They were all going to die.
Rotterham Home was a hospice for young people, a place where teenagers with terminal illnesses went to die. Nobody who checked in ever checked out. It was a place of pain and sorrow, but also, remarkably, a place of humor and adventure. At the hospice was a group of five young men and women who called themselves the Midnight Club. Every night at twelve they met and told each other stories- tales of intrigue and horror, of life and death. True stories, made-up stories, and stories that fell somewhere in between.
But one night, in the middle of a particularly scary story, these five people make a pact with each other that says that the first one of them who dies is to make every effort to contact the others- from beyond the grave.
Then one of them dies. And the story begins. The most wonderful story. The most horrible.
Rotterham Home was a hospice for young people, a place where teenagers with terminal illnesses went to die. Nobody who checked in ever checked out. It was a place of pain and sorrow, but also, remarkably, a place of humor and adventure. At the hospice was a group of five young men and women who called themselves the Midnight Club. Every night at twelve they met and told each other stories- tales of intrigue and horror, of life and death. True stories, made-up stories, and stories that fell somewhere in between.
But one night, in the middle of a particularly scary story, these five people make a pact with each other that says that the first one of them who dies is to make every effort to contact the others- from beyond the grave.
Then one of them dies. And the story begins. The most wonderful story. The most horrible.
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