Skycastle, the Demon, and Me: Book 1 in the Skycastle series

by Andy Mulberry

  Large black letters on the car spelled:

  Get-A-Demon—DELIVERY.

  If they continued to make such a booming racket they’d wake my parents. Then I remembered, they had left in the early morning hours for a half-day trip to the city to buy groceries for the upcoming weeks.

  Excellent.

  Wearing only my PJs and no shoes, I ran out of my room and down the cold stone stairs to the front door.

  The knocking had stopped. Outside, a car was crunching noisily over the gravel.

  I opened the door and peered outside. The delivery truck was gone.

  But there was something else instead.

  It was a crate.

  It sat on my doorstep.

  It was about triple the size of a shoebox. The crate was made of darkly polished wood, and it gleamed in the early morning sunlight.

  On top of it was a white envelope. Addressed to me! Maybe the bill. At the front of the crate was a silver inlay with an intricate pattern that reminded me of a mandala.

  I shot a quick glance around.

  All was quiet, no one to be seen. I doubted anyone had noticed the truck or the arrival of the crate.

  What if I left it sitting out there? Maybe the truck would come back and collect it again. Maybe if I ignored it, the crate would go back to hell by itself?

  Or maybe it would grow little legs and a huge mouth and start chasing me around.

  I decided to take it back to my room.

  With both hands, I picked the crate up, and then shut the front door with my foot. I climbed the stairs up to my room and set it on the floor.

  The crate wasn’t as heavy as I’d thought it would be, but I still felt too hot after carrying it up the stairs. Changing from PJs into something more “meeting-a-demon” appropriate, I pondered my next steps.

  I tried to open the lid, but it wouldn’t move. Usually, crates opened with keys, right? But I had no key and there was no keyhole.

  “Open,” I commanded.

  Nothing.

  “Abracadabra!”

  Nothing.

  Maybe another magical word?

  “Open, please?”

  Nope.

  I searched carefully for a hidden mechanism. When I touched the mandala-like inlay, something shifted beneath my fingertips. The inlay moved away and apart, giving a clackedy-clack sound.

  There was another sound as if air was sucked into a tight space, then a belching, squelching kind of noise.

  The crate’s lid opened with a snap.

  In front of me, something unfurled from the crate in a whoosh of shadowy smoke and an eruption of flames with black, tornado-like swirls.

  “Whoa!” I jumped backwards.

  Sweat was dripping down my forehead, the room suddenly horribly hot. I moved away from the coiling knot of flames.

  With my back pressed against the wall, I watched the smoke getting thicker and darker and more solid. Arms and legs stuck out of the smoke and…a head bathed in fire?

  The smoky shape shook itself and amber sparks shot into the air. It smelled distinctly like a freshly blown out candle.

  Then the sparks were gone, the room temperature back to normal and someone stood in front of me, looking like…

  Well, the demon looked like a normal boy of twelve or so. My height, a mop of black hair on his head. He wore dark pants and a dark t-shirt. He held a book in one hand. On a slim, long chain around his neck dangled a silver skeleton key.

  Remarkably normal.

  He could have been one of my friends, if it hadn’t been for the color of his skin.

  He was a deep, dark red.

  And I swore he had tiny horns on his head beneath his black hair. If you squinted, you could just see their pointy ends sticking out.

  “You’re a demon,” I said, my knees a little weak, I admit.

  “You’re a demon,” the demon said, imitating my voice to perfection. “Your observational skills,” he continued in his own, quite ordinary voice, “are astounding.”

  “Uh, thanks?”

  He looked at me, scowling. “What am I doing here? And where am I doing it?”

  “Welcome to Greencastle,” I said, remembering my manners. “I’m Jack Harper. I ordered you over the phone.”

  “A castle? Oh, great.”

  He looked around my room with a raised eyebrow as if he was judging me and my home and not liking what he saw.

  “As exciting as it is to meet you,”—another demon scowl—“I think I’ll carry on with my reading.”

  He pulled up a chair from my desk, sat down, opened his book and began reading.

  “Disturb me and I’ll burn the ears off your head.”

  “Uh huh,” I said, watching for signs that he would make good on his threat. The silver skeleton key stood out starkly against his dark shirt.

  “Is that key around your neck for the crate?” I asked.

  “No.” Without looking up from his book, he took the key and let it slide inside his shirt and out of sight.

  Guess he didn’t want to talk about it.

  Surprisingly, I felt more calm, my heart not racing anymore. There was something about a boy holding a book that wasn’t too frightening, no matter his skin color or horns on head. Also, he wore no shoes. How could you be afraid of someone with red toes?

  When he did nothing more than turn a page, I asked, “What are you reading?”

  He hesitated. “History book.”

  I didn’t buy it.

  There was a kraken-like creature with too many tentacles stamped onto the leathery book cover. Whatever he was reading, I doubted that he would tell me the truth.

  The book in his hands caught fire.

  It was a spontaneous combustion. In two seconds flat, the book was reduced to ashes.

  I’d seen stranger things just a few moments ago, so I wasn’t too worried.

  But the demon stared dumbfounded at the small pile of ash at his feet. He muttered something about ‘jinxed’ under his breath.

  “Guess that was unintentional?” I inquired with an air of disinterest but secretly dying to know more.

  “Yes,” he said, spreading the ashes with his foot as if in thought. “Too bad.”

  “Why?”

  “I had been studying that book for thirteen months now,” he said, looking at me.

  “All that time in the crate?” I gasped. “You were locked away in there?”

  “Not a big deal.” He stretched his arms above his head with a big yawn. A swirl of smoke danced through the air. “I must admit, I was getting tired of reading that book anyway.”

  “You were reading the same book for over a year?”

  “I know it by heart now.”

  “Demons have a heart?”

  “Figure of speech,” he said, turning his nose upward, scowling. “You seem really slow.”

  “Listen…” I realized I couldn’t just call him demon. “Do you have a name?”

  “I’m Brinkloven Crowley the Third.”

  “What kind of name is that?”

  “A name for someone who can turn you into a torch and set you afire.”

  “Can I call you Brink?”

  “If you want me to burn the nose of your face, sure.”

  I annoyed him big time.

  “Brinkloven Crowley the Third,” I said slowly. “That’s a mouthful.”

  “I can fill your mouth with worms if you like. That’s a mouthful.”

  “It’s just not a cool name for a demon.”

  “What’s temperature got to do with one’s name?” Brink asked coolly, clearly clueless. “What’s a cool name?”

  “Maybe Hellbane the Terrible?”

  For a second, the demon seemed speechless.

  “Hellbane,” Brink repeated slowly. “Terrible.”

  “It’s the perfect name for you as the haunted tour attraction.”

  “Haunted tour? What do you think I am? A ghost?” His mouth twisted as if he had bitten into a lemon.

  Th
at gave me pause.

  A ghost would have been more practical, I had to admit. Ghosts and castles sort of went hand in hand. But I hadn’t found a phone number to order a ghost; I’d found a number to order an exceptionally hostile demon.

  “Well, you’re not a ghost, but you’re supposed to be the main attraction for Greencastle’s haunted tours. That’s why I ordered you,” I said and added a hasty, “Please.”

  “Don’t think so,” Brink said. “I’m not a circus attraction. Now be quiet or I’ll scorch your fingernails until they fall off.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  OR

  TRICKSY LIKE A DEMON

  Brink wasn’t a proper demon.

  Not that I knew how a proper demon should be, but he wouldn’t be like Brink. What was I going to do with a weird red demon boy with horns on his head who refused to be helpful?

  I thought hard, gnawing at my fingernails happy that they hadn’t fallen off…yet.

  Then a brilliant idea struck me.

  “Brink, I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

  “And what kind of offer would that be?” Brink asked, back to pushing the ash on the floor around with his foot. “And it better be good or I’ll roast your teeth like corn on the cob.”

  I closed my mouth, considering the risk.

  Not even a demon could set teeth afire. Teeth were like bone, they couldn’t burn.

  Should I point out the flaw in his threat?

  Then again, if demons could make teeth burn, I didn’t want to find out first hand. I shook my head and tried to focus on the important things.

  Right now, I had to play my cards right.

  I gave him the entire story of Greencastle.

  I explained about the visitors. I told him about the tours in the castle. I told him that people would love to see a demon. I told him that people would pay money to see him being all demony.

  “…and then we can repair the roof and buy carpets for the stone floors and eat pot roast every day.” I finished my speech with a grin and a hungry rumble in my stomach.

  “You want me to trick people?” Brink raised his eyebrows, which were, unsurprisingly, a darker shade of red like his skin. “You want to scare visitors to your home? Is that why I had the misfortune to land on your doorstep?”

  “Well, yes…” It sounded so mean when he said it. “Isn’t being scary what comes naturally to demons anyhow?”

  “If it came naturally to me I wouldn’t have been in that crate in the first place,” Brink said, rolling his eyes.

  “So you didn’t volunteer to be in a crate?”

  “Why would anyone agree to be locked up in a crate?”

  Good point.

  “My brother,” Brink said, “Krakenheart Crowley the Second, locked me up and sold me to the delivery service.”

  “Why?” As someone who’d always wanted a brother, I thought that was the height of rudeness.

  Brink shrugged. “We had an argument.”

  “But you’re free now!”

  “Of sorts,” he said. “I’m stuck here.”

  “But I let you out of the crate. You can do whatever wherever now,” I said, for a moment forgetting my mission of turning him into the star of my haunted castle tours.

  “Doesn’t quite work that way,” Brink mumbled and shook his head as if I was too daft to understand. “And it’s none of your nosy business anyway.”

  For a moment, we stared at each other. Measured each other up, so to speak. I was just a human and he was a demon.

  “Yes,” he said as if reading my mind. ”I could turn you as crispy and crumbly as burned toast.”

  “But you’re not? Turning me into toast, I mean.”

  He gave me a cunning look, smirking until sharp, very white teeth showed in an extra-wide grin.

  “I might. I just might.”

  He had twice the teeth that one might expect in a demon’s mouth.

  “And you can’t leave, even after I let you out of the crate?”

  “I can’t. Doesn’t mean I have to help you though.” Brink folded his arms. “Being the attraction in a haunted castle tour sounds like a waste of time. I could be reading instead.”

  Now I had him right where I wanted him.

  “Think about it.” I stood up and walked to the door. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  “Where are you going?” Brink asked.

  “I have stuff to do in the library.”

  I held my breath.

  Would it work?

  “You have a library? Here in the castle?” Brink asked in a hushed voice.

  “Yes.” I grinned.

  “More than ten books?” He gave me a stern yet somewhat excited look.

  “We have the biggest library in the county.”

  The library was full of old leather books, all pretty boring if you asked me. Just a lot of dust and spiders. My dad was proud of it though. I’d never found any books interesting enough to read.

  “You can spend all day and night in there—if you help me with the haunted castle tours.”

  “Deal,” he said.

  Obviously, Brink had a different idea about interesting.

  We shook hands, mine clammy with nervous enthusiasm, his almost as hot as coals.

  As if he were lost in thought, Brink’s hand moved to his chest. He touched the skeleton key hiding beneath his shirt.

  It was as if he made sure it was still there.

  Then he noticed my curious gaze.

  “Don’t even think about asking,” he said. “I want to see the library.”

  In my eagerness to run to the library with him, I did not notice how the entire castle shook and shivered and shuddered for the split second of a split second.

  A spider fell from of the wall, wondering what had happened.

  The chains in the dungeons rattled and clanked.

  The owls took flight in the middle of the day, bewildered.

  And like a beast that was slowly, ever so slowly, waking from the deepest sleep, the castle shook again.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  OR

  WHERE NO DOOR SHOULD BE

  The next day, after breakfast, I ran to fetch Brink for our first haunted tour together.

  Yesterday I had shown him the library. He’d spent all day and night in there, didn’t even come out to eat or drink or sleep. This was handy, because it kept him from bumping into my parents who would surely wonder about a red boy with horns living among us.

  When I opened the door to the library, I couldn’t spot him anywhere.

  “Tourists are here,” I called. “It’s time for a tour, Brink!”

  He wasn’t sitting in one of the big armchairs. There was a pile of books, the top one flipped open, stacked beside the chair as if someone had been reading there.

  He wasn’t in the alcove beneath the window, and he wasn’t in the small bathroom or sitting at one of the reading desks.

  I searched between the bookshelves. I searched every row twice, beginning to wonder if he was messing with me and hiding on purpose.

  Where was Brink?

  About to give up, walking out of the library to search the rest of castle, I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

  At the very back of the library, behind the many rows of bookshelves, was a door.

  A door?

  I turned around, unsure if my eyes were just playing a trick on me.

  But there it was.

  A door.

  I froze, staring at it. There was a door in the wall where none had been before. It was closed. It was impossible. Not the closed part, the existing part.

  Even if there was a room I’d never seen before, the door would lead straight through the castle walls into the open. You’d fall three stories if you stepped through the wall.

  I stepped closer, seeing the door wasn’t closed after all. It stood open a crack.

  Sliding my hand between the door and the frame, I pushed it open further.

  I wasn’t sure what I ex
pected. Maybe it was a window shaped like a door, which I for some strange reason had never noticed. But when I opened the door more fully, I didn’t get a view at the outside castle walls and green hills and blue sky.

  I looked inside another library.

  The smell of dust, leather bindings and parchment hit my nose. The room was lit by torches mounted against the walls, their flames not moving. The air stood still.

  No windows to offer a view to the outside, just stone walls. Yet there was still enough light to count about half a dozen rows of bookshelves. The back of the room was hazy and fog-like.

  The floor was covered by a thick, dark carpet with a pattern of ever changing geometric shapes. It made me dizzy looking at it.

  When I gazed up from the moving shapes, I stared straight into Brink’s dark eyes.

  He made a motion with his hand.

  A ball of air hit me in the chest. I landed on my butt, several feet away from the door. The air had felt so hot, I swear it singed my eyebrows.

  Brink closed and then locked the door with the skeleton key he wore on the chain around his neck.

  The door was gone.

  “Do you have milk?” he asked, slipping the key back beneath his shirt. “I wouldn’t mind some for breakfast.”

  “What was that?” I rose to my feet, my backside hurting, but otherwise I was fine. “Where did the door go?”

  Brink gave me his best poker-face stare. “What door?”

  “The door with the library behind!”

  “No idea what you are talking about.” He shrugged.

  How dare he pretend that nothing had happened!

  I pushed past him and touched the wall. I patted along the cool stones, trying to find something that felt like an opening. Rough stone edges and mortar beneath my fingers, I searched for a keyhole but came up short.

  I glanced at his neck with the silver chain.

  “That key…how does it work? Where does the room come from? What did you read in there? Can you show me?”

  Brink scowled. “Isn’t it time for a tour?”

  I groaned. “Yes, it is.”

  I was late for the tour already.

  Visitors had shown up for a tour and had already paid the entrance fee. Mom, in the middle of a laundry run, had gratefully accepted my offer to be today’s guide. All I had to do was greet the visitors in the entrance hall and show them around.