While Daisy looked like something that had emerged from the grave of a ritual sacrifice, Esther had gone for the sexually promiscuous vampire aesthetic. Her hair was straightened into two thick black curtains, framing long-lashed eyes with yellow irises, courtesy of a pair of contact lenses that Esther had spent at least fifteen minutes trying to put in before Daisy pinned her down for Susan to do the honors. The corset she wore was so tight that her breasts had been plumped into plush round cushions, as if two oversize marshmallows had decided to nestle on her chest for the night. A thin dribble of fake blood trailed from one corner of her shiny red lips down her neck and into her eye-popping cleavage.

If it weren’t for the trapper hat that Esther had rammed firmly over Susan’s ears moments before they left, Susan would have looked exactly the same as she always did: boots, jeans, and a checked shirt.

When the third person they passed actually stopped to poke Daisy in the rotting side of her face, Daisy resolved to give Susan creative control over her outfit the next year.

Not all of Sheffield University’s first-year students lived in halls. A few, like Grace, shared houses on the city’s many little side streets. Cheaper but riskier. What if you didn’t like your housemates? What if you ended up living with people who left dirty plates under the settee, or insisted you go in on a Sky Sports subscription even if you never watched TV, or walked through the house in nothing but their slippers?

The thought had been too much for Daisy, who preferred to know the people who had the opportunity to murder her in her sleep.

Daisy, Susan, and Esther followed the bloody footprints from the gate of Grace’s house to the doorstep, admiring the effort that had gone into spookifying the front of the building, which was bedecked with cobwebs and bouncy rubber bats and snakes and . . . bunnies.

“Who’s scared of bunnies?” Daisy whispered to Esther, who shrugged.

“Takes all sorts, Daisy. Let’s not judge.”

Before they even had the chance to knock, the door swung open, and they were greeted by American Chad, huge and hulking and wearing nothing but an artfully arranged American flag and a monocle. Arms spread as wide as his grin, he ushered them into a crammed little hallway and squeezed out to get more plastic cups from the corner shop.

“Why is it that all the girls’ outfits are sexy?” Susan muttered, side-eyeing a Puss in Boots whose rakish hat and rapier were teamed with a single-button waistcoat, spray-on hot pants, and patent thigh-high boots.

“Some of us can’t help it.” Esther’s reflexive hair toss whipped Daisy in the face.