Chapters (206)
- Praise for Maplecroft
- Title page
- Copyright page
- Contents
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
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- A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
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- Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
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- I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
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- Nance O’Neil
- THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
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- AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
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- THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
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- CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
- Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
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- HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
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- A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Nance O’Neil
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
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- Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
- Emma L. Borden
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- Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
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- DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
- Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
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- Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Emma L. Borden
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- FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Inspector Simon Wolf
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The battered remains smelled disgusting. Whatever these things circulate for blood, it is more foul than anything I could imagine for comparison purposes. The liquid itself congeals quickly when exposed to air, forming a nasty jelly the color of coffee—which meant I’d be scrubbing the steps and wiping down the floors before bedtime, whether I liked it or not. There’s only so much evidence I can stand to live with overnight.
Using the axe to keep the corpse at arm’s distance, I shoved, nudged, and leveraged the squishy, crunchy sack of skin over to the largest trapdoor—the one next to the slot where I keep the dreaded green stones contained and concealed.
I opened this horizontal cabinet to reveal the most expensive appliance in Maplecroft. Truly, it’s a work of art. It’s almost a shame that no one ever sees it.
Privately I think of it as “the cooker,” a perfectly gruesome description that no doubt says something awful about my mental state, or possibly my sense of humor. But I’ve learned the hard way that simply burying the inhuman little bodies is insufficient. As they decay, their odor becomes increasingly unbearable, even when smothered with several feet of earth. Worse yet, it attracts more of their loathsome kind. And then what? Do I kill every intruder, every strange, murderous invader of dubious origin? After a while, I’d surely run out of places to bury them. Our yard is not so large that I can afford the space for a cemetery of the weird.
No, the cooker is the only reasonable means of getting rid of them.
It cost a small fortune, and I had to bring in a man from out of state to set it up. I couldn’t risk any of the locals gossiping about it. That’s the last thing Emma and I need, especially now that we seem to be watched by more than just the usual neighbors, who remain convinced that I’ve somehow escaped justice.
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(They wait for me to make a mistake, to reveal some telltale clue or make some offhanded incriminating statement. They think they know the truth, and to a certain extent, they do. But they do not know the whole of it, and I am careful. I must be, for my sake and Emma’s. For the whole of Fall River’s sake, too. I do not know if I can save us all, but I have to try.)
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I reached down into the cabinet in my floor and gripped a metal latch. I turned it, and a small handle released with a pop. I cranked it, and the cooker’s heavy lid ratcheted upward.