Chapters (206)
- Praise for Maplecroft
- Title page
- Copyright page
- Contents
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
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- A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
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- Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
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- I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
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- Nance O’Neil
- THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
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- AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
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- THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
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- CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
- Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
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- HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
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- A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Nance O’Neil
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
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- Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
- Emma L. Borden
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- Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
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- DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
- Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
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- Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Emma L. Borden
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- FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Inspector Simon Wolf
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Doctor Seabury’s a lost cause, too, given that he couldn’t keep the one secret I most needed kept, or wanted kept at any rate. His heart was in the right place, but mine is not—mine is trapped here, and has so little in the way of escape . . . what am I to do? What if the inspector, that pink-faced baby in a suit, makes my alias known? I’d lose even this one little tie to the world beyond Maplecroft, when I need it now more than ever.
I say that . . . but the truth is, it’s been weeks since I wrote or researched.
I too have become lost in this Problem, and I don’t know the way out. No one does, unless it’s Doctor Zollicoffer, maddened and lost in his own private way.
Or that’s what I believe. I do not consider for a moment that he was always a maniac. He was a decent, gentle man. A nervous one, and even a fussy one, after a fashion, but a good one. Not a killer, bent on a spree. Not a murdering bandit, but my friend.
Anyway, if he’s no longer my friend (and indeed has become everything that everyone accuses him of) . . . there’s precious little I can do about it. I can’t run. I can’t hide. I can only hole up and wait, with Father’s gun by my nightstand and enough bullets to defend myself for ninety seconds, if I’m lucky.
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I should not be forced to beg for my sister’s aid.
I am fully aware that she’s given it freely, and for years now. (Has it been years? Dear God. Years indeed.) But I did not choose my condition, and I have no other recourse. No husband or lover of my own to prop me up and carry me onward toward the grave, like Lizzie will carry Nance any day now.
Is that too harsh? Well. It must be harsher still to pretend otherwise. No one benefits from such deception.
Contrary to Lizzie’s denials and insistence, the girl grows worse by the day, by the hour. The other night’s adventure in the washroom was not some climax; it was only the logical progression of whatever afflicts her, as it afflicts this town—and the end result will be one of two things: She’ll die, or she’ll kill us all.