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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
  7. •   •   •
  8. •   •   •
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  10. •   •   •
  11. •   •   •
  12. A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
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  14. •   •   •
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  17. •   •   •
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  20. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  21. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  22. •   •   •
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  24. •   •   •
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  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. •   •   •
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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
  44. •   •   •
  45. •   •   •
  46. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  47. •   •   •
  48. •   •   •
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  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. •   •   •
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  60. •   •   •
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  62. HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
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  64. •   •   •
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  67. A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
  68. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  69. •   •   •
  70. •   •   •
  71. Nance O’Neil
  72. •   •   •
  73. •   •   •
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  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. •   •   •
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  96. •   •   •
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  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. •   •   •
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  115. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  116. •   •   •
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  118. •   •   •
  119. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  130. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  131. Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
  132. •   •   •
  133. •   •   •
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  135. •   •   •
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  137. Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
  138. •   •   •
  139. Emma L. Borden
  140. •   •   •
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  144. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  145. •   •   •
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  150. Emma L. Borden
  151. •   •   •
  152. •   •   •
  153. FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
  154. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  155. •   •   •
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  165. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  166. •   •   •
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  176. Emma L. Borden
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  186. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  187. •   •   •
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  197. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  204. •   •   •
  205. Inspector Simon Wolf
  206. •   •   •

She sneered, but it was not contempt. It was a twisting of her mouth that she couldn’t quite control—more of a spasm than an expression. And she said, “I should save you. I should jump. But he says . . .” She struggled to line up every word, I could hear it in the precision with which she pronounced each individual letter.

“I don’t understand,” I told her.

“I know.” She nodded, and again it looked like her joints were fastening and unfastening, her bones sliding around, rearranging themselves.

Lizzie swallowed a sob and screamed, “Stay with me!”

Then, with a sharp flicker of sorrow, Nance made her decision—or had it made for her. “He won’t let me save you. Won’t let me jump.” She looked at Lizzie now, directly and without blinking. Like the others, she wasn’t blinking anymore. Calm and level, but so unhappy I could feel it in my own bones, when she said, “Or stay.”

Nance shook her head and withdrew, stepping away.

More thunder rollicked through the clouds. It climaxed with a crack so loud that when the lightning came, it was bright enough to illuminate the whole house. Some of it even trickled downstairs, to us. Some of it set the room on fire, and for half a second—maybe less—everything was so clear, so bright.

•   •   •

Nance looked up when the lightning flashed again upstairs, though this time I hadn’t heard the thunder that preceded it. It flashed and sizzled, and Maplecroft smelled like ozone and fire. It crackled through the house, the loudest white you’ve ever seen.

The lights went out. The lights came on again.

The cooker was empty. And Nance was gone.

Lizzie Andrew Borden

MAY 7, 1894

Nance was gone, and I stood there—wondering if my eyes had deceived me, or if I’d finally succumbed to the madness of Fall River, or if perhaps I was simply mistaken about what had occurred.

I tumbled forward—nearly toppling into the cooker myself—but I found no sign of her. The lye and its accompanying chemicals did not simmer or writhe with bubbles as if they’d been disturbed, they only swirled and hummed with the motion of the motor, spinning and whirring, ready to devour anything that might fall. This flytrap of a machine. There in my floor. It was empty, except for the liquids that do its job.

Nance had gone somewhere else.

I flung myself toward the far wall, where the switch controlled the gaslights—and I twisted it hard enough to break the knob, but the light didn’t brighten and Nance was still gone.