The Book of Bad Things

by Dan Poblocki

  “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.

  THE 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.”

  “YOU’RE RIGHT,” SAID CASSIDY. “That line there is the road that bisects the valley. The star at the bottom must be Whitechapel.”

  “Or the white chapel,” said Ping. “Or the intersection of rivers. Something …” She squinted at the carving as if a clue lay under its surface. When the others looked at her funny, she went on, “Look at the other stars. If this is a map, then they indicate the locations of certain places. Important places, maybe.” She clapped her hands in excitement. The echo rang through the house. “Of course! I know why this looked familiar. Yes, it’s just like Joey’s map, but it’s also like my magazines! Look at the stars. Where they’re
placed.” She walked across the map, pointing at different spots marked by the five-pointed pentacles. “Here’s Quarry Lake,” she said. “And over there are the belching caverns. And I think the spot there is where that boulder stands balanced on those small stones. There are lots more points marked here that I’m not familiar with, but I’m pretty sure that’s what these stars indicate. The strange places of New Jersey.”

  “And each star is connected by a straight line,” said Joey.

  “And each spot where the lines intersect is circled,” said Cassidy, nearly out of breath. Her heart pumped as if she’d just run several city blocks. Was this what Ursula had wanted them to discover? The map under the rug. “There’s definitely a pattern,” she said, steadying her voice, “but what does it mean? Did Ursula carve this?”

  “Maybe it was her uncle?” Joey asked. “Aidan.”

  “It makes me think of ley lines,” said Ping.

  “What kind of lines?” Cassidy asked.

  “I read about them in —”

  “Your magazine,” he interrupted. “Yeah, we get it.”

  “You don’t have to get snippy,” said Ping, with a forced smile. “It’s a good thing for us that I like reading Strange State. But, yes, I learned about ley lines in my magazine. From what I remember, a geologist or archaeologist in Great Britain came up with the term, like, a hundred years ago. He discovered that most of the ancient sites — castles and graveyards and monoliths — that are scattered around the island are connected by defunct roads and pathways. Some people think that there’s something mystical about these hidden paths, and that they’re especially powerful in the places where they meet.”

  “The circles,” Joey said, as Ping’s words began to sink in.

  “The guys from Strange State pointed out that the same thing can be said about certain sites on our own continent, in our own area.”

  “North American ley lines?” said Joey.

  “You said they believe the lines are mystical?” asked Cassidy. “In what way?”

  “They create vortexes,” said Ping. “Or is it vortices? Something like that. Places of extraordinary energy.” The three glanced at one another, understanding now exactly what that meant. “There aren’t too many of these intersections.” Ping bent down, running her fingers over one small section. “But check this out. Almost all the lines on this map meet in one spot. It’s the biggest circle of them all.”

  Joey and Cassidy, who had, until then, stayed off the map, strolled tentatively to where Ping was crouched. Joey turned his flashlight back on, illuminating the greatest intersection of lines, which the carver had gone over with his or her knife, deeper than any other place on the floor. “You know where this spot is, don’t you?”

  Cassidy felt faint. This whole morning, starting with her strange vision, had all been leading up to this moment. This discovery. “It’s here,” she whispered. She pointed down. “Where we’re standing.”

  Ping nodded. “The biggest circle, the spot where all these weird stars intersect, is where Mr. Chase moved the Chambers house so he could build our neighborhood. They accidentally placed the house right on top of what might be the largest vortex in this area. Maybe in the whole state.” Then she blushed. “That is, if you believe in this sort of thing.”

  OUTSIDE, A GUST OF WIND picked up, creaking the branches of the old trees surrounding the farmhouse. Cassidy listened carefully for the sound of birds or bugs or frogs and realized that all these creatures must have known, somehow, to stay away from this place. Something had led her here, but now she felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to leave.

  She had backed toward the bedroom door, was ready to turn and run, but Joey went on. “Let’s assume, at this point, we do all ‘believe in this sort of thing.’ What does it have to do with what’s been going on in Whitechapel? With the appearance of Ursula’s ghost? With the deaths? The missing bodies? I mean, do I sound insane asking if these occurrences could all be the result of this … this vortex thing? The ley lines and all the rest of it? What is a vortex anyway?”

  “Maybe we can look it up at home,” Cassidy suggested, easing away from the others. She’d started to feel that old nauseated sensation that came with her panic attacks. With one hand, she held onto the doorframe to steady herself, and with the other, she clutched the strap of her backpack, inside of which was her notebook. She had to stop herself from pulling the book out and clutching it to her chest.

  “I can tell you what I know,” said Ping, standing her ground, unaware of Cassidy’s growing anxiety. “Think of a vortex as a whirlpool. Or as a black hole. It’s a spot where matter — stuff — spins to a central point. A vortex draws things toward its center. It keeps them there.”

  “Like how Ursula wished to keep all her stuff here in the house?” Joey asked.

  “Exactly,” said Ping. “Except … maybe it wasn’t Ursula’s wish.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Cassidy, stepping farther back, across the threshold and into the upstairs hall. “No one else lived here with her.”

  “What I mean is,” said Ping, extending her arms, indicating the carvings at her feet, “maybe it was something else. Something bigger than Ursula Chambers. Bigger than Aidan. Older.”

  “Maybe,” said Joey, his voice rising with excitement, “whoever created this map knew that. Either Ursula or Aidan had figured out that something was wrong with this house. Or, if not the house, then where the house was built. Both of them were … troubled while living here. Maybe this map was their way of putting some of these pieces together.”

  “Then why go to the trouble of carving it onto your bedroom floor? Why not just write it down?” Cassidy asked, pondering her notebook again. “Paper works just fine for me.”

  “They must have had a reason,” said Ping. “If we can figure it out, maybe we can figure out the mystery of what’s been happening in this house, of what’s been happening to this town.”

  “Great,” said Cassidy, turning and heading into the hall. “Then let’s go and think about it at home.”

  At the top of the stairs, with Joey and Ping close behind, Cassidy felt immense relief. A pale glow from the open front door spilled across the foyer, inviting her to race down the steps and down the driveway, to escape into the comfort of true daylight. “Wow,” she started, “I can’t believe we actually found —”

  But before she took the first step down, a sound echoed from somewhere beneath them. It sounded like the whine of an animal. Joey shushed her. “What’s that noise?” he whispered.

  Cassidy clutched at the railing, but let it go when she felt the whole thing wiggle away from the wall. She brushed her dusty hand off on her shorts. Carefully, they made their way down to the foyer, listening closely for the noise, but it didn’t come again. Not right then. Instead, a bark came from below. This was followed by a soft tapping, like claws on concrete, that drifted up through cracks in the weathered floorboards.

  “Now that, I heard,” said Ping. “There’s a basement!”

  “I think we got what we came for,” said Cassidy. “Maybe we should …”

  But Joey had already turned into the hall opposite the front door, away from the exit.

  “Hold on,” she tried, reaching for him, but when she heard Joey whisper “Lucky,” she knew she couldn’t stop him.

  Down the hall, Cassidy and Ping found Joey standing in the dark before another door, one that they hadn’t noticed before. He pointed his flashlight at the knob. Right above it, a broken hinge was twisted. A padlock lay on the floor.

  “What the …” Ping whispered.

  “Was Ursula keeping something locked up?” said Joey, his voice harsh. He reached out and touched the knob. The door swung inward slowly, surprisingly quiet.

  “Are you crazy?” said Cassidy, grabbing his arm. “Don’t.” Joey flashed the light in her eyes, startling her into letting him go.

  “Cassidy,” he whispered, serious. “You dreamed my dog was in this house. I have to do this. You know
I do.” Then he stepped forward into the dark.

  A PLATFORM REACHED OUT a few feet beyond the door. From there, a set of steps descended. Cassidy watched in horror as Joey’s flashlight bobbed and swung down into Ursula’s basement.

  “Lucky?” Joey called.

  Ping tugged her hand. “We can’t let him go alone.”

  “This isn’t what I meant when I said we needed to come here. I never dreamed about the basement.”

  “Did you dream about the bedroom?” Ping asked. When Cassidy’s face fell, she added, “See? Come on. There might be more that we need to know.”

  “Fine,” Cassidy whispered. The light was now at the bottom of the stairs. She stepped forward if only to be closer to it. “But at the first sight of that dog, I’m so out of here. I don’t care how happy he is to see us.”

  The girls skittered down the steps. At the bottom, they nearly barreled into Joey. He’d stopped short, looking in awe at the room. He moved the light slowly around the space, examining every inch. Cobwebs hung from the rafters. Mold and mildew dripped down the walls. But the basement was empty; if there had been anything here, the cleaning crew had removed it.

  “Weird,” said Ping. “It looks … new.”

  “New?” Cassidy said, wrinkling her nose. “More like filthy.”

  “I just mean, I thought a centuries-old farmhouse would have a basement made of stone. And mortar.”

  “This part of the house isn’t that old,” said Joey. “When they moved the building, Mr. Chase’s company probably poured a new foundation. Concrete.”

  “Then why is that area all messed up?” Cassidy pointed to a dark spot on the wall across the room. The concrete had crumbled. A large crevice rose from the floor almost to the ceiling. When Joey moved the flashlight to get a better view, they all gasped.