Verwandte Artikel zu Last One to Die

Last One to Die - Softcover

Murphy, Cynthia

 
9780593705544: Last One to Die
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0593705548 ISBN 13: 9780593705544
Verlag: Delacorte Press, 2024

Inhaltsangabe

From TikTok's "CEO of plot twists" comes a supernatural thriller that will keep you guessing until the very end. Packed with voice-driven whodunit storytelling, and a classic slasher-movie feel, this dark, pacy, and irresistibly creepy thriller really has something for everybody!

16-year-old, Irish-born Niamh has just arrived in London for the summer, and quickly discovers that girls who look frighteningly like her are being attacked.

Determined to make it through her Drama Course, Niamh is placed at the Victorian Museum to put her drama skills to the test, and there she meets Tommy: he’s kind, fun, attentive, and really hot! Nonetheless, there's something eerie about the museum...

As present-day serial attacker and sinister Victorian history start to collide, Niamh realizes that things are not as they seem. Will she be next?

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Cynthia has had a long-standing love affair with all things scary, reading Point Horrors at primary school before graduating to Stephen King in her misguided teens. Studying for a degree in Art History and Archaeology meant that she developed a thirst for anything old, beautiful and very often dead. She tries to combine this with contemporary settings in her writing to make unique and chilling modern stories. Cynthia is married to her best friend and they are ruled by a Romanian rescue dog called Loli.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

1


This is it. My new life. A fresh start, no boy worries--just me, the big city, and my future.

At least that’s what I thought until two minutes ago. “I’m sorry, miss. There ain’t no Neev listed here.”

I try really hard not to bite this guy’s head off and force my lips into a smile instead.

“It’s Gaelic,” I explain, for the seventeenth time since I got off the boat. “It’s spelled N-I-A-M-H.”

“Oh.” The little man behind the desk of my new hall of residence narrows his eyes and scans his list again. I notice the name on his polished steel badge says Derek. “Oh, yeah, here you are. Weird spelling.”

A series of almighty thumps interrupt him, and I turn to see a tall, pretty brunette. She’s busy dragging a huge suitcase down the steps into the foyer, panting from the effort.

“Excuse me,” she starts, before focusing big brown eyes on me. “Oh, sorry. I’ll wait.”

“No, it’s fine.” I gesture toward the desk. “Go ahead.” I’m getting nowhere here. It must be important if she dragged that massive bag all the way downstairs again. A cursory glance around had shown that there wasn’t an elevator in the place.

“Oh, thank you so much!” She drops the case at the foot of the stairs and approaches the desk. A small diamond twinkles in her nose and I can’t take my eyes off it, it’s so cool. No one at home has their nose pierced, well unless you count Carrie Duncan from up the road--who got drunk and stuck her mom’s hoop earring through her nostril--which I do not.

“Yeah?” Derek’s face is impassive as the girl twirls a loose curl around one finger. She has that effortless look of someone with money. Her dark hair is glossy and shot through with streaks of gold, and a silk camisole hangs delicately from one shoulder. I’ll bet anything it’s vintage. “It’s my room, it’s too high up,” she begins. “I need to change.”

Derek holds up a raised palm. “No more rooms,” he barks. “Irish here got the last one.”

Nice.

“But I haven’t even checked in yet,” I protest.

The girl whirls on me, grabbing my arm. “You haven’t?”

“Er, no, I’ve just arrived.” I look down at her hand on my arm. She’s not letting go.

Awkward.

“What floor is she on?” The girl turns those brown, melting eyes on the self-proclaimed guardian of the rooms and he checks his ledger.

“Second.”

She turns to me again. “That’s perfect! How are you with heights?”

“Er . . .” I don’t know, is the honest answer. Most of the houses in the little town I’m from are bungalows, and there isn’t a high-rise between my house and the next-closest city, not that I’ve ever seen, anyway. I liked standing on the top deck of the boat coming over, though. “Fine, I guess.”

“Oh my God, I love your accent!” she squeals, pumping my arm so enthusiastically I can’t help but laugh. “Would you swap? Pretty please? I’m on the tenth floor and I am just terrified of heights. Terrified. I can’t even stand on a chair to change a light bulb.”

She’s so . . . eloquent, I think is the right word. I’ve never met anyone this stylish or charming in real life before. Her voice seems to drip honey and diamonds, compared to my country twang.

“Yeah, sure, that’s fine with me.” I turn to the man. “Is that all right with you, Derek?”

“Doesn’t bother me.” He shrugs. “Give Irish your keys, then,” he says to the girl.

“It’s Niamh,” I repeat through gritted teeth.

The girl holds out a small, worn plastic key ring, its corners chipped and scratched, two small silver keys dangling from it. Room 1012. Mine for the next six weeks. “Like Neve Campbell? That’s so retro!”

“Er, sure,” I reply, taking the keys from her and smiling.

Mental note--find out who Neve Campbell is.

“Here.” Derek thumps another set of keys and a thick folder of paperwork on his desk. 215, the room I should have been in. “Sign your name there, missy, and fill the rest of this out for tomorrow.” He hands me a chewed blue pen that I take gingerly, with great care not to touch the chewed end. I practice my signature (any excuse) and hand it back. He doesn’t bother to change our room numbers on the paperwork, I notice. I guess it doesn’t really matter.

“Thank you so much!” The girl scoops up her new keys and dances back over to her luggage before turning to me. “Where are my manners! I’m Sara.” She smiles. “I’ll take this upstairs and then come and help with your bags, if you want?”

“No need.” I grab the folder before swinging my large backpack on. “I travel light.”

I almost laugh at the look of shock on her face.

“That’s all you have? Seriously?”

I nod, feeling my cheeks warm up. I didn’t have much to pack, not much that I wanted to bring to London, anyway. I didn’t think my farming boots would go down too well here.

“Good for you, like a capsule wardrobe,” she huffs, lugging her case up each step with a loud thump and a sigh. Derek pointedly ignores her and opens his newspaper, so I run to grab the other end of it. “Thanks. Didn’t realize how much I’d packed until I had to drag it up and down here.”

Sweat breaks out on the skin beneath my backpack immediately. “Is there really no elevator?”

“Oh, yeah,” she replies, though it sounds more like yah. “There is, but only where the rooms are. Once we’re up this flight, we can take the easy route.”

“Thank God.” I choke the words out, trying to hide my rattling breath as we navigate the narrow stairwell. We heft the case up to the next landing and I think we’re home free, but suddenly I lurch forward. The papers in the folder I’m holding go flying over the top of the suitcase. One of its wheels is caught in a piece of upturned carpet.

“Oh, no!” Sara drops to her knees, gathering up my course documents while I wrestle the case back onto the landing. I finally manage to tear it free, my hairline prickling with sweat, as Sara hands a haphazard pile of papers out to me. “Here,” she says, smiling. “Think I got it all.”

“Thanks.” Sara still manages to look impeccable as she wheels her case along the drab corridor, not a hair out of place. I spot manicured toenails peeking out of her sandals, their rose-gold straps highlighting her lightly tanned skin. The pale green paint on the walls is chipped at shoulder and hip height, as though many bodies have rubbed along this hall. Layers of white and yellow show beneath, a pattern of the building’s past.

At the end of the corridor is the elevator. Sara presses a button and the doors groan open, beckoning us in. “Don’t judge,” she says as we step inside. “I know it’s only one more floor, but I cannot face carrying this up another step.”

“Same,” I laugh, dropping the weight from my shoulders and dragging myself into the elevator after her. The doors don’t close immediately, so I perch precariously on my bag and try to shove my...

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Verlag
Delacorte Press
Erscheinungsdatum
2024
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593705548
ISBN 13 
9780593705544
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
275
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