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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
  30. •   •   •
  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
  57. •   •   •
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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
  69. •   •   •
  70. •   •   •
  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
  103. •   •   •
  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. •   •   •

“They’ll follow us inside . . . ?” I meant to suggest, and ended up asking, with a pitiful question mark affixed to the end.

“They won’t.”

She knew something that I didn’t. And not for the first time, either.

We were drawing nearer and nearer to the house. More and more of the things were crawling into the yard, drawn by us. Having seen the one thing, the one time, all those nights ago when I first came to understand the mystery of this place . . . that was bad enough. This was a nightmare in motion, and God help me, we were all of us awake.

“Have you ever seen this many?” I asked her.

“No.”

“They come from the water, don’t they?” I was jogging again to keep up with her, and my breathing was raspy, not quite in her ear.

“I think so.”

“That’s why . . . that’s why the toxin . . . the tetanus . . . your axe,” I tried to tell her, but I could no longer talk and run at the same time. I had not enough strength to do both.

•   •   •

This is what I meant to tell her: the tetani bacteria cannot survive in the water—it needs open air to thrive. These creatures that she fells with her axe like so many trees . . . they never encounter the infection in their native environment, only on the land, here, where it lives so abundantly in the soil and in the flesh of our land-dwelling creatures, and heaven knows where else (or maybe heaven doesn’t). They are vulnerable here. They are vulnerable to her axe. To us. They are not indomitable. (But neither are we.)

•   •   •

“The gun,” she said. We had almost reached the porch. “Better than nothing.”

“The cabinet?” I whispered harshly. It was the only voice I had left.

“Just inside. The near wall of the parlor,” she gasped back. “I’ll take care of these things.”

She swung hard to the right and caught one of the brutes through the neck—fully beheading it, so great was her momentum. She reached the stairs and with one fast sweep she stunned the first sentinel at the door, and grievously wounded the other. Blood that looked like bile splattered across the paneling and across her dress, and the glittering shards of crystalline teeth sparkled across her nightdress. She swung again, and struck the creature again, pushing it aside.

She swept the way clear and faced the yard, where the bad things gathered. She braced herself and readied the axe.

Without looking at me, she said, “The cabinet. Go.”

“Yes,” I said. Her plan was simple and clear, but I was thickheaded with fright, too tired to argue.

I jumped sideways past her, through the open door. Inside, it was dark. Or as dark as the night outside anyway—for Maplecroft’s interior flickered and flashed between daylight-sharp and midnight-inscrutable.

I was disoriented.