The Book of Bad Things (10 page)

R
OSE AND THE THREE KIDS
piled into the car. Several miles north of Chase Estates, hidden amidst several bends of the road, was a thrift store called Graceland Refurbishments. Locals referred to it as Junkland.

Cassidy remembered visiting the store her first year in Whitechapel, astounded by the rows of old furniture stacked on top of one another, how they formed a makeshift labyrinth that was easy to get lost in. Junkland was an appealing destination for families, especially on rainy days, because its contents were so diverse, almost like a curio museum. There were antique toys, rare and used books, old postcards that contained snippets of lives written on their backs, posters, paintings, magazines — knickknacks of all sorts — arranged in a surprisingly organized fashion.

By the time Rose had pulled into the dirt lot, Cassidy had grown anxious for a diversion from her own dark thoughts. No one had said much during the ride, and she knew that they were all ruminating on the pieces of strange news that had come to them that morning. So, when Rose shoved the car’s gear into park, the small group burst from the doors and raced toward the store’s entrance as if toward an empty line for a roller coaster at Six Flags.

Inside the main entrance, Rose handed them each two dollars, challenging them to locate the most interesting piece of “junk” in the store. The winner, judged by Rose, would get an extra ten bucks to spend. “Let’s meet back here in, say, twenty minutes.”

Junkland had a sweet aroma, a mix of old wood and fruity cleaning product. It would have been a little nauseating if it had been stronger, but as Cassidy followed Ping and Joey deeper into the cavernous space, she grew used to it until eventually, it disappeared. Rose’s contest was in the back of their minds as they settled into a secluded corner piled with old books and magazines.

“So what do we do now?” Cassidy asked.

“What
can
we do?” Joey replied. “Adults never listen to what I say.”

Cassidy tried, “But if the three of us mention it together —”

“They’ll think I roped you into this,” Joey interrupted.

Ping shook her head. “If Ursula Chambers, or her ghost, or
something
, is really going around killing people who stole from her, then Whitechapel’s gonna be in real trouble, real soon.”

Cassidy thought of her book, of its power to diminish her fears, of the strength it had returned to her over the past few years. “This could all still be coincidence. Right?” she said. Joey and Ping glanced at each other, but said nothing. “So then let’s just forget about it as best we can. Let’s play Rose’s game. Try to have fun for a while. Okay?”

The three split up, scouring the store for the most interesting two-dollar item they could find. Cassidy came upon one aisle of glass cases displaying small crystalline figurines: animals, circus performers, ballerinas. One of these figures caught her eye, a tiny pink elephant, its delicate trunk uplifted as if to trumpet. Cassidy bent down to check out the sticker stuck on its underside — $1.99. Perfect! When she slid the case open, she noticed that its two tusks had been chipped, the tips nicked off. Even with the elephant’s obvious damage, Cassidy’s heart raced as she headed back toward the store’s entrance for the rendezvous, hoping that Rose would choose her as the winner.

She came around a corner and found the trio. Rose waved. Joey and Ping each held an item of their own behind their backs. “You ready?” Rose asked as Cassidy approached.

“I hope so,” she said, the glass elephant enclosed in her fist, poking at her palm.

They went around in a circle. Ping revealed four old copies of her favorite magazine,
Strange State
. Rose shook her head, in awe of the quantity, if not exactly the quality, of Ping’s choice. Cassidy went next. When she opened her hand, the group all oohed and aahed — even Joey — and Cassidy knew that her little discovery was special. “Nice,” said Rose. Joey was last. From behind his back, he removed a large yellowed piece of paper rolled up tight. Rose helped him stretch out the scroll. It was an old map.

Looking closer, Cassidy recognized the names of several roads and streams. The map depicted a version of Whitechapel from many years ago. None of the recent housing developments existed yet. Everything looked like it must have been so pristine. Untouched. Pure. She had to admit, it was a pretty cool artifact, but would it trump her pink elephant?

“Uh-oh,” said Rose, glancing at the back of the map. “You’ve got one big problem here, buddy. It’s priced at $2.25. Over the limit.”

“But I figured I could bargain it down.”

Rose peered at Cassidy and Ping. “Do you girls think that’s fair?”

“NO!” they both shouted, then laughed. For a moment, Cassidy was flushed with guilt, but then Joey smirked and rolled his eyes and threw his hands into the air.

Rose nodded sagely. “Then I must say that the trophy goes to …” She paused dramatically. “Cassidy Bean!”

Cassidy emitted a high-pitched squeal. A few other customers stared at her. She didn’t care — the embarrassment was worth the prize. She closed the figurine in her fist once more, and after Rose handed over the tenner, Cassidy strolled back to the aisle of glass cases to pick out a couple companions for her elephant, whom she’d already decided to name Triumphant.

By the time the group was back in the car, they were consumed by their new treasures. On the ride home, they rolled out Joey’s map, which he had bargained down to two dollars, across their laps, pointing out missing landmarks, forgotten roads, dried up rivers, and more, as they traveled through their changed version of the world that had once existed on that old yellowed paper.

Today at school, Mr. Faros told us stories from Greek mythology. He mentioned a whole bunch of stuff about kings and their sons and gods and goddesses and revenge.

What stuck out most for me was the story of the Minotaur’s labyrinth on Crete. According to the myth, every few years, this king named Minos forced a group of kids to go into this giant maze on his island, where a monster called the Minotaur, who was a giant man with a bull’s head, waited to chomp their bones.

I know. Disgusting.

Eventually, there was this one guy, his name was Theseus, who came along and volunteered to enter the labyrinth and hunt down the beast. And I thought, WHO WOULD DO THAT? What kind of person would volunteer for certain death? He’d have to be crazy. Well, I guess sometimes crazy wins, because Theseus ended up slaying the Minotaur and becoming a hero.

Mr. Faros told us to think of the tale like a metaphor. Like: What does the labyrinth represent? Dreams? Fears? Death? But, I thought, what if it doesn’t represent anything? What if it was just a place where horrible things happened?

Anyway, for the rest of the day, I haven’t been able to stop imagining this labyrinth — the stone maze that someone built so they could torture hordes of young people. Did something like that actually exist? And could it exist again today?

Once, on a field trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I got separated from my group. I guess I’d been staring too long at one of the intricately painted Egyptian coffins. I wandered around for what felt like forever, falling deeper and deeper into the depths of the building, looking for Mrs. Flannigan and my class, but they’d disappeared. All these thoughts ran through my head. What if someone kidnapped all of them? What if the museum somehow ate them? What if they were all playing a joke on me, and once we were back at school, everyone would point and laugh and say what an idiot I was? I knew I could find my way back to Brooklyn if I had to, but deep down I was filled with dread that I’d never see anyone I knew ever again.

Eventually, a security guard made an announcement over the intercom, asking me to approach one of the museum staff, which I did. They brought me back to the lobby where I found Mrs. Flannigan waiting for me with tears in her eyes. She hugged me until I couldn’t breathe. And I cried too, finally realizing how terrified I’d been.

Tonight, I’ve been imagining myself inside the Minotaur’s maze. In the dark. Turning left. Turning right. Not knowing where I’m going. And around every corner, there could be this giant thing reaching out for me, waiting there to snatch me and stick me in its mouth and chew me up and swallow me down.

N
O ONE SAID A WORD
when, pulling into the Tremonts’ driveway, they saw two large trucks pass in the opposite direction, heading away from the cul-de-sac, carting off the Dumpsters that had been parked in Ursula’s overgrown driveway since the beginning of the week.

Climbing out of the hatchback’s backseat, Cassidy felt nauseated thinking about all of Ursula’s junk disappearing into a landfill somewhere — it was the opposite of what the old woman must have wished. She stood at the end of the driveway with Ping, watching as the trucks rumbled off around the corner, the sound of their engines echoing through the valley. Both girls sighed, then dashed toward the Tremonts’ porch as the rain really started to come down.

Stepping into the foyer, Cassidy overheard Rose speaking quietly to Joey. Something that sounded like
thank you
. And
I’m proud of you
. She didn’t hear Joey’s answer but knew enough to steer Ping toward the living room, where they squatted on the floor beside the coffee table to examine the treasures that Rose had been kind enough to buy them at Junkland.

Cassidy used her T-shirt to buff Triumphant, as well as the small porcelain penguin and the tiny plastic pig on which she’d used her reward money. Ping flipped through the magazines, her long dark hair obscuring both her face and the articles that caught her attention.

Eventually, Joey wandered over carrying his map of Whitechapel. He knelt beside them, silently spreading open the map so that it covered most of the coffee table. Cassidy helped him weigh down the curled edges of paper, placing the remote control on one corner and her new tiny pets on another. Ping placed several copies of
Strange State
on the corner closest to her, and Joey used a PlayStation controller to secure the last.

Cassidy glanced over the map, remembering what Joey had pointed out on the ride home, the old trails that were no longer there, the streets that had appeared where once only cornfields had grown. She imagined her own neighborhood in Brooklyn, wondering how drastically a map from this same time period, maybe a hundred years ago, would have reflected the change in her everyday landscape. The world back then had been completely different. Fewer trains. Wider streets. Smaller buildings. The skyline of present-day New York belonged to a different city than the one of old.

Picking up where they’d left off in the car, Joey said, “Did you guys notice what was missing when we drove through the entrance into Chase Estates a few minutes ago?” It was a playful question, Cassidy thought, but Joey’s eyebrows were set in a serious line, his mouth pulled into a knowing smirk.

“Missing?” Ping asked.

Joey pointed to a section near the center of the map, just off the main road. Cassidy leaned closer and saw what he meant. The road clearly passed a site that had been marked “Chambers Farm.” A little rectangle was drawn near the road, labeled “house.”

“Oh hey,” said Cassidy, trying to sound excited, “that’s where we are.”

“Not quite,” said Joey. “The cul-de-sac should be farther back, away from the road.” He slid his finger east about three inches. “Here.”

Ping shook her head. “That can’t be right. This map says that the Chambers farmhouse should be right next to the main street. But the only thing that’s there now —”

“Is the entrance to Chase Estates,” Joey finished.

“Weird,” said Cassidy. She shuddered, thinking about the abandoned place a few hundred yards up the hillside. Outside, the wind picked up, heaving rain at the house, coating the screens so thickly in water that she could barely see out into the shadowed backyard. “I thought that Ursula lived in the original farmhouse. Your dad told me that when I asked him about it a long time ago. But it’s not where this map says it was.”

“Nope,” said Joey. “Either the house up the hill isn’t the original farmhouse …” He paused, nodding in the direction of the overgrown driveway. “Or someone moved it.”

“Moved it?” Ping said. “How the heck do you
move
a house?”

“I’ve heard of ways,” Joey said. “I think there’s a bigger question:
Why
would you move a house?”