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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. •   •   •
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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
  22. •   •   •
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  26. BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
  27. •   •   •
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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
  54. •   •   •
  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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  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. •   •   •
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  84. Emma L. Borden
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  86. •   •   •
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  88. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  89. •   •   •
  90. •   •   •
  91. Lizzie Andrew Borden
  92. •   •   •
  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.
  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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  119. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  130. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  131. Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
  132. •   •   •
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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. •   •   •
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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
  198. •   •   •
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  204. •   •   •
  205. Inspector Simon Wolf
  206. •   •   •

With a flick of my wrist, and that old muscle-memory from the war and from all the days after it, I reloaded on the fly and fired again. I aimed for their heads. If one shot could take them down, that was the shot that would do it. The dead thing beside me, added to Lizzie’s pile, suggested as much.

But a glance down at the thing told me it twitched still, a jerk of the knee, a shift of the elbow. Its head was exploded, and still it struggled to rise.

I put my boot against this one, too. I stomped as hard as I could, catching its skull between the oak slat boards and my heel, and I crushed it down to pulp. Then I raised my gun. The rest of them were coming.

They were at the steps, fumbling up the bottom, grasping toward my feet.

I fired, and fired, and fired, and reloaded from my pocket until there were no more bullets left—and then I rushed inside the hall and slammed the door shut behind myself. I would have locked it, but the lock had ripped away, or blown away; it was gone, and I had nothing to barricade it with except for a nearby plant stand. I pulled it down and used it to brace the door in its frame—poorly, I’ll grant, but better than nothing. I pulled up the carpet runner behind me, rolled it up, shoved it up against the door; I pulled down curtains and threw them into the pile along with their rods; I dragged a small end table into the mix and then a tall-backed chair from the parlor.

Outside, they cried . . . and they beat their hands against the badly shut door, but they did not push it open. Outside, they hovered and complained, as Lizzie promised they would. She knew something I didn’t. Outside, they stayed.

•   •   •

(I was inside, where I’d chosen to make my stand—or been forced to make it, if I were being truthful in this record, which I will leave behind somewhere, for someone, in the event that I go fully mad. Let this remind Fall River that I was not always insane, and that I fought for my home. I fought for my life, my soul, my sanity. And for everyone else’s.

Then again, maybe I’ll destroy everything. This could be my last gift: that the world should never know the lengths we went to, when we stood between Fall River and the ocean . . . armed with little more than an old axe.)

•   •   •

I was forced to come inside. I could not have taken them all.

I went to the cabinet and found the rest of the bullets, scattered on the floor. I gathered them up carefully, quickly. I pocketed every last one, except for the six I thumbed into the chambers. My fingers shook. I dropped two bullets, and collected them again.