‘Remember the pact,’ she’d whispered, as they were pulled from class to attend. If you tell, you’ll go to hell. The words on the invite had been more of a threat than a pact, but she had claimed it just the same. ‘We will if you will,’ Isobel had rasped in return. Now she was sitting with Jahmelia in the corridor waiting for them to come out. Piped whale music played from the tannoys; some weird new incentive to help the students keep calm. Even with all this, Libby couldn’t believe that Angelica was dead. It did not compute. Because if it fully sank in, Libby was the one to blame. She hadn’t sent out the invites, but she knew better than to visit Blackhall Manor in the dead of night. The others had looked to her for reason, yet instead of tracking Angelica down, she’d insisted they stay and play.

Had Angelica’s murderer been hiding in the shadows, watching them wander around the building with only a candle to guide their way? The killer could have chosen any one of them. She could not reconcile what she had done. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, the skin on her nose raw. She was meant to be the sensible one; now they would never see Angelica again. She replayed events in her mind as she tried to understand what had possessed her.

Everything about Slayton was boring. Just hanging out with Angelica had boosted her street cred no end. But she only went to Blackhall Manor because she thought Angelica had orchestrated it. Also, if she was brutally honest with herself, a little piece of her wanted to get one over on the girl who thought she was better than everyone else. She had read about houses in America where people paid to be scared out of their wits. The places weren’t really haunted, they were set up to look that way. But deep down she’d known Blackhall Manor wasn’t like that. People steered clear for a reason. She picked the bits of tissue which had fallen onto her skirt.

‘I’ve been having nightmares,’ Jahmelia whispered. ‘They’re so bad that I’m scared to go to sleep.’ She was rocking ever so slightly, her hands bunched into fists on her lap. Her eyes were as wide as saucers, and she looked even younger than she did before.

‘Me too.’ Libby checked up and down the corridor as she replied. ‘I keep dreaming we’re back there. I can’t get it out of my head.’

Jahmelia cast a sideways glance at her friend. ‘Mum and Dad have been grilling me … even Grandma’s been ringing me night and day!’ A pause. ‘He comes to me in my sleep, Libby – the Midnight Man. He’s going to get me. I’m next.’