BooksBarbecue
Back Maplecroft Save as PDF
Chapters (206)
  1. Praise for Maplecroft
  2. Title page
  3. Copyright page
  4. Contents
  5. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  6. THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
  7. •   •   •
  8. •   •   •
  9. •   •   •
  10. •   •   •
  11. •   •   •
  12. A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
  13. •   •   •
  14. •   •   •
  15. •   •   •
  16. •   •   •
  17. •   •   •
  18. •   •   •
  19. •   •   •
  20. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  21. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  22. •   •   •
  23. •   •   •
  24. •   •   •
  25. •   •   •
  26. BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
  27. •   •   •
  28. •   •   •
  29. I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
  30. •   •   •
  31. Nance O’Neil
  32. THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
  33. •   •   •
  34. •   •   •
  35. •   •   •
  36. •   •   •
  37. AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
  38. •   •   •
  39. •   •   •
  40. •   •   •
  41. •   •   •
  42. •   •   •
  43. THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
  44. •   •   •
  45. •   •   •
  46. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  47. •   •   •
  48. •   •   •
  49. •   •   •
  50. •   •   •
  51. •   •   •
  52. •   •   •
  53. BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
  54. •   •   •
  55. CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
  56. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  57. •   •   •
  58. •   •   •
  59. •   •   •
  60. •   •   •
  61. •   •   •
  62. HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
  63. •   •   •
  64. •   •   •
  65. •   •   •
  66. •   •   •
  67. A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
  68. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  69. •   •   •
  70. •   •   •
  71. Nance O’Neil
  72. •   •   •
  73. •   •   •
  74. •   •   •
  75. •   •   •
  76. •   •   •
  77. •   •   •
  78. •   •   •
  79. •   •   •
  80. •   •   •
  81. •   •   •
  82. •   •   •
  83. •   •   •
  84. Emma L. Borden
  85. •   •   •
  86. •   •   •
  87. •   •   •
  88. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  89. •   •   •
  90. •   •   •
  91. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  92. •   •   •
  93. RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
  94. •   •   •
  95. •   •   •
  96. •   •   •
  97. •   •   •
  98. •   •   •
  99. •   •   •
  100. •   •   •
  101. Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
  102. Emma L. Borden
  103. •   •   •
  104. Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
  105. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  106. •   •   •
  107. Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
  108. •   •   •
  109. DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
  110. Emma L. Borden
  111. •   •   •
  112. •   •   •
  113. •   •   •
  114. •   •   •
  115. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  116. •   •   •
  117. •   •   •
  118. •   •   •
  119. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  120. •   •   •
  121. •   •   •
  122. •   •   •
  123. •   •   •
  124. •   •   •
  125. •   •   •
  126. •   •   •
  127. •   •   •
  128. •   •   •
  129. •   •   •
  130. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  131. Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
  132. •   •   •
  133. •   •   •
  134. •   •   •
  135. •   •   •
  136. •   •   •
  137. Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
  138. •   •   •
  139. Emma L. Borden
  140. •   •   •
  141. •   •   •
  142. •   •   •
  143. •   •   •
  144. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  145. •   •   •
  146. •   •   •
  147. •   •   •
  148. •   •   •
  149. •   •   •
  150. Emma L. Borden
  151. •   •   •
  152. •   •   •
  153. FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
  154. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  155. •   •   •
  156. •   •   •
  157. •   •   •
  158. •   •   •
  159. •   •   •
  160. •   •   •
  161. •   •   •
  162. •   •   •
  163. •   •   •
  164. •   •   •
  165. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  166. •   •   •
  167. •   •   •
  168. •   •   •
  169. •   •   •
  170. •   •   •
  171. •   •   •
  172. •   •   •
  173. •   •   •
  174. •   •   •
  175. •   •   •
  176. Emma L. Borden
  177. •   •   •
  178. •   •   •
  179. •   •   •
  180. •   •   •
  181. •   •   •
  182. •   •   •
  183. •   •   •
  184. •   •   •
  185. •   •   •
  186. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  187. •   •   •
  188. •   •   •
  189. •   •   •
  190. •   •   •
  191. •   •   •
  192. •   •   •
  193. •   •   •
  194. •   •   •
  195. •   •   •
  196. •   •   •
  197. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  198. •   •   •
  199. •   •   •
  200. •   •   •
  201. •   •   •
  202. •   •   •
  203. •   •   •
  204. •   •   •
  205. Inspector Simon Wolf
  206. •   •   •

I went for my wardrobe—almost fell into it, if the truth be known. I bruised myself against it as I wrestled the door open and pulled out my axe, which I did not leave out in the open when Nance was around, not anymore. I’d started hiding it, like it was some secret. Like she hadn’t seen it already. She liked it a little too much, that was all. It made me feel strange.

“Emma!” I shouted, having heard all I could stand of the bell. “Emma, I’m up! I’m coming!”

I ran down the hall, my knees still feeling like they weren’t quite mine, and weren’t quite connected to my body. It was a jerky stumble at best, but I stayed upright and dashed to Emma’s room, where I looked in and saw at a glance that she was alive, and unharmed, and that Nance wasn’t with her.

“Nance . . . ,” she gasped.

“I’ll get her,” I swore, half out of breath already.

I didn’t stay to hear her reply. I made for the stairs, where I tripped over my own toes and went face-first into the banister—and I caught myself, dragged myself to a stop before I’d gone down too terribly far, and shook the ringing out of my ears. It wasn’t Emma’s bell anymore. It was just the incessant hum of my head trying to force the rest of me more fully awake, because this was bad. Worse than bad. Worse than terrible, and worse than whatever is worse than that. I felt it in my bones, and my bones were still shaking—not yet ready to hold me up. My legs ached, and I wondered quite seriously if I hadn’t fractured something.

(I turned out to be right, but it wasn’t my leg after all; it was my nose when it slammed against the edge of a step, or one of the banister rods. I have no idea which. I didn’t see the blood until later.)

I didn’t know what Nance would do if she found the cellar. Would she see the equipment and investigate it? Destroy it? Demolish my research at the behest of whatever drew her down there? What if she found the cupboard in the floor?

What would that mean? What would it do?

I made it to the bottom of the stairs by the skin of my teeth, collected myself, and retrieved the axe. (It had fallen out of my grasp and toppled the rest of the way down without me.) I scrambled into the kitchen, and there, yes—the cellar door. Flung open. Swinging slowly on its hinge, and a soft rushing noise like wind in a cave escaping past it, up into the house.