The Demon Trials (The Demon Trials #1)

Chapter 3

Thanks to Mr. Carter, My bike is back to normal; he told me it was on the house. I take my bike down Fletcher Road where I head back to the Creep House—that warehouse. I soon ponder maybe that daydream was sort of a Thanks to Mr. Carter, My bike is back to normal; he told me it was on the house. I take my bike down Fletcher Road where I head back to the Creep House—that warehouse. I soon ponder maybe that daydream was sort of a vision. It showed me this place. It must be important.

I cross the broken metal fence and proceed forward. I view the two story, brick house with the outdated colors. Broken windows around the building; several metal beams fallen down. I soon see a gaping hole near the left side. I head to that hole where I enter inside. There I notice three bean bag chairs; a table full with weapons—knives, bottles, and open books. Inside the rusted interior, I notice near the old manager’s office, a figure is doing something. I walk closer until I feel a slash across from my face. I step back to touch right cheek bleeding from a cut.

I soon see a young female close to my age—her dark tan skin, black hair, tied in a straight ponytail with brown eyes. She is wearing a silver leather jacket and is carrying a miniature knife within a hand.

“Whoa! Whoa!” I extend my arms out trying to make sure she would not stab me. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing here?” She says in a fierce tone.

“I was coming to see Aris.” I answer.

“Why?” She asks.

“He knows something. I want to ask him about this journal some guy named Dantailon sends this to me.” I explain as I show her the dark brown, swede journal.

She looks at the journal hard, and then she jumps “You’re Caden!” She utters.

“How you know me?” I ask.

“From our friend.” She replies.

“What friend?” I ask.

“Who are you?!” A voice shouts out.

I turn around to see someone is coming out of the manager’s office; he is a middle aged man, wearing a black leather jacket, burgundy shirt, and charcoal pants. I look at his face having a cold pale skin, dark medium hair ending to his neckline, and a low cut beard.

“Caden!” I answer.

He pauses not saying a word.

“Do I know you?” I ask him.

Giving no response, his initial blank stare soon changes when he stares at me still not saying anything.

 “My name’s Mal.” He finally replies in a low crispy voice.

“Mal?” I said. “Do I know you?”

“You may not remember me, but I surely remembered you.” He replies.

“Remembered me, how?” I ponder.

“When you were a baby; I understand your mother is taking really good care of you.”

“She’s been a great mother to me.” I respond.

“Good.” He said.

“My mom never told me anything about you.” I say.

“I understand. It was under your father’s digression.” He says.

“My father?” I ask.

I never have seen my father. The only time I heard about him was when he was there when my mother gave birth to me. Sixteen years, I have always heard he has been living out of the country. No picture of him, so I do not know what he look liked. How this Mal person knows my father. He glances at my right hand. He sees I have the journal in my possession.