Turtles All The Way Down

"Okay, the food is grilled. Everybody dig in."
I set down the trays of smoking food, and my family piled up their plates. My wife, two daughters, and my four-year-old son all sat around the table.
"Can't wait to go camping in Indiana for the family vacation," said Biz.
"It'll be good," I agreed. "Since you brought it up, here's the itinerary for the trip out. Full of ghosts, monsters, and weird sights." This is what passes for dinnertime conversation in our family. I got out my notebook. "If we make a few stops for photos, I can submit them to the PA Wilds and get paid for this. In Clearfield County, there's the highest point on I-80. Also a diner where they have a Bigfoot statue and a whole bunch of dinosaurs. In Jefferson County, there's a park where an insane person carved a whole bunch of bible verses on rocks."
"Oh, that's fun," said Tif.
"It'll be neat. Trust me. When we get to Clarion County, there's a giant cow statue. We'll get pictures."
"That's what I like about this family," commented Biz. "It's not all about how many miles we can put on. We actually stop and do stuff."
I fist-bumped her. "And then when we get there, you and me got an investigation. The campsite is real near where the Beast of Busco was sighted. It's a giant monster turtle that was seen in a pond in Indiana, but never captured. They call it Oscar. We're gonna look into it."
"Cool," said Biz.
"We are not bringing back a giant monster turtle," said my wife.
"The car's a rental," I pointed out.
"I'm not sharing the back seat with a big turtle," said Tif.
"Actually I'll settle for photos," I said.
"I want to share with a turtle," said Biz.

My name is Lou. I'm a paranormal investigator, librarian, writer, and explorer.
My family's summer vacation is usually in August. This year, we were going to Indiana. My little boy, Paul Matthew, is adopted. He has two younger brothers who are also adopted, and live elsewhere. We'd planned a camping trip midway, meeting up with both of them.
I'd also worked up an itinerary of interesting places to see on the way---Weird historic and paranormal spots. It's kind of my thing. And as a writer for the PA Wilds, I could use this trip to submit an article. I'm not above double-dipping that way.
And, in Indiana, I'd also discovered the story of the Beast of Busco, a mysterious cryptid turtle that had been seen for about a hundred years. On the far end of the trip, it would be worth looking into.
My family doesn't really do normal vacations.

"This is really cool," said Biz as we walked through the rocks. "I wouldn't mind coming back here."
"Neither would I," said Michelle. "We'll have to plan a day trip sometime."
"Me too!" cheered Paul.
I took a photo, then looked closer to examine the letters on one of the rocks. "In the early 1900s, an insane religious guy carved all of these Bible verses on the rocks. His wife died because he wouldn't get her medical treatment, and he spent the rest of his life carving these messages."
"He had no life," Michelle said.
"A fair point," I said. I clicked another photo, and then made a couple of notes in my notebook. "I can write this up for the PA Wilds. I just made like a hundred dollars."
"Cool," said Biz.
"So I guess we're doing okay this trip. We'd also go back and take another look at Bigfoot and the dinosaurs. We have some good stops out this way."
"Now I want to see my little bruvvers!" said Paul.
I nodded. "We'll go back to the car. Soon, we'll see your brothers."

It was late when we pulled into the campsite with the cabin. It was small, with one regular bed, a bunk bed, and a couch. I began unloading the luggage.
"I call couch," said Tif, dropping into it.
Biz turned on the sink, and then made a face. "The water has a really bad smell."
"That's sulfur. It was like this where I grew up," I said. "We'll get some bottled water; can't cost more than about $3.50."
"Can I go see my bruvver, Daddy?" Paul asked. "Can I?"
"Go ahead," I said. "Go knock on the door."
"You knock."
"Come on, little guy," I said.
We walked next door, and I knocked. One of the other families was already there, Nicole and Tony, who had adopted Paul's brother, two-year-old Sully. His baby brother, Oliver, slept in a nearby blanket. Paul and Sully squealed and hugged each other.
"House," said Sully. "House."
Nicole smiled. "He wants to show Paul the cabin."
Paul looked up at me. I nodded, and the two of them raced in and immediately climbed up the bunk bed. The adults joined on the porch.
"How was your trip?" asked Nicole.
"Not bad, except for the construction," I said. "We saw some neat stuff on the way, and once we got out of Pennsylvania, it was smooth sailing. We got backed up for hours because of construction. I despise PennDOT."
She nodded. "Isaac's family said they ran into construction, too."
"We'll be putting Sully to bed soon," said Tony. "You guys got any plans for breakfast? We can all get together up at the cafe."
"That sounds great," I said. "And then we'll see what else there is to do. There's a legend of a giant monster turtle in this area---The nearby town has a statue of it. I'd love to ride out and get photos of that."
"There's a monster turtle?" asked Nicole.
I nodded. "It was sighted in 1898, and again in the forties. The farmers tried to drain the pond and catch it, but they never did. It's thought to have escaped into the nearby swamps."
"Oh, cool."
"The interesting thing about this is how plausible it is. When you're dealing with water creatures, you run up against the population problem. When creatures are sighted in a lake for hundreds of years, clearly you're not talking about the same one. It would have to be a whole family, which raises the question of how many can fit in the lake, and why they aren't sighted more often under the circumstances. But turtles can be effectively immortal---They die from disease or accidents, but not really old age to speak of. Left alone, they can live for hundreds of years. So it's not too big a stretch to imagine a giant turtle living alone since 1898."
"And you're going to find it?" asked Nicole.
"I'll settle for a photo of the statue."
"Sounds great," said Tony. "We'll plan on that."

Paul, Sully, and Isaac---The three brothers---ran around with their little bubble-blowing guns, spreading bubbles all over the lawn. We'd shown up before the cafe opened, so we'd given them some toys to play with while they waited. I stood with the other adults, watching them all play.
Nicole nodded at my shirt. "Is that Bigfoot getting abducted by aliens?"
I grinned. "Yeah. I got a couple like this."
"I saw one online that said Bigfoot: Hide And Seek World Champion."
"I have that one, actually."
My wife came up beside me.
"We're going swimming after breakfast," she said. "The pool's right over there. You want to come?"
I considered it. "I'll meet up with you guys later. I'm not much of a swimmer. I think I'll take a walk, explore the camp a little."
"Okay," she said. "We'll be in the water."
I nodded as three little boys ran past me, shrieking and blasting bubbles at each other.

With everyone else at the pool, I walked to the cabin. I knelt down and pulled the black bag from underneath the bed.
It was filled with my travel adventure equipment. I selected the black shoulder bag---Cryptozoology. Yeah, I have my paranormal equipment sorted and packed in different bags for different situations. Are you that organized at your job?
I walked down the path, curving around to the beach. I could see Ridinger Lake; I walked down and took a look. There were signs of geese, and the water looked mossy and dirty---I was glad my family was up and swimming in the nice clean pool. I took a water sample in one of the small plastic cans I carry for that purpose.
I'd filched an extra map from the camp office when we'd checked in. Following the map, I walked up and around to the nearby fishing dam. The lake flowed down this way, over the dam, and off to the northwest. I found a small path going upstream past the fence, and followed it down to the creek.
There were ducks and frogs in the water. I dipped out a sample there, too, and then realized my sample jars looked exactly the same. I took a pen and labelled one "L" for lake, and the other "C" for creek, and put them into a side pocket on my bag.
I knelt by the edge. There were snails in the water---Huge snails, some three inches in diameter, clustered up along the edge. There had to be thirty or forty of them. I found an empty shell and dropped it into my bag, then took a photo of them. I'd never seen snails that size before.
So, I wasn't finding a monster turtle, but the snails were gigantic.

"It's Daddy! Hi, Daddy!" Paul called out as I approached the pool.
"Hey, little man! Having fun?"
"Yeah!" He was splashing around in the water with Biz.
"No giant turtle?" Michelle asked as I sat down in a chair beside her.
I shook my head. "No Oscar yet. But I did find some huge damn snails down by the dam. Oscar-got." I made it sound like escargot. "Killer snails. I've never seen any that big before." I showed her the shell.
Tif swam to the edge of the pool. "Hey, cool. Can you get me one of those?"
"Me, too!" added Paul.
"Sure," I said. "I was planning on going back down there anyway. If there's anywhere there's gonna be a giant turtle, that's it. Hey, little man, you want to help me with the color-changing paper later?"
"Yeah! I like color-changing paper!"
Tif gave me a look. "Color-changing paper?"
"Litmus paper. When checking for water monsters, you always test the water to see the acidity. I did it up at Kettle Creek last month."
"You gonna test the sulfur water, too?" asked Biz.
"I'm kind of afraid to."

Nicole grinned at me. "Cool shirt." It was the one that said I'd rather be ghost-hunting.
"Oh, thanks. I have a whole bunch of these at home."
We had a campfire going, and the kids were playing. Some of the parents were roasting marshmallows on it. Paul, Sully, and Isaac were eating S'mores, but not in their entirety---Paul was eating unheated marshmallows, Sully was eating chocolate, and Isaac kept grabbing graham crackers.
"Can we do the color-changing paper now, Daddy?" asked Paul.
"Sure, little man."  I set my bag down on the table, and got out the samples and the litmus paper. I opened the sample cans, which had blessedly not leaked, and set them on the table. "Go ahead, dip the paper in."
Paul dipped the paper into the water. Isaac sat next to him and watched this intently. In each case, it went from yellow to a deeper green.
"It's green!" Paul announced happily.
"What's that mean?" asked Biz.
"It's alkaline, but not enough to not support life," I said. "Things can live in it, but it's on the upper end of that."
"So you do this for a living?" Travis, Isaac's dad, was standing next to me and watching.
"I have no idea how to describe what I do for a living. I've been called the county historian. Mostly, I'm a librarian, but I do writing, I study local history, and I look for ghosts and monsters and buried treasures. There was never a word for this when I was in high school. I'm pretty sure I invented my own career."
"It helps to do something you love," he said.
"So how do you go about this?" asked Tony, Sully's father.
"Depends on the type of investigation, but I'm always looking for provable, measurable evidence," I said. "Ghosts, monsters---The bottom line is to prove it. I do tests, I measure what I can."
He nodded. "That's a good way to go about it. I looked up your Giwoggle online. I found a lot of your articles."
I grinned. "Yeah, most of what's online about the Giwoggle, I put there. It's Clinton County's official monster; I campaigned for that back in 2011. You can get Giwoggle T-shirts."
"And the turtle you're looking for....Beast of Busco?"
"That's the one. It was sighted not too far from here. They have a statue of it; I'd love to go and see it."
"Sounds great," said Travis. "Let's take a drive out tomorrow."

I walked back down to the creek in the dark and knelt by the water. I was smoking one of my cigars; I'd brought a few along. I smoked fewer of them since we'd adopted Paul. It wasn't a conscious decision, I just didn't have the time.
With my small flashlight, I looked at the water. The day before, there had been a huge group of monster snails clustered around. Now, there were still some live ones, but something had been at them. There were empty shells dropped along the creek; something had been there eating them.
I picked a couple up and examined them. I chose one for Tif and one for Paul, and dropped them into my bag. I looked at the water again. Bobbing in it was about half of a skeleton. Leaning closer, which I really didn't want to do, I was able to identify it as most of a frog.
I could hear things moving around out there, in the water. I tried taking a couple of photos, but it was too dark. One of those professional risks in paranormal investigation. So I waited a while, but nothing too exciting happened.
After a while I finished my cigar, and walked back to camp.

We had a fire going for our final night of camp. Some of the adults sat around it while the boys mostly ate the individual pieces of S'mores without assembling or heating them. I said,"This has been a good trip. And it's been great to spend time with all of you."
Tony grinned. "I ordered Nicole a Giwoggle T-shirt."
"Allright! Clinton County's official monster."
"Dad, can you cook me a hot dog?" asked Tif, sitting on the cabin steps with her book.
"Sure," I said. I walked to the picnic table and began spiking one on the long metal stake.
Biz sat down next to me. She was holding baby Oliver.
"So, how'd the quest for the turtle go?"
"Well, not bad. I didn't see the Beast of Busco, but I did find the statue. I found the killer snails. So now I know---A- The creek can support life, including oversize life. B- Something ate the snails, which means they have a predator there someplace. So, C- It's possible there's Oscar, the giant turtle living in the swamps here."
"Well, that works out better than some of your investigations."
"True enough. I'm happy with it. It's been a good weekend."
"Sorry you didn't solve the turtle mystery, though."
"You know what, Biz? Mystery is where you find it." I smiled, looking at the boys all eating at the picnic table together.

"Guys....It's been great."
Final morning. I stood in the yard between the cabins with the other families. We'd been up at about eight AM, packing and cleaning. I'd gotten everything into the car. Paul had been the last one up---He and Sully had worn themselves out.
"We'll have to keep the boys in touch," said Nicole. "We'll skype with Paul."
"That would be great," I said. "Paul? Come say goodbye to Sully."
Paul gave Sully a hug. "I miss you," he said.
"We'll be talking with him on the computer," I said. "Would you like that?"
"Yeah! Can we go to Old MacDonald's?"
I laughed. "We'll get breakfast on the way home."
We hugged each other and said goodbye, and got into our cars. Michelle strapped Paul into the car seat, and pulled out into the path.
"Home by tonight, guys," I said. "I have a couple of stops in Ohio planned. There's a graveyard in the parking lot of a movie theater, and a fifty foot statue of the Virgin Mary."

Seal of Approval

"What do zombies look like?" my son asked.
I was sitting on the bed getting dressed, so obviously, it was the appropriate time for questions like that. "Well, they're kind of like people. Except scary. And they kind of make a sound like Uuuurrrrr."
"I don't think they make a noise."
I pulled my Piper Cub shirt on. "Where did you learn about zombies?" I was pretty sure nobody had shown my four-year-old The Walking Dead.
"On a Shimmer and Shine cartoon. They eat people, but only people who fell down."
"Yeah, that's about right." I pulled on my sneakers. "You remember you were born in New Orleans? It's a city far away. There are zombies there."
"Are they friendly zombies?"
"Yeah. They're all drinking margaritas."
"In the cartoon, zombies do like this." Paul held his hands together and made a kind of dancing, wiggling motion.
I laughed. "Do they do that? Okay. I kind of like that."
"Why do zombies have red drips on their mouth?"
"Oh....That's their lipstick." I tied my yellow Piper bandanna around my ankle. "Zombies don't know how to put on lipstick right, so they get drips."
Paul rolled his eyes. "They don't know they are supposed to rub their lips together. Silly zombies."

"You seem a little down," said the woman. "When was the last time you had an astrological chart done?"
I glanced at her. "What have I ever written that would make you think I believe in astrology?"
"I didn't ask if you believed in it, I asked when you last had it done."
"Oh. That'd be never, then."
She leaned over the desk at the library and began sketching on a piece of paper, while nearby, my co-worker Barb looked on with some amusement. "Well, you were born in July, right? That would make you a Leo. What time were you born?"
"I don't know. I actually have different stories on my birth from each of my relatives. I've never been sure what's true, so years ago I just chose the one I like best, and went with that."
She frowned at me. "Well, which of your relatives do you trust the most?"
"You don't know my relatives."
"This is important."
"It may have been about three in the afternoon. And I'm pretty sure I was born in an elevator in Phoenixville."
She scribbled some more on the paper. "There, see, your sun and moon are in opposition. That could explain some of the conflict you're feeling. You should have a chart done about weekly."
"Ah. Well, thank you."
"You're welcome," she said, and walked out.
Barb glanced at me. "How do you....."
"Keep a straight face? It's not always easy."
The door opened, and someone in a uniform walked in. It was my friend Ian, a ranger with Kettle Creek State Park.
"Hi, Lou," he said. "I was just dropping by to see if you're available to do a talk for us up at Kettle Creek again this summer. The audiences like you."
"Sure," I said. "Got a topic in mind?"
"I was thinking about the Native Americans," he said. "There's a lot of that sort of history. Can you do that?"
"Oh, sure. Done that kind of thing before. When's good?"
"July seventh?"
"Works for me." I scribbled it down. "Ian, last year, when my son fell asleep in the back of the car on the way home, my wife and I were discussing getting a campsite and staying over next time around. Would that be possible? Could you guys arrange for a campsite overnight?"
"Oh, sure," said Ian. "Give a call in and book it with our scheduling person. That can be done."
"Great! Thanks."
Ian left, and Barb said,"That sounds like fun."
"More than you even know," I said. "There are legends of a water monster in the Kettle Creek area, the Susquehanna Seal. It was said to be very active overnight, and often seen by the Indians. If I investigate it, it fits right in."
Zach, walking past the desk, stopped to listen.
"Have you ever in your life," Barb asked,"Done something like this without some sort of paranormal side mission?"
"It's been a while," I admitted. "You know, if I get some photos while I'm up there, I can even get paid for this by writing it up for the PA Wilds."
"You're not bringing any monsters in here," commented Zach.
"Don't destroy my dreams, Zach," I said.
Paranormal phenomena to be investigated. Ancient mysteries to be solved. And just like that, another workday begins.

"I'm four years old!" my son proudly declared at the table. "It's my birthday today!"
"It is, little man," I said, and gave him a hug. "We love you."
"Can I open presents?"
"You'll have to wait until Aunt Biz gets here, and we have the cake," I said. "Be patient."
"I don't like to be patient."
"I am painfully aware. But you'll have to learn."
Paul reached for a box on the table. "Can I just open this one?"
"That one's from Aunt Paula," I said. "My old teacher. Yeah, you can open that."
I watched with my wife and daughter as Paul ripped open the box. He pulled out a pretty good package of stuff, a backpack loaded with items.
"New binoculars!" Paul held them up to his eyes and looked at his big sister through the wrong ends.
"That's backwards, little guy."
"I don't like close up. I like far away."
"Fair enough."
"What else is there?" Tif asked, looking at the pack. Paul pulled out more stuff: A mountain climbing set, comlinks, a wrist compass, a cap with a light on the brim. Not toy stuff; the real thing.
"Aunt Paula sends quality stuff," I commented. "You got better equipment than I do now. Here, you see these?"
I handed him one of the comlinks. It took me a minute to get the channels coordinated, but then I said,"See? You press this button to talk. Look." I pressed the button and said,"Hi, Paul."
He lit up as my voice came out of his comlink. He said,"I want to!" Pressing the button after a couple of tries, he said,"Hello, hello, hello."
"Now you can come have adventures with me. Find monsters and stuff."
"I want to find monsters," he said. "Can I stay at Kettle Creek by my own?"
"Not a good idea."
"Daddy, trust me," said my four-year-old. "I'm an expert."

We got to Kettle Creek State Park around three PM, five hours before my speech was scheduled. Paul had been ready to jet out the door since eight AM. It's about an hour from Lock Haven to Kettle Creek, and every five minutes, Paul was asking if we'd arrived yet.
We found our campsite and parked the car. I unloaded everything and put the tent up. Michelle and I had purchased the tent for about $3.50 seventeen years ago, before we were married. The package had said it was a Fast 'N' Simple E-Z Tent, and I'd been shocked to find out that it was actually fast, simple, and easy. So easy I could get the thing up in minutes, even with the help of a four-year-old. Best tent I've ever owned.
We were up at the overlook, exploring the rest of the park, when Ian got there, pulling over in his state-issued DCNR vehicle.
"Hi, Lou," said Ian.
I grinned. "Hey, Ian. Thanks for the site---We're having a great time. Little guy's thrilled."
"Good, good. You bring some artifacts to share tonight?"
"I did. Studied up on the Native Americans, got some good stories."
He nodded. "I saw a heron down past the dam, looking for fish. You might get a look at him."
"That'd be cool." I turned to Paul. "You hear that, little guy? There's a tall bird, and we might get to see it."
"Yeah! I want to see the tall bird!"
"We'll keep our eyes open, Ian," I said. "See you at the Nature Center in a couple of hours."

"Good speech, Daddy," said Paul as the Nature Center let out. I'd talked about the Susquehannocks, some of their battles and legends, and passed around a couple of Native American tools from a dig. It had been a bigger crowd than last year.
"Thanks, little guy."
"It was a good speech," said Michelle. "One of your better ones."
"I'm pleased. It went well."
Two guys came up, and shook my hand. One said,"I love that shirt! Where did you get it?"
It was the blue one with Bigfoot being abducted by aliens. "Oh. Amazon."
"Mind if I take a picture of it?"
"No, go ahead."
He snapped a photo with his cell phone. "Great talk, man. Loved it. You into Bigfoot?"
"Yeah, I do some looking sometimes."
He grinned. "Me too. Got some good photos out in Grove City last year."
"Daddy! Come on!" said Paul.
I smiled. "Gotta run. Bedtime."
We fed Paul some marshmallows, got him to agree to lay down in the sleeping bag about nine-thirty, and I clicked off the lantern. I gave the little guy a hug.
"See you in the morning, buddy."
"We did not see the tall bird."
"We'll go look for him tomorrow. Promise."
"This is a fun camping trip. I love you, Daddy."
"Love you, too, little man."
Taking the lantern, I crawled out of the tent and zipped it up. I walked over to the picnic table and sat down with a copy of Annihilation I'd grabbed from the library. On camping trips, it was important to bring the right book to read after dark. Stephen King is a bad choice. I'd learned this the hard way.
I lit a cigar and read for a while, until I was pretty sure Michelle and Paul were asleep. Then I dug into my pack, and got out some of my cryptozoology equipment.
I had a knife that was designed for it, which I strapped on my belt. I got a small sample jar and a monocular. My camera was in my pocket. I pulled on a dark green hoodie---It was cooling down.
I walked down the path in the dark. Some of the other families were settling down, going to sleep, and it was getting quieter. I got to the creek and took a water sample from the edge.
Back at the campsite, I sat down at the picnic table and did a litmus test on the sample. Yeah, I carry litmus paper in my pack---Don't give me that look. The water tested just slightly acidic, though it still would easily support life----Which, obviously, as we'd been seeing frogs, snakes, and fish all day, and had heard tell of a tall bird.
I picked up my stuff, and went looking for the Susquehanna Seal.
I walked down to the bridge. I stood for a while, looking out over the water. It's unbelievable how much paranormal investigation winds up being just standing around, waiting for something to happen. I took a few photos. I had my flashlight in my pocket---I hadn't needed it to walk the path down to the bridge----And the forest was dark and quiet.
The Susquehanna Seal had been said to make noise, howling at night, but all I could hear was the bullfrogs. There were a couple of fallen logs in the water. I looked at my watch; it was past ten-thirty. I'd been out later than I'd realized.
It was dark. I tried to think back, imagine it the way it must have been in the very early days. No camp, no highway nearby, just some settler cabins and Native American tribes. It would have seemed much more remote then, almost an impossible place to reach. The dark was pervasive. Sometimes, mysteries remain mysteries, and I'm good with that.
I could see how some floating logs or decent-sized snakes, maybe, could have turned into the legend of a monster. This forest was great. There was adventure here.

When I opened my eyes in the morning, Paul was next to me in his sleeping bag, smiling at me. "I think it's morning time, Daddy," he said.
"Yeah. It's morning. Let's let Mommy sleep for now, okay?"
"This was a fun camping trip."
"Well, we're not quite done with it yet," I said. "You want to go look for the tall bird?"
"Okay."
We pulled our sneakers on, crawled out of the tent, and walked down to the creek. We sat down on the little overlook platform and watched for a while.
Paul pointed excitedly over the water. "Daddy! There is the tall bird!"
I looked---He'd spotted it. The heron was soaring upward, over the water, heading upstream.
"You got it, little man! That's the tall bird!"
"I love it, Daddy!" Paul smiled. "Can we go camping again soon?"
"Sure we can."
It shot up, over the mountain, and then it was gone.

Airplane Mode

"Okay, look at  the cards. Three cards, right? An ace, a jack, and a two. And not one of them mentions Piper."
President John studied the cards in my hand, and nodded. "Right."
I turned them over, and held them out. "Please choose the middle card."
He slid the middle card out, and turned it over. It had the Piper Aviation logo on it, and was an ad for the airplanes. I grinned.
"A card trick," I said. "It came in with the big collection we're accessioning upstairs. I've seen a bunch of Piper promo items, but never this one before."
President John laughed. "You know, when the Grasshoppers were shipped overseas during World War Two, each one had a pack of cards in it. These days, those are pretty valuable."
"Well, if anyone walks into the Fly-In this week and offers to donate one, John, I'll grab it up."

The annual Piper Fly-In is always busy. It's held by a separate organization at the airport, but the museum is open for it, and we do a lot of business. The museum is packed with visitors, the archives get donations, and there's a C-54 in the parking lot. It gets insanely busy. Not so busy I couldn't pause to show John the cool card trick I found in a donation shipment, though.
"Gotta run out to Wal-Mart, Stacy," I said, walking across the museum floor. "We're almost out of acid-free pens. Be right back."
"We'll be here," said Stacy.
Kara and I went downstairs in the elevator to her vehicle, and pulled out of the parking lot. There was a huge silver plane there, a C-54, and we passed it on our way out.
"Any chance we can stop at the Mill Hall Fire Department on the way?" I asked.
"Sure. How come?"
"There's been a UFO sighting around there."
"Okay. How do you find these things out?"
"You know how you can subscribe to websites that send you weather warnings? It's like that."
"What kind of UFO?"
"It was described as an orange light, moving in the sky and turning at ninety-degree angles."
"Hmm. Drone?"
"Could be. I found a drone last year around this time."
Kara drove to the fire department, and stopped in the parking lot. I stepped out, and looked around at the sky and the landscape. Then I climbed back into the car.
"You see what you needed?" Kara asked.
"So far. More or less."
"So. Acid-free pens?"
"Acid-free pens."

I smiled as I watched the small red plane taxi across the runway and take off. "There goes our Tri-Pacer," I said.
Kara, standing next to me by the fence, watched it go. "You know, I've never seen that thing actually fly before."
"It's neat,  isn't it?" We watched as two Cubs, a Comanche, and a Colt also lifted off, rising into the sky toward the eastern mountains. "It's fun to watch. There's just something about it."
"You okay?" Kara asked. "You seem a little down."
"Busy week," I said. "I don't know, maybe I'm falling out of love with this place. I got a problem employee, everybody and their goddamn grandmother seems to want to tell me how to do my job, and we just put that asshole Glenn on the board."
"You're not thinking about leaving, are you? You love this place. I've seen your eyes light up when you walk through it."
"Maybe it's time," I said. "I been here almost three years. There are other things that will make my eyes light up. Maybe I need to see what else is out there."
I turned and started walking toward the building across the parking lot, Kara following. I glanced at the sticker on a pickup truck's back window. I laughed. "Bigfoot. Cool."
We walked through the lobby and into the hangar. As I walked toward the Primary Trainer, I saw the Bigfoot symbol on the T-shirt of the guy passing me the other way. I asked,"Is that your truck out there, with the Bigfoot sticker on it?"
He grinned. "Yeah. My daughter saw Bigfoot along the Renovo Road."
"That'd be the place, allright."
"I do some Bigfoot hunting."
Kara was behind me, grinning. I said."We're paranormal investigators. Mostly ghost hunting."
"Yeah, I've read your columns."
"I got my UFO on shirt today. I do have some Bigfoot shirts, though. I'm always at the local library, if you ever want to network."
He grinned. "Okay. Keep finding UFOs!"
As we walked toward the stairs, Kara asked,"How is the UFO investigation coming, anyway?"
"Ah, getting there. Last year, I figured out one was a drone. Sat in the Cheyenne trying to call the local drone guy, when he was right in the conference room here."
"I remember that. So what else do you have to do?"
"Ask about drones, call around a bit and check on flight patterns, check for other witnesses. The original report was anonymous, so that does me no good. What I need is to find a few other people who might have been around at that same time."
"You'll figure it out," said Kara.
"Or I won't," I said. "And that's fine. I like a little mystery, too."

I walked out onto Main Street after talking about Piper planes and UFOs on the radio. I may be the only person who is able to use those words in that order. I walked down the street to the print shop, where I was greeted by the owner.
"I realize I only stop in here to ask weird questions," I said. "My co-worker Joe told me that you guys had a shipment of reprinted books about the local railroad that you got stuck with."
He grinned. "We do. I was going to call you about that. Would you like one?"
"That's why I'm here. How much do you want for it?"
"I was going to give you one for free. Come on back." We walked into the back room. When you're me, people wind up inviting you into all sorts of private, employees-only spaces. "I mainly want to get rid of them, and I thought you'd be interested."
"You thought right. I have a big collection at home."
He handed me one of the books. "Here you go. Enjoy it."
"Thank you." I flipped through. "Hey, this has some ghost towns in it that I didn't know about. I'll give it a good home."

When I got back to the library, our maintenance guy was out in the shed. I stopped my bike for a minute.
"Morning, Bill. Question---Since we moved my desk, is it okay if we change out that picture with the shells hanging over in the PA Room? I mean, I'm the one that's gotta stare at it."
"I don't see why not," said Bill. "Did you have something more historic in mind?"
"We have a picture of Ole Bull's castle in the attic that I like," I said. "It was donated by Henry Shoemaker, my big hero. I can measure it to see if it'll fit."
"Okay," said Bill. "That's a plan."

My new desk was right across from the Henry Shoemaker books, which was fitting. I was next to the side door, which would make a handy escape if I was bored, which I actually was, a little.
I looked at the listing for the Mill Hall UFO sighting. It read the same as it had: Orange light in the sky, making funny turns. I searched the site for similar sightings, to see if there was anything to compare it to. I ran a search for the words orange, light, and turns.
Several entries came up, all throughout the county. Mill Hall, Beech Creek, Castanea, Lock Haven. I read through them, getting a sinking feeling.
Every single one of them was the same. Not just the description, but exactly the same wording. They were all submitted anonymously, claiming to be several locations in the middle part of the county, and could have been cut and pasted. Each one read exactly the same.
Damn it. Doesn't anyone ever edit these websites?
A hoax.
The exact same entry for several locations meant the whole thing was most likely a hoax, someone making up a story for attention. I sat back in my chair and sighed.
With nothing better to do, I checked my e-mail. There was a note from my editor with the PA Wilds, suggesting a possible column. I read it through. At the end, she asked me if I'd be interested in a paid contract with the PA Wilds Center.
My eyes lit up. I mean, I didn't see that. But I felt it.
I sent back an e-mail accepting.
Then I got to work on an article about a man who had saved wolves from extinction.

"When I checked," I said,"There were identical UFO sightings all over the neighborhood, clearly just cut and pasted. They didn't even change the phrasing. So, almost certainly a hoax. And right down the road from the first sighting?"
Kara nodded. "The fake haunted attraction owned by the Inspector."
I looked around the picnic table at the LHPS team, meeting on the library's patio. "You got it. I've dealt with her before; she makes up crap stories to get publicity. This is probably another one."
"Most like we'll see a UFO theme this year," said Theresa.
"There were also a couple of meth-heads high on drugs the other night," I said,"Who began shooting at fireflies thinking they were alien lasers. That could have caused some sightings, too."
Lacy shook her head. "Jesus."
"In other news," I said,"I'll be able to get us some more publicity soon. I've been offered a contract with the PA Wilds. So I'll be doing some more writing for them."
"And Piper?" asked Kara.
"You know," I said,"I can't leave Piper, or at least not yet. I'm gonna stick around for a while more, see how it goes. But I can take a step back, stop obsessing over it all the time. Take some time for myself."
"I think that's a good idea," she said.
I nodded.
"Yeah. Me too." I looked at my notes. "Now, how about that haunted house down in Centre County?...."

Daydream On Elm Street

"You can tell it's graduation in a college town," said Zach. "I passed three different parties on my way back from lunch. They're all busy getting drunk at...." He looked at his phone. "Three-thirty in the afternoon."
"Hope they don't trash the places too badly," I said. "A lot of the college kids live in historic homes that have been sectioned off for rental. I've done investigations in some of them."
"I could have gotten free drinks on my break if I'd wanted," said Zach.
"Yeah, I could go for that," I said. "I've been looking into one of the old houses up on Fairview Street. Belonged to one of the old bootleggers, and I'm working on a column about it. I'd love to get some more information about it, maybe some photos."
"You could always just ask," Zach suggested. "Most of the college kids are pretty open."
"I suppose," I said. "Most of the college kids don't have any understanding of the history of their places, though. What I'd need to do is get inside somehow, and sneak around."
After work, I stood on the sidewalk on Fairview Street, looking at the house. The kids inside were having a party, and the music was blasting. I put my hands in my pockets for a minute, looking things over.
Five minutes later, I was inside.
"PARTY!" I shouted, holding up a beer. "Hey, what year was this place built, anyway?"

I was standing at the grocery store, buying milk and chocolate sauce. Now that Paul had learned to love chocolate milk, we always needed milk and chocolate sauce.
"Hey, Lou," said Juli, one of the local cashiers. They all knew me. "I just moved into a new place, and I was wondering about it. One of the neighbors told me someone drowned a baby in the tub?"
I frowned. "I doubt it, Juli. I'll look into it, but I think I'd know."
"Well, good. I'm just as happy if nobody murdered a baby."
One of the other cashiers, a newer girl, looked at me. "How would you know?"
I laughed. "It's what I do. I'm a paranormal investigator and a history writer. That's the kind of thing that would have stuck in my memory."
"Oh, really? Cool."
"If your place is haunted, Lou is the one you want to talk to," said Juli.
"I'll check into it for you," I said. "See what I can find out."

It was a rainy morning. I was going to do some writing, make some groundbreaking discoveries, and change history as we know it.
But first, coffee.
"Tell me there's coffee," I said to Barb at the desk.
"Not yet," she said. "I've been busy."
"I'll make some."
I started the coffee, and then took a cup to my desk in my Bigfoot mug. Sitting down, I began to write a column about the Tiadaghton Elm. I went and got one of our history books for reference, paging through, and I noticed a notation that information had come from an article in the Clinton Democrat on July 12, 1918.
It was a slow morning, so my coffee and I went to look at the article. I inserted it into the machine and fast-forwarded it with one hand while I drank coffee with the other. I found the article in about two minutes, because if I wasn't good at this, I'd have to find a real job.
It was on page four. I printed off a copy, and read through it. And then I saw something that made me almost spill the coffee on my Roswell: Green Since 1947 T-shirt.
"Holy...."

"The Tiadaghton Elm," I said. "Everyone knows this story. On July 4, 1776, a group of local men called the Fair Play Men gathered under the Tiadaghton Elm in Pine Creek, to sign a Declaration of Independence. They didn't know that the Founding Fathers were signing one in Philadelphia on the same day. They sent their document out to be delivered, but were told that one had already been sent. So they came back here, and buried their Declaration somewhere on or near the grounds of the fort where they lived."
Kara sat across from me in my office at the Piper Museum. I said,"I've looked into finding the document---It may actually be in a grave. But look at this---In July of 1918, there was a big ceremony under the tree to commemorate the signing. In this article, down here, they mention that a committee figured out that the document was signed under the Tiadaghton Elm----Before 1918, they say, nobody knew the location and it was all word of mouth."
Kara studied the article. "Okay, that's interesting. I never realized that."
"It's about to get a bit more interesting. Turns out, the committee included local man John Chatham, who I know to be a notorious bullshitter. He's the guy who caused the Widow Smith debacle a few months back---Chatham had no problem making up a story, or embellishing it."
Kara was looking at the article. "So you think he did that here?"
"I'm starting to think it's likely. I checked for mentions of the Tiadaghton Elm before 1918. There's nothing. Linn doesn't mention it, Meginness doesn't mention it. No newspapers. Nobody ever brings up the Elm previous to a hundred years ago."
"Where do the others say it happened?"
"They're vague---All they mention is the plains of Pine Creek. Which could be practically anywhere in that neighborhood. But wait...." I flipped through my photocopies and brought one out. "I did find a 1914 article that mentions all the old stories handed down orally, and talks about it happening in a schoolhouse."
"That would make sense," admitted Kara. "Given that they were actually committing treason, they wouldn't have wanted to do it out in the open."
"True. And I checked the 1862 map. I did find a schoolhouse, no longer there, about half a mile west of the elm site. That's most likely the place where the signing took place---The elm had nothing to do with it. I'm meeting with some of my contacts from the Jersey Shore Historical Society on Thursday, and they're gonna see what information they have."
Kara looked at me. Her eyes lit up. "Do you realize what this means?"
I nodded. "It's like twelve years ago, when I discovered the location of Fort Reed wasn't where everyone thought it was. This is groundbreaking. We're changing history here."

Slow day. I was on desk. I did what I always do on desk; I looked into an old mystery. I wonder what it's like to work at the grocery store.
I dug into Juli's house a bit. It appeared on the Sanborn maps as far back as 1901, so I went back and checked on the 1862 map. A smaller variety of the house was there; it had clearly had some work done. I grabbed the city directories.
City directories are awesome; they're like a reverse phone book showing who lived in what house. I checked Juli's. The earliest family I could find were the Van Dykes and Kaufmans, an extended family who'd shared the property. A quick check of the obit indexes showed me that the families were big in the hardware industry in Lock Haven.
I ran through the directories, and found nothing to suggest that the baby story had actually happened. Sometimes rumors just get started; I don't know how. It would make Juli happy.
This may be setting the bar really low. But it's always a good day when you don't discover a dead baby.

"So where was the school?" Tina asked. Tina is one of my contacts with the Jersey Shore Historical Society, and we'd held some good events together in the past. She'd dropped by the library to see what I had, and I'd shown her my articles and photocopies.
"Right....Here." I pointed to the 1862 map, which had the small black mark labelled School. "It's at this intersection. The school no longer stands, but you can still find the spot."
"Is the intersection still there?"
"Oh, yeah, it's the corner of, what, Tiadaghton Avenue and Old River Road. it's about a half mile from the old elm site."
Tina shook her head. "Remarkable. And there's no mention of the elm before 1918?"
"Nothing. I checked everything I could find."
"What does Meginness say?"
I pulled out a copy. "This one's Meginness. He says it was on the plains of Pine Creek, which could have been anywhere in the neighborhood."
"You know, I always wondered why the blue marker for the elm was way out on 220."
"I'd bet that PHMC was a little dubious on the evidence, too. I've seen this before. About twelve years ago, I found out that Fort Reed wasn't where people thought it was, either. I was able to place it a few blocks to the east of where everyone assumed. I got hate mail over that. You'll notice the blue marker for Fort Reed is way the hell on the other end of town, too, for the same reason."
"You're gonna get hate mail over this, too," said Tina. "What's your next step?"
"I'd love to make this into some sort of program for the society," I said. "A speech or something. And I'll be writing it up for the papers. I'll keep you updated."

"Tell me where," said Kara.
"Up ahead is the elm site," I said. "See, where the bridge---"
"I know where the elm site is. You took me there once. Where's the school?"
"Well, where was the school," I said. "There's not even the foundation anymore. This is all farmland, it's been plowed over like a million times. Turn around."
"You spoke to the Jersey Shore Historical Society?"
I nodded. "The Jersey Shore Historical Society has the most to lose here. They hold events, they promote this thing. They're the most heavily invested in the Tiadaghton Elm, and they're okay with it."
Kara slowed down and spun her car around, heading back the way we'd come. We drove back toward the intersection, and I said,"Here's the place."
"On that side?"
"Yep. On this side."
Kara slowed down, and we looked over the field. There was nothing to see there anymore, but based on the map, I knew where the spot was.
"I figure it's within twelve feet or so," I said. "This is where the school house was. This is where they made history."

"Hi, Lou," said Laukeshia, coming in the door to the library. "I'm here for a meeting tonight?"
"Oh, yeah," I said. "Third floor. Go on up."
"By the way," she said,"I forgot to e-mail you. Your article on the Giwoggle was great---We got more hits on that than any other piece on our website. Nice job."
I smiled. "Thanks, Laukeshia. I have a few other things in mind."
"Looking forward to it."
She walked upstairs. I turned and walked back to my office.
I sat down at my desk, and began typing.
Let the hate mail commence.

Truly Madly Creepily

"Daddy? You can sing me a song?"
Bedtime is an ordeal in a lot of households. In mine, it's not any easier---It's like my kid isn't used to sleeping in a haunted house or something.
Three-year-old Paul Matthew, my son, was lying in his bed. I was sitting on the bed beside him, in the dark. Our house is haunted by a 1905 teenaged suicide, but I'm used to that. I'm a ghost-hunter.
"Sure, I can sing to you, little man. But first, tell me what we learned today."
"Never play wif Daddy's fire starters."
"That's right. Now, how about one that I used to sing you when you were a little baby?"
"Okay," agreed Paul.
I took a breath and started to sing.

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word,

Daddy's gonna find you a thunderbird.

And if that thunderbird won't sing,

Daddy's gonna find you Shoemaker's magic ring."

I'm a paranormal investigator, writer, historian, librarian, and curator. When we'd adopted my boy, I'd begun singing him this one, filled with local history and paranormal details. Specifically written for my son.

"And if that magic ring turns brass,

Daddy's gonna find you Jefferis's looking glass.

And if that looking glass gets broke, 

Daddy's gonna find you Nell Burrows's goat.

And if that Burrows goat should dally,

Daddy's gonna find you a dog named Sallie."

All things I've researched and written about in my city. Details upon request.

"And if that Sallie dog won't bark,

Daddy's gonna find you a horse and cart.

And if that horse and cart falls down,

You're still the most famous baby in town.

Hush, little baby, don't you cry,

Daddy's gonna write you a lullaby."

I looked down at my son. His eyes were closed; he was asleep.

I stood in the store, looking over a black vest with a lot of pockets on it. Perfect for ghost hunting. If you can't get adventure wear indestructible, you'd better learn to get it cheap.
"Hi, Lou. I liked your column."
I looked up. It was someone I knew. "Oh, hi, Kim, God, which one? I write so many."
"I read them all. I liked the one about the two guys who captured a bear in 1909, The Bear Facts."
"Oh, yeah, I got one coming up where I bitch for eight hundred words about the Underground Railroad."
Kim laughed. "What inspired that?"
"Someone finally asked me the wrong question one too many times."
"Been asked much about Burger King, since they're rebuilding up there? I've been told it's haunted."
"No kidding?"
"That's what the employees have said. I'm a little surprised nobody's asked you about it."
"Maybe someone has now. I been kind of at loose ends lately; it's been a little slow. I'm kind of intrigued. I'll look into it."

"Okay, I'm here to take the desk."
Barb handed me the key. "Bill turned the heat off. You want me to leave the space heater?"
"I think you'd better," I said. "It's pretty chilly back at my desk, too."
"It's like a tomb in here," said Barb.
"I've explored some tombs way warmer than this."
"Nice shirt," she said. "Study History: Realize people have been this stupid for thousands of years."
"It's new."
Mel was walking by with a cup of coffee. "What the hell book were you discussing in your book club this morning? I could hear you guys shouting at each other through the floor."
"Oh, that. We got into an argument about the location of the old Mann Axe Factory. I said it was near Mill Hall, along present-day Route 64, and some of the members disagreed. So I went to get the 1862 map, and then they said it probably wasn't the right name of the axe factory. So I went and got one of our Mann axes out of the collection in the attic and showed it to them, and we passed it around the table."
"You brought an axe into your book club?" Barb asked.
"Things escalated quickly."
I went back to my desk and sat down. The local newspaper was on the rack by my desk, and I picked it up and skimmed through it, mostly just looking for my name. I drank some coffee out of my Bigfoot coffee mug. and looked at the police news on page two.

"We need to get those J-4 plans sorted and organized," I told Kara.We were in the conference room at the Piper Museum. I had old airplane plans spread out on the table, and Kara was looking through them. I looked at a stack of papers on the table. "Look at this. That asshole Greg left the place a mess again."
"Who?"
"He's a volunteer who comes in sometimes. Some kind of professor. He's never actually had any practical field experience, but thinks he knows better than anyone else. Drives me nuts. We're having a vote about putting him on the board."
"Sorry to hear that," she said.
"Ah, well. I been looking for an arch enemy lately. Every super-hero has one; I've considered putting an ad in the personals. Oh, and maybe the Mad Gasser has struck Lock Haven."
She looked up. "What?"
"I never mentioned the Mad Gasser?"
"Not that I remember."
"Old legend. Weird kind of guy, often mentioned in the same breath as the Jersey Devil, who struck Mattoon, Illinois decades ago. Was said to have a weird silver costume and pumped gas into peoples' homes, giving them headaches. He struck Pennsylvania in the forties, down near Philadelphia."
"Weird," she admitted. "Why do you think he struck here?"
"Noticed it in the newspaper the other day. Not far from here, on Main Street, someone was breaking into a car around two in the morning. He had a silver hoodie on, and the owners of the house woke up with headaches and reported a weird smell. It fits the profile."
Kara smiled. "The Mad Gasser, huh? I dig it."
"Seriously, look it up. I been a little bored lately; maybe I'll look into it."

The house where the possible Mad Gasser sighting had occurred was on the east end, near Piper. I didn't know the actual address, but I took a detour on the way home. It's this sort of attention to detail that sets me above all the other librarian-paranormal-curator-writers.
I didn't see anything obvious. No damaged properties, no aboveground gas lines. Nothing that could immediately explain a funny smell.
You can't always catch a break. Some days would make Reverend Joseph Nesbitt kick a baby.

"Lou," said Zach,"Are you the one who's been filling up my recycling bin with soda cans?"
"Those could be anybody's Yeti brand sodas," I said.
He rolled his eyes. "Very funny."
The library door opened, and Greg came in. Great. He nodded at me, and I tried to look civil.
"Hello, Lou," he said.
"Greg."
"I just came in to grade  a few papers. You know, end of the semester and my class is important. Is it okay if I use the Pennsylvania Room?"
"Sure. It's a public library."
In the best of all possible worlds, I'd be able to prove that this asshole was the Mad Gasser.
"It's been busy," he said. "I've had students e-mailing me and asking for extensions or bonus work." He shook his head. "I can't believe students do that. I never had the guts to ask my professors for a grade I hadn't earned when I was in college."
I nodded, trying to look busy.
"I mean, did you?" he asked.
"I never asked for extra credit," I said,"But I never really gave a crap about my grades, either."
He nodded slowly. Like a professor does. "And why was that?"
"Because I started volunteering as a teen," I said. "I was actually doing the job before I even got to college, which gave me much more experience than my professors. So who the hell are they to tell me how to do the job? They'd never done it, and I had."
I walked back to my desk, opened a Yeti brand soda, and got to work.
First I took the name of the victims, and checked it against the city directory. The address hadn't been in the newspaper, but I was able to look it up in a couple of minutes. I took one of the tourist maps of Lock Haven, unfolded it on top of the shelves with all the marriage certificates, and made a mark on Main Street where the house was. I used a red marker.
Then I got a blue marker, and marked up all the potential spots where a headache-inducing smell could have come from. Gas companies, trash companies, the sewage treatment plant. My map, which already had a yellow line around the historic district, was beginning to look pretty festive, considering the subject matter.
The next part was going to be a little tricky.
I pulled the newspaper from the day in question, which was stacked on a shelf by my desk anyway. The weather listed the speed of the wind, but not the direction, which was what I needed. I sat down at my desk and considered it as I drank some more Yeti soda.
Then I called President John at the museum.
"Hey, John? It's Lou. This is something I figure pilots and people in airlines would know. I need to know if there's anyplace I can get past weather reports that include wind direction."
"Oh, sure, there's a bunch of good websites for that. Just a second, I'll e-mail you a couple."
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
"Okay, sending now."
"Thanks a lot, John. I'll be in on Monday to work on the Tri-Pacer acquisition."
I gave it a minute, drinking more Yeti soda and reading a few pages of the new Batman.  I'm not doing product placement here, it's just that the Yeti soda is really good stuff. Then I logged into my e-mail and tried the first link that John had sent.
On the night in question, the wind had been blowing north-northwest. I checked my map. That put it at exactly the right direction to have been coming from the sewage treatment plant on the southeast end of Lock Haven.
The next part was going to require a few more questions.

About fifty people gathered at the Station Gallery for the big preview of the TV show featuring Lock Haven. I worked my way through the crowd, finding Maria, our city planner.
"Hi, Lou!"
"Hi, Maria. Can you answer a question?"
"Sure."
"No big thing, most curiosity. Was there a problem at the sewer department Monday night?"
"Well, jesus christ, Lou, you know I don't run the whole city government, right? I'm just back in my own little corner."
"Sure, but you're the only friend I got at City Hall."
"The mayor thinks you're great."
"That's mutual, but I've known you longer. I figured you'd know who to ask."
"You want me to find out?"
"Only if it comes up organically."
"Let me make a couple of calls."
Five minutes later, she got off her phone and turned back to me.
"The answer is yes---There was a backup of some sort. I called Water and Sewer. Do you need details?"
"Nah, that's what I needed to know. Thanks, Maria."
"Is this going to be in the newspapers?"
"Probably not....It's not as dramatic as I thought it was."

"So, my Mad Gasser sighting wasn't the actual Mad Gasser after all," I said to Kara. "It was a minor crime that accidentally coordinated with a sewage problem. Just enough to look like the Mad Gasser, at least to me."
"So you solved a mystery that goes back for decades," said Kara. We were upstairs in the Sloan Room, with the Teen Paranormal kids arriving.
"Well, I don't know that I solved the whole thing," I said. "I'm not sure that's the explanation for everything since the 1940s. Only this one incident."
"Close enough," Kara said. "What's next?"
"Well, I did hear a rumor about a haunting at the Burger King."
"Seriously? The one they're renovating?"
"Yeah, in Flemington. Maybe I'll look into it, see what I can find out. I could get a column out of it."
"Yeah? What're you gonna call this one?"
"I don't know. 'Have It Your Wraith'?"
She laughed. "Why not?"
"What's the lesson tonight?" asked Aubrey.
"Spontaneous human combustion," I said. "We're going to learn how to investigate...."
"Like when someone explodes?" she asked.
I nodded. "More or less."
"Cool!"
"I have some chemistry stuff here to show you how to run a test," I said. "Glad to see you guys. Let's get to work."

Regional Treasure

My name is Lou. I live in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania. I'm a writer, librarian, explorer, paranormal investigator, and museum curator. I get involved in a lot of stuff. And I write about it all here. So either you're welcome, or I'm really sorry, depending on what you're into.
It takes me five and a half minutes to get to work on my bike if I'm not screwing around. I've timed it. I parked it by the street sign out front, where I can see it from my office window, and locked it up. My other car is a UFO.
As I walked into the library, I was met by a tall woman with dark hair, waiting by the front desk. She smiled and shook my hand.
"Lou," she said. "Thanks for meeting with me."
"Thanks for coming, LaKeshia," I said. "Let's have a seat."
We walked back to my desk. She looked around. "So this is your office."
"I dream of walls," I said. "This is the oldest part of the building; Annie Halenbake Ross's funeral was held right here."
We sat down. She said,"So, as I told you on the phone the other day, I'm in charge of the PA Wilds home page. We promote tourism in the PA Wilds area of Pennsylvania, a thirteen-county area. We're looking for content. You and I worked together on the Eagle Eye and the Express, and I thought of you."
"You'd like me to write about local tourism for the website?"
"I would."
"I'm in."
She laughed. "I can give you more information about it...."
"If giving me more information will make you feel like you're doing your job, go ahead," I said. "But I don't see any downside to this. I've been looking for more ways to write and promote tourism. I'll be happy to contribute."
"Well, excellent," she said. "I'll be your editor. I'll need a headshot and a short bio for the site."
"I'll get you something," I said. "It'll be the usual, mostly, history and ghosts and adventures...."
"I'm familiar with your writing," she said. "That's perfect."

"What you doing, Daddy?" asked Paul.
"I'm gonna check some of my messages, little man," I said. I sat down at my desk. I'd woken up in my haunted house with the four dogs, made coffee, and now I was checking for any historic or paranormal e-mails. Paul's shirt had a UFO and said We come in pizza, and mine said Giwoggle: Official Monster of Clinton County. Typical morning.
Paul sat and played on the floor of my office with Duke and Gwen, the pugs. Mickey and Kasper, our new Schnauzers, were downstairs---They're afraid of steps. My office is on the second floor of my home; it contains a lot of my files and history books, as well as artifacts on the shelves. Shoemaker's Lost Chord, a peg from the old phone system, a bottle of bootleg whiskey, a glass jar with a demon in it. Tell me your office is decorated that cool.
 I got on my computer and found I had several messages.
"Hunh. Hey, Daddy's in demand today, little guy."
I opened the first of them.
Of course, it was about lost treasure.
Typical morning.

"So how was your day?" My wife asked. We were sitting at the Chinese restaurant in Mill Hall, having dinner with Paul. Paul's default position on almost all foods is that he doesn't like it, but he likes Chinese. He will turn up his nose at beef, pork, and almost every vegetable, but will happily eat an egg roll.
"Kinda busy," I said. "By the time I got up, I had three messages about the lost Civil War gold....You remember I looked into that once?"
"Kind of, yes."
"A shipment of gold from the Civil War, lost somewhere in the area. It was taken on a covered wagon by an Army unit, and disappeared. The one survivor, a guy named Connors, came into Lock Haven to recover, and when he was drinking, he said he knew where the gold was. The Army transferred him to a remote outpost. The gold has never turned up."
"So why are people suddenly asking you about it?"
"Because maybe it's now been found. A group of treasure hunters and the FBI are digging over in Elk County."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Funny thing is, I kind of saw this coming. A few weeks ago, I got calls from both the treasure hunters and the FBI, asking about the Lock Haven end of this. They asked me to keep it quiet, though as it's now national news, I guess it's safe to talk about it now."
"You think they've really found it?"
"Could be. It's hard to say. It'll make a great piece for the PA Wilds website, though. Oh, yeah, and I've been asked to do some writing for the PA Wilds website."
"When did this happen?"
"Yesterday, I worked with the woman who runs it on the Express and the Eagle Eye. She needed someone to produce some content, and she thought of me. This kind of opens up a whole new territory for me; I have thirteen whole counties to play with now."
"And you're going to start with the gold."
"It'll make a good article." I ate a piece of shrimp. "You know what bugs me? I'm jealous of the information they have. When the treasure hunter called me, he said he knew Connors's first name, and I've never found that out. He's holding it back for verification reasons. I'm not jealous of the gold; he can keep the gold. But that's what I'm jealous of---I want to know the first name."

"Did you get my message about the Civil War gold?" Norman asked me, sitting at the microfilm machine in the library. Norman is a good friend of mine, a historian over in Centre County. He's sort of the Lou equivalent across the border, and we talk about this stuff a lot. Buried treasure, ghosts, monsters. Guy stuff.
I laughed. "You and three other people. I had my inbox crammed with that by the time I woke up. I was talking about it down at Piper this morning."
"Your new intern mentioned to me that you guys spent an hour talking about Batman and your Star Wars action figures."
I took the Wookiee toy off my desk and held it up. "You're gonna have to say that in front of Chewbacca, pal."
Norman laughed. "You really think they found it?"
"I don't know. I'm working on an article about it, but my pet theory is that it was up around Altar Rock."
"Most of the researchers think it's further west than Altar Rock."
"Yeah, well, most of the researchers haven't actually found it yet, have they?"
"A fair point. I'm not sure they've found it, either. I've been following the story, but the research looks kind of half-assed to me. These guys are all over the place, and there's a lack of primary sources. This could all come to nothing."
"Make a great article, though," I said. "I'm writing for the PA Wilds. This is a good one."
"You'd mentioned that. Sounds like fun."
"I'm excited. It gives me a new outlet, some stuff I haven't tried before. By the way, didn't you once have an encounter with the Ingleby Monster?"
"I did. You want to see my notes?"
"Yeah, thanks. Can I quote you? This will make a good piece, too."

Later, once I got off my desk shift, I went to research. I like working at the library, in the historic section---Everything I need is right by my desk.
I started with the Civil War file, and looked through that. Plenty of stuff, but nothing about lost gold. I looked through the history book on Elk County, too, and I found the suspected site on a map, but no details.
I pulled a couple of articles from the old newspapers, and then dug through another file and found a 2013 piece that I'd written myself. I looked it over, made sure I had all my facts straight.
Then I got to work writing.
These old legends aren't gonna publicize themselves.

"My uncle has an old photo from the newspaper," the woman said over the phone. "It's all beat up, and I'd like a new copy. When I called the newspaper, they sent me to you guys. Can you find it there?"
"It's possible," I said. "We have newspaper archives going back to 1813. Tell me about the photo."
"It's a group picture from a school. None of the people are named."
"Ah. Do we have a date it ran?"
"No, that part's torn off. It could have been anytime."
"Oh. That complicates things. We have a newspaper archive, but there's nothing to look up there. There's nothing that might appear in our index."
"So what's the process?" she asked. "How do I go about getting this?"
Sometimes I curse the businesses that make sure to provide you with whatever you want. History doesn't work that way. Some people think historic research is like fast food; you just explain what you want and it gets handed to you. It's not like that.
"That's what I'm trying to gently tell you, miss," I said. "Maybe you don't. The only way I can think of would be to go through them all, and that's very time-intensive."
"Well, I could try that. They don't run the old photos every day, do they?"
"They've actually been running them almost daily for about fifty years."
"Oh." She sounded deflated. "But if I did come, you could help me?"
"I can show you how to work the microfilm and look for it, yes."
"I'll talk to my uncle, and come by," she said. "Thanks."
My story had hit the site earlier in the day. Lost And Found. LaKeshia had e-mailed me the link, as if I hadn't been checking daily. I was looking at it on my computer screen at the library when Adam buzzed me over the phone.
"Hey, man, we got a guy here who needs to find two graves," he said. "Also there's a phone call on line one that you might want to handle."
"Send him back," I said. "Having an insane day. I'll help him, and then I gotta look up four obits for a lawyer friend of mine and run them down to him. I'll be back before my desk shift."
"You got it."
I picked up the phone. "Hello, can I help you?"
"Hi, I saw your article on the lost Civil War gold," said a voice with a southern accent.
"That was fast. I've been asked about that a lot lately."
"There was an old article in your local paper about that," said the guy. "I have the date. Would it be possible for you to find it and send it to me?"
I could do that while I worked the desk. "Sure, I can do that," I said. "I can get that in the mail today, no problem."
"That would be great. Thanks so much."
I got his information and hung up. Turning to the old guy whom Adam had sent back, I said."What can I do for you?"

Seven minutes after leaving the building, I walked back in. "Man," I said. "When you take documents down to a lawyer's office, do not make a joke about being there about a murder charge. No matter how funny you think it is, the receptionist won't get it."
"Noted," said Adam. "You ready to take the desk?"
"I'm on it. Give me the key."
I took over the desk, and I started working on the Civil War article. I can see the desk from the microfilm reader; I can do both at once. I got the roll and put it in the machine, scrolling through. These days, I can do microfilm in my sleep.
I found the article and skimmed through it.
Then I smiled.
And printed another copy for myself.

"How was your day, Daddy?" Paul asked, sitting at the kitchen table.
"Pretty good, little guy," I said, turning away from the stove. "I looked into some Civil War gold. Dinner's ready. Everyone go ahead."
Michelle, Tif, and Biz all gathered food onto their plates and sat down. "What's this I hear about Civil War gold?" Biz asked.
"An article I wrote," I said. "Some treasure hunters thought they found it, but it turns out they didn't. Their dig came up dry."
"So you still have a shot at it," Tif said.
"I've always thought it was up around Altar Rock, a big outcropping in the Keating area," I said. "If it is, it's entirely possible that they built Route 120 right over it. I could try digging, but I'd have to disguise it as a twelve-foot pothole, which is not unlikely."
"Maybe it'll never turn up," said Tif.
"Maybe not," I said. "But I'm happy. I got a good article out of it, and I learned a little more about the one survivor who came to Lock Haven. He's mentioned in an old article I found today." I smiled. "His name was Connors....James Connors."

Grave New World

Most people don't get to spend much time in a haunted house, at least not knowingly. I spend most of my life in them.
I walked through the second floor of the Ross Library. When I was new, I used to routinely get lost up there---It's a big, twisty set of hallways and rooms. I made it to the end of the hall, and looked into the New Boss's office. The old Director had retired, but was somehow still getting mail here. Which is not surprising---Library founder Annie Halenbake Ross was still getting mail here, too, and she's been dead since 1907.
"Hey. We got the free blood pressure program going on in the lobby. If you wanted to come get a free test...."
New Boss laughed. "I'm working on grants up here. I don't want to know what my blood pressure is. Don't let me stop you, though."

I sat with my arm in the inflatable thing, squeezing it into the shape of the Gloucester Sea Serpent.
My name is  Lou. I work at the local library in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania. I'm also a historian, paranormal investigator, urban explorer, museum curator, and freelance writer. It keeps me pretty busy.
I'm a little bit famous.
The woman looked over the reading, let my arm loose, and then frowned. She turned the machine around.
"Here's your blood pressure."
I read the numbers, and then raised my eyebrows. "Seriously? That's not a blood pressure, that's a Somerset ZIP code. That's way higher than I expected."
"You can bring it down," she advised. "Cut back on caffeine and alcohol...."
"The irony being, that would kill me anyway," I said.
"....Changes in your diet, no tobacco, and get some exercise. You may want to speak to your doctor; there are certain medications...."
"I'll grab some of your literature," I said. "Thanks."

"My blood pressure is alarmingly high," I said in my office. I was at the Piper Museum with Kara. Kara is an LHPS member, has purple hair, and is a really good friend. "I had a program at the library the other day, and got it tested. That was a mistake. According to the colorized chart from the American Heart Association, I rank in at bright orange, which is not good."
"Your bloodstream is basically coffee," said Kara. "And you do tend to stress. Have you considered learning to relax a little?"
"I've been called intense," I said.
"You ever just try to calm down?"
"Sometimes I sit in the Tomahawk and make engine noises."
"I'm not sure that's the same thing."
"I mean, come on, let's be real. I always figured I was more at risk of death by a haunted attic collapse or something. Getting bit by a sea monster. If I die, spread the story that I got bit by a sea monster."
"Of course," said Kara. "You should really consider getting on medication. When was the last time you went to the doctor?"
"I was at the doctor in January."
"This January?"
"January 2014. I think. Have you seen my file on UFOs in New Jersey?"
Kara handed it to me. "You know there's a blood pressure machine in the Church Street drugstore? You can keep up with this."
"I'll try that. In the meantime, let's look for some photos for the television thing....And want to go look for some lost artifacts with me?"
"Where they at?"
"Up the Renovo Road. This one goes back a while---About a year ago, I turned over a buffalo sculpture in the library and caused an international incident. Turns out it was part of a post-World War II shipment of gifts from France called the Merci Train, and there's a whole committee to find the rest of this stuff. All of a sudden I was getting all these e-mails in French."
Kara laughed. "You're kidding."
"Seriously. So ever since, I've kind of poked into it a little, now and then. And I found out that nationwide, the 60&9 Clubs were responsible for handing out the gifts. So I have a friend who bartends at the local club, and I asked her if I could go look. She says they have a big storage area, and I could get in if I wanted. So we're going to go and check."
Kara smiled. "I'm in."

I sat down in the drugstore, looking at the automatic blood pressure machine. I took a few deep breaths. My sweatshirt was on the floor with my pack; I was wearing only my T-shirt. MOTHMAN: West Virginia University Cryptozoology Department. Slipping my arm into the cuff, I hit the green button and felt it squeeze, trying to think calming thoughts.
Cemeteries....Yeah. Ghosts. Water monsters....Mmmmmm, water monsters. I envisioned myself walking through a haunted cemetery with Bigfoot in the middle of the night. Piper Aztecs. Buried treasure. The machine beeped.
I looked down at the readout.
"Aaaargh. Come on! I ate a salad!"
I looked around the store. Nobody seemed to have heard me, or at least nobody was paying attention. There was one guy I recognized behind the counter. The cashier glanced over at me as I pulled my sweatshirt back on.
"Are you Lou?"
"Yes, that's me."
"I love your articles."
"Oh, thanks so much. I always appreciate hearing that."
"I really liked the one about the 1918 Ice Flood."
"Ice, Ice, Baby? Yeah, that was a neat one." I picked up a tiny unicorn toy and set it on the counter. "Can I buy this? My little boy loves this stuff."

"Can I get the skull for Thursday night?" I asked Sue in her office.
"Oh, sure," she said. "Let me get int touch with Lycoming."
The skull is something I've worked with before. For the archaeology lesson for Teen Paranormal, there's a kit. It comes with a skull, and I liked to pass it around and let the kids figure out gender and race. This was always a big hit, and required me to ask my co-worker to order a skull. How is your workday going?
"I'll send her an e-mail," said Sue. "We should be able to get it for you by Thursday night."
"Thanks." I hesitated. "Does it seem weird to you that I just stroll in here and ask for a skull, and you know exactly what I'm talking about?"
Sue smiled. "I know who I work with."
I went to my desk. Getting online, I opened a couple of windows. In one, I sent a message to my friend at the 60&9, asking about when she'd be in. In the other, I began to do a search for how to lower blood pressure.

"Glad you're here," said Stacey when I walked into the office. "We just got a call from the city water department. They wanted to know if we have plans of the property showing the water and sewer lines."
"Can't promise, but I can check," I said. "I brought the video camera from the TV thing, so I'll be getting footage of all the planes, too. I'm in for a busy morning. Oh, hi, Kara."
Kara had just entered in a blaze of purple hair and Star Wars sweater. "Hi, Lou. What do we have going on today?"
"Walk with me." We walked down to my office. "Gotta see about finding plans with water lines in them. This is fun. We have tons of plans; last summer I was looking for a secret tunnel into the old factory building, and I pulled them all out. John later told me, very casually, that there was a secret tunnel. He's used to this from me."
"So where are the plans?"
I led her to one of the shelves, and we looked through the rolled-up plans stacked there. I began unrolling them to check. "In other news, we're scheduled to go out to the 60&9 on Friday morning, if you're up to it---"
"I am."
"And we can look for the other Merci Train artifacts. There was a set of books, which I guarantee we'll never find, a figurine of a French couple, and a photo of the German surrender. We might find them in there; we'll have to check."
"Sounds good. How's your blood pressure?"
"Well. It's still high. When I stopped in to get it tested, I noticed that one of the employees is one of the people who put up those Nazi flyers I fought last summer."
"Oh, no."
"Yeah. So that did nothing for my blood pressure. I maybe need to find a Nazi-free blood pressure machine. You know, that common problem."
"I can always give you a lift to Wal-Mart if you like."
"Might take you up on that. And, you know, I feel another article fighting racism coming on. The Chisholm family was killed by the KKK in 1877, and I figure it's time for a column about them. In the meantime, let's find some old plans."

I hit the button, and the thing squeezed on my arm. I was having my blood pressure taken so often I was beginning to develop a bruise where the thing tightened. I thought about ghosts, and haunted houses, and the Honey Island Swamp Monster for a while. The cuff released, and I looked at the numbers. Still high.
I sighed, and put my jacket back on.
A few minutes later, I walked into the library, where Zach was decorating for Easter. He had eggs and plastic rabbits all over the display case.
"Hey, looks good," I said. "My son is gonna love this."
"Thanks," said Zach. "I got the Sloan Room set up for your teens."
"Awesome. Thanks."
Zach picked up one of the rabbits. "Check this out. His head turns all the way around." He took the rabbit's head and swerved it around a hundred and eighty degrees. "It looks like...."
"Yeah," I said. "Possessed rabbit. That's frightening." I picked up the rabbit and made my voice low and scratchy. "Your mother rots in hell!"
We laughed together. This is the kind of screwing around that always entertains us. I set it down and lifted my Saint Benedict ring. "The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!"
Tracey came out of the back room to find Zach and I doubled over with laughter, staring at the twisted rabbit. She shook her head.
"I don't even want to know. I just came out to tell you guys that there's popcorn and crackers in the back room if anyone's hungry. Someone bought the low-salt popcorn."
"That was me," I said. "I have high blood pressure, and that's everyone's problem." I followed her into the back room. "Last week, when I had the blood pressure people in here, it turns out I'm frighteningly high."
Tracey grimaced. "Oh, no."
"I looked it up, and it seems celery can help. I saw where four sticks a day can help bring down blood pressure. Do you know how hard it is to eat four sticks of celery a day? It's like a punishment at Guantanamo."
Tracey laughed. "So do you have any good articles going?"
"Yeah, I'm looking into the Chisholm family. They were killed by the KKK in 1877, and buried in Cedar Hill Cemetery. But because of vandalism, their graves were moved, and nobody knows where. We have documents that suggest Arlington, though there's other possibilities."
"That's interesting," said Tracey.
"Yeah, I gotta pull a couple of pieces off the microfilm," I said. "Time to get to work."

I dug through the old trunk, and closed it up. I looked up at Kara and Katelynn, who were standing in the old shed with me.
"Looks like it's not here."
"Well, darn." Katelynn is one of my former Teen Paranormal kids. She'd spent a couple of years with me in the group, and had learned well. She'd grown up to be a pretty good amateur investigator.
"It was a long shot," I admitted. "I thought, since the 60&9 Clubs  were in charge of handing out the items, they may have kept one. But if they did, it doesn't look like it's here anymore."
"Where else?" asked Kara. "The college, the high school...."
"Joby up at the college looked into this for me, and he didn't find anything," I said. "I'm just gonna have to do some more digging, make this my hobby for a while. Sooner or later I'll stumble on something."
Kara and I went back to the car. Sitting inside, she said,"So where to now?"
"Let's go to Cedar Hill," I said. "I want to see if I can figure out where the Chisholm family is buried."
"You think you can find that?"
"Last night at work, I got the Cedar Hill map and cross-indexed all the people who were buried around the same time as the Chisholms," I said. "If I can't find that spot, I'll retire. I need a win."

"I thought Cedar Hill was out here somewhere," I said. "It was along this road, but it's been like ten years since I've been here."
"Take my phone, and search for Cedar Hill," said Kara.
I looked at her phone. "What in our history together would make you think I'm capable of that?"
"There's a little square symbol on the bottom. Press it---"
"It's asking if I want to close forty-eight windows."
"Jesus, no, don't close forty-eight windows. Click where it says search----"
"This thing?"
"No, the other----"
"Here it is." I looked up and saw the cemetery appear randomly to our right. "I knew I could find it."
Kara gave me a look, and we pulled over and got out of the car. I was wearing the black jacket with all the equipment sewn into it. I pulled the photocopied maps and documents out of my pocket.
"They were in Section One, over this way. I have a list of some of the names who were buried around the same time. It's a good guess...."
"Right, that they'd have been pretty near each other. What are the names?"
"Seyler, Herr...."
"This one says Crotzer."
'That's one. Okay, there's another. It was right here, right in this area." I turned in a circle, looking around. "Those trees aren't all that old. They could have been planted about where the Chicholm monument stood."
Kara glanced around. "This is an open area. That would make sense."
"I think I'm at about the right spot, and this will make a good column. I'm gonna call this one solved." I looked up the hill a bit. "Oh my god. That's the Perry stone!"
I raced up the hill to it, a square white stone. Kara caught up to me a moment later. "You took off like a little kid."
"I've never seen it in place before," I said. "Did I ever tell you about this? It disappeared a hundred years ago, when Great Island Cemetery was moved."
Kara stood beside me. "You've mentioned Great Island Cemetery."
"This is cool," I said. "Let me tell you about how it turned up, totally unexplained, in 2014. And how I broke the story."

I closed my eyes and let the cuff tighten on my arm again. It was all getting very familiar to me. A moment later, it deflated, and I opened my eyes and looked at the monitor.
I was down ten points.
I smiled. Things were looking up.

"So remember, always be responsible when you do archaeology," I told the kids. I was standing at the front of the Sloan Room, with Kara at the table, and Alex, Aubrey, Olivia, Emma, and Skylar all watching me. "Dig carefully. Use the sifter. Document everything, Any questions so far?"
I looked around the table. Nothing. So I reached for the windowsill, and picked up the box with the skull in it. "Okay, then. Let's say you dig something good up."
"Whoa," said Alex. "Is that a skull?"
"It is. I borrowed it from Lycoming for you guys." I grinned, and looked them over. "So let's check it out, huh? Figure out who it came from. Let's get to work."

Come Hell Or Clawater

"Excuse me," said the girl at the desk. "May I sign up for a library card?"
"Oh, sure," I said. "I just need to see some ID." I got out the form and handed it to her. "Nice lanyard. That's pretty cool." The lanyard around her neck had aliens on it---I couldn't help noticing. "Are you into that?"
"Oh, yeah. I like that stuff. You?"
"Yeah, me too. UFOs, Bigfoot, ghosts. I do a lot of that---I'm a writer and paranormal investigator."
Her eyes lit up. "Really? That's awesome!"
"I give tours, too. I take people all over Lock Haven and show them the haunted places. I can always be booked for private tours. Bring your friends."
"I just moved here. I don't really have any friends in Lock Haven."
"Well, I guess you do now." I held out my hand. "Lou."
She shook my hand and looked pleased. "Laura."
I gave her her library card. "Welcome to Lock Haven, Laura."

I was at the Piper Museum when President John walked in. He pointed at me. "You. I needed to talk to you. I liked that article you did on the time they used explosives to loosen the ground in Highland Cemetery."
"A Dynamite Mystery? Yeah, that was a good one. What can I do for you, John?"
In between the ghost hunts, writing about local history, and working at the library, I'm the curator at the Piper Aviation Museum. Which is also haunted. It's like I missed that day in school when they taught you how to have a normal career.
President John asked,"Are you involved in that TV show they're filming about the history of Lock Haven?"
"Yeah, I am," I said. "There's a meeting at the library tomorrow. City council recommended me."
"Great. I want you to be the guy who represents the Piper Museum. That way I don't have to do it."
I laughed. "I can handle that. I'm already representing the library, Highland Cemetery, the Paranormal Seekers....."
"Well, us too. I have the flyer in my office. You need a copy?"
"God, no. City council mailed me one, the channel sent one, and the new boss gave me one....I got like twenty of those things on my desk."

"So tomorrow is Valentine's Day," I said to Tracey. "I need a woman's opinion here. I want to wear red and be part of the theme, but I only have so many red T-shirts. Which one screams romance: The Flash, or 'I survived the zombie apocalypse'?"
Tracey laughed. "I'd have to say it's about fifty-fifty."
I went out to the front desk to prepare for the meeting---The TV people were scheduled to arrive in an hour. Most of the time, when someone mentions television, I get hives. Television is about the worst medium for history and paranormal education; they tend to boil it down and overdramatize it. People ask me if I watch the ghost-hunting TV shows, and it's all I can do not to grow quills on the spot. I'm still pissed off at America's Most Wanted and The Dead Files, and it's been years.
But twenty years ago, a state TV channel had done a show on the history of Lock Haven, and it had been a pretty good job. They were coming back for another episode, and city council had recommended that they'd have me involved. I'd been asked to do TV shows before, and my reply had usually been a flat no. But this one was worth doing. I was already wearing the shirt that said Historian: You'd Be More Interesting If You Were Dead.
My friend Joby, the LHU head librarian, arrived before the meeting started. He said,"Hi, Lou. Thought I'd get here a little early and do some digging. I'm still looking into our missing mayors."
"Oh, yes. I wrote an article about them years ago---The three mayors that don't have portraits at City Hall, so everyone forgot about them. I've found one picture, William Mayer, and you found one of John Wynn, which I can't even believe. One more, and we stand a good chance of getting them up---City council has some interest."
"I loved the sideburns on William Mayer," he said.
"I know, the way some of those guys looked....James Jefferis, he was, what, I think mayor number five...."
"Number six," said Joby. "I have them all written down."
He showed me a list, and I looked at the names. I said,"Wait a minute....What's this? Where did you find this?"
"I think I got it out of the Furey book," he said. "W.S. Clawater, mayor in 1881. He left office in April of 1882, and Seymour Durell Ball took over."
"Joby, I didn't even know about Clawater!" I said. "You've discovered a totally new mayor!"
"You want me to show you the page?"
"Nah, you're one of the people who's as good at this as I am. If you say you found it, that's good enough for me. We're going to have to look into this guy!"
"He had a daughter who died in 1881," said Joby. "That's probably why he left office."
I nodded. "It was common, back in those days. I've seen other times when a parent basically quit everything after losing a child."
"We'll have to find out more about him."
"I may get a column out of this," I said. "I'll give you credit for the find. This is amazing---You've found a mayor we had no records of! Of course, now we're going to have to find his picture for the wall."

I got into the library the next day and went straight to work. (I'd opted for I Survived The Zombie Apocalypse.) I started checking through the library's files---Joby is good; he's very good. But there's something to be said for working on your own territory. Right now, the question was how much I could get done before the staff meeting.
I checked the index file first---Get the easy stuff out of the way. There were obits for both his daughter and his wife, but not Clawater himself. He'd moved out of town, which probably accounted for the lack of records of him being the mayor. I got both obits; little Bessie had died of cholera in 1881.
"Aren't you working the desk?" Sue asked as she walked past.
"I been as far as six blocks away while people think I'm on desk."
"So what're you working on?" Fewer and fewer people want the answer to that.
"Doing a little research," I said. "Looking for a missing mayor. Later I'm gonna write an article on the 1918 flu epidemic."
"Got a title for that one?"
"I'm thinking One Flu Over The Cuckoo's Nest."
I took a quick moment to e-mail a couple of EVPs to my new friend Laura. Then I pulled the records for Highland Cemetery, and found his widow and his children buried in Section J, on top of the hill. Then I looked through the city directories---Maybe I could figure out where the mayor's mansion was during the Clawater years. It's amazing how much stuff I do that's not technically library-related.
The city directory is kind of like a reverse phone book. Just like every other type of document, the further back you go, the sketchier the information gets. We had directories for 1874 and 1895, but very little in between. The Clawater family wasn't listed in any of them, but I found them on Bald Eagle Street in the 1880 census with no house number.
Then I had a flash of a plan, and went back to the city directories.

I biked over to West Bald Eagle Street. Pulling the map out, I walked along the block, comparing buildings. The boarding house was no longer there, but I knew where it had been. 46 West Bald Eagle still stood. There was a row of three houses that appeared on the map.
At a guess, I'd put the Clawaters in one of those. I'd started with no idea, and narrowed it down to a couple of buildings. I like being the best at what I do.
I rode over to the grocery store. Ashlin was working.
"Hey, Ashlin," I said. "You up for a little adventure? I'm looking for a missing mayor of Lock Haven."
"Sure," she said. "I'm in."
"He lived right here in the neighborhood," I said. "I tracked his property down based on the census list---I looked up all his neighbors in the city directory, and used them to figure out where he lived. I figure it's a good bet that he was near his neighbors." I'd compared the city directories with the census, plotted it out on the Sanborn map, and was proud out of all proportion to anything I'd actually done.
Ashlin grinned. "Yeah, I'd say that makes sense."
"You want to go explore Highland Cemetery with me before the next meeting?"
Her eyes lit up. Immediately, she said,"Yeah!"
"Thought you might."
And this is why Ashlin is one of my best friends. I don't invite people to go do normal stuff. Fortunately, with my friends, it doesn't matter.

On Friday morning, I go on the radio to promote the library. I join in for a half-hour show where I announce upcoming library programs and talk about local history. I'm paid in coffee. It gets me out of the building for a while, so after the show, I biked from Clinton County's haunted radio station to our cursed courthouse. You get used to it.
The women in the Register And Recorder's office all greeted me as I walked in. The RAR said,"Hi, Lou! How's your son?"
"He's good. Growing. He's a little cutie. I'm just in to check out some deeds."
"Oh, sure. What're you working on this time?"
"A missing mayor in Lock Haven's history. In 1882, we managed to lose a whole mayor."
She grinned. "It's never anything boring with you," she said.
I went into the big room and dug into the deeds for a while. There's a learning curve to that. It's really intimidating at first, but you adjust---These days I can find out anything about anything.
"Thanks, guys," I said, walking back into the office room. "Gotta get back to the library."
"Find what you needed?" the RAR asked.
"More or less," I said. "Winfield Clawater owned a lot of property, but sold it all in 1882. Which tallies with what we know. We have this entire mayor that we know nothing about....I love this city."

I walked into city hall and into city council chambers. I hadn't asked anyone---It's been a while since anybody tried to throw me out of anywhere. I walked around the wall, looking at all the portraits of historic mayors.
Mackey....Smith....Bridgens....Crist....Ball. No Clawater. His picture was missing, in addition to the missing pictures we'd already known about. Of course, Clawater himself was missing, too.
I'd arranged for free blood pressure readings at the library that morning. Mine was somewhat high, I'd discovered. I was wearing my T-shirt with a vampire bat on it. It seemed appropriate.
Back at the library, I got back to the microfilm. Scrolling through 1881, I looked for something that mentioned him leaving office.
There was nothing, but I stumbled on an article about the assassination of President Garfield. I read through it, and Clawater was mentioned. I did a little mental math, and put the dates together.
"My god."

You have to wonder what's gone wrong with your life when you spend most of your time around dead people. In the fog, Kara drove her car up the path at Highland Cemetery. Ashlin hadn't been feeling well and had cancelled out on the meeting. Fortunately, Kara was giving me a ride, and was also cool with exploring the cemetery a bit. Was a time I'd ridden my bike to these things. As I got closer to my friends, I was getting to be a lightweight.
"So who are we looking for?" Kara asked.
"Turn here. I told you about that mayor we discovered, the one we had no record of. He seems to be buried in Ithaca. We're looking for his family."
"The family he abandoned."
"You know, I actually don't think he did," I said. "Not exactly. He left office and Lock Haven because of the death of his daughter, but I think he kept sending them money. I don't think he bailed on them exactly. I've been researching this guy, and I think he was a much better person than that."
"Really?"
"Well, some of what I do is intuitive sometimes. You've seen me do that before. I learn all the provable facts about something, and I get a feel for it. Clawater was a great man. Park here."
Kara parked on the path, at the top of the cemetery. We were blocking the path, but it was irrelevant at the moment---On a miserable, rainy night, there wasn't going to be anyone up here but us.
We got out of the car. Kara went around the front, and I moved around the back. Then I saw her up there, we reversed, and met on the side of the path.
I was wearing my heavy black jacket with a million pockets---My adventure jacket. I fished a flashlight out of the left sleeve.
"Winfield Clawater was the mayor when President Garfield was assassinated," I said. "Back then, they took these things a lot heavier---Everything closed, people went into mourning. Clawater called a citywide meeting at the courthouse."
"To announce the assassination?"
"No, that had already been in all the papers. To gather everyone together, to give people time to grieve. He wanted to give everyone a safe place, an outlet."
"That was good of him."
"Especially so," I said. "I found this out the other day. He did this just days after the death of his own daughter. Clawater was a great man---He gave his city support when he himself needed it most."
"Wow."
I turned on my flashlight and stepped toward the graves. "Let's find his family."
We walked among the graves. I passed the Celtic cross, looking around with the light. I knew I had the right neighborhood.
"It ever freak you out, walking around on people's graves?" Kara asked.
"Hey. They're already dead." I kept looking at the stones. "I don't think about it a whole lot; most of history involves dead people. It's just kinda what I do."
"Fair. That's why I want to be cremated."
"I'm not sure what happens to my body when I'm done with it bothers me particularly."
"You belong up here," said Kara. "You should be here, in Highland, with most of the great people of Lock Haven."
"Dammit, I think I've gone too far. I left the paperwork in the car....I've learned the hard way not to assume I can do it entirely from memory."
"Go on and get the papers," suggested Kara.
I went back to the car, dug into my pack, and pulled out all my papers. "No, that one's UFOs in New Jersey.....Here it is. The cemetery listing. We were in the right neighborhood."
I started again, walking back and checking each name against the listing, shining the light on the gravestones. "Hahne....We're getting close....Ah. Here they are. Walked right past them."
There was a large stone, with five names on it. Clawater's in-laws, the Waggoners, his wife Patti, and his children, Charles and Bessie.
"There you are, Bessie." I knelt down by the grave. "I got you, honey."
"They're all buried together here?"
"They are. This is the place." I looked at Bessie Clawater's name. "Think of how much Clawater could have gotten done if he'd been mayor longer than a year. This guy was incredible; just think of what he could have accomplished. This child's death....It changed Lock Haven's history."

"I'll be back in a bit, Joe," I said. "Going out to the TV meeting at the Arts Council."
"Have fun," said Joe. "No rush."
I walked outside the library and got my bike. I climbed on and rode southeast, getting on Church Street. I crossed Bellefonte Avenue where the old train station had been, and rode over to the Arts Council building.
I love this place. This is my city.
I parked my bike. I could see City Hall. I heard a train coming in the distance. Overhead, a Piper Comanche was flying west.
This city is full of mysteries, new discoveries to find. And even after all these years, I'm still not done with them.
The sun was going down.
I smiled and went into the building.