When the demolition of Blackstone Asylum is postponed due to financial problems, worried contractor Bill McGuire receives the mysterious gift of an antique doll, which is snatched up by his small daughter and contains a terrible evil.
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AN EYE FOR AN EYE: THE DOLL
The Beginning
The old Seth Thomas Regulator began to chime the hour. Oliver Metcalf kept typing only long enough to finish the sentence before abandoning the editorial he was composing to gaze thoughtfully at the wood-cased clock that had hung on the wall of the Blackstone Chronicle's one-room office for far more years than Oliver himself could remember. It was the clock that first fascinated him when his uncle brought him here more than forty years ago and taught him how to tell time, and the clock still fascinated him, with its rhythmic ticking, and because it kept time so perfectly that it had to be adjusted by no more than a single minute every year.
Now, after marking the thousands of hours of his life with its soft chime, it was reminding Oliver that the hour had come for him to perform his part in an event that would take place only once.
Today, the town of Blackstone was going to take the first, significant step in the destruction of part of its history.
Oliver Metcalf, as editor and publisher of the town's weekly newspaper, had been asked to make a speech. He'd made preparatory notes for several days but still had no idea precisely what he would say when the moment finally arrived for him to stand at the podium, the great stone structure rising behind him, and face his fellow townsmen. As he picked up the sheaf of notes and tucked it into the inside pocket of his tweed jacket, he wondered if inspiration would strike him when at last he had to speak, or whether he would stare speechlessly out at the gathered crowd as they gazed, waiting, at him.
Questions would be in their minds.
Questions that no one had spoken aloud for years.
Questions to which he had no answers.
He locked the office door behind him and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Crossing the street to cut through the town square, he considered turning back, skipping the ceremony entirely and instead finishing the editorial upon which he'd been working all morning. It was, after all, exactly the kind of day that was meant for staying indoors. The sky was slate gray, and the previous night's wind had stripped the last of the leaves from the great trees that had spread a protective canopy above the town from spring through fall. In early spring, when the enormous oaks and maples first began to bud, the canopy was the palest of greens. But as summer progressed, the foliage matured and thickened, darkening to a deep green that shaded Blackstone from August's hot glare and sheltered it from the rain squalls that swept through on their way toward the Atlantic seacoast several miles to the east. Over the last few weeks, abundant green had given way to the splendor of fall, and for a while the village had gloried in autumn's shimmering golden, red, and russet tones. Now the ground was littered with leaves, already a dead-looking brown, already beginning the slow process of decay that would return them to the soil from which they'd originally sprung.
Oliver Metcalf started toward the top of the hill where most of the townspeople would soon be gathered. Snow had not yet fallen, but a sodden, chill rain had accompanied last night's wind. It seemed to Oliver that a damp, freezing winter was about to descend. The gray light of the day seemed perfectly to reflect his own bleak mood. The trees, with their huge, naked limbs, raised their skeletal branches grotesquely toward the sky, as if seeking to ward off the lowering clouds with fleshless, twisted fingers. Ducking his head against the ominous morning, Oliver walked quickly through the streets, nodding distractedly to the people who spoke to him, meanwhile trying to focus his mind on what he would say to the crowd that would soon be gathered around the best-known building in town.
The Blackstone Asylum.
Throughout Oliver's life-throughout the lives of everyone in Blackstone-the massive building, constructed of stones dug from the fields surrounding the village, had loomed at the top of the town's highest hill. Its long-shuttered windows gazed out over the town not as if it were abandoned, but rather as though it were sleeping.
Sleeping, and waiting someday to awaken.
A chill passed through Oliver as the thought crossed his mind, but he quickly shook it off. No, it would never happen.
Today, the destruction of the Blackstone Asylum would commence.
A wrecking ball would swing, hurling its weight against those heavy gray stones, and after dominating the town for a full century, the building would finally be torn apart, its stone walls demolished, its turrets fallen, its green copper roof sold off for scrap.
As Oliver stepped through the ornate wrought-iron gates that pierced the fence surrounding the Asylum's entire ten acres, and started up the wide, curving driveway leading to its front door, an arm fell across his shoulders and he heard his uncle's familiar voice.
"Quite a day, wouldn't you say, Oliver?" Harvey Connally said, his booming, hearty voice belying his eighty-three years.
Oliver's gaze followed his uncle's, fixing on the brooding building, and he wondered what was going through the old man's mind. No point in asking; for despite their closeness, he'd always found his uncle far more comfortable discussing ideas than emotions.
"If you talk about emotions, you have to talk about people," Harvey had told him back when he was only ten or eleven years old, and home from boarding school for Christmas. "And talking about people is gossip. I don't gossip, and you shouldn't either." The words had clearly signaled Oliver that there were many things his uncle did not want to discuss.
Still, as the old man gazed up at the building that had risen on North Hill only a few years before his birth, Oliver couldn't help trying one last time.
"Your father built it, Uncle Harvey," he said softly. "Aren't you just a little sorry to see it go?"
His uncle's grip tightened on his shoulder. "No, I'm not," Harvey Connally replied, his voice grating as he spoke the words. "And neither should you be. Good riddance to it, is what I say, and we should all forget everything that ever happened there."
His hand fell from Oliver's shoulder.
"Everything," he said again.
Half an hour later Oliver stood at the podium that had been erected in front of the Asylum's imposing portico, his eyes surveying the crowd. Nearly everyone had come. The president of the bank was there, as was the contractor whose company would demolish most of the old Asylum, keeping only the facade. The plan was to replace the interior with a complex of shops and restaurants that promised to bring a prosperity to Blackstone that no one had known since the years when the institution itself had provided the economic basis for the town's livelihood. Everyone who was involved in the project was there, but there were others as well, people whose parents and grandparents, even great-grandparents, had once worked within the stone walls behind him. Now they hoped that the new structure might provide their children and grandchildren with jobs.
Beyond the assemblage, just inside the gate, Oliver could see the small stone house that had been deeded to the last superintendent of the Asylum, upon the occasion of his marriage to the daughter of the chairman of the Asylum's board of directors.
When the Blackstone Asylum had finally been abandoned and its last superintendent had died, that house, too, stood empty for several years. Then the young man who had inherited it, having graduated from college, returned to Blackstone and moved back into that house, the house in which he'd been born.
Oliver Metcalf had come home.
He hadn't expected to sleep at all on that first night, but to his surprise, the two-story stone cottage seemed to welcome him back, and he'd immediately felt as if he was home. The ghosts he'd expected had not appeared, and within a few years he almost forgot he'd ever lived anywhere else. But in all the years since then, living in the shadow of the Asylum his father had once run, Oliver had not once set foot inside the building.
He'd told himself he had no need to.
Deep in his heart, he'd known he couldn't.
Something inside its walls-something unknowable-terrified him.
Now, as the crowd fell into an expectant silence, Oliver adjusted the microphone and began to speak.
"Today marks a new beginning in the history of Blackstone. For nearly a century, a single structure has affected every family-every individual-in our town. Today, we begin the process of tearing that structure down. This signifies not only the end of one era, but the beginning of another. The process of replacing the old Blackstone Asylum with the new Blackstone Center will not be simple. Indeed, when the new building is finally completed, its facade will look much as the Asylum looks today; constructed of the same stones that have stood on this site for nearly a hundred years, it will look familiar to all of us, but at the same time, all of it will be different...."
For half an hour Oliver continued speaking, his thoughts organizing themselves as he spoke in the same simple, orderly prose that flowed from him when he sat at his computer, composing a feature or an editorial for the newspaper. Then, as the bell in the Congregational church downtown began to strike the hour of noon, he turned to Bill McGuire, the contractor who would oversee the demolition of the old building and construction of the new complex of shops and restaurants as well.
Nodding, Oliver stepped away from the podium, walked down the steps to join the crowd, and turned to face the building as the great lead wrecking ball swung for the first time toward the century-old edifice.
As the last chime of the church bell faded away, the ball punched through the west wall of the building. A sigh that sounded like a moaning wind passed through the crowd as it watched half a hundred...
The Beginning
The old Seth Thomas Regulator began to chime the hour. Oliver Metcalf kept typing only long enough to finish the sentence before abandoning the editorial he was composing to gaze thoughtfully at the wood-cased clock that had hung on the wall of the Blackstone Chronicle's one-room office for far more years than Oliver himself could remember. It was the clock that first fascinated him when his uncle brought him here more than forty years ago and taught him how to tell time, and the clock still fascinated him, with its rhythmic ticking, and because it kept time so perfectly that it had to be adjusted by no more than a single minute every year.
Now, after marking the thousands of hours of his life with its soft chime, it was reminding Oliver that the hour had come for him to perform his part in an event that would take place only once.
Today, the town of Blackstone was going to take the first, significant step in the destruction of part of its history.
Oliver Metcalf, as editor and publisher of the town's weekly newspaper, had been asked to make a speech. He'd made preparatory notes for several days but still had no idea precisely what he would say when the moment finally arrived for him to stand at the podium, the great stone structure rising behind him, and face his fellow townsmen. As he picked up the sheaf of notes and tucked it into the inside pocket of his tweed jacket, he wondered if inspiration would strike him when at last he had to speak, or whether he would stare speechlessly out at the gathered crowd as they gazed, waiting, at him.
Questions would be in their minds.
Questions that no one had spoken aloud for years.
Questions to which he had no answers.
He locked the office door behind him and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Crossing the street to cut through the town square, he considered turning back, skipping the ceremony entirely and instead finishing the editorial upon which he'd been working all morning. It was, after all, exactly the kind of day that was meant for staying indoors. The sky was slate gray, and the previous night's wind had stripped the last of the leaves from the great trees that had spread a protective canopy above the town from spring through fall. In early spring, when the enormous oaks and maples first began to bud, the canopy was the palest of greens. But as summer progressed, the foliage matured and thickened, darkening to a deep green that shaded Blackstone from August's hot glare and sheltered it from the rain squalls that swept through on their way toward the Atlantic seacoast several miles to the east. Over the last few weeks, abundant green had given way to the splendor of fall, and for a while the village had gloried in autumn's shimmering golden, red, and russet tones. Now the ground was littered with leaves, already a dead-looking brown, already beginning the slow process of decay that would return them to the soil from which they'd originally sprung.
Oliver Metcalf started toward the top of the hill where most of the townspeople would soon be gathered. Snow had not yet fallen, but a sodden, chill rain had accompanied last night's wind. It seemed to Oliver that a damp, freezing winter was about to descend. The gray light of the day seemed perfectly to reflect his own bleak mood. The trees, with their huge, naked limbs, raised their skeletal branches grotesquely toward the sky, as if seeking to ward off the lowering clouds with fleshless, twisted fingers. Ducking his head against the ominous morning, Oliver walked quickly through the streets, nodding distractedly to the people who spoke to him, meanwhile trying to focus his mind on what he would say to the crowd that would soon be gathered around the best-known building in town.
The Blackstone Asylum.
Throughout Oliver's life-throughout the lives of everyone in Blackstone-the massive building, constructed of stones dug from the fields surrounding the village, had loomed at the top of the town's highest hill. Its long-shuttered windows gazed out over the town not as if it were abandoned, but rather as though it were sleeping.
Sleeping, and waiting someday to awaken.
A chill passed through Oliver as the thought crossed his mind, but he quickly shook it off. No, it would never happen.
Today, the destruction of the Blackstone Asylum would commence.
A wrecking ball would swing, hurling its weight against those heavy gray stones, and after dominating the town for a full century, the building would finally be torn apart, its stone walls demolished, its turrets fallen, its green copper roof sold off for scrap.
As Oliver stepped through the ornate wrought-iron gates that pierced the fence surrounding the Asylum's entire ten acres, and started up the wide, curving driveway leading to its front door, an arm fell across his shoulders and he heard his uncle's familiar voice.
"Quite a day, wouldn't you say, Oliver?" Harvey Connally said, his booming, hearty voice belying his eighty-three years.
Oliver's gaze followed his uncle's, fixing on the brooding building, and he wondered what was going through the old man's mind. No point in asking; for despite their closeness, he'd always found his uncle far more comfortable discussing ideas than emotions.
"If you talk about emotions, you have to talk about people," Harvey had told him back when he was only ten or eleven years old, and home from boarding school for Christmas. "And talking about people is gossip. I don't gossip, and you shouldn't either." The words had clearly signaled Oliver that there were many things his uncle did not want to discuss.
Still, as the old man gazed up at the building that had risen on North Hill only a few years before his birth, Oliver couldn't help trying one last time.
"Your father built it, Uncle Harvey," he said softly. "Aren't you just a little sorry to see it go?"
His uncle's grip tightened on his shoulder. "No, I'm not," Harvey Connally replied, his voice grating as he spoke the words. "And neither should you be. Good riddance to it, is what I say, and we should all forget everything that ever happened there."
His hand fell from Oliver's shoulder.
"Everything," he said again.
Half an hour later Oliver stood at the podium that had been erected in front of the Asylum's imposing portico, his eyes surveying the crowd. Nearly everyone had come. The president of the bank was there, as was the contractor whose company would demolish most of the old Asylum, keeping only the facade. The plan was to replace the interior with a complex of shops and restaurants that promised to bring a prosperity to Blackstone that no one had known since the years when the institution itself had provided the economic basis for the town's livelihood. Everyone who was involved in the project was there, but there were others as well, people whose parents and grandparents, even great-grandparents, had once worked within the stone walls behind him. Now they hoped that the new structure might provide their children and grandchildren with jobs.
Beyond the assemblage, just inside the gate, Oliver could see the small stone house that had been deeded to the last superintendent of the Asylum, upon the occasion of his marriage to the daughter of the chairman of the Asylum's board of directors.
When the Blackstone Asylum had finally been abandoned and its last superintendent had died, that house, too, stood empty for several years. Then the young man who had inherited it, having graduated from college, returned to Blackstone and moved back into that house, the house in which he'd been born.
Oliver Metcalf had come home.
He hadn't expected to sleep at all on that first night, but to his surprise, the two-story stone cottage seemed to welcome him back, and he'd immediately felt as if he was home. The ghosts he'd expected had not appeared, and within a few years he almost forgot he'd ever lived anywhere else. But in all the years since then, living in the shadow of the Asylum his father had once run, Oliver had not once set foot inside the building.
He'd told himself he had no need to.
Deep in his heart, he'd known he couldn't.
Something inside its walls-something unknowable-terrified him.
Now, as the crowd fell into an expectant silence, Oliver adjusted the microphone and began to speak.
"Today marks a new beginning in the history of Blackstone. For nearly a century, a single structure has affected every family-every individual-in our town. Today, we begin the process of tearing that structure down. This signifies not only the end of one era, but the beginning of another. The process of replacing the old Blackstone Asylum with the new Blackstone Center will not be simple. Indeed, when the new building is finally completed, its facade will look much as the Asylum looks today; constructed of the same stones that have stood on this site for nearly a hundred years, it will look familiar to all of us, but at the same time, all of it will be different...."
For half an hour Oliver continued speaking, his thoughts organizing themselves as he spoke in the same simple, orderly prose that flowed from him when he sat at his computer, composing a feature or an editorial for the newspaper. Then, as the bell in the Congregational church downtown began to strike the hour of noon, he turned to Bill McGuire, the contractor who would oversee the demolition of the old building and construction of the new complex of shops and restaurants as well.
Nodding, Oliver stepped away from the podium, walked down the steps to join the crowd, and turned to face the building as the great lead wrecking ball swung for the first time toward the century-old edifice.
As the last chime of the church bell faded away, the ball punched through the west wall of the building. A sigh that sounded like a moaning wind passed through the crowd as it watched half a hundred...
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More About the Author
House of Reckoning is John Saul's thirty-sixth novel. His first novel, Suffer the Children, published in 1977, was an immediate million-copy bestseller. His other bestselling suspense novels include Faces of Fear, In the Dark of the Night, Perfect Nightmare, Black Creek Crossing, Midnight Voices, The Manhattan Hunt Club, Nightshade, The Right Hand of Evil, The Presence, Black Lightning, The Homing, and Guardian. He is also the author of the New York Times bestselling serial thriller The Blackstone Chronicles, initially published in six installments but now available in one complete volume. Saul divides his time between Seattle, Washington, and Hawaii.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
3 of 3 people found the following review helpful:
3.0 out of 5 stars
The Chronicles get off to a rocky start,
By
This review is from: Eye for an Eye: The Doll (Blackstone Chronicles) (Mass Market Paperback)
I was expecting much more from this first tale in the Blackstone Chronicles. The plot was entirely too predictable, and the characters (save for a few) were shallow and boring. I honestly did not find this tale terrifying in any way. However, this story does set the stage for the next installments, and definitely made me want to read the next one. As dull as it may be, it is essential for the entire scope of the Chronicles.
3.0 out of 5 stars
"A boy is tied down to a bed. His hands are tied, his ankles are strapped. The boy is screaming. . .",
By Mark Louis Baumgart (Michigan, USA) - See all my reviews
This review is from: Eye for an Eye: The Doll (Blackstone Chronicles) (Mass Market Paperback)
Cursed objects have been the subject of fiction and legend for centuries. We've had cursed rings, swords, armor, dresses, castles, cemeteries, coins, songs, etc., and at the turn of the century we had a story by Cleveland Moffett about a cursed card ('The Mysterious Card'), and Robert Chambers gave us a classic story about a cursed play that killed all those that read it. We've even had tv series, like Friday The 13th - The Series: The First Season and Warehouse 13: Season One that dealt with cursed objects. So it was inevitable that somebody would write a novel about such things. And it was perfect that John Saul not only wrote a novel dealing with cursed object, but did so in a serialized novel format, giving each artifact even more of a sense of menace.
In the town of Blackstone, Oliver Metcalf, the editor and publisher of the "Blackstone Chronicle" is just giving up on trying to write both an editorial for his newspaper, and a speech that he has to give in front of a crowd that will be congregating to see the destruction of the hated and feared Blackstone Asylum. By the end of this series of novella, he will eventually end up investigating the Asylum, and with this book, he will also start having the first of his visions. His visions will get progressively worse in each chapter of this serialized novel, and which will eventually be increasing integral to the ending of this novel. Only the façade of the hated Asylum will be kept, the rest will be destroyed and reconstructed, and a series of shops and restaurants will erected within the Asylum's framework. Bill McGuire is a man who builds things, and he has been awarded the contract to renovate the Asylum, and he has bet his future on getting the job. Then he finds out from Jules Hartwick, the owner and president of The First National Bank Of Blackstone, that the loan for the renovation project is in jeopardy due to a series of bad loans, and that Hartwick is being audited. Then suddenly, in the middle of the night somebody leaves the McGuire's a package with a beautiful antique doll within it. Strange things then start happening. The doll seems to be communicating to both women of McGuire's family. Both his pregnant wife Elizabeth, and his little daughter Megan, begin a power struggle over as to who will get the doll. Then there is an accident, the deaths start, and the family is destroyed. This first chapter in the Blackstone Chronicles is only eight-two pages long, and with a little editing could have a self-contained novella. But being what it is however, we are left hanging as we find out that there is a mysterious figure that is delivering a series of evil/cursed objects to people. And that he is already picking out an object to send to his next victim, even as he decimates the McGuire family. Each of the six books have a short interlude at their beginning that is a vignette detailing with an atrocity that has happened within the walls of the Asylum, and that will be connected with the cursed object that he is sending out. While I liked "An Eye An Eye: The Doll" it really is nothing new, we've seen this evil doll idea many times before this novel was ever published. Still, that this is the first volume in a six volume series, things can only get better. I will read the rest in the hopes that the originality of the stories will be better in future volumes. For this site I have all six of these volumes in this series: The Blackstone Chronicles #1: Eye for an Eye: The Doll (Blackstone Chronicles). The Blackstone Chronicles #2: Twist of Fate: The Locket (Blackstone Chronicles). The Blackstone Chronicles #3: Ashes to Ashes: The Dragon's Flame (Blackstone Chronicles, Part 3). The Blackstone Chronicles #4: In the Shadow of Evil: The Handkerchief (Blackstone Chronicles). The Blackstone Chronicles #5: Day of Reckoning: The Stereoscope (Blackstone Chronicles, Part 5). The Blackstone Chronicles #6: Asylum (Blackstone Chronicles) (No 6).
3.0 out of 5 stars
"We should all forget everything that happened there.",
By
This review is from: Eye for an Eye: The Doll (Blackstone Chronicles) (Mass Market Paperback)
The first in the six-volume Blackstone Chronicles, An Eye for an Eye: The Doll introduces the major characters, establishes the Gothic setting in a small town in New Hampshire, creates foreboding about the scheduled conversion of the Blackstone Asylum into a shopping mall, and then introduces the "single dark figure that moves through the ruptured stone wall" into the silent Asylum. There it locates the small cubicle containing the artifacts belonging to long-ago residents. When these artifacts are suddenly introduced mysteriously into the lives of the present occupants of Blackstone, death and destruction result.
(No spoilers.) In this volume an antique doll, once treasured by a child-inmate, arrives in the mail at the home of Elizabeth McGuire, wife of the builder/developer of the proposed mall. Elizabeth is pregnant and is unsure whether the doll is meant for the new baby or for her young daughter, who falls instantly in love with it. As the doll works its spell over the lives of the McGuire family, their perfectly ordered world is plunged into chaos. Saul's horror writing is significantly different from that of Stephen King, to whom he is often compared. King's approach is usually to create a seemingly benign set of characters in a quiet New England town and then to introduce a destructive force, very gradually creating more and more mystery until the book reaches its climax. Saul, by contrast, tells the reader from the outset that the destruction of the Asylum will change everyone's life, then goes about proving it. The result is to reduce the suspense and force the author to keep reminding the readers that "something didn't feel right," or that "a blinding flash of pain" accompanies a particular action. With characters who have not been developed before they change from ordinary citizen to demon (at least in this first novel), the reader does not identify with them or see the fine line separating normal life from total chaos. Relying on awkward foreshadowing and many clichés, Saul introduces the setting and all the major characters of Blackstone, some of which will be developed more fully in later novels in the series. n Mary Whipple
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Inside This Book
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First Sentence:
Elizabeth McGuire was worried. Read the first page Key Phrases - Capitalized Phrases (CAPs): (learn more)
Jules Hartwick, Oliver Metcalf, Port Arbello, Blackstone Center, Harvey Connally, Amherst Street, Germaine Wagner, Malcolm Metcalf, Martha Ward, Rebecca Morrison, Story Lady New!
Concordance | Text Stats Browse Sample Pages:
Front Cover | First Pages | Back Cover | Surprise Me!
Elizabeth McGuire was worried. Read the first page Key Phrases - Capitalized Phrases (CAPs): (learn more)
Jules Hartwick, Oliver Metcalf, Port Arbello, Blackstone Center, Harvey Connally, Amherst Street, Germaine Wagner, Malcolm Metcalf, Martha Ward, Rebecca Morrison, Story Lady New!
Concordance | Text Stats Browse Sample Pages:
Front Cover | First Pages | Back Cover | Surprise Me!
Citations (learn more)
This book cites 8
books:
See all 8 books this book cites
4
books
cite this book:
- The Blackstone Chronicles: The Serial Thriller Complete in One Volume by John Saul on 4 pages
- Black Lightning by John Saul in Front Matter, Back Matter (1), and Back Matter (2)
- Suffer the Children by John Saul in Front Matter, Back Matter (1), and Back Matter (2)
- The God Project by John Saul in Front Matter, and Back Matter
- Second Child by John Saul in Front Matter, and Back Matter
See all 8 books this book cites
- The Blackstone Chronicles: The Serial Thriller Complete in One Volume by John Saul in Front Matter (1), Front Matter (2), and Front Matter (3)
- Black Creek Crossing: A Novel by John Saul in Front Matter
- Black Creek Crossing by John Saul in Front Matter
- Midnight Voices by John Saul in Front Matter
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