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Last One to Die Paperback – March 5, 2024
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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?
- Reading age12 - 17 years
- Print length288 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- Grade level7 - 9
- Lexile measureHL670L
- Dimensions5.5 x 0.59 x 8.25 inches
- PublisherDelacorte Press
- Publication dateMarch 5, 2024
- ISBN-100593705548
- ISBN-13978-0593705544
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Editorial Reviews
Review
"Deliciously paced. Tightly plotted and thrilling, this book will grab readers by the throat."—Kirkus Reviews
"Murphy employs supernatural plot twists to add an interesting element to the classic whodunit format...calling to mind late-90s slasher films and R.L. Stine’s Fear Street novels."—PW
"Fans of the macabre and will appreciate this love letter to the Victorian gothic."—Booklist
"Point horror for a new generation."—Kathryn Foxfield, author of Good Girls Die First
"A supernatural terror-fest!"—Kat Ellis, author of Harrow Lake
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
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 papers into some sort of order while Sara presses the buttons. A beautiful diamond cluster ring sparkles on her forefinger. God, she’s effortlessly cool--that perfect mix of polished and casual chic. I wonder if I should put a couple of strategic rips into my jeans too.
“So,” she says. “Which summer course are you taking?”
“Drama.” I don’t even try to keep the excitement out of my voice. I’ve worked my behind off all year saving for these six weeks and I can’t believe I’m finally here.
“Hey, me too!” The doors shudder closed, and the elevator begins its jerky ascent. Before we can carry on the conversation, it wobbles to a stop and the doors open again for the second floor. Sara turns to me. “I guess this is me. Thanks again for swapping; I owe you. I would have died if I had to live on the tenth floor, seriously.”
“No problem,” I reply, embarrassed. “I’m just glad I’m here.”
“Me too.” She hesitates for a second, leaning on the doors so they don’t close. “Hey, do you want to walk to class together in the morning? I don’t know anyone else yet.”
“I’d love to.” Then I blurt out, “I don’t know a soul here, either.”
“Great!” She smiles, letting go of the doors. “Do you want to knock for me around eight-thirty? We can grab a coffee before we walk to the welcome event.”
“Sure.” I wave through the closing gap. I wonder if I can train myself overnight to like coffee. “See you in the morning.”
I smile at my blurred reflection as the elevator lumbers up to my temporary new home. See, Niamh, you’ve already made a friend. You’ll be great here.
The doors creak open and I’m faced with a corridor that is a carbon copy of the one downstairs: faded, with a subtle air of neglect. I grab the top handle of my bag, not able to pick it up again. I follow the numbers along the hall until I arrive at 1012. The key slots in easily.
I turn the handle, but the door is heavy, and I have to lean my weight against it before it opens. I enter a small, sparse room with nothing but a naked single bed, a desk, and a wardrobe that’s seen better days.
Oh, and there’s a window. Bonus.
I ditch my bag and let the door close softly as I run to press my face up against the glass, like an excited kid. The city glitters before me and I can pick out huge, up-lit buildings, though I’m not sure what they are. I scan the horizon with excitement--how big is this place? I spot the Thames snaking along beneath my window and my arms explode into goose bumps. You did it, girl, I think. All that hard work, all the mucking out horses and dirty farm jobs were totally worth it. You’re here, you’re finally here.
Despite my excitement, I’m absolutely shattered. It’s been a long day of traveling and I want to be fresh for the morning. I open my bag and upend it on the desk, where a mini survival kit of Irish tea bags and chocolate bars topple out. God bless my sister. The rest of my meager belongings spill everywhere but I don’t care. I’m too tired and I have no mom to tell me off for it.
Ohhh, no. Mom. I dig around for my phone, retrieving it from the backpack pocket I stashed it in earlier, and hunt for the charger. I plug it in and stare at the cracked screen, willing it to light up. Mom will kill me if I don’t get in touch tonight.
To my relief, the screen blinks into life and I grab it, firing off a text to let her know I’m here safe, before switching it to silent. A few seconds later my phone bounces on the scarred wooden desk, but I ignore it. I can’t deal with Mom tonight. I’ll get up a little earlier tomorrow and call her then instead. Right now, I need to sleep. Grabbing pajamas and a hair tie, I eye the bare pillows and duvet, wondering how many bodies have slept in them before me. Am I too tired to care?
Yep, I think I am.
I change quickly, grab the pile of papers, and sit back on the bed, pressing my back to the cool, bare wall. I spread them out, digging around for tomorrow’s schedule. Then I realize I have two of everything. Sara must have mixed hers up with mine.
I look down at my fleecy PJs, with tiny, fluffy sheep jumping lazily over fences decorating my legs.
I can’t go downstairs in these.
I start to sort through the papers, making two piles--one for me and one for Sara. I can’t believe the amount of stuff there is to fill in. Medical forms, housing stuff . . . Guilt gnaws at me. I should really take them down to Sara so she can get started on them. I stare at the jolly little sheep and sigh.
Sometimes I really am too nice.
I press the button for the elevator, scuffing my slippers along the tattered green carpet. The doors creak open and I get in. The elevator grinds to a halt on the second floor and a little bubble erupts in my stomach. What if Sara’s asleep already? Have I totally misjudged this? I tug at the hem of my button-down top and slowly approach my could-have-been room. I hesitate for a second and knock.
No answer.
“Hey.” A male voice makes me jump. “I don’t think anyone’s in there.”
“Oh.” I turn, but the figure is disappearing round the corner. I hesitate, then knock again, just in case. “Sara?”
Nothing.
Something makes me try the handle. To my surprise, the door opens easily.
“Sara?” I call into the room. Silence.
She must be out, then. I’ll just leave the papers on her desk, no harm done.
It’s dark in Sara’s room, with the curtains pulled tightly shut. I guess she really is scared of heights, even on the second floor.
The smell hits me suddenly, something raw and primal that turns my stomach. I inch farther into the room on autopilot, even though my brain is screaming at me to get out. Something is not right. My eyes adjust to the darkness. In the gloom I can just about decipher the bed, and a huddled figure lying on it, one arm hanging limply over the edge.
The door is ajar and as I step forward, a slice of light from the hall lands on the bed. I see eyes wide and staring. Clumps of hair scattered across the pillow, ripped from the roots. A long, slim hand trailing toward the carpet, a beautiful diamond cluster ring on its forefinger.
A forefinger that is steadily dripping with blood, forming a dark pool on the floor.
2
“You all right, Irish?”
Derek plonks a steaming mug down on the table in front of me. I try to nod. His voice is kind, but I’m completely numb.
“Best thing after a shock, tea with sugar.” I am silent, staring at the chipped rim, and Derek walks away, still rattling off the benefits of a sugary brew. I can’t get Sara’s face out of my head. I’ve seen dead bodies before--at home there was a wake every other month and they always have an open casket--but they always seemed unreal. Plastic.
Product details
- Publisher : Delacorte Press (March 5, 2024)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 288 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0593705548
- ISBN-13 : 978-0593705544
- Reading age : 12 - 17 years
- Lexile measure : HL670L
- Grade level : 7 - 9
- Item Weight : 8.6 ounces
- Dimensions : 5.5 x 0.59 x 8.25 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #210,340 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
Cynthia is an author from the North-West of England. She has always enjoyed writing and when her English teacher accused her of plagiarism in Year 8, she thought she might actually be quite good at it.
She has a long-standing love affair with all things scary, reading Point Horrors at primary school before graduating to Stephen King in her misguided teens. Classic 90s and 00s horror movies are definitely her pub quiz strong point and her first love may well have been Buffy the Vampire Slayer. 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 have a Romanian rescue dog, Loli, who you will see a lot of on Instagram @CynthiaMurphyYA.
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Top reviews from the United States
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I felt so bad for our girl being so far from home and experiencing all this trauma. I liked the fun happy bits as well. Like when she hid the jacket she borrowed from her sister without permission or when she is laughing with Jess.
This was wonderful. Thank you!
with the writing style not being good for me i found the main character to be false and not being able to be taken seriously.
It was ok for me not sure i would recommend this to everyone.
2 star rating for me.
Top reviews from other countries
It’s basically like a point horror book for modern readers and that might sound dismissive, but it’s honestly the highest praise I could give it and I LOVED IT! Sweet Valley Thrillers and Point Horror were my gateway drugs into reading adult books as my aunty saw me reading them & then gave me some of her Stephen King & James Herbert (and James Patterson) books to read aged 11/12 and that was it, I was hooked. I never stopped reading “kids books”, I just added adult books in and I think that’s why I still enjoy any age fiction nowadays.
Anyway, this book was so much fun that it could’ve been written specifically for me as it had so many things I enjoy in it; Victorian artefacts, museums, a swoony love interest, a creepy villain & a desperate race to uncover the truth & try & survive!
I personally wouldn’t have compared it to One of Us is Lying or This Lie Will Kill You but I guess that’s because they’re ya murder mysteries (but not very enjoyable ones in my opinion). I’d say if you like Dawn Kurtigah, Kat Ellis, Katherine Foxfield & Juno Dawson then you’ll love this book.
I really liked the fact that as Niamh arrives in London the action begins immediately & were introduced to the main cast of characters pretty quickly too. The attacks on girls who look like her is obviously very unsettling for Niamh, and the fact there seems to be no let up in this drama really adds to the tension. The pacing of the book is great, I couldn’t stop reading as I wanted to know what was going on and if my theory was right (it was). I don’t want to say too much and give anything away to anyway else who hasn’t yet picked this up, but I will say this is the first time in ages I’ve just read the entire book in one go.
Last One To Die tells the story of Niamh who travels from Ireland to London for a summer of fun, drama school and to experience the sights and sounds of the Capital. Niamh soon discovers that there are sinister attacks on young women who appear to bear an uncanny resemblance to Niamh! Throwing herself into her course and her work placement at the Victorian museum she makes friends, gains a love interest and a stalker! Niamh starts to get the feeling that someone is out to get her!
I loved the perfect mix of modern day “killer out to get me” and Victorian serial killer mythology. The descriptions of London from a tourist perspective really made me miss visiting and I’ve also realised how much I love Victorian mythology and I admire the research into the back stories of some of these myths like the Penny Dreadfuls and Spring-heeled Jack... I’ve need more of this in my life! Hit me up with recs!
You really get the sense that someone is out to get Niamh making you really feel that sense of unease and dread for her her as a character. I was proper scared for her! Creepy tube station at night, figures hiding in the dark, stuck in a confined spaces, sceances ... *nervous scared laugh* But Niamh was a proper kick ass no messing around character and I loved her for it!
The writing flowed so well and was perfectly paced I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough! The tension was ramped up during particularly terrifying situations that Niamh finds herself in! I still have fingernail marks in the book from gripping it so tightly! I had theory after theory and I was so so wrong!
Cynthia Murphy is a fantastic debut author and is definitely one to watch! Bringing a fresh voice to the genre with the right mix of edge of your seat thriller and horror!
Reviewed in the United Kingdom on January 24, 2021
Last One To Die tells the story of Niamh who travels from Ireland to London for a summer of fun, drama school and to experience the sights and sounds of the Capital. Niamh soon discovers that there are sinister attacks on young women who appear to bear an uncanny resemblance to Niamh! Throwing herself into her course and her work placement at the Victorian museum she makes friends, gains a love interest and a stalker! Niamh starts to get the feeling that someone is out to get her!
I loved the perfect mix of modern day “killer out to get me” and Victorian serial killer mythology. The descriptions of London from a tourist perspective really made me miss visiting and I’ve also realised how much I love Victorian mythology and I admire the research into the back stories of some of these myths like the Penny Dreadfuls and Spring-heeled Jack... I’ve need more of this in my life! Hit me up with recs!
You really get the sense that someone is out to get Niamh making you really feel that sense of unease and dread for her her as a character. I was proper scared for her! Creepy tube station at night, figures hiding in the dark, stuck in a confined spaces, sceances ... *nervous scared laugh* But Niamh was a proper kick ass no messing around character and I loved her for it!
The writing flowed so well and was perfectly paced I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough! The tension was ramped up during particularly terrifying situations that Niamh finds herself in! I still have fingernail marks in the book from gripping it so tightly! I had theory after theory and I was so so wrong!
Cynthia Murphy is a fantastic debut author and is definitely one to watch! Bringing a fresh voice to the genre with the right mix of edge of your seat thriller and horror!
Cynthia Murphy's YA debut is a snappy thriller with a supernatural twist, that's also just a cracking yarn in general. When I first saw it, for some left field reason that only my brain knows the answer to - maybe it's the fact the main character is on aDrama course - the synopsis reminded me (and after reading it, still does) of Suspiria (the original or the remake, take your pick). It also reminded me of a portion of a Victoria Wood stand up, (from her 2002 Albert Hall tour), where she's talking about being stuck in bed watching TV after coming home from hospital - I promise this will become relevant! - and she mentions 70s British thrillers, the type of film where the plot is something along the lines of girl looking for a flat & sees one advertised in a place called Carlton Towers, & the following conversation ensues: "Carlton Towers? That's the place where three women who all look like you have been murdered." "No thanks, I'll stick to the air bed in my Mum's lounge."
The writing is atmospheric and pacy, with short chapters meaning you'll be whizzing through the pages, and characters that are easy to empathise with & root for (apart from one who you'll love to hate, and a couple of others that to say anything more about would be spoiling). A comparison has been made with Point Horror and that comparison is apt!
This edition also includes, as an extra, the first couple of chapters of Murphy's next book 'Head Girl', which I will definitely read when it comes out! (I mean, 2 chapters in and we have an Archie comics reference, how could I not? ;) )
Last One To Die by @cynthiamurphyya is one of those books you fly through at record speed. Fast-paced, with an edge of your seat (behind your cushion) plot, it has everything a YA point horror fan might want.
It also has the added bonus of being written by one of my original @curtisbrowncreative scribbler buddies! ✍️
It seems more than a lifetime ago (2015) that my old writing group started sharing wips & writing goals. And while a few of us have been lucky enough to get agents & book deals, our group has more importantly, stayed a safe place for support and cheering each other on.
And #lastonetodie is just as brilliant as it looks! 💀
The story follows Niamh who travels to London for a 6-week performing arts course & taste of the city life. On arrival to her accommodation, she meets her new friend and course colleague, Sara. That very night, Niamh finds Sara murdered in her room. And as the attacks continue, Niamh soon begins to work out that each new victim resembles herself.
It’s a brilliant, seamless mix of YA and the supernatural, and the horror is well balanced out by lighter moments including plenty of (my fave) local mythology and history. It’s also written in a rocket-paced, cinematic style that will keep you guessing until the very end.
Which leaves only one question, when is #HeadGirl out?!
Reviewed in the United Kingdom on May 12, 2021
Last One To Die by @cynthiamurphyya is one of those books you fly through at record speed. Fast-paced, with an edge of your seat (behind your cushion) plot, it has everything a YA point horror fan might want.
It also has the added bonus of being written by one of my original @curtisbrowncreative scribbler buddies! ✍️
It seems more than a lifetime ago (2015) that my old writing group started sharing wips & writing goals. And while a few of us have been lucky enough to get agents & book deals, our group has more importantly, stayed a safe place for support and cheering each other on.
And #lastonetodie is just as brilliant as it looks! 💀
The story follows Niamh who travels to London for a 6-week performing arts course & taste of the city life. On arrival to her accommodation, she meets her new friend and course colleague, Sara. That very night, Niamh finds Sara murdered in her room. And as the attacks continue, Niamh soon begins to work out that each new victim resembles herself.
It’s a brilliant, seamless mix of YA and the supernatural, and the horror is well balanced out by lighter moments including plenty of (my fave) local mythology and history. It’s also written in a rocket-paced, cinematic style that will keep you guessing until the very end.
Which leaves only one question, when is #HeadGirl out?!