I remember the day I died quite clearly. It began as a nothing day, just like many nothing days before it. Back then, I didn’t understand the important things in life. It wasn’t about pop stars, or clothes, or boys, or any of that stuff I thought I couldn’t live without. It was about family. But you don’t appreciate the people who matter until they’re gone.

I didn’t know what dread was until we moved into Blackhall Manor. Sometimes I’d wake in the middle of the night, my sheets damp from sweat as apprehension swallowed me whole. What frightened me the most was not being able to put a name to these feelings, or explain them away. I think my grandmother sensed something was wrong because she took my brother and me out as much as she could. It was her idea to take us trick-or-treating, and I remember being jolted in my seat that night as she swerved to avoid a pothole in the road. I hated that pothole because it meant we were almost home.

The comforting glow of the street lights was behind us, and I winced at the sound of the brambles clawing the side of the car as we drove down the winding dirt track. Dead fingernails clawing for attention. I was nothing if not imaginative. I glanced back at my younger brother as we passed through the wrought iron gates, wondering if he, too, was consumed by a similar sense of dread. But Robin was too busy calling out ‘Black Jacks! Fruit salads!’ and ‘Flying saucers!’ like some sweet-obsessed four-year-old with Tourette’s. ‘Swap you a white mouse for a cola bottle,’ he said, extending his chubby hand.

I peered through the gloom at the blob of white chocolate melting on his palm. ‘No thanks,’ I said, turning back to draw a sad face on the condensation-streaked glass with my finger.

There were ten years between my brother and I, who had been deemed a ‘happy accident’ when he arrived in the world. I adored everything about him, but since hitting my teenage years I preferred to spend time with my friends.

Trick-or-treating was for babies, I decided, and this would be the last year Robin and I would go. I was far too grown up to suffer the indignities of traipsing from house to house with a less than spooky grandmother and a mini Batman in tow. I remembered when we lived in town, Mummy and Daddy had a party and invited the whole street. Daddy dressed up as Dracula, and everyone said how brilliant he was.