my head.

I took the bible with me.

As I drove down the snowy backroads to my house, I could feel its presence in the car. I shivered, and not from the cold. I think I’ll always be able to feel the dark energy now that I’ve visited the astral realm.

I hated being near that thing. But the hard reality was sinking in. I had to become the caretaker of the book. That’s what Grandpa did, and you know who I didn’t see in the astral hellscape? Grandpa.

I had to protect it, and I had to atone for my destructive actions any way I could.

When I finally pulled into my driveway I had a package from Amazon waiting for me. After unloading the car I heaved the box through the front door and brought it into my bedroom.

The small combination safe I’d ordered fit perfectly under my nightstand.

I could feel the whispers of power as I pulled the book out of my duffel bag. I carefully slid it into the safe, locked the door, and didn’t touch it for months.

It’s been nearly a year since my little discovery. I finished cleaning out Grandpa’s house in early spring, and had it sold by April. I didn’t find anything else exciting.

I’ve been good this year. I’ve really made an effort to do what Grandpa said in the letter. I’ve also been extra careful about being inconspicuous. No gun purchases, no strange library book checkouts, and no googling “demonic bibles” or anything else that might flag my internet history. I don’t want to do anything to attract the wrong kind of attention.

When I’m at home though, I always know it’s there. I can especially feel its presence when I lay down at night.

I try to ignore its call. No more trips to the astral plane. Not after what I’ve seen.

In fact, I’ll do anything to never see that place again. I try to block out what I saw there. It’s easier to do that than accept what happened to dad.

Lately though the whispers have been growing louder, and the feeling of dread in my house has been almost unbearable. I finally broke down and opened the safe last week.

When I flipped open to the cover page, I was surprised to see that the dates had changed once again- but this time for the better.

Taylor Smith, b.1991, d. 2040

The book seems pleased with its secure storage.

So really, the reason I’m posting today is to see if anyone out there has tips on what else I could do to protect it? I really want to show my dedication to keeping it hidden and safe.

I’m not ready to die, and I don’t want to meet the entities that live in the astral realm anytime soon..