The Lizzie Borden House
Lizzie Borden took an axe,
And gave her mother forty whacks;
When she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty-one.
It’s just after midnight, and I’m lying in bed in the room where one of the country’s most notorious murders took place. On the floor at my bedside is where Abby Borden’s bloody body fell after she was attacked. What will we experience here? Will murder victims Andrew or Abby, or even Lizzie, make an appearance? I’m ready for this. I ain’t afraid of no ghosts. So it’s lights out. I settle in underneath a light blanket as a cold rain pounds outside. And then…
• • •
6 p.m. Sunday
The first hatchet blow glanced off Abby’s scalp above her left ear. Seventeen more strikes came after that, mostly to the right side of her head, leaving a 5-inch hole in her skull.
We pull in to the narrow driveway on Second Street in Fall River, Mass., just before dark. In this boxy, forest-green, three-story home, Andrew Borden lived with his second wife, Abby; his two unmarried daughters, Emma and Lizzie; and their maid in the late 1800s. It is also the place where Andrew and Abby were murdered with hatchet strikes to the head on Aug. 4, 1892. Lizzie was accused of the crime, then tried and acquitted in a sensational court case that grabbed international headlines. But she will always be linked to the double murder. She was the 19th-century version of O.J. Simpson.
We drop our bags in the second-floor front bedroom where Abby was bludgeoned. We will be spending the night in this room, in this house, which is now a bed and breakfast.
8 p.m. Sunday
Andrew Borden was struck 10 times on the left side of his head and face. One blow cut his left eyeball in half. Others penetrated his skull and crushed bone into his brain.
The house is a museum too, with tours offered daily. Overnight guests get an extended tour after dark, learning about the house’s history and hauntings. On this tour, we are joined by four other guests who will be spending the night: Chad and Heather, Brooklynites who enjoy exploring dark history as much as I do; and Bill and Aymi, a couple from Connecticut with a morbid curiosity too. For the next two-and-a-half hours, tour guide Robin takes us through each room, from the basement where a hidden hatchet was found after the murders to the top floor that served as the maid’s quarters and guest bedrooms — with extended stops in each of the murder rooms.
9:20 p.m. Sunday
‘Oh, Mrs. Churchill, do come over. Someone has killed Father,’ Lizzie said to neighbor Adelaide Churchill. Mrs. Churchill and the Bordens’ maid, Bridget Sullivan, summoned a doctor, then started looking through the rest of the house for Abby. As Mrs. Churchill ascended the front stairs, she turned to the left, her eyes level with the floor of the front hall. She saw — through the bannister and into the guest bedroom, on the far side of the bed — Abby’s body.
Robin lies in the spot where Abby fell so that one by one we could climb the front stairs for the view that Mrs. Churchill saw. Robin tells us stories about people who have felt presences here or been terrorized. She shows us photos of mysterious streaks and reflections captured by cameras, and a good selection of crime scene and autopsy photos. She also floats various theories about the killings. Did Lizzie really do it? Was Emma or the maid or an uncle involved? Or did Andrew have another enemy?
11:10 p.m. Sunday
SHOCKING CRIME.
A Venerable Citizen and His Aged Wife
HACKED TO PIECES IN THEIR HOME.
— Headline in The Fall River Herald, Aug. 4, 1892
The tour has ended, and Robin has left. Bill and Aymi have retired to their top-floor room. Chad and I bond over our love of “The Walking Dead” and “American Horror Story.” Then Chad and Heather and Scott and I decide to explore a bit more — down in the basement, where cameras may capture a ghostly image of Andrew Borden, and where a couple of full-size wooden coffins are being prepared for Halloween; in the sitting room, where Heather gamely poses in the spot where Andrew was killed; and upstairs in the guest room and the sisters’ rooms. We jokingly plot to scare each other in the middle of the night. Outside, a cold rain is falling.
11:30 p.m. Sunday
The community was terribly shocked this morning to hear that an aged man and his wife had fallen victims to the thirst of a murderer, and that an atrocious deed had been committed. The news spread like wildfire and hundreds poured into Second Street. The deed was committed at No. 62 Second Street, where for years Andrew J. Borden and his wife had lived in happiness. — The Fall River Herald, Aug. 4, 1892
The rain has let up a bit, so I head across the street to take a few photos of the house at night. After hours of hearing about and seeing photos of “presences” and streaks and orbs of light, I hope that something similar will show up in one of my many photos. I’m not disappointed. “Look! Orbs!” I say as I run back into the house. “Lots of them! There must be a lot of angry spirits around.” Everyone gathers around my small camera screen to see what I’m talking about.
Sure enough, dozens of orbs of differing sizes and brightness are floating around the outside of the house. We all have a good laugh about it. Yeah, they’re only raindrops reflected in my flash. Or are they?
11:45 p.m. Sunday
A watch surrounded the house all night, and officers were guard inside. No further developments were reported. The family retired soon after 10 o’clock and all was in darkness. Undertaker Winward had taken charge of the remains at the request of Miss Borden, and will prepare them for burial. — The Fall River Herald, Aug. 5, 1892
We sit in the parlor for a little while and talk. This is the room where Lizzie was informed that she was a suspect in the murders. I am sipping a cup of Bigelow Sweet Dreams herb tea, as if that alone will help me get through the night. I finish, and we head upstairs.
12:10 a.m. Monday
It’s just after midnight, and I’m lying in bed in the room where one of the country’s most notorious murders took place. There’s no escaping the fact — a few feet away, in a decorative frame on a Victorian-era dresser, is a crime scene photo from 1892. It’s displayed so matter-of-factly, like it’s just another family portrait. Another crime scene photo hangs on the wall.
On the floor at my bedside is where Abby Borden’s bloody body fell after she was attacked. All of the stories we heard all night are no doubt on everyone’s mind. What will we experience here? Will murder victims Andrew or Abby, or even Lizzie, make an appearance? But I’m ready for this. I ain’t afraid of no ghosts. So it’s lights out.
I settle in underneath a light blanket as a cold rain again pounds outside. And then…
7 a.m. Monday
…I wake up. I was dead to the world for nearly seven hours. No monsters. No ghosts. No paranormal activity. No orbs. No spirits tapped me on the shoulder or came to fill me in on what really happened in the house that day. It was just a good night’s sleep. I’m honestly a little disappointed that I wasn’t terrorized.
I do remember waking up once — briefly — and peeking out from the edge of the blanket to see whether Abby was standing over the bed or lying on the floor. She wasn’t, and I quickly fell back into unconsciousness.
The morning sunlight is just starting to filter in through the shades and shutters on the windows. It is a peaceful morning at a bed and breakfast in a beautiful New England house.
We head out before anyone else awakens, to see the house where Lizzie spent her later years in the Highlands neighborhood of Fall River. She enjoyed a large life even though she had been ostracized by townspeople. The rambling house — much larger than the Second Street home — is showing signs of neglect today and is nowhere near as grand as it probably once was.
Then a stop at the nearby Oak Grove Cemetery, where the entire Borden family is buried in a large plot. Lizzie died in 1927; Emma died nine days after her.
9 a.m. Monday
It was a much different time, before crime labs and morgues. Partial autopsies were performed in the house — Andrew’s in the sitting room near where he was attacked, and Abby’s in the dining room.
Everyone else survived the night too.
We all meet in the dining room for a filling, home-cooked breakfast similar to what may have been served on the day of the murders: eggs, potatoes, and johnnycakes with syrup. At this point, it doesn’t seem even the slightest bit unusual for an autopsy photo of Andrew Borden to be propped up on the table amid all the serving dishes, or for a vintage wooden autopsy board to be hanging on the wall.
After eating, the six of us pose on the sitting room sofa in remembrance of our stay, and of our survival of a night at the Lizzie Borden House.
NOT GUILTY!
Miss Lizzie A. Borden is Acquitted.
Decision Reached on First Ballot.
— Headline in the Boston Globe, June 20, 1893