Chapter 2: The Rose on My Doorstep I wish I could tell you that after hearing about the Red Hood Boy, I simply went to bed and forgot all about it. I didn't. The rumour followed me everywhere. At breakfast. At school. At lunch. Even during maths. "Did you hear?" someone whispered. "He left another rose." "No, two roses." "No, my cousin saw him." "No, my neighbour saw him." Honestly, nobody knew anything. And yet somehow everyone knew everything. By the end of the day, my head felt like it was stuffed with red roses and mysterious letters. When the final bell rang, I practically sprinted home. The sky was turning orange as the sun started sinking behind the houses of Feltham. Everything looked normal. Children rode bikes. Dogs barked. A bus rumbled down the road. Normal. Completely normal. Until I reached my front gate. I froze. There, resting against the door, was a single red rose. A fresh one. Its petals looked so red they almost glowed. For a second I just stared. Then I laughed nervously. "Very funny," I muttered. Maybe one of my friends was playing a prank. Maybe. But my friends weren't exactly the mysterious type. One of them thought detective stories were too scary. The other screamed when they saw a spider the size of a rice grain. I slowly walked towards the door. Tied to the stem of the rose was a black envelope. Not white. Not red. Black. My stomach twisted. I looked around the street. Nobody. Not a single person. The evening suddenly felt very quiet. I picked up the envelope. My name was written on the front. ARIA MARROW Every letter looked neat and perfect. As though it had been printed, not written. I pushed open the door and rushed inside. "Mum?" I called. No answer. "Mum?!" Still nothing. Great. Perfect timing. I hurried into my room and locked the door. Then I sat on my bed staring at the envelope. Part of me wanted to throw it out. Part of me wanted to open it immediately. Curiosity won. Curiosity always wins. I carefully opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper. I unfolded it. The message was short. Very short. It read: The stories they tell are wrong. They do not know who I am. You will. That's it. Three lines. No name. No explanation. Nothing. A chill ran down my spine. I reread the note three times. Then something slipped from inside the envelope. A photograph. I picked it up. It showed the old clock tower near the edge of town. Someone had drawn a red circle around one of the windows near the top. On the back was a time. 11:30 PM I nearly dropped it. There was no way. Absolutely no way. Who leaves a mysterious photo and expects a twelve-year-old to go wandering around at midnight? The answer should have been obvious. No one. No sane person. I stuffed everything back into the envelope. I was not going. Definitely not. Absolutely not. Not even a little bit. Then I glanced at the photograph again. The red circle seemed to almost stare back at me. And for the rest of the evening, I couldn't stop thinking about it. By eleven o'clock, I still hadn't made up my mind. By eleven fifteen, I was standing by my bedroom window. By eleven twenty-five, I had my coat on. And by eleven thirty...
