The Book of Bad Things (15 page)

C
ASSIDY SHOOK HER HEAD
. “You changed your mind?”

“I was watching you two from my bedroom. If you’re gonna go anyway, then I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to do us any favors,” Ping said with a huff.

Joey stammered. “I — I know. It’s just …” He blinked and glanced into Cassidy’s eyes before quickly finding his sneakers. “None of us would be in this situation if it weren’t for me.” He swallowed, as if trying to choke down a dust ball. “If I hadn’t been, you know, such a jerk lately.” Cassidy wiped her cheeks, surprised. “For the past year, I’ve blamed you for something that wasn’t your fault. What happened to Lucky … And since you’ve been back, you’ve done nothing but try to help me feel better. I know you believe everything I’ve seen and heard and that means … a lot. But none of this is worth risking your life.
I’m
not worth it.”

Pins and needles brushed Cassidy’s skin. She closed her eyes. It wasn’t time for tears again. Not if they were preparing to walk up the shadowed path. “You’re wrong, Joey. You’re worth everything. But thank you for saying the rest of it.” When she glanced at him, his eyes were wide. Pink returned to his pale cheeks. “But you’re not the only reason I want to figure all this out.”

The girls filled him in on what Mr. and Mrs. Yu had seen the night before. The car crash.

“We must have driven right past it,” he said, trembling, shaken. He’d known Hal Nance ever since he could remember. “I didn’t even notice.”

“Why don’t we tell someone what we know?” Ping asked. “Our parents? Your sister?”

“But what
do
we know for certain?” Joey answered, his voice growing stronger, steadier. “Look what all my storytelling has accomplished over the past year. Yes, I’ve made a new
friend
, Dr. Caleb, but my parents pay for me to talk to him every week, so he doesn’t really count. And when I start saying, ‘Ursula’s ghost is killing people who stole stuff from her house,’ I’m pretty sure he’ll want to put me on some sort of medication.”

“But you have
us
now,” Cassidy suggested.

Joey smirked, a sad expression, and she understood. If the Tremonts thought that she’d become a bad influence, reverting their son back to his paranoid ways, they might ship her back to Brooklyn. And then what? She thought again of the trucks that had carted away the Dumpsters, of where all that junk might end up, of what might happen to the people who found it, brought it into their own homes.

“So we’re doing this?” Ping asked, nodding toward the Chambers property. The dilapidated house was hidden far up the driveway, but when the breeze moved branches, they could see bits and pieces of its dark wood. It seemed to be waiting for them like an animal — some sort of predator, the Big Bad Wolf. Cassidy and Joey nodded at once. “When?”

“Let’s go now,” said Cassidy, glancing at the patch of shadow, the house in the woods. “I’ve just got to grab my backpack.”
My notebook
, she meant. It was still her secret. Like a security blanket she should have grown out of years ago.

“And I’ll find some provisions,” said Joey. “A flashlight might help.”

Inside, Cassidy dashed upstairs and grabbed the book from under her pillow. She shoved it into her otherwise empty bag, then made her way back downstairs. Ping and Joey stood behind the couch in the living room, where Rose was sitting watching the local news.

A reporter was describing the situation from the parking lot of the funeral home down in the center of Whitechapel, but Cassidy didn’t hear her words. The headline gleaming at the bottom of the screen had caught her attention.
Body Thief Strikes Again
.

Rose leaned forward, her face held up by the palms of her hands. She shook her head then noticed the group gathered behind her. “That poor family,” said Rose. “What kind of sick person would steal corpses?”

“What family?” Ping asked, her voice rising even higher than normal.

“Mrs. Moriarty,” said Rose. “And her son-in-law, Owen Chase. Both of them were to be buried this week. But
poof
, they’re gone! I can’t imagine what Kitty is going through.” To herself, she added, “I should make some stuffed shells for her. Something hearty. Comforting.”

Ursula’s body had disappeared in a similar fashion only the week prior, Cassidy thought, her muscles tightening reflexively.

Behind the couch, out of sight of Joey’s mother, the trio stared at one another, unspoken questions hanging in the air. Before any of them had the nerve to speak them aloud, Joey announced, “We’re heading outside, Mom. Gonna explore. Back in a little while.”

“Good idea. You kids shouldn’t be watching stuff like this anyway.” Still entranced by the television, Rose didn’t turn around. “See you all soon,” she said quietly, as the group crept guiltily out the front door. Cassidy hoped Rose was right.

O
NE BY ONE
, Cassidy, Joey, and Ping each stepped over the curb onto what was left of Ursula’s gravel driveway. The canopy of leaves overhead was so thick, it seemed as though they’d immediately jaunted into another season, another dimension where shadows ruled. Cassidy led the group, twisting and turning up the long path, trying to avoid the tall clingy weeds and any plants whose leaves were tinged a poisonous red.

About halfway to the house, they came across a busted tennis racket lying in the middle of the gravel. A few feet past it was an overturned tin box. Tools spilled out of it. Farther along, more objects were scattered — plates, forks, knives, frames, books. Gauzy dresses hung hauntingly from the crowded scrub branches.

They paused when the mess became too thick to easily step over without touching any of it. “You think all this stuff fell out of the Dumpsters when they carted them off a couple days ago?” Cassidy asked.

Ping shook her head. “I don’t think so. I remember the driveway looking pretty clear yesterday.” She blushed. “What?” she asked, as if the others had accused her of something odd. “I was curious so I checked, all right?”

“If Ursula’s ghost has been warning people to return her things, maybe this is the result,” said Joey. He glanced between the girls.

“They didn’t even bring the stuff up to the house,” said Cassidy. “They just threw it on the ground.”

“They were too scared,” said Ping, staring up the drive. “I don’t blame them.”

Ahead, the farmhouse sat in shadow, its dark shingles mixing with the gloom of the surrounding trees. The front yard was overgrown with thick green shoots and wild looking, ugly yellow flowers. A few choked saplings sprouted up from the ground near the house’s crumbling foundation. An aroma of pine sap masked another scent — something rotten. Cassidy took a deep breath through her mouth so she wouldn’t have to smell it. For a moment, she thought she heard that humming, the primal-sounding noise that had woken her on Monday night and had caused her to come to the moonlit window. The house looked like it had been abandoned for years. You’d never have known that someone had lived there just last week. You might have imagined, however, that the person who’d lived there had also died there.

“Come on,” said Cassidy. “Can’t stop now. Not here anyway.” She hopped over the items that had become Ursula’s trash. Or Ursula’s treasure? It was difficult to tell the difference anymore. The others followed, as if playing a game, seeking islands of solid ground, gray gravel, so they wouldn’t have to step on the objects.

At the bottom of the porch steps, they stopped. This might be their last chance to turn back. Cassidy almost hoped for a sign telling her to do just that. The previous summer slammed into her memory. She heard Ursula’s voice screaming at Joey and her to leave or else — such a different tone than the Ursula from her dream. She felt suddenly cold, and she clutched at her arms, rubbing away the chill. From the corner of her eye, Cassidy saw Joey do the same, and she knew that he was remembering too.

“If people are being punished for stealing things from this house,” he whispered, “then what about Lucky?”

“What do you mean?” Ping asked.

“I mean, if Lucky was the
first
victim, and I’m pretty sure he was, he didn’t steal anything. He was just a dog.” The hurt in Joey’s voice was enough to bring tears to Cassidy’s eyes again. The afternoon of the previous year blinked through her brain again and again.

“But he
did
steal something,” Cassidy answered, tenderly. “Maybe ‘steal’ is the wrong word. But he took something from the house. Remember?”

Joey’s mouth dropped open. “That blanket. He was tugging at it through the basement window. When Ursula shouted at us, he tore off a piece. Then we ran.” He swallowed. “The blanket was the thing he choked on later that evening, after we tied him to the oak in my backyard.”

“His body disappeared too,” said Ping. “Just like Mrs. Moriarty and Owen Chase.”

Joey nodded reluctantly. Turning to Cassidy, he said, “In your dream, he looked good. He looked happy. He wasn’t a … a zombie?”

“Not at all.”

“Ursula didn’t
kill
him,” Joey said with certainty. “The blanket killed him. It was what he’d taken from the house.”

Cassidy nodded. “Ursula didn’t kill the others either. Mrs. Moriarty and Owen Chase … and Hal.”

“The old woman was crazy,” said Joey. “But maybe she was only crazy because she lived
here
. In this house. This is a bad place.” He glanced up the stairs where the front door stood ajar. “Can’t you guys feel it?”

“You sure you still want to go in?” Cassidy asked, staring into the darkness beyond the crack in the door. She took Ping’s hand and squeezed it. Ping squeezed back.

To Cassidy’s surprise, Joey answered, “How else are we gonna know just how bad it is?” He climbed the steps slowly and stopped in front of the door. Glancing over his shoulder, he smiled, as if proud of himself. Cassidy sighed as she followed, pushing away the thought that Joey’s smile was premature — a grin like that would only bring them bad luck.

T
HE BOARDS SQUEALED
with each step. When the three stopped at the entry, Cassidy felt the porch sag under their weight. She kicked the door open, almost expecting to see Lucky in his new silver coat sitting a few feet inside, waiting like the good dog he’d always been. But the door hit the inside wall with a resounding crash that echoed through the empty space, and even if Lucky had been sitting there, he’d most likely have taken off into the darkness beyond — ghost or not.

“Sorry!” Cassidy said.

“If there’s anyone
or anything
waiting inside,” said Ping, “at least now they know we’ve arrived. To kick butt and take names.”

“That’s true,” said Joey, “but was
warning
them really the best plan?” He pulled a thin flashlight from his pocket and flicked it on.

Cassidy felt her face burn. If any of them deserved to be snatched up first, she figured that at this point it was her. She stepped inside, hoping that she hadn’t awakened anything. The air felt like an oven. That rotten smell was heavier now. Cassidy pinched her nose. The house was silent; if Ursula was waiting for them inside, she was sleeping the sleep of the dead. Joey and Ping wandered past Cassidy, chasing the beam cast by his flashlight. In addition to the beam’s glow, a murky light filtered through the front door from outside, revealing details of the room in which they huddled. It was a boxlike foyer with peeling, water-stained walls. Wide doorways opened to darkness on either side. Another door stood in the far wall at the foot of a narrow staircase.

“Where do we start?” asked Ping, stopping next to the warped banister.

“Depends on what we’re looking for,” Joey answered.

“Light,” Cassidy said, flicking her hand against the closest switch in the wall. There was no response. Glancing at the ceiling, she noticed the fixture was empty. No bulb. She stepped farther into the room and found the nearest window. It was covered with thick velvet drapes. She pushed them aside. Yellowed newspaper was taped over the glass. She tore the paper away. Daylight leaked into the space, revealing a barren square-shaped room. Cassidy didn’t know what she’d expected, but it certainly hadn’t been emptiness. Had the cleaning crew removed any and all clues that Ursula may have wanted them to find?

“You heard the girl,” said Ping, moving through the room toward another covered window. “Let’s give her some light.”

The three stayed close together as they went through the house, pulling away curtains and tearing down newspapers. To try to get rid of the stench, they opened every window, every screen, leaned outside, and gasped for fresh air.

Each room they illuminated revealed only that the cleaning crew had been totally thorough. Cassidy grew anxious. If there was nothing to see here, then maybe the previous night’s vision really had been nothing more than a dream. Had she placed her friends in danger simply because of her own overactive imagination? But what was the danger? Except for the curtains and a few rotting rugs, this appeared to be an empty house. Cassidy remembered an old saying about appearances being deceiving. She was overcome with a feeling that they should leave. If something
bad
did happen now, Joey would never forgive her for putting them in this situation again.

“Maybe we should go.”

“But we haven’t even checked upstairs yet,” said Ping.

“We’ve come this far,” said Joey. “And this isn’t as horrible as I thought it would be. Actually, it’s kind of cool, seeing inside. This would have been a really nice place to live.”

“Kind of cool?”
said Cassidy, raising an eyebrow. “Okay then. Let’s be quick about it.”

Upstairs was much smaller than downstairs — only a hallway, two small rooms, and a bathroom between them. It was much hotter up here. The three tended to the windows, and soon they were breathing more easily.

“Not much else to see,” said Cassidy, just as she tripped over the upturned edge of a faded rug. She stepped quickly and caught herself on the wall.

“Careful!” Joey shouted from the bathroom.

“I’m fine!” Cassidy called back. She was about to kick the rug back into place when she noticed something marked on the floor underneath it. A yellow line? Bending down, she ran her fingers across the wide old boards. The line had not been drawn as she first thought, but carved into the wood. “Hey guys,” she shouted. “I think I found something.”

Moments later, Joey and Ping helped Cassidy pull the rug back against the far wall. A strange design made of lines and circles and stars lay beneath it. The deep circles had been carved where the lines intersected. The misshapen stars marked other parts of the floor. These were connected by more straight lines. Someone had worked the floor with a sense of purpose. But the purpose was totally unclear to the three of them.

“Are these some sort of
occult
symbols?” Cassidy asked. “Is it magic?” Even though she wasn’t Catholic, she had a sudden urge to make the Sign of the Cross.

“I read somewhere that the star is an ancient pagan symbol for protection,” said Ping. “But I’m not sure that’s what the symbols here mean, with all these circles and whatnot.” She shook her head. “It
is
familiar. I’ve seen this … configuration of shapes before. I’m just not sure where … or what it means.”

“I feel like I’ve seen it too,” said Cassidy. “In a dream, maybe?”

Joey stood, stepping back from the carving, pressing himself against a wall, trying to get a sense of the entire picture. Then he nodded. “We’ve all seen this before,” he said, “but it wasn’t in any dream.”

“Then where?” Cassidy asked.

“My map,” Joey said. “The one I found at Junkland. This is the same. See?” He swept his hand across the diagram. “It’s an overhead view of Whitechapel.”