WELCOME TO ROSEWOOD MANOR

1

Adam and I disliked our new house. Although it was huge and looked like a luxurious mansion compared to our old house, we found it creepy. The tall redbrick house with a sloping black roof and rows of windows framed by black shutters was covered in darkness as if it were hiding in the shadows of the gnarled, old trees that bent over it. Even though it was the middle of July, dead brown leaves blanketed the front yard, and tall weeds poked up everywhere through the dead leaves. Thick clumps of weeds had completely overgrown an old flower bed beside the front porch.

As we trudged up the gravel driveway, we both groaned loudly, feeling unhappy about the move. Mr. Thomson, a friendly young man from the local real estate office, came by and asked if everything was okay. Dad explained that Adam and I were unhappy about moving and leaving all of our friends behind. Mr. Thomson chuckled and said that the house was old and needed some work. Dad added that no one had lived in it for a while, so it would take some fixing up.

Mom tried to cheer us up by pointing out the house's advantages, such as its size, which would allow us to have a gaming room and a library, but we remained unimpressed. As we got closer to the house, the cold breeze made us shiver. Me wearing beige tennis shorts and a sleeveless white T-shirt wasn't helping at all. Yes, it was hot in the car. It is supposed to be hot during summer, isn't it? We guessed it was because of all the tall, old trees... Since they produce air I felt as if we're just shrugging things off because we don't have a reason for it. "Spencer is twelve," Mom answered. "And Adam turned eleven last month."

"They look so much alike," Mr. Thomson told Mom.

I couldn't decide if that was a compliment or not. I guess it's true. Adam and I are both tall and thin and have curly brown hair like Dad's, and dark brown eyes. Everyone says we have "serious resting bitch" faces.

"I want to go home," Adam said, his voice cracking. "I hate this place."

My brother is the most impatient kid in the world. And when he makes up his mind about something, that's it. He's a little spoiled brat. At least, I think so. Whenever he makes a big fuss about something, he usually gets his way. We may look alike, but we're not that similar. I'm a lot more patient than Adam is. A lot more sensible. And a lot smarter of course. Probably because I'm older and because I'm a girl.

Adam had hold of Dad's hand and was trying to pull him back to the car. "Let's go. Come on, Dad. Let's go."

I knew this was one time Adam wouldn't get his way. We were moving to this house. No doubt about it. After all, the house was free. A great-uncle of Dad, a man we didn't even know, had died and left the house to Dad in his will. I'll never forget the look on Dad's face when he got the letter from the lawyer. He let out a scream and began dancing around the living room. Adam and I thought he'd gone barmy or something.

"My Great-Uncle Chris has left us a house in his will," Dad explained, reading and rereading the letter. "It's in a town called Rosewood."

"Huh?" Adam and I were puzzled. "Where's Rosewood?"

Dad shrugged.

"I don't remember your Uncle Chris," Mom said, moving behind Dad to read the letter over his shoulder.

"Neither do I," admitted Dad. "But he must've been a great guy! Wow! This sounds like an incredible house!" He grabbed Mom's hands and began dancing happily with her across the living room.

Dad sure was excited. He'd been looking for an excuse to quit his boring office job and devote all of his time to his writing career. This house—free—would be just the excuse he needed.

And now, a week later, here we were in Rosewood, a seven-hour drive from our home, seeing our new house for the first time. We hadn't even gone inside, and Adam was trying to drag Dad back to the car.