Turning around, she went back into the kitchen and refilled the wine glasses. She returned to the sitting room and offered him a glass. “I don’t want you to leave. I can’t bear it.”
She watched as he took both glasses and set them down before taking her hands in his. “I’m glad to hear that. Very glad. I didn’t mean that, about not coming back. I had to know how you felt. I needed a reaction from you.”
This time she didn’t have to say a word as his lips came down on hers, soft, sensuous, and then more demanding. She yielded, giving in to his kisses, letting her passion match his for the first time. She clung to him, relishing the feel of his body next to hers, and the brush of his hand across her skin. Then, just as she thought she could take no more, he carefully broke off the kiss.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She welcomed each kiss, each caress, as he led her upstairs to her bedroom where they got to know one another better.
The sun had dipped low in the sky by the time the two of them came back downstairs. They both wore black, Pierre dressed in some mismatched items Lizzie had dug up that had belonged to her father.
“You’re looking quite dashing,” she laughed.
“Never mind, let’s get this over with.”
The coffee heated, and after they’d snacked on various sausages and cheeses, Lizzie knew they couldn’t put off their excursion any longer. “I’m ready.”
“Very well, let’s go then.”
She waited outside while he left and then returned minutes later leading the horse. He hooked up the animal to the carriage, checking on Emma’s remains one more time before helping Lizzie into her seat. The horse’s clip-clops echoed in the night, everything mostly quiet except for the occasional undead groan that drifted on the night breeze.
They traveled around Second Street, down Pleasant, and past Stetson to the Oak Grove Cemetery entrance at Prospect. Only once or twice did she see something moving in the shadows. The surge was almost over.
Pierre pulled the horse to a stop in front of the cemetery’s towering stone arch, the final resting place for the noted and the notable of Fall River society, among them, Lizzie’s father and mother, her stepmother—and soon, her sister.
Her mood somber, she led the way as Pierre picked up the blanket, its contents silent and unmoving. They passed under the gate and turned left. They followed the winding path, Lizzie paying no mind to the stately monuments she passed. Iron benches invited mourners or visitors to sit and reflect. A light breeze rustled the leaves of the numerous trees and bushes that gave the final resting place its comforting, park-like setting.
“There it is.” She pointed out the tall granite monument ahead, the stately, wide pedestal identified by the name A.J. Borden near the base. Swirls and leaves carved in the monument’s top section were accented by a strip of decorative slashes. The panel on the front contained the names, birth dates, and death years of those interred there.
Several flat slabs of granite sat in the ground steps away from the main grave marker. The smaller stones gave silent recognition to those buried in each space: AJB for Andrew J. Borden; SAB for his first wife and Lizzie’s mother, Sarah; and a slab that contained one word, Alice, the name of Lizzie’s baby sister who’d died at age two.
Soon, Lizzie knew, more names would be added to the main panel of the large monument. Two more flat markers would be added as well: one for her sister, Emma Lenora, and someday, her own.
She sighed as Pierre stood the blanket upright. She held it as he pulled the knife from the sheath at his waist.
“No, it’s not necessary,” she said. “She attacked me in the carriage house. I had to hit her with the shovel. She’s gone.”
“I’m sorry, Liz, I am. She’s at rest. Are you all right?” He squeezed her shoulder.
“Yes, I’m fine. I’ll be better once we get on the train and leave for Paris. I haven’t been to Europe in years.” The memory of tagging along years ago with a wealthier Borden cousin on her Grand Tour still rankled. This trip would be much different.
“What better way to return to my homeland, and the city of love, than with the woman I love?” He kissed the top of her head. “Have a seat. I’ll be finished in a while.”
She sat on the bench and watched him lay the blanket inside the empty grave he’d asked one of the Society members to dig for them earlier. The grass was brown, with pockets of green struggling to stay alive. The cooler nights had already prompted many of the trees to shed their crinkly layers of leaves for the coming winter.
The rhythmic scooping and thunk of dirt as it hit the blanket lulled Lizzie almost to sleep. She jerked slightly as Pierre wiped the dirt off his palms with a clap of his hands.
“All done.” He walked over and set the shovel next to the bench. “Are you ready?”
Her eyes took in the newly filled gravesite for the last time. She clasped Pierre’s fingers in her own, the solitaire diamond on her left hand sparkling with an inner glow.
Arm in arm, they slowly walked away without another glance. Lizzie looked up at Pierre and smiled, happier than she’d ever been, the past finally, and truly, behind her. She looked forward to them starting a new life—together.
As they talked, neither saw the stirring of the dirt on the gravesite. They didn’t see the way the ground trembled. For a moment, Lizzie paused, thinking she’d heard… something.
“What is it? Is anything wrong?”
Lizzie listened, then shook her head. “No, no. It was nothing.”
Several minutes later, a filthy hand, worms slithering across the exposed bones, broke through the soft surface of the grave. The decayed fingers clawed at the air, searching...
~* ~*~*~
If you enjoyed this book, I hope you’ll write and post a short review. Even a short line or two is appreciated and helpful to other readers. If you do post a review, I’d love to hear about it. I also may share part of it on my blog and/or website. I love hearing what readers think!
Be sure to sign up for my occasional newsletter (at top center column) at my website. Thank you!—C.A. Verstraete, [email protected]
Message from the Author
Dear Reader,
In 1892, nothing could have been more shocking then the arrest of 32-year-old spinster Lizzie Borden for the horrific axe murders of her father and stepmother in Fall River, Mass.
Now, more than a century after Lizzie’s June 1893 acquittal, the murders are still an unsolved mystery. Theories abound as to why she might have committed the crimes, but no solid proof has yet been uncovered. So many questions remain unanswered.
This book is an attempt to fill in some of those blanks, albeit fictionally. Here I continue Lizzie’s story after the trial, and after the initial release of the zombies. It’s an attempt to answer, the question, What if?
I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed continuing the story of one of the 19th century’s most fascinating women.—Christine Verstraete
The Real Life Crime
To this day, there is no clear consensus as to who actually committed the double murders of Andrew J. Borden and his wife Abby Durfee Borden at 92 Second Street in Fall River, Massachusetts, on a hot August morning in 1892.
While many believe former Sunday School teacher Lizzie Andrew Borden was guilty, there is no evidence directly linking her to the crime. A handle-less hatchet found by police in the cellar was presumed—but never proven—to be the murder weapon.
Lizzie, a 32-year-old spinster, reportedly discovered her 70-year-old father, Andrew J. Borden, lying dead on the settee in the sitting room near 11 a.m. on August 4, 1892. He had been struck 10 times with a hatchet or axe. The body of her 64-year-old stepmother, Abby Durfee Borden, was found bent over on her knees by the bed in the upstairs guest bedroom. She had been struck 18 times, according to the autopsy report.
Lizzie was arrested for the murders following a three-day inquest held August 9 to 11, 1892. A grand jury began hearing evidence i
n November, with Lizzie indicted for the crimes on December 2.
The “trial of the century” held June 5 to June 20, 1893 in the New Bedford Superior Court garnered nationwide media attention and interest worldwide, especially once the verdict came in: not guilty. The sensational crime would have been punishable by an equally grisly death—hanging on the gallows.
Lizzie and Emma were later estranged, but Lizzie continued to live in Fall River until her death on June 1, 1927 at age 67. She is buried next to her parents and sister in the family plot at Oak Grove Cemetery.
Sources
Following are some great places to read original documents and other background material about the Borden murders, along with a list of key places to visit. (Links were checked at the time of writing.)
Newspapers and Research
* “Enduring Mystery: The Life and Trials of Lizzie Borden” (2013). Six-day Providence Journal series, or search special reports: http://tinyurl.com/qx2u3vq
* Lizzie Borden chronology:
http://www.heraldnews.com/news/20160803/timeline-day-of-borden-murders
* University of Amherst investigation into the Borden case: http://ccbit.cs.umass.edu/lizzie/intro/home.html
* University of Missouri, Kansas City School of Law. Crime scene photos, news accounts, transcript excerpts: http://law2.umkc.edu/faculty/projects/ftrials/lizzieborden/bordenhome.html
Places of Interest
* Fall River Historical Society: http://www.fallriverhistorical.org
* Lizzie Borden Bed & Breakfast/Museum, 230 2nd St., site of the original Borden home at 92 Second St. Maplecroft, the home Lizzie bought after the trial, is also opening as a B&B. https://lizzie-borden.com
* Oak Grove Cemetery, Fall River, MA. Borden family burial plot: http://friendsofoakgrovecemetery.org
* Lizzie Borden’s dogs are buried at the Pine Ridge Pet Cemetery, Animal League of Boston, by the Dedham Animal Shelter, 55 Anna’s Place, Dedham, Mass. http://www.arlboston.org/pine-ridge-pet-cemetery
TV Movies and Filmography
* The Legend of Lizzie Borden (1975) Elizabeth Montgomery, TV movie. Re-released on DVD.
* Lizzie Borden Had An Axe (2004) Discovery Channel forensic investigation.
* Lizzie Borden Took An Axe (2014-15) Christina Ricci, Lifetime movie and mini-series.
* Lizzie, Chloë Sevigny, Kristen Stewart (2018)
Want Some Music To Read By?
* Cry - Johnnie Ray (1952); David Cassidy (1990)
* Just Playing With My Axe – Buddy Guy (1968)
* Lizzie Borden – The Chad Mitchell Trio (1962)
* Small Axe – Bob Marley & The Wailers (1973)
* We Bury the Hatchet – Garth Brooks (1991)
About the Author
Christine (C.A.) Verstraete is an award-winning journalist who enjoys writing fiction with a bit of a “scare.”
Her short stories have been published in anthologies and publications including, Descent into Darkness, Mystery Weekly, Sirens Call, Feast of the Dead: Hors D'Oeuvres; 100 Doors to Madness; and in Timeshares, Steampunk'd, and Hot & Steamy: Tales of Steampunk Romance, DAW Books.
Learn more at her website, www.cverstraete.com, and blog, http://girlzombieauthors.blogspot.com.
Works by C.A. Verstraete
Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter
Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter 2: The Axe Will Fall
The Haunting of Dr. Bowen,
A Mystery Set in Lizzie Borden’s Fall River
Changes, A GIRL Z Prequel Story
~ * * * ~
Bonus! Excerpt from,
Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter
Every family has its secrets…
One hot August morning in 1892, Lizzie Borden picked up an axe and murdered her father and stepmother.
Newspapers claim she did it for the oldest of reasons: family conflicts, jealousy and greed. But what if her parents were already dead? What if Lizzie slaughtered them because they’d become…zombies?
Chapter One
Q. You saw his face covered with blood?
A. Yes, sir.
Q. Did you see his eyeball hanging out?
A. No, sir.
Q. Did you see the gashes where his face was laid open?
A. No, sir.
—Lizzie Borden at inquest, August 9-11, 1892,
Fall River Courtroom
August 4, 1892
L
izzie Borden drained the rest of her tea, set down her cup, and listened to the sound of furniture moving upstairs. My, my, for only ten o’clock in the morning my stepmother is certainly energetic. Housecleaning, already?
THUMP.
For a moment, Lizzie forgot her plans to go shopping downtown. THUMP. There it went again. It sounded like her stepmother was rearranging the whole room. She paused at the bottom stair, her concern growing, when she heard another thump and then, the oddest of sounds—a moan. Uh-oh. What was that? Did she hurt herself?
“Mrs. Borden?” Lizzie called. “Are you all right?”
No answer.
She wondered if her stepmother had taken ill, yet the shuffling, moving, and other unusual noises continued. Lizzie hurried up the stairs and paused outside the partially opened door. The strange moans coming from the room sent a shiver up her back.
When she pushed the door open wider, all she could do was stare. Mrs. Abby Durfee Borden stood in front of the bureau mirror clawing at her reflected image. And what a horrid image it was! The sixty-seven-year-old woman’s hair looked like it had never been combed and stuck out like porcupine quills. Her usually spotless housedress appeared wrinkled and torn. Yet, that wasn’t the worst. Dark red spots—blood, Lizzie’s mind whispered—dotted the floor and streaked the sides, of the older woman’s dress and sleeves.
Lizzie gazed about the room in alarm. The tips of Father’s slippers peeking out from beneath the bed also glistened with the same viscous red liquid. All that blood! What happened here? What happened?
She gasped, which got the attention of Mrs. Borden, who jerked her head and growled. Lizzie choked back a cry of alarm. Abby’s square, plain face now appeared twisted and ashen gray. Her eyes, once bright with interest, stared from under a milky covering as if she had cataracts. She resembled a female version of The Portrait of Dorian Gray. Another growl and a moan, and the older woman lunged, arms rigid, her stubby hands held out like claws.
“Mrs. Borden, Abby!” Lizzie yelled and stumbled backward as fast as she could. “Abby, do you hear me?”
Her stepmother shuffled forward, her steps slow but steady. She showed no emotion or sense of recognition. The only utterances she made were those strange low moans.
Lizzie moved back even further, trying to keep out of reach of Mrs. Borden’s grasping fingers. Then her foot hit something. Lizzie quickly glanced down at the silver hairbrush that had fallen to the floor. Too late, she realized her error.
“No!” Lizzie shivered at the feel of her stepmother’s clammy, cold hand around her wrist. “Abby, what happened? What’s wrong with you?”
Mrs. Borden said nothing and moved in closer. Her mouth opened and closed revealing bloodstained teeth.
“No! Stay away!” Lizzie yelled. “Stop!”
She didn’t. Instead, Mrs. Borden scratched and clawed at her. Lizzie leaned back, barely escaping the snap of the madwoman’s teeth at her neck.
“Mrs. Bor—Abby! No, no! Stop!”
Lizzie’s slight advantage of being younger offered no protection against her stepmother’s almost demonic, inhuman strength. The older woman bit and snapped like a rabid dog. Lizzie struggled to fight her off and shoved her away, yet Mrs. Borden attacked again and again, her hands grabbing, her teeth seeking the tender flesh covered by Lizzie’s long, full sleeves.
The two of them grappled and wrestled, bumping into the bedposts and banging into furniture. Lizzie yelped each time her soft flesh hit something hard. She felt her strength wane as the crazed woman’s gnarled hands clawed at her. How much more she could
endure?
Her cries for help came out hoarse and weak. “Em-Emma!” She tried again. “Help! Help me!” Lizzie knew her sister had come in late last night from her trip out of town. But if Emma already woke and went downstairs, will she even hear me?
Lizzie reeled back in panic as her spine pressed against the fireplace. She pushed and fought in an attempt to keep this monster away, yet Mrs. Borden’s ugly face and snapping teeth edged closer and closer.
—Continued in Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter
Bonus! Excerpt from,
The Haunting of Dr. Bowen
Gruesome deaths haunt the industrial city of Fall River, Massachusetts.
Can Dr. Bowen discover who, or what, is shattering the peace before Fall River runs red? Or will he be the next victim?
Prologue
“Never did I say to anyone that she had died of fright. My first thought, when I was standing in the door, was that she had fainted.”
—Testimony of Dr. Seabury W. Bowen,
Trial of Lizzie Borden, June 8, 1893
“W
hy won’t anyone believe me? Why, Phoebe, why?”
Dr. Seabury Bowen shoved back the shock of white hair hanging over his forehead and wiped a wrinkled hand across his stubbled chin.
The Axe Will Fall_Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter_Book 2 Page 13