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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 was.” It confessed more than I’d asked it. “Now we are different, and we have you to thank.”

“We . . . ?”

It came closer and crouched down, knees cracking as it bent nearer to my eye level. It left one hand atop the cane and regarded me with curiosity. “We,” it confirmed. “We are not what you expected. But then, you are not what we expected, either.”

“I am a woman,” I breathed.

“You are weak,” it countered, as if I’d missed the point entirely. “But we can help.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“Are you sure?” it asked, cocking its head and giving me an odious smile.

“I want you to leave.”

“Yet you scarcely have the breath to say so. I was weak once, too.”

“We aren’t the same, you and I,” I assured it.

It agreed. “No, not the same. But there is some sameness about us. We both see things more clearly than the rest. That’s why you sent me the jar, isn’t it?”

“I sent it because . . .” White sparks fizzled before my eyes, and I struggled to compose myself. I realized that I’d stopped picking at the wax cork, and I began again—adjusting myself to sit up straighter, hoping to mask the tiny motions of my subterfuge. “I thought you would find it . . . interesting.”

It nodded vigorously. Earnestly. And for a moment I glimpsed, or I thought I glimpsed, some spark of the humanity he once had possessed—the eagerness for knowledge, for novelty. A fondness for discovery.

“Life-changing, really. And not just mine. Your small act of kindness will change the world.” It turned that long, sharp nose to the right and its eyes closed halfway. It smiled again, lips pressed together. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear . . . what?”

“She’s calling. She knows we are close. You and I,” it clarified. “She’s leading us home.”

I wondered who she was, or what she was. But yes, I heard her. If “she” was the thing with the bellowing, wailing, moaning cry that overtook the storm outside. I shuddered to consider the possibility of it. “I hear her, but she does not . . . I do not feel . . . called,” I tried to explain.

“You will,” it insisted, and the two small words sent shivers down to my soul. “I will help you. I will bring you to her, and you will believe—and you will be strong.”

Strong.

The word tugged at me, like I tugged on the cork—still wedged into place, but loosening with each passing second. I was running out of seconds, but in case it bought me more, I murmured, “I would like to be strong again.”

I had pleased it. It smiled that eerie smile, the one that did not reach its eyes (and showed no teeth). Smoothly, it stretched out a hand in welcome.

The cork came loose.

Owen Seabury, M.D.

MAY 7, 1894