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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. •   •   •

I say “these creatures” because the thing I saw this past night was not the only one of its kind. Lizbeth told me so, and she showed me how she’s been managing them.

But I stumble ahead of myself.

Let me try again.

•   •   •

I received a knock on the door, and opened it to find Jacob Wilson, young neighbor to the sisters at Maplecroft. He’d been sent to bring me around. Something about Emma; he wasn’t too clear on the specifics. So I made my way there with all haste, and upon being granted entrance, I learned that the difficulty was related to Nancy O’Neil, their houseguest. She’d fallen catatonic, having somehow gotten inside a locked cellar and contaminated herself with Lizbeth’s experiments.

But I’ll come back around to how that situation came to be.

Nancy, called “Nance” by her friends, was placed upon a settee—lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling with the same blank, unblinking stare that I’m coming to find familiar, damn it all to hell.

No, I don’t think hell is far enough away. If there’s some farther, more distant shore where these things might be banished, then I pray for that instead.

In the course of my examination, Nance began to chant “Out . . . out . . . out . . .” as I’d noted with previous patient Miss Fox. Same rhythm to it, same pace, same message. And this time, something answered her.

It tried to come in.

•   •   •

Lizbeth ran outside, despite the fact that she must’ve been in great pain from a broken nose and a badly bruised body, courtesy of a slide down the stairs. Besides that, she was not up to her full strength and clarity, due to some draught Nance had slipped her before bed. (It turned out to be Mrs. Winslow’s, so it could’ve been worse. Anything too much stronger than that, and she might not have awakened in time.)

But the younger Borden rallied, and I was impressed with her determination—though I had no intention of following her command, which amounted to, “Stay inside with Emma.”

Something wanted inside Maplecroft. Lizbeth wanted to go handle it alone, but that was madness, and she needed my help. I followed her outside.

I kept her in my sights, though the night was very dark, and there was a fog hanging so heavy that the gas lamps were almost no help at all. What little light there was bounced back and forth between the mist in patches, so the whole world was hidden, and yet it moved.

She rushed ahead of me, a womanly shape wearing little more than a nightdress; I think she’d paused to throw a housecoat over herself, before I arrived. Her form billowed as the fabric spilled behind her, and every so often I caught a glimpse of light sparking off metal. Her axe. I’m not sure I’d noticed her picking it up.