“He’s no one to me,” Pierre said. “Lizzie, do you know him?”
She gulped and nodded. “Yes. It-it’s the mayor’s accomplice. He’s the one who threatened me. I think he was behind what was going on at Father’s business. No one knew where he’d gone.”
The butcher guffawed at her remark and rattled the pole. The ghoul’s groans became louder. “Congratulations, lass! Ye’ve guessed correctly. Oh, and we knew. This one ‘ere found out it wasn’t a good idea to take what ain’t his. ‘Tis a lesson ye both should’ve learned as well. Always better to be mindin’ yer own bizness and keep yer nose out of things that don’t concern ye, I always say.”
“What business is that?” Lizzie demanded. “If it had to do with that mess in my Father’s building, it was my business! And what about my sister? You left those messages in my home, didn’t you? WHERE IS SHE?”
Their captor chuckled and tugged harder on the pole, making the ghoul more agitated. It snarled, its hands reaching, its rotted body straining against its bonds.
“Come now lass, ye mean the house ye bought with yer ill-gotten gains? I’m not as stupid a man as ye be thinkin’. I know blood money when I be seein’ and smellin’ it.”
“How dare you! You have—”
“Aye, such misplaced anger, lass.” He laughed again at her sputtered outrage. “That creature ye kept holed up in your basement? How’d ye live in that fancy home with that rotten stench and smell o’ death risin’ up through the floorboards?”
He continued, his smile never reaching his hard eyes. “Lass, don’t ye worry yourself none. So many people keepin’ those ghouls at home made it easier for us. All we had to do was go in, and take the trash out. Plenty willin’ to pay to get them back, the richer ones bein’ afraid to go to the police. And the others no one’s claimed? Eh, we got our own plant over in Boston. We’re makin’ a good penny sellin’ new fuels for those stoves and fancy fireplaces. Burn nice and clean they do, once the rot is turned to ash and compacted, and there’s plenty material to be found.”
The butcher let out another loud guffaw and pulled the restraints harder. The more the ghoul fought, the more its keeper laughed. “Aye, we’ve been experimentin’, too. The stuff works better than ashes for makin’ candles. Burns longer or somethin’. Got a local man workin’ on that. Will keep us in business for years.”
His admissions made Lizzie’s head spin. Candles? Memories clicked together in her mind, but the creature’s movements and the rattle of the chain chased the full connections away for the moment.
Pierre angrily shook his own shackle and chain in response. “So, that’s your scheme? Making money off the misery of good families? You won’t get away with it, you know.”
The threat made the butcher laugh harder, his action causing the chained ghoul to flail its rotted arms. UNNNNH. ARGGH! It pulled and fought in an attempt to escape. It grasped and reached for them with clawed fingers.
“We’ll be seein’, won’t we? Ye surely wont’ stop me. I think ye’ll both be busy with other things. Oh, and I guess ye learned, lass, that ye shouldn’t believe messages ye get from strangers, should ye?”
Lizzie glared, not surprised that he knew, or was somehow linked, with whoever had lured her to the dock on false pretenses. No matter. She wouldn’t be fooled a second time—if she ever got out of here, that is. She wriggled the lock on her ankle and yanked the chain in an attempt to pull it free, her actions only making the big man chuckle even more.
“Try all ye want. Ye won’t be gettin’ free of that there chain. Not yet anyway.”
She watched as he dug in a grimy pocket and pulled out a tarnished silver key. “Not without this, ye won’t.” He turned the key side to side. “But don’t think it’s gonna be easy.” With that, he lifted his arm high and held the key aloft.
“Liz!” Pierre yelled. “Watch where it lands!”
She tried to keep her eyes on the key, watching as the butcher pulled back his arm and let the object fly across the room. As best as she could tell, she thought it landed somewhere in the piles of hay directly across from her.
The big man laughed again as he held out two more keys, one gold, one silver, the surfaces dull, the luster gone from years of use. “Oh, you won’t be needin’ that one, not jes’ yet. That key goes to the back storage room door. This one here, this is what ye want!”
With that, he dropped the key just out of their reach, but within inches of the ghoul. That done, he backed up and opened the lock on the creature’s chain with the other key. He pulled the pole away, giving the creature a shove before jogging to the back of the building. He unlocked the rear storage room door, then turned and waved before he ran outside.
The slam of the door as he exited acted like a catalyst, setting everything in motion. The ghoul staggered and pulled on its chain again before stumbling forward in a clumsy two-step when nothing stopped its momentum. In the back, they heard a series of low thuds coming from inside the storage room. Lizzie could only guess what was in there banging on the door.
“Never mind,” Pierre cautioned, his voice low. “I’ll draw this one over. Grab the key. Hurry!”
Lizzie watched in horror as Pierre yelled and began waving his arms, his actions a more inviting draw than her sitting there silent. The ghoul shambled to its right, black goo dripping from its mouth.
As the creature shuffled closer to Pierre, Lizzie silently prayed he’d found a way to fight it off. She took her chance. With the monster intent on its captive and paying no attention to her, Lizzie slowly scooted to the space in front of her.
Pierre kept jumping and yelling as she shoved herself over and began digging like gold was buried under the loose hay. She dug some more, then stopped as more pounding sounded in the back. She glanced up and continued as Pierre motioned at her to keep going. The creature shuffled closer, with only a foot to go.
Lizzie let out a huge sigh of relief when her fingers touched something metal. The key! She hurriedly picked it up, shoved it into the locked shackle, and twisted. “Open, open!” She mumbled, her panic growing, as the key wiggled but wouldn’t move. Then it did. The lock opened with a loud click that made the ghoul stop and turn around with a growl.
“Lizzie, hurry!”
The monster shifted back in Pierre’s direction. It flailed its arms, its reach almost within the danger zone. All Pierre could do was inch further away, going only as far as his chain allowed.
Frantic, Lizzie glanced his way and then scanned the ground, anxious to find something to stop the monster’s progress.
“Liz, there’s no time left!”
She glanced over and saw Pierre back up more. He crouched down and grabbed the end of the chain. Then the monster lunged. Pierre jumped up and shoved the creature aside. It stumbled, giving Pierre his chance. He pulled it down, managing to wrap part of his chain around its neck, but it wasn’t long enough. The creature wriggled and fought as Pierre pinned it down, but he didn’t have enough room, to snap the creature’s neck without snapping his own leg if he pulled too far.
“Lizzie, find something, hurry. I don’t have enough chain to work with!”
Frantic, she dug around in the hay, looking for something of use. To her relief, she found a short-handled axe, the blade rusty, but intact.
“Watch out!” She ran toward the monster, which turned its head in her direction, a grimace on its partial lips. Pierre let go and leaped out of the way as she slammed the axe head at the thing, hitting it on the side of the head and shoulder. A deep gouge leaked black goo.
The creature snarled more, its arms still grasping and clawing. This time, Lizzie pulled back and let the axe fly. The tool hit the horrific being square in the chest. It broke through the rotted ribcage with a loud crack, sending the creature crashing into the wooden wall at its back. It hung there, wriggling and moaning. The axe held it in place like a dead insect on a scientific specimen display.
She stood and stared, angry—at the butcher, at her father, and at hav
ing to deal with these monstrosities again. Her anger now turned up high, she yanked a broken piece of the animal stall free and slammed the creature in the head. It finally stopped moving and hung limp, its torturous un-life over.
That done, she hurriedly took the key and unlocked the shackle on Pierre’s leg. She fell into his arms, apologizing for her near miss. Their celebration was short-lived, though, as the door in the rear banged open. The room filled with the overwhelming stench and nightmarish cries of the undead.
“The back room!” Lizzie cried. “They’re out!”
Chapter Eighteen
“Now there is absolutely (and I think the Commonwealth will say it) no direct evidence against Miss Borden, the defendant. You know what I mean. Nobody saw or heard anything or experienced anything that connects her with the tragedies. No weapon whatever, and no knowledge of the use of one, as to her, has been shown. You know that if you had found her with some weapon of that kind in her control, or in her room, or with her belongings, that would be direct evidence. But there was nothing of that kind.”
—Closing argument for the defense,
The Honorable George H. Robinson,
Trial of Lizzie Borden, June 19, 1863
T
he room exploded in a tumult of sound and movement. The horrific sounds the creatures emitted increased, filling every inch and corner of the building.
“Quick, Lizzie! I’ll find something over here. Get that axe. I’m not sure how many are in there.” Pierre rushed to the stalls on the other side of the room, inspecting each space until he reached down and picked up a long metal pole. “This’ll do. Go dig around for that other key. I’ll hold them off!”
She yanked the axe from the now truly dead creature’s body, which fell to the ground in a jumble of rotted bones. A quick glance revealed at least ten ghouls shuffling her way, and more spilling out of the room. She had no idea how many could still be waiting in there unseen, ready to lurch out.
Dropping the tool, she knelt and pawed through the hay as fast as possible, throwing the pieces in the air like barnyard confetti. She stopped digging, looking up in alarm at the sheer number of advancing ghouls.
“Lizzie, hurry. There’s not much time!” Pierre yelled.
“I’m looking, I’m looking!”
She dug faster, swishing her hands through the hay. She crawled to the next pile where she thought the key had dropped. The smell of rotten eggs and decay from the approaching creatures made her cough. She eyed the monsters, which despite their slowness, had only a few feet left before they’d be too close.
“Where is it? Where is it?”
Creatures roared. The ghouls flailed their skinless arms. Rotted hands grasped and clawed as they shambled forward as quickly as their decayed legs allowed.
“Get ready!” Pierre yelled and leaped ahead, the pole whirling in his hands so fast it looked like a blur to Lizzie. He spun and thrust, chopping and attacking the monsters one by one. Pieces of them fell and flew, black goo splattering everything.
As he fought them off, she continued to brush her hands through the hay. A minute later she yipped when something sharp nicked her hand. Her fingers clenched around the item and pulled it out: a small paring knife. She ignored the dots of blood on her left palm and slid the knife into her dress pocket.
“Lizzie…”
“I’m looking…” She hunted around until finally, her fingers touched something small and notched. “Please, please…” She pulled it out from beneath the mound of hay and jumped to her feet, holding it overhead. “Yes! I found it!”
Her eyes met Pierre’s, who flashed a grim smile. She stared ahead at the seemingly endless line of undead shambling out of the back room. She picked up the axe, which felt ten times heavier in her hands. All right. Maybe it’s not unending. I can do it. We have to do it!
“YIIII!” She yelled and leaped, stabbing one, then the next, and the one after that. She pounced. Almost in a trance, she fought, the ghouls meeting their final demise one after the other until it all became a mindless blur of black goo and undead bodies.
Then, as suddenly as it began, it ended.
Thank God they’d managed to best this horde.
Lizzie let the goo-encrusted tool fall from her hands. She stared in silence at the black dots of gunk spotting her arms and clothes. Yet in a daze, she wiped the top of her hands on her dress. Her mouth curled in a grimace.
The early elation she’d felt at fighting, at sending this sinful scourge back to the pit it had emerged from, had vanished. Now she felt dirty, bedraggled, and heartsick. She wanted no more. It had to end.
But just as she felt ready to leave, movement by the door to the back room caught her eye. She saw it again and cried out, transfixed by what she thought she’d seen. Was it? Could it be?
She held her arm out and pointed, her fingers quaking. “Pierre, look. Is it?”
He came up behind her and squeezed her shoulders. “I see.”
A minute later, an eerie wail rent the air. The skeletal body, draped in the shredded remains of a once goodly priced gown turned an ugly shade of gray and black, shuffled into view. It shambled through the doorway, its bony feet scraping against the dirt. It stumbled on, a long eerie keen on its fleshless lips. Only a few tufts of a once-fashionable hairstyle remained on its skull.
Lizzie stared at the approaching horror, her eyes fixed on only one thing—the ratty remains of a once bright red wool scarf wrapped around the creature’s bony neck.
“Emma, oh, Emma.” She sobbed and collapsed to her knees. “Oh, Emma, I’m so sorry, dear, I’m so sorry.”
Chapter Nineteen
“It was not Lizzie Andrew Borden, the daughter of Andrew J. Borden, that came down those stairs, but a murderess…”
—Closing argument,
District Attorney Hosea Knowlton,
Trial of Lizzie Borden, June 20, 1893
T
hat horrific glimpse of what was left of her sister shuffling her way came with new insight. It dawned on Lizzie that being away from Emma these past days was actually a blessing of sorts. Instead of seeing what she wanted, she instead saw what was before her with new eyes. This caricature of life with its shuffling steps, rot, and stench of death and the grave… this shambling skeletal creature was not her sister.
Waves of guilt hit her.
Lizzie now fully and truly understood what she’d ignored before: the real Emma had been gone since the day she and Pierre had brought her back home with that gouge on her back.
Her personal list of wrongs piled one on top of the other: she never should’ve dragged her unconscious, nearly undead sister downstairs and locked her in that cage.
She never should’ve kept her at home.
She should’ve ended Emma’s misery long ago, just like she’d done with the other walking mockeries of God’s greatest gift.
“I was wrong, so wrong,” Lizzie whispered.
Pierre tightened his grip on her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I know how hard it is. It’s hard to see the truth when it’s your own family. That’s why so many people kept them at home.”
“You should’ve insisted.”
He shook his head. “No. It would’ve made no difference. Not I, nor anyone else, could’ve forced you to make that decision. It would’ve been wrong of me. It’s always been your decision.”
“I know, I know. But I-I can’t do it like this. Not here.”
The thump of bony feet against the soft dirt filled the room. Lizzie stared at the approaching undead Emma and in that instant, she pieced together the facts she’d missed before—the candles… her father’s business… the names on the papers… the unanswered questions. All of it was connected. The answers clicked in place, stirring up an already flickering flame of rage.
Her anger lit by the knowledge of how both she, and Emma, had been deceived and used not just once, but twice, spurred her to action. She stomped across the room and pulled a moldy, discarded horse blanket from where it la
y draped over a stall door. She pulled down a rope hanging on the stall wall, checking it for frays. It would do.
“Liz? What’re you doing?”
“Take this. I know what happened. I know what I missed before. We’re going to the marshal and fix this, once and for all. First, we have to wrap up Emma. Once it’s dark, we’ll go to Oak Grove Cemetery. She should be buried next to Father. It’s only right.”
“Is that what you want? Are you certain?”
She nodded. “Yes, I’m a hundred percent sure.”
The blanket held between them, Lizzie rushed forward on one side of the ghoul that was once her sister, while Pierre did the same on the other side. She ignored the snap of the creature’s teeth, and paid little mind to the stench and rot.
“Goodbye, Emma.”
With a nod, Lizzie pulled the blanket to the center, wrapping the heavy wool tightly like a cocoon around the skeletal creature’s head, shoulders, and arms. Pierre did the same, meeting her in the middle, the two of them pinning their captive firm within the blanket. The heavy covering muffled the horrific sounds.
He finished and took the rope. “Hold tight. Got it?”
Lizzie nodded.
He looped the rope around the bundle, pulled and knotted it tight near the top, and then let a portion hang free. He took the next section of rope and did the same, wrapping it around the middle. Lizzie adjusted her hold on the roll as he repeated his actions and tied the last of the rope near the bottom.
Their task done, he threw the blanket over his shoulder with ease. Lizzie knew it couldn’t weigh much, a sad reminder of the final outcome of this horrific scourge. Once outside, they followed the path from the farm and turned toward the main road. She wasn’t surprised to see small groups of creatures shuffling around lost in the distance. They probably wouldn’t be there long, she suspected.
The Axe Will Fall Page 11