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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
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  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
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To my left, two dead creatures—one of them in pieces. To my right, a third dead thing, oozing gore. Its corpse was shifting; it wasn’t moving, exactly. It was decomposing too fast, collapsing in upon itself. I don’t know why. I didn’t have time to investigate, though the question nagged at me. Fourth and fifth corpses were on the foot of the stairs or just beyond them. She’d killed them on the way inside, I dimly recalled.

A shriek rose up, and it was joined by other voices. They came from beside me, in front of me. From farther away—behind the house? Elsewhere in the neighborhood?—they sang out, meeting in a weird pitch that made my ears hum. Somewhere, more glass was breaking. I could barely hear it, but I knew the sound.

And here they came. A rickety wave of arms and legs with too many joints, mouths with too many teeth, eyes without enough pigment. The light storm showed me five, but I’d heard more than that. I knew there were more. I didn’t have to see them to be confident of their presence, and I didn’t have to count the bullets in my pocket, in my hand, in my gun, to know that there weren’t enough.

I cocked the revolver and shot the first one between the eyes. Its head exploded in a mass of tissue and gristle, and whatever fluid filled those bulbous orbs it used to gaze out at the world. If in fact the things could see at all.

If there was blood, it didn’t look like blood. If there was brain matter, I didn’t see it . . . just the spongy, scrambled-egg leavings speckled with bone. They scattered across the porch and another creature came up behind it, slipped in the mess, and fell down.

I fired twice. It struggled, but did not stop coming so I fired again. It fell backward, off the steps, but I saw it moving.

Lizzie was right. She’d told me long ago that the axe worked better than bullets. But I didn’t have an axe. I had bullets, maybe one or two left in the gun and a pocketful after that. I looked out across the lawn and counted seven, eight, maybe more. All of them coming for me.

The injured creature with the needle-glass teeth came crawling up the steps again. I kicked it back down. I shoved my boot into the center of its face, where a nose ought to go, but didn’t.

It toppled backward again, but there were more. So many more.

Seconds away.