The Book of Bad Things Read Online Free PDF Page A

that now decorated all sides of the poor old farmhouse. They started calling her The Hermit of Chase Estates.
    Cassidy had been intrigued by the tales, but she also thought they might actually be able to make a connection with Ursula, so the previous summer, Cassidy had suggested they visit her. In the city, Cassidy knew several elderly people — relatives of her classmates, even some of the neighbors in her building — who’d been stuck, by circumstance and their own frail bodies, in their cramped apartments. They were mostly just sad and lonely and had given up on life in a way that was difficult for Cassidy, or any young person, to understand. A few times, her neighbor Levi Stanton had invited her to accompany him as he knocked on their secluded neighbors’ doors, with gifts of wine or cheese or chocolates. He loved talking to them and hearing their stories, he explained to Cassidy later, not only because they were often great inspiration for his books, but also because of the looks on their faces when he said hello to them. Cassidy wanted to see the same expression on Joey’s secretive neighbor’s face.
    The plan was simple. They’d march up to the house and knock on the door and invite themselves in. Ursula couldn’t be as bad as everyone said. But Joey wasn’t sure it was a good idea. What if she attacked them? Cassidy laughed and suggested bringing Lucky along. “For luck !” she’d said. When Joey continued to hang back, she added, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

T HEY’D GONE THROUGH the woods. “We should come up from the back,” Cassidy suggested, to avoid Ursula’s view down her driveway. Joey stayed behind by a few feet, holding tightly to Lucky’s leash. They trampled the brush, avoiding thickets of pricklier bushes and any reddish leaves.
    Soon, the building appeared through the thinning trees. The house would have been quaint had it been maintained over the years. But now, its grayish brown color had been covered in spots of blackish green. Mildew or mold, something toxic and insidious, clung to the broken shingles. True to the tales, nasty words had been spray painted and carved into the sides of the house.
    All of the window screens were covered in years of dust and dirt. Beyond, the glass itself looked as though it had been spattered with a thick sludge. The panes in the basement looked especially bad, some of them broken and padded with what looked like old curtains or blankets.
    The backyard was barely a yard at all, mostly patches of bare ground covered in fallen acorns and pine needles, interspersed among plots of ragweed and several tall trees that drenched the place in ominous shadow.
    “Wow,” said Joey, coming up behind Cassidy. “It’s like she’s barricaded herself in there.”
    Cassidy shook her head. “We’ve got to help.”
    “What if she doesn’t want any help?”
    “Some people don’t know they need help until they get it,” said Cassidy, stepping forward, pushing through some of the taller grass, her chin held high.
    “Wait,” Joey whispered. “Be careful. She’s probably watching us.”
    Cassidy imagined Ursula hunched at a cracked windowsill: a plump little woman dressed in a fluorescent green running suit. Cassidy had seen scarier things inside her own apartment back in the city. She lifted a hand and waved. Pausing, she scanned each of the windows that faced the backyard, but she saw no movement. “Let’s try the side door.”
    Joey sighed in dismay, but he and Lucky continued beside her. Suddenly, the mastiff pulled forward so hard, Joey lost his grip on the leash. The dog bounded toward the base of the house, barking and sniffing at the splintered glass.
    Joey chased after Lucky, calling out for him to Heel! Lucky didn’t heed him, tugging at a piece of blanket that was sticking out past the broken glass. Cassidy froze where she stood about a dozen yards from the farmhouse. Something was moving behind the screen right above the dog. A