Alan's POV
Portugal – One Month Ago
The sun was blazing like fire in the sky, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets. I had just left the central library, still lost in the horror novel I'd been reading. With the book tucked under my arm, I began descending the long stone staircase that led to the banks of the river.
That's when I saw him.
A man came stumbling out of a narrow alley, his body battered and bruised beyond recognition. He looked like he hadn't bathed in days—his clothes tattered, his eyes wild with fear. He was running for his life, screaming for help.
For a split second, I considered turning a blind eye. Who wouldn't? The situation screamed danger. But something deep in my gut—some strange, magnetic pull—refused to let me walk away.
I rushed over to him and offered my water bottle. He gulped it down like he hadn't seen water in days.
"Can you hide me? Just for a few minutes," he croaked.
"We should call the police. They'll—"
"No," he cut me off, urgency thick in his voice. "Listen, young man. I've already dragged too many people into this mess. I won't put your life at risk too. The police… the authorities… they're compromised. They're with them. I've been running for days. I don't have the strength to keep going. Just… somewhere. Anywhere I can hide for a little while."
His words sent chills down my spine. I had no idea what kind of chaos I was stepping into, but every instinct—every bit of logic—urged me to help. I spotted an abandoned blue car parked nearby and gestured toward it.
We crouched inside, ducking below the windows. The man's breath came in short, sharp bursts as he tried to calm himself.
"Maybe we should—"
"Listen carefully," he interrupted, eyes burning into mine. "I don't have much time. What I'm about to say isn't a fairy tale. This could turn the world on its head."
For a moment, I wondered if he was delusional. But there was something hauntingly sincere in his voice.
"Do you believe in the supernatural?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied truthfully. I always had.
He leaned in. "Have you heard of cursed books?"
"Sure… there are stories. Like the Devil's Bible," I said cautiously.
He nodded. "Yes. But I'm talking about one in particular. Ever heard of the Valley to the Hell book?"
(To the reader: This fictional book is inspired by the infamous Grand Grimoire. The name is altered to avoid offending anyone.)
"Valley to the Hell?" I repeated, the name alone sending shivers down my spine.
He gave me a solemn nod. "I'm Benjamin Hamsler. Archaeologist. Historian. Years ago, my team and I began researching ancient cursed texts to determine if they truly held power. After years of digging through myths and forgotten relics, we uncovered original copies of several books. Two years ago… we found the Valley to the Hell."
He paused, his eyes darkening.
"That book… it's unlike anything else. You name it—it can do it. The first half is pure evil: rituals to summon demons like Lucifer and Mammon, ways to open portals to Hell, methods to possess human souls. The second half deals with manipulation—of fate, of wealth, of death itself. Lottery wins, soul control… unspeakable things."
I stared at him, half in disbelief, half horrified.
"But when we found it, greed reared its ugly head. Some of our team betrayed us. For a few million dollars, they sold us out to a secret society."
"Who are they?" I asked, voice barely a whisper.
"The ones chasing me," he said bitterly. "A powerful, hidden order that thrives on black magic. They want to use the book to gain control, to twist the world into darkness. They've already stolen the second part—it's hidden in Vatican City, despite our best efforts. But the first part is still safe… for now. It's in New York."
He fixed his eyes on me. "If they get both halves, they'll perform a satanic ritual so catastrophic… I don't even want to imagine the consequences."
"What do you need me to do?" I asked, my pulse racing.
"You must find and destroy the first part," he said firmly.
"Where exactly is it?"
He pulled out a weathered envelope from his bag and handed it to me. "Take this to my niece—Serena. Her address is inside. Be cautious. Eyes are on our family. Always."
Suddenly, we heard hurried footsteps approaching.
"Go. Now!" he urged.
"I can't just leave you here!" I protested.
"You must. For the sake of the world."
He shoved me toward the door. I ran—my heart in my throat. And then I heard it—
A gunshot.
Then his scream.
I didn't dare look back.