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Chapters (206)
  1. Praise for Maplecroft
  2. Title page
  3. Copyright page
  4. Contents
  5. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  6. THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
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  12. A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
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  20. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  21. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  26. BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
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  29. I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
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  31. Nance O’Neil
  32. THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
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  37. AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
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  43. THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
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  46. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  53. BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
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  55. CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
  56. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
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  62. HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
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  67. A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
  68. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  71. Nance O’Neil
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  84. Emma L. Borden
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  88. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  91. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  93. RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
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  101. Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
  102. Emma L. Borden
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  104. Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
  105. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  107. Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
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  109. DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
  110. Emma L. Borden
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  115. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  119. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  130. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  131. Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
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  137. Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
  138. •   •   •
  139. Emma L. Borden
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  144. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  150. Emma L. Borden
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  153. FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
  154. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  165. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  176. Emma L. Borden
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  186. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  197. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  205. Inspector Simon Wolf
  206. •   •   •

“What are we . . . ?” the doctor began, wondering what we were listening for, or to, or what on earth we were going on about. But he was kind enough to keep from saying so, at least not without leading in gently.

I spared him the trouble by cutting in. “There’s something outside the house,” I said quietly. “You must stay here.”

He rose to his feet. “I’ll do no such thing.”

“Doctor, I really must ask you . . .” Now it was my turn to half finish a thought. I heard it. I was confident, yes—the scratching, scritching, fussing noise of something nasty feeling its way around the walls outside. “Stay right here,” I commanded him, having no idea whether he’d obey or not. “I’ll take care of this. Please, stay with Emma and Nance.”

“Out . . . out . . . out . . . ,” whispered Nance, with something closer to urgency than idle directing.

“Miss O’Neil, wishing to go outside. And something outside, wanting to come in?” he guessed. “These two things must be related.”

“Yes,” I admitted. “But you must stay here!”

I decided to take the front door. I could surprise it, if I came around the far side of the house, for yes, my ears told me it was tracking to the east.

I raced back upstairs to the best of my ability. My legs were still wobbly beneath me—but the drugs were wearing off, burned out of my bloodstream by the terror of Nance’s condition. And now we’d see how much terror I could muster anew, because something walked outside, and I needed to be at my sharpest.

I was not at my sharpest. But what could I do?

I grabbed my axe.

RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?

Owen Seabury, M.D.

APRIL 25, 1894

I now know something of the torment which has afflicted Lizbeth Borden Andrew or whatever she calls herself these days. I kept meaning to ask which name she prefers among friends—but now that I think about it, she told me to call her Lizbeth, but didn’t offer one surname or the other.

I’m not beginning this entry well. It was a terrible night, and I’m not yet recovered. Perhaps I never will be, but I must compose myself and thereby compose this entry. I must organize my thoughts and lay them all out, while I still remember everything so freshly that it hurts.

My ribs ache. They are lined with bruises that look uncannily like the impressions of human fingers, but that’s not what made them. And these bruises, they are flecked with something sharp and itchy, some residue left behind. It feels almost like spun glass, but what small sample I was able to retrieve dissolved between my tweezers, and was gone.

Whatever these creatures are, they leave no useful trace of themselves behind. Only questions and horror, and bruises shaped like fingers.