#150: Moth To A Flame

It was a nice evening.

I was leaving the store with some crackers for an upcoming trip, and some root beers for Paul. I got on my bike and pulled into Kite Alley, when I found a friend of mine walking over.

"Hi, Wendi. How are you?"

"Hi, Lou! Doing good, how about you?"

"Doing good. Planning my haunted tours for the year. You want to come?"

"Oh, of course I do. You know I love that stuff. Hey, while we're on the subject, I wanted to tell you about something!"

"Oh?"

"Yes, I was picking my daughter and her friend up in Beech Creek and we saw Mothman. It's not much, but...."

"No, Mothman is one of my favorites! Tell me about it."

"We were picking her and her friend up in Beech Creek. In the woods, we saw something really quick---Big and black, wing ten-foot wings, flying. It was only for a moment, and then it was gone."

"Well, this is gonna give me something to look into," I said. "I love the Mothman. Now I gotta do some investigating."

I'd seen the old lady before, occasionally. She'd approached me a few times over the years to ask me questions about local history, or tell me things she thought I didn't know. When I got to work, she was in the front office, making some photocopies. Tom was helping her. When I walked in, she showed one to me. It looked to be a newspaper story about thunderbirds.

"Ah, cool," I commented.

"They've been seen around this area," she said.

I nodded. "I've written about some sightings."

She continued, giving me no sign she'd heard me. She was the kind of person who only heard what she felt like hearing. "Thunderbirds have been seen out near Bald Eagle Creek, you know. Out near the Castanea Fire Hall."

"Have they? I didn't know that."

"Oh, yes. I've seen them out there. There used to be a man who knew my dad, he lived out near the old storage building, and he would talk about seeing them."
"Well, now I'm interested. Oh, that reminds me." I turned to Tom, still making copies. "You live in Beech Creek. You ever see the Mothman down there?"
"Wait, what?"

"Or any weird flying creature that you can't explain. I've had a Mothman sighting in the Beech Creek area."

"Mothman?"

"Sort of a big bug-person creature. Usually sticks close to West Virginia, but he's been seen in Chicago lately. I haven't heard of Mothman being out this far in central Pennsylvania before."
"Oh. No, I haven't seen anything. I'm not really out enough to see anything like that."

"Well, if you happen to be out at camp or something, and you have a sighting, let me know. I got a job to do."

"B...Forty-two. B....Forty-two." 

I walked across the Bingo hall and sat down with Michelle. She was playing two cards at once, while I'd been walking around helping out. It was a fundraiser for Paul's dance class; Paul himself was back in the small kids' room playing with some of his friends.

"Just got done telling the kids some ghost stories by request," I said. "How's it going?"

"Okay," she said. "How you doing?"

"Kind of a rough day," I said. "Tim fired me from SPI this morning for my refusal to work with psychics."

She looked at me in some shock. "What happened?"

"Tim included a fucking psychic in our last investigation. When I had to submit my report, I stated that we'd damaged our credibility by including a fraudulent psychic, and the whole investigation should be scrapped and done over due to the whole thing being compromised. Tim ran it past the lawyer, who said that I could be in trouble for defamation. And Tim dropped me from the team."

"Could you really be sued for defamation?"
"I'd love to see her try to prove in court that her abilities work."

"Are you and Tim still friends?"

"I guess so. I'm pissed as hell right now, and I think it's going to be a while before I want to hang with him. But I don't plan on cutting off contact or anything."

"Did you have to say that in your report?"

"I think it was the only ethical thing I could do. I do historic research and prove what I say; I can't go letting people make stuff up as if it's actual documentation."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know, look into Mothman and the thunderbird a bit; I've had sightings. And Chloe asked me to do some research on her house."

"I mean about the team."

I shrugged. 

"I still have LHPS." I could see Paul signaling to me from across the room. "Gotta go. The kids want more ghost stories."

I get home from work every day about four, usually just in time to beat Paul inside. I walked the dogs and brought in the mail, and when the kid got home, I tossed him a small package.

"What's this?"

"Your new ghost-hunting outfit, if you want it," I said.

He tore it open and pulled out a fanny pack, black, with a thick strap. He looked it over, and said,"I approve."

"With me changing mine so I don't look like an ICE agent, I didn't want you running around in a tac vest, either," I said. "You like to wear these across your chest, and I thought that was a good look. I'll transfer your equipment into it. You still want the skull gloves?"

Paul nodded, heading for the refrigerator. "Yeah. I like those."

"Okay. Good. With me out of SPI, it looks like it's likely to be you and me doing investigations for a while. Just got a Mothman sighting down around the county line; you want in?"

"Sure."
"Maybe down to Bald Eagle State Park one of these weekends to take a look? Sometime after we get back from our bus trip to Baltimore."

"Maybe. I asked Rylan if she could come along."

"What'd she say?"

"She's going to check with her mom. But she wants to wait until her mom is in the right mood."

"I get that. I used to do that." A thought occurred to me. "Do you have to do that?"

"Not really. Well, sometimes with Mom. But you're usually in a pretty good mood, except for when there's problems with your friends."

"You mean like this thing with Tim and SPI?"

"Well, yeah, like that."

"Well, I'm not too bothered by that, buddy. And don't worry about asking me stuff---A lot of the time, when things are bad, you cheer me up considerably."

"Okay, buddy. Have a good day at school."

Paul headed out the door and down to the bus stop---He doesn't let me walk him down there anymore. I went to the kitchen and poured myself another cup of coffee. Alone with Rosie, Butters, and the hamster.

I sat down at my computer and looked up the number for the Mothman Museum in West Virginia. I tried calling, but they had a long, rambling message, so I settled for e-mailing instead. Then I stepped out on the porch with the coffee and looked outside.

It was pouring out. I sipped some coffee and looked at the horrible rain, considering. I had some stuff I'd wanted to do, but it wasn't pressing. I could stay home and avoid the rain.

I smiled.

On the other hand, is there better weather to investigate a thunderbird?

Across town, I did the title search on Chloe's house at the courthouse annex. I got as far back as 1945, where the deeds suddenly dropped---Someone may have typed a wrong number in 1951, leaving me clueless after that. I scribbled down a list of names and dates, and then gathered my stuff and walked out.

Since I was on the east end of Lock Haven anyway, I biked out to Castanea. Still pouring. I turned and rode down past the Castanea Fire Hall, and down along Bald Eagle Creek. The irony is that I was practically right across from my own house; Castanea Township begins about two blocks from where I live. But because there's no bridge across the creek, I have to go the long way around.

I stopped along Lower Creek Road and got off the bike. I was wearing the huge poncho I'd bought a while back, and still getting wet. I worked my way through some trees and thorns, beating my way back to Bald Eagle Creek.

The slope had turned completely to mud, making the footing somewhat hazardous. I clung to some trees as I carefully worked my way down to the creek, standing on some large rocks.

No signs of thunderbirds. I hadn't exactly expected one to be sitting around and waiting for me anyway. I knelt on the rocks by the creek, looking things over.

Bald Eagle Creek routes from the Susquehanna, which in turn runs down and into the Chesapeake Bay. When you're looking into a flying creature especially, you have to consider what's called an OOPS---Out Of Place Specimen. In other words, a creature that isn't usually seen in a certain area. Stop me if I'm getting too technical for you.

Theoretically, thunderbird sightings could easily be caused by an especially large bird, say a condor, flying too far inland where they're not supposed to be. A logical route would be for them to follow the water, form the ocean up the Susquehana into Castanea Township. Water is where prey is.

I looked down the creek and saw it; I remembered it being there before. An old Native American fish trap---A V-shaped weir in the water, designed to funnel fish into a spot where they could be easily caught. Fish clustered in one spot would certainly be a food source for a large bird, which might explain the thunderbird sightings.

I climbed back up the bank. I still had time to buy groceries before I headed back home.

From my office in the basement, I sent Chloe a message. I loved having a small office in the basement; I'd always dreamed of underground hideouts when I was a kid. It helped that the boss didn't really care much what I was doing down there.

Because of all the rain, the south end of the basement was leaking badly. Up near the ceiling, water was pouring in through a pipe, making a sort of pretty waterfall down the wall. It all pooled into a pond on the floor, and ran into two holes in the floor before it drained. Excess water ran across the floor to the north and into a pit under the stairs. So when it rained hard, my office had a water feature.

I sent her the historic information I'd found on her house. She was online.

I got fired from a ghost hunting team I'm on because of my refusal to work with psychics. So I needed a little cheering up!

She responded a moment later.

If it makes you feel any better about the ghost hunting team, I'm glad you stood your ground. As someone who is definitely a people-pleaser, seeing you stand your ground and not give up your beliefs is something to look up to.

That helps, actually. Thanks. Makes me feel a lot better. 

I agree with you completely. If you're gonna pretend to be psychic, at least be creative. It really paints a completely misleading picture for the field of ghost hunting, and makes it seem like it's based on instinct instead of research.

Exactly! You get it. You're making me feel a lot better, actually. Thanks for that. I figure if I did something that you can respect, I probably did the right thing.

I'm glad I could help! I look up to a lot of what you do, your serving as a great role model for me right now! Especially regarding how you don't back down when your beliefs are threatened.

So, excitement tomorrow---My family is going on a bus trip to the Baltimore Aquarium! My wife's company does these trips sometimes. I hope to do a little research into water cryptids, and show Paul some good stuff, and maybe look out the window for a Maryland flying cryptid, the Snallygaster, on the way. Because what else will I have to do on the bus?

That's awesome! I just found out today we booked a trip to Gettysburg for Sunday/Monday! I am so freaking excited!!!! We are staying at the Farnsworth house in  the McFarlane room. I'm planning on bringing my EMF detectors. I want to ask if you have any other tools I might possibly be able to borrow for my trip?

Absolutely I do! How about a laser thermometer? I can easily loan you one.

I smiled, down in my basement hideout. I like talking to Chloe, and trying to be a role model for her. Sometimes the young kid needs reassurance.

And sometimes, so does the older one.

Paul and I looked down on some manta rays and other fish from the upper balcony. The Baltimore Aquarium is an enjoyable place, and it was the fourth time I'd been there---The first for Paul and his little friend Rylan, who'd come along. They were both carrying orange sodas that had cost about $3.50.

We walked into a dark hallway with a tank of anemones. Paul gasped, looking at the bright colors. Rylan was staring at them, and a moment later, the water in the tank burst with bubbles.

"What did you touch?" I asked Rylan.

"Nothing!" she said. "I swear!"

The next tank had some crabs in it. Rylan asked Paul,"What's your favorite part of this?"

"All of it, I think."

"I liked touching the jellyfish."

"I think this is fun," Paul said,"But I liked the Pittsburgh Zoo better."

"Oh, yeah?" I asked, interested. "Why is that?"

He shrugged. "They had all the animals separate. They were all in their own cages."

"I see."

Michelle asked,"What do you guys want to see next?"

"I want to check out the boats outside," said Paul.

Outside the aquarium, on the Chesapeake Bay, there was an operation that rented small boats to ride around the harbor for half an hour at a time. We'd gotten a pirate ship with a kraken on the side, which I liked, and Paul was steering it. I got a photo of another boat shaped like a sea monster.

"Closest I've ever come to finding the Chesapeake Bay serpent," I said.

"There's a serpent out here?" asked Rylan.

"Yeah, Chessie, the Chesapeake Bay cryptid. We've encountered that one before." I'd looked into Chessie years ago, on a family trip to Virginia. 

"What's that?" Paul asked.

I glanced over. There was something swimming in the water by the buoy, sticking a long neck up out of the water. I took a photo and got all excited for a moment, until I realized what it was.

"It's a duck," I said.

It came up out of the water, and then a moment later, flew away.

After a long day at school, Paul likes to relax by going insane on the trampoline. He and Serina were bouncing around, burning off any inexplicable excess energy.

"Find any ghosts?" Serina asked me. She's always interested in these things.

"No ghosts recently, but I did bike out to Castanea to look for thunderbirds the other day."

She looked surprised. "You went all the way to Castanea?"

"It's not that far. Truth is, we live practically next door to Castanea. Castanea Township is right over there. But everyone thinks we live far away, because you have to go the long way around. We could just walk right to it if there was a bridge over Bald Eagle Creek...."

I trailed off. Paul glanced over at me, and said,"Dad?"

"Just had a thought," I said. "Be right back."

I went inside and came back with a Clinton County map. I unfolded it and said,"Okay, so I've had a thunderbird sighting in Castanea and a Mothman sighting in Beech Creek. The Jersey Devil was seen at the paper mill in 1909. Now, it's normal for some birds to follow along waterways; that's where the food is. People see large birds sometimes, out of area specimens, and mistake them for cryptids."

"Have you seen cryptids turn out to be large birds before?" Serena asked.

"Egrets? I've had a few. Beech Creek runs into Bald Eagle Creek, which runs into the Susquehanna River, which ends up in the Chesapeake Bay. So large birds could theoretically fly up the river right in from the coast. Which means....They'd end up at the paper mill. It's why there are all those ducks and geese in the mill ponds."

I looked up from the map. they were both staring at me.

"So I need to check out where all the birds go."

It was autumn; the sun was going down earlier, and it was almost dark when we picked Paul up from dance class. I made him a pizza---He's always starved after dance, plus most of the rest of the time---And he sat down at the table to eat it. I went up to my office and changed into my outift.

Sling bag with the bandolier. Hood, Fingerless gloves. I was ready.

I walked downstairs. Paul asked,"Where are you going?"

"Down to the paper mill to look for the Mothman. I'll be back in a bit."

I got my bike out of the garage and rode toward the paper mill, a couple of blocks away past the Lock Haven city limit. It was a bright moon, not quite full. I turned toward the paper mill.

Birds had been flying up Bald Eagle Creek for probably a hundred years or more. Once I saw it, I couldn't quite unsee it---Even the alleys in this neighborhood were named after birds. Grouse Alley, Finch Alley, Crane Alley. The ponds at the paper mill were a good stopping point for traveling birds, even ones not generally seen in the area.

I pulled up at the gate. Mostly I forget just how close I live to the very edge of Lock Haven. I was in the parking lot of a local bar, which was reasonably quiet on a Thursday night. The ponds with their usual flock of geese were right beside me, past the gate.

I walked along it, looking through, checking for cryptids.

Something moved behind me.

It rustled through the tall grass as I turned.

Showtime.

"JESUS CHRIST!"

It was giant---At least four feet tall. Dark grey. It came at me, making a crowing sort of sound, and I flailed out at it, punching and kicking.

The Mothman!

I punched out, scraping up my knuckles, and then kicked. It backed off. I'm not gonna get killed by a cryptid; I'm gonna have a heart attack sometime. Once I got my pulse back under control, I realized that it was a bird---A huge one, some sort of crane.

It came at me again. I backed up and kicked. I wasn't using any kind of specialized martial art, I was thrashing around in pure panic hoping to hit something. I raised my arms, and held up my shoulder bag, hoping to make myself look bigger and more threatening.

The crane bought it and took off. I chased after it for about ten yards before deciding I really didn't want to do that. I fell to one knee in the parking lot, catching my breath, as it launched itself over the fence and disappeared.

"Birds of a feather," I said.

I was printing envelopes at work when the back door opened and Tif rolled in with her new wheelchair. "Oh, hi, hon," I said.

"Hi Dad," said Tif. "I came to get a copy made. What the hell happened to your hand?"
I looked down at my right hand, scratched up from the night before. "Oh, this. I got into a fight with some kind of sandhill crane."

"On purpose?"

"Not really; the bastard snuck up on me and mugged me. I thought it was the Mothman."

"And you were so disappointed it was a bird that you had to start a fight with it?"

"It started a fight with me. I didn't even see it coming. Apparently they can be aggressive to humans if they're defending their territory."

"Don't some of those things get about five feet tall?"

"This one looked like it was close to Paul's height. It was pretty alarming."

"So the crane accounts for the Mothman sightings?"

"They often do. A sandhill crane was probably responsible for the original sightings in 1966, but nobody really wanted to hear that."

"I think people need cryptids," said Tif.

I grinned.

"I know I do."

Food For Thought

I can't get enough of autumn. It's always been my favorite season. I watched the leaves fall around me as I biked to work, stopping for a moment at the church along Liberty Street.

It had a layer of decorative rocks covering the ground around the bushes. I knelt down, looking them over. I'd recently learned that the decorative rocks sometimes have fossils, thanks to the little neighbor girl who kept leaving them on my lawn. I began to examine them.

A guy from the ambulance building across the street came over.

"Lose your phone?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"Nope."

He frowned. "Then what are you looking for?"

"Fossils," I said.

He shook his head. "You're never going to find fossils in there. Those are just garden stones; they order them from some landscaping company. There's no fossils in there."

I spotted one of the right kinds of rock, picked it up and looked it over. Then I held it up.

"Found one," I said, and left.

"Dad," Paul called,"Someone at the door."

I turned down the chili I was cooking and went to the door. Rosie and Butters were going crazy, as dogs will. It turned out to be Tim and Devaughn, waiting for me.

"Hi, guys," I said. "What's up?"

Devaughn handed me a jacket. I looked it over. Nice, black, waterproof. With the Swartz Paranormal logo on the back.

"Thank you!" I said. "That was a fast turnaround. You just asked me about this yesterday."

"We have a screen printer," said Tim. "Vince has been getting a lot done before we head back to the haunted Foodapalooza."

"I've been sending documents about that."

"I saw," said Tim. "You are brilliant, my friend. I just open my phone and there's all these old maps and stuff."

"I found the map and worked backward," I explained. "I found out who owned the property in 1868, a family named Eyer. When I dug into where they were buried, I discovered that several of them died young. And, get this, they're buried in a small abandoned cemetery....Right around the corner from the Foodapalooza."

Tim nodded. "That's cool. We'll have to check that out."

"Well, we'll get our chance. Sunday night."

"Sunday night."

The kids had a stand out on the sidewalk, and were trying to sell stickers and bracelets. I set my bag down. "I'll be home probably after bedtime, little man. But if I get home late, I'll stop in your room and say goodnight, okay?"

Paul nodded. "Okay, Dad," he said.

"I wish we could go," said Love.

"This one's mainly for adults," I said. "I'll take you on an investigation soon."

She smiled. "Okay!"

The van pulled up on the street, with Vince driving. I said,"My ride's here. Gotta run. You guys have a good night."

I piled some stuff from the salad bar on my plate, because I have to watch my blood pressure. Then I added some meatballs and liver and some other stuff, because it looked good, and I sat back down with the team. We had me, Tim, Devaughn, Vince, Petey, Millie, and a new girl, Kristy.

"We'll split up again," said Tim. "Millie and Kristy, I want you two over at the restrooms. Vince, back in the kitchen. We'll be back here in this room. Lou, you supervise the restroom area and roam the dining room at large---You had some success with that last time."

I nodded. "It was pretty active."

"I'll have Brittany, our new psychic, on the phone doing some readings as I walk around," said Tim.
"Tim," I said.

"I know how you feel, Lou, but give her a chance. She hasn't seen any of your research yet, and I'll keep her clear of you."
I nodded without saying anything.

"You got anything?" Tim asked me.

"Not a whole lot. Planning my haunted tours in October," I said. "Of course you're all welcome. In fact, I think I'll see if they'll put up a flyer here."

"The staff says they went out to the abandoned cemetery you discovered the other night, Lou," said Tim. "In fact, they really enjoyed it. They never knew it was there before you found the records."

"How did they not know that? It's practically around the corner."

"When we're done with dinner, we'll talk to the staff," said Tim.

I got up to go get more meatballs.

We gathered in the dining room with the staff after closing. A couple of the waitresses were rolling silverware in napkins for tomorrow.

"Want some help with that?" I asked.

They glanced at each other. I got the distinct feeling that it wasn't a question they'd been asked a whole lot. "Sure," one said,"If you want."

I started rolling some napkins for them. After a couple of tries, I found myself getting pretty decent at it.

"We never knew that cemetery was there," said the manager. "We went and looked it over the other night, and we might just start helping to clean it up a bit."

"And you guys never knew it was there," I repeated.

"Nope, never heard of it before you turned it up. We might go on out there after work and explore."

"It's private property," said Tim. "Legally we can't encourage you to go out there. There could be injuries or trespassing charges."

"But you're all adults," I said. "So technically we can't exactly forbid you to go out there, either." And I winked. I kind of like having Tim in charge; it gives me a chance to be the rule-breaking rebel again like I used to. You can't really do that if you're the leader.

One of the waitresses grinned at me. "You're welcome to come along, if you'd like."

"I'd love that," I admitted,"But I have a little boy at home who doesn't really like to go to sleep if Daddy's not there." I showed her my wallet photo of Paul, and she smiled.

"By the way," I said,"I brought you guys something." I handed over a copy of two of my books---One a compilation of local haunted stories, and the other a manual for paranormal investigation.

"Let's get started," said Tim.

"I'll suit up," I said, and threw on the hood, gloves, and bandolier.

"Staff can split up and join us at our stations," said Tim. "We have some paperwork to fill out, and some extra equipment."
"I have a laser thermometer and and EMF detector," I said.

Two of the waitresses claimed my extra stuff. The manager turned down the lights, and we spread out throughout the restaurant.

I walked around with my EMF detector. It went off near the salad bar, and I checked the fluorescent lights. One of the waitresses asked,"Is that a problem?"

"Not now that I know what's causing it," I said. She shut the lights off.

I drifted around with the detector. I got a lot of random EMFs, just like last time we'd been in the place. Flickers and bursts, which would then disappear.

Millie was stationed over at the door to the restrooms. I drifted over in that direction.

"Your eyes match your shirt exactly, did you know?"

Millie looked down at her green uniform shirt. "I guess so! My eyes are green; I forgot."

"Doing okay?"

She nodded. "Just tired. Been on a new medication."

"Yeah, I get that. You know they're headed out to the lost cemetery after this? In the middle of the night. Wasn't too long ago I'd have gone with them."

"True. Remember Cedar Hill?"

"I remember Cedar Hill."

"You climbed into a mausoleum."

"I was there."

I'd remembered the gumball machines from last time around, and brought along a pocketful of quarters. I picked up a couple of superballs and a mini-Rubik's cube for Paul, who was going to love them.

There was a scream from the women's room. I moved over to the door and called in,"Everything okay in there?"

Two of the waitresses came out. "Yeah, we're okay," one explained. "One of the other people startled us in there. How do you guys stay so calm?"

"My stock answer is that it's not really scary," I said. "I realize that in the movies, it's always some terrifying ghost that's out to kill you, but that's because otherwise nobody would watch. In real life, it's usually much less frightening than that."

Tim walked by with his phone, scanning the room. I could hear the psychic on the line: "I'm getting a name....Anna or Annabelle, maybe Angela....."

I decamped for the kitchen. Two of the other waitresses were there, and I joined them by the sink.

"I'm getting more spikes on the EMF," I said. "What the hell?...."

"Could it be the microwave?"

"Let's see...." I moved the detector over to the microwave, and it spiked. I unplugged it, and it went down. But several feet away from the microwave, I was still getting flickers for no reason.

"Maybe have something paranormal here."

"So you're the guy who found the graveyard," she said.

I nodded. "You guys never knew about it before now?"

"We had no idea. Who knows that kind of thing?"

"I mean, I know every cemetery within five miles of my job, so....."

"Well, I thought it was pretty cool how you found that."

"I do a lot of research. It's important to be able to document your work." I was still steaming about the goddamn psychic.

"Do you think it was part of the farm that was here?"

"I think it very likely was; a lot of the people who lived on this property seem to be buried there. I was able to track some of the headstones."

The EMF detector spiked again, rising high and then dropping. I said,"It shouldn't be doing that. What the hell?"

"This is where we get a lot of activity," she said. "The ladles hanging there are always moving around."

"Well," I said,"Maybe we got a ghost here."

It was after eleven when I walked in the kitchen door and set my backpack down. I dropped my equipment bag on the floor as Butters came running up to greet me. I was thirsty; I poured myself a glass of water.

I heard little footsteps come running down the stairs, and Paul burst into the kitchen and hugged me.

And this is why I don't get involved in reckless stuff these days.

"I missed you, Daddy," he said, his face buried in my shoulder.

"Missed you too, little man," I said.

Best part of my night.

Memory Lane

I was on the Susquehanna River. I'd been on the boat a while, been recognized as a paranormal investigator, and been taking photos and scribbling notes for my article. Oh, yeah, and I was talking to a drag queen.

I mean....I've had weirder moments.

"This guy is a ghost hunter," said another guy who was attending the drag cruise. "He was telling us about ghosts last time! The, what, the Siren?"

"The Susquehanna Siren," I confirmed. "Said to be luring people in right along this river."

The drag queen looked interested. "That's so cool," she said. "You do that a lot?"

"All the time," I said. "I investigate, I write about it, I give tours."

"You give tours, too?"

"Haunted tours," I said. "I'm currently planning some in October to benefit a breast cancer charity. Here's my card."
She pulled out her phone. "I'll just take a picture of this, since my hands are full."
"I was kinda gonna just stick it in your bra."

"Oh, that would be okay," she said.

I tucked the LHPS card in the drag queen's bra. I don't think I've ever had occasion to use those words in that order before.

"I need to get ready for my song," she said. "But I'm gonna try not to be a stranger, okay?"
I smiled. "I would truly like that."

She moved off, and I walked through the boat and sat down beside my daughter.

"How's it going, Dad?" Tif asked.

"Doing good," I said. "I think I just made friends with a drag queen."

"Which one?"

"The redhead."

"Good choice. I think I need a drag king persona."

"Starsky and Crutch," I suggested.

"Dad. Jesus."

"Elvis Palsey?"

"How many beers have you had?"

"Three. I think."

"You're working."

"Freelance writers are encouraged to drink on duty. Hemingway did it all the time."

"Hemingway was an alcoholic."

"Tif," I said,"A while ago, you found a Schuylkill Note. Do you remember where you got that?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," my daughter said.

"Schuylkill Notes are those little paper notes, found usually in products and along trails," I said. "They have all sorts of weird conspiracy stuff on them. They seem to pretty much originate in Pennsylvania, clustered around Philadelphia mostly. The first one was documented in Schuylkill County."

"Oh, like that one I found in a box of M&Ms a while back," said Tif.

"Right, that one. I have it on my bulletin board at home. I want to look into this; you seem to have found the first one ever in Lock Haven."

"Really?"

"As far as I can tell, yes. I found a map online. They mostly seem to be around the southeastern part of the state, spreading out a bit as they get further away. There don't seem to be any as far as, say, Erie; they all seem to be closer to Philadelphia. It was inside the M&M box?"

"Yeah."

"Did you eat the M&Ms?"

"Well, yeah."

"Good call. Where did you buy them?"
"I think it was the Dollar Store."
"The thing that gets me is how it all falls apart at a certain point," I said. "Nothing makes any logical sense. Clearly, there's some crazy conspiracy theories going on here, but it can't just be one person. With the amount and distribution of notes, it has to be a whole group of people."

"Sure, that makes sense."

"You'd think. Except, no it doesn't, because that many insane people couldn't possibly keep it a secret. I deal with a lot of flaky nutjobs, and none of them can keep it together long enough to handle an operation like this. I just can't imagine a couple of hundred whacko conspiracy nuts keeping something like this operational and under wraps."

"So it's one person."

"But it can't be. One person can't be distributing these things all over the state at that frequency. It has to be some kind of organized movement. Except the last thing that these crazies are is organized. So what I have to do is a different approach. Start by figuring out if it was planted at the factory, or the store."

"So it's weird," said Tif.

I nodded.

"It's weird," I agreed.

If you're reading about ghosts and cryptids in Pennsylvania, you may have come across some of my stuff. I'm a paranormal investigator and writer. I do that a lot.

My name is Lou. I live in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania, and I'm basically the go-to guy for ghost stories in the area. It's weird, but I've managed to make a career out of it.

"There's Ella!" Paul cried out happily. "Ella's at my bus stop! Mom, stop the car!"

Michelle stopped the jeep, and Paul climbed out with his backpack for the first day of school. I asked,"You want me to wait for the bus with you?"

"Nope," said Paul. "See you later!"

"Love you, little man," I said. "Have a good day." And that last part was to his back, as he dashed for the corner.

I watched as he ran for his little friend, arms open for a hug. Ellie went right past him and hugged another kid. Then she laughed, and turned around and hugged Paul, too. And I had to go home and do the hardest thing for me....Let him grow up.

When I got back to the house, my cell phone was ringing.

I picked it up off the kitchen table and flipped it open. I recognized the number. "Hello."

"This is Punisher's Clearing House," said the person on the other end. "You've been randomly selected to win two million dollars, but first you're going to have to sing the National Anthem in German."

"Aimo," I said,"You realize pretty much all phones have caller ID now, right?"

Aimo laughed. "I had to try. How you been, Lou?"

Aimo, pronounced about like it's spelled, was an old friend from Slatington. She and I had been friends since the fourth grade. This had, at times, taken a little effort on my part, as Aimo could be impulsive and reckless. 

"Doing okay," I said. "Got a meeting with the Clinton County Genealogical Society coming up; I'm up for vice-president. Paul just headed out for his first day of sixth grade. What's new with you?"

"Funny you should ask," she said. "I'm working on a piece for Bi The Way magazine. You still the guy to talk to about haunted stuff in Clinton County?"

"You know I am, Aimo. What's up?"

"Well, there's an anniversary coming up. Thirty-five years ago, there were two gay kids killed---The Sandman killings---"

"Oh, god, Aimo. Seriously? That was my first week living in Lock Haven. People are still touchy about that. You gotta write about this?"

"Well, it's for the October issue, and they wanted a haunting that had some sort of LGBTQ connection. I remembered this one, and it's the anniversary. And Smith Hall, where it happened, is said to be haunted, so...."

"Jesus, Aimo. You're gonna get hate mail. What makes you want to write about this now?"

"Because it's there."

"It's not there in April?"

"You know how it goes, Lou. Didn't you annoy some people a few years ago, writing about a multiple murder?"
"I did, yeah. And that was fifty years old. This one's much less than that. You can't find some haunted dorm without a multiple murder?"

"Now, what fun would that be? Come on, Lou. I just need a little on-site research, maybe a few quotes from the paranormal expert. What do you say?"

I poured myself a cup of coffee.

"Been bailing you out of stuff since 1979, Aimo. What's one more?"

Chloe and I had gotten into the habit of having coffee together about once a month, almost as if we were normal people. Our get-togethers usually involved me giving her some local history books, teaching her about research, and commiserating about our latest adventures.

"Here's two more cemetery indexes," I said. "Highland and Wayne Township. The Clinton County Genealogical Society put out ten of these; you now own three."
"These are for me?" Chloe looked more delighted with cemetery books than your average teenager.

"They are. You're getting all my doubles out of my office, so thanks for that."

She paged through the Highland book, looking it over. I said,"Got a call from an old friend the other night. Aimo. Her real name is Amy, but by the time we met in the fourth grade, she was insistent upon being called 'Aimo'. Never did find out why. We met in a summer writing class, and we both grew up to be writers."

Chloe smiled. "That's cool."
"She's gay, and she's working on a piece about the Sandman Murders here in Lock Haven. You know those?"

She nodded. I'd suspected she might. "She called me up because the thirty-fifth anniversary is coming up, and she's working on a piece on it. Smith Hall is said to be haunted because of this, and that might be my fault---Some years ago, I included it on a tour. But I may stop up with my EMF detector, and check to make sure."

"Wait a minute. Thirty-five years....Isn't that---"
I nodded. "I'd just moved here. It was my first week in Lock Haven. A gay kid was murdered, strangled in his bed in Smith Hall. His partner later was found hanging in his basement, down on the east end. The cops decided one killed the other and then hung himself, but there were a lot of unanswered questions." I sipped my coffee. "I still remember the night he was discovered. The campus police came around and told everyone to go find another place to sleep that night. He'd been there a while. I don't know, maybe the place genuinely is haunted. Maybe I need to look into it."

"Let me know if you need any help with that."
"Of course I will."

God. Most college students are more annoying than chupacabras. I biked to the LHU library, braving my way through a crowd of fresh, young minds eager to get drunk as hell, and settled down at the microfilm machine, which was blessedly deserted.

I put in the microfilm roll and cranked it until I found the first mention of the murder: Like I remembered. A student had been found dead in Smith Hall, and the cops had shuffled everyone out to find someplace else to sleep so they could investigate. That was my first week in Lock Haven, and it brought back more memories than I'd realized.

A few days later, another student had been found hanging in his basement. There had been an eerie note, signed 'The Sandman," which was the perfect way to get attention. The police, after a thorough investigation that had probably involved taking a smoke break, had closed the case, deciding that one kid killed the other and then himself.

I sat back, and moment. I remembered it; I'd been new here then. I'd moved here in 1990 after having spent a couple of summers as a kid, and this had left an impact. 

I walked outside and down the street, looking at Smith Hall. It hadn't changed a whole lot; it still looked like it had back then. I'd aged reasonably well, too, though I was clearly older then the twenty-one I'd been. 

Thirty-five years in Lock Haven.

More than half a lifetime.

On the way home, I stopped at the local grocery store. The manager knew who I was, which made asking questions a little easier. I stopped by the service desk and said,"Do you have a minute to answer a couple of questions? I'm not asking in any official capacity, just as a paranormal investigator."

"Sure," she said. "What can I do for you?"

I pulled out a copy of Tif's Schuylkill Note and held it up. "Have you gotten any reports or complaints about notes like this?"
She was nodding before I'd even finished asking the question. "Oh, sure, we've had people find them. They've been in aspirins, in those little boxed yogurts. I've found a few myself. It's pretty common."

Score. Pay dirt. This was like the fourth place I'd stopped, and the first time anyone knew what I was talking about. I said,"So they have been spotted in here?"

"Oh, sure. They've also been found in our stores in Jersey Shore and Mill Hall."

"I'm sure you have procedures in place to notice if someone were tampering with a product in the store. But what if someone brought something in from home and left it on a shelf? Would that be noticed, necessarily?"

"You mean, they inserted a note at home and brought the item back?"

"Yes."

"We'd likely notice that, too. We watch for people putting their hands in their pockets too much, acting suspicious. We review the cameras on things like that. If someone comes in carrying a product, we ask if it's a return. I'm not saying it's impossible, but we have some procedures to check for these things."

"You've been very helpful. Thanks."

I walked over to the dairy section. I needed sour cream anyway. I checked out the boxed yogurt she'd mentioned; the lid was glued shut, but there were open seams that a small note could be slipped into. I slid a thumbnail inside; it could be done.

Same with most of the OTC drugs, like aspirin. I picked up the sour cream on my way out. This was progress of a sort. I was still a long way from a conclusion, but it was the first thing I'd noticed that approached a pattern.

"We're going to have a very shirt meeting tonight," said the vice-president of the Clinton County Genealogical Society. "We only have two officers to elect. Our treasurer has agreed to serve another term, and I've turned in my resignation. Lou has kindly agreed to take the office of vice-president for the upcoming year. So, all in favor?"
I sat at the meeting in the old Great Island Presbyterian Church, wearing my black paranormal investigator shirt, looking around the room. Everyone raised their hands.

And just like that, I was vice-president of the Clinton County Genealogical Society.

On my way out the door, I heard my phone ringing. I stopped and dug it out of my pack, flipping it open to look at the screen. Aimo.

"Hey there! Where you at?"

"Just left the CCGS meeting. I'm vice-president now. Where are you at?"

"Here," said Aimo.

"Terrific, Aimo. If I wanted to pick out 'here' on a map---"

"Lock Haven, Pennsylvania."

"Wait....Here?"

"Yup. Want to get together?"

Aimo hadn't changed a lot since I'd last seen her. For that matter, she hadn't really grown all that much since high school or so. Long brown hair, glasses, that same loopy smile. I found her in the parking lot of the local hotel and gave her a hug.

"It's good to see you, Aimo. But what the hell are you doing here?"

"You know tonight's the anniversary, right? The murder happened thirty-five years ago tonight. So I thought I'd drive up from Bloomsburg and see if you wanted to investigate."

"Aimo, you do understand that you can make plans in advance, right? You can call and ask, oh, I'd say up to a few days ahead of time before showing up."

"So is that a yes, or....?"
I grinned. "I usually have some investigating stuff on me, yeah. I can spare some time and go check it out; you actually have me intrigued. But I did want to do one thing first."

"What's that?"
"Sort of an experiment. Want to come along?"

In the local grocery store, I slipped a small piece of paper into the pasta box. It went in easily, just like the other six I'd already done. I looked around. Nobody had noticed me; the very few employees there were stocking and cleaning in an effort to get the hell out of there. I looked down the aisle and saw Aimo doing the same thing, also unnoticed. I nodded to her and gestured at the door, and she nodded back. and headed out.

We met just outside the door. She said,"That was fun! I love the feeling of getting away with something. Why did we do it?"

"I wanted to test and see if the Schuylkill Notes could plausibly be delivered that way," I said. "Turns out they can. If you go in at the right time, you can stick anything you want in those boxes without damaging the box and without being noticed. So that tells me how they're being distributed. Except mine say 'Inspected by 13.'"

She grinned. "Kind of like reverse shoplifting. You up for a little paranormal stuff now?
I lifted my uniform out of my pack.

"Always."

We sat peaceably outside Smith Hall, on a stone wall in the back, under a tree. My EMF detector was between us. Aimo looked me over.

"Looking good," she said. "I gotta say, I like the new outfit."

"Thanks. I gave some thought to it. Time for a change, you know? Didn't want to be dressing like a dumbass."

"You've been dressing like a dumbass since 1981 or so."

"Oh, big talk for the only person who stuck with you after the watermelon incident."

"Don't bring up the watermelon incident."

"Aimo looked up at the dorm windows. "Which one of those was he killed in?"

"Not sure, Aimo. I'm not even certain it was on this side of the building. I didn't spend too much time in the dorms when I was at LHU."
"Always the loner."

"More or less, I guess. Got a team, got a kid, but I'm also pretty good on my own, you know?"

"And yet, you made time to hang with me. You looooove me."

"Oh, Aimo, come on with that already."

A couple of students walked past on their way to the parking lot. We watched them.

"God, how young they look. Were we ever that young?"

"You may have been," Aimo said. "I don't think I've aged any."

"You sure as hell haven't matured since the fourth grade."

"I mean, you find something that works, you stick with it."

I looked out toward the river. "When I moved here thirty-five years ago, I didn't think I'd be settling. I really didn't see myself staying here all that long."

"What changed your mind?"

"I don't know, I guess it happened gradually. Over time, I learned about Lock Haven, and I began to fall in love with it. When I moved here....I had this box. It was the last box I unpacked when I came to Lock Haven. I promised myself that when I felt fully at home here, one day, I'd burn the box."

"Did you?"

"I never did. I forgot all about it, actually. It probably made a few moves with me....."

"Did you take it to Utah?"
"We don't talk about Utah. But I kept it for a while, and then one day, I thought of it again. Couldn't remember where I'd put it. But by that point, I'd been really happy here in Lock Haven for quite a while."

Aimo considered it.

"You could find a substitute box," she said. "Amazon will send you one free with every order. Burn another box, it's like, symbolic."

"You just want to burn something."

"I really do."

The EMF detector went off. It began beeping consistently, spiking up into shocking levels of electromagnetic energy. Aimo looked at it with some surprise.

She said,"Is that---"

"Yeah."

I picked it up and moved around with it, excited. Aimo said,"Explain this to me."

"This thing detects electromagnetism. Now, you have to be careful it's not picking up what's supposed to be there---Switches and outlets, say. But if it goes off....Well, like this....Without any explanation, you may have something, some paranormal activity."

"If there was electricity, wouldn't it usually be consistent?"

"Yeah. It should. That's why this is interesting." I set the detector, still beeping, back on the wall, and got some photos. I got out the laser thermometer, and it stayed consistent at a baseline of about sixty-five. "I can't explain it. Looks like we have some activity here. About eight-thirty PM."

"What time did the kid get murdered?"

"Coroner couldn't pin it too precisely, but probably late evening....About eight-thirty PM."

"We got a ghost?"

"We got a ghost!"

The EMF detector stopped. I looked at it; it had gone to zero.

Aimo glanced at it.

"I take it that's not what's supposed to happen."

"It is if there's a ghost."

Aimo grinned.

"Well," she said,"It's been quite the night."

She dropped me off back at the hotel, by my bike.

"It's been fun," she said. "Let's do this again sometime."

I grinned at my old friend.

"Don't be a stranger, Aimo."

"So, did you get it?" Paul asked while he roasted a marshmallow.

I glanced at him over the fire pit in the backyard. "Vice-president? Yeah." I grinned. "Nobody else wanted to do it."

"So," said Tif,"You're vice-president of the genealogical society now."
"I am. I don't know what it is where I just show up for a meeting, and everyone wants to make me vice-president. I got LHPS this way, too."

I put another log on the fire, then speared a hot dog and held it over the fire pit. 

"Thirty-five years," said Tif.

"Thirty-five years," I said. "Long time."

"You gonna celebrate?"

"You're pretty much looking at it. By the way, I think I've reached a few conclusions on that Schuylkill Note you found."

"Do tell."

"I figured out how it's happening, and at what level. It's all individuals, sneaking the notes into boxes at the store level. It's why previous investigations haven't turned up anything; they've all concentrated on shipping. But it's being done by singular crazies who are getting them into boxes in the stores without being noticed. I'm sure there's one central point distributing the notes, and it would have to be online."

"Dark web? Crazy stuff?"

"Just to test things, I sat down and did a few searches for things like 'Do lizard men run the world'. It didn't take long for me to find about a thousand online conversations from some of these nuts. So they meet and recruit each other that way. And then the source sends the notes online to the individual nut, who prints them and slips them into the products at the store. That way, if anyone get caught, they can't really give up their source. They don't know anything beyond the message board."

"And that's how I found one."

"That's how."

I looked into the fire for a while.

"Back in a minute, honey," I said. "I think I want to go find a box to burn."