The Wicked - Epithimia Gia Athanasia

It has been nearly three months since I obtained the book from the old man's estate. For nearly three months I've spent deciphering its contents, its purpose. I knew it was of considerate power, to say the least. It seems that I had blatantly underestimated it. My dreams are now envenomed with its whisperings. It reveals to me wonderful things - horrid and sweet. Sordid yet blissful. Treasures never hidden. Secrets never sought after. Answers without questions. I leave my house more and more scarcely as time passes. I hear ominous thumping noises from within the walls. Wailing and sobbing from the basement, and somewhat unsettling laughter from the attic. I should probably be worried, but I have no time for such foolish sentimentality. What used to be my bedroom is now a pathway to a forest. At first when I opened the door after the continuing rustling sounds I sthought I was simply hallucinating. Delirious from the exhaustion. But there was the brisk smell of woods after rain. The tranquil unscathed from a pack of wolves, I dared not to venture there any further. I hear distant footsteps from my wardrobe. Echoing like in an ancient hallway.