Hidden {Book 1} IN EDITING

Chapter 1

I was already having a hard time going to sleep, and the fact that my parents sounded like they were in a mid-fight didn't help. Since the beginning of the summer holidays, I have been having the same dream every now and then. Well, I guess dreams don't make you wake up in cool sweats with an eerie feeling.

Once I had fallen into a deep sleep, I found myself in this low class, old graveyard. Yet, in the middle of all the small headstones was the life size tombstone. Carved into the head stone were the names Thomas Riddle I, Mary Riddle, and Tom Riddle II were the names engraved into the headstone. Riddle was such an eerie last name, like the person or family was a riddle themselves. After taking a few seconds to observe the names, a crack would break the silence of the night. In front of the head stone, in a small patch of grass, two teenage boys would fall to the ground from a foot in the air. They'd arise from the ground, showing they were in uniform for something, whilst leaving a trophy cup in the dead grass. The taller, more handsome boy would be observing the trophy with curiosity. However, the shorter boy with dark hair looked at the head stone. Fear then would flood his expression. He turned to the other boy, but I couldn't hear what they were saying to each other. The shorter boy would cry out as clutched his forehead, at that time I would cry out in pain as well. A throbbing, burning pain would shoot through a jagged scar on my neck. He then would bring that hand to point to something behind me. My eyes would drift over my shoulder to see a rat looking man - holding a white thing swaddled in blankets - lifted up a long stick.

The words "Kill the spare," would then ring out in the silence in a hoarse and weak voice.

Flashes of memory-like things would fly through my head. Pictures of a green jet of light and a woman falling, all while I hear a child crying and a cold, high laugh.

It doesn't seem too scary, but something about that voice causes me to go numb.

The most unearthly thing about the dream was the way it left me feeling, physically wise. After each time I dreamt it, I was left with a slight sting on a scar I had on the side of my neck.

Originally, I had gotten the scar from when I was younger, after being in a car crash I was in the car with my parents, when a car rammed into my side of the car. The window I had been sitting next to shattered, and shards of glass ripped apart my skin around that area of my neck. When I was getting stitched back up, the doctors realized that my skin had become misplaced. This leaving me with a jagged scar.

Oddly enough, this wasn't the first time I had felt this pain. My scar had been hurting on and off since I was around eleven. It would happen during the most unsuspecting times, but mostly towards the end of the school year.

I had told my parents about this pain, but they simply brushed it off. Telling me I was being over dramatic.

"We can keep her safe we promise-," my mum plead.

Keep who safe? I thought to myself. Are they talking about me?

I ripped the covers off my legs and marched out of my room wearing my high school soccer teeshirt and grey sweat-pants.

"Mum, Dad, is there anyway to get you two to stop fighting? Or discussing loudly or whatever you call it-," I cut my attitude off abruptly.

There on the couch sat a man - who I had never seen before. He was quite odd looking with his long, dark purple cloak, long white beard, and crooked nose.

"Um. . .hello?" I greeted awkwardly.

My mum was siting on the couch with her pink fuzzy robes on. Her dark brown hair was tied into a bun, and her hazel eyes were drowning in tears. My dad sat on the arm of the couch with a white tee shirt and gray pajama pants on. His cheeks where tear streaked, but he quickly wiped them away when I made my presence clear.