Quoth The Haven

Thy soul shall find itself alone

'Mid dark thoughts of the gray tomb-stone---

Not one, of all the crowd, to pry

Into thine hour of secrecy...

"This is your brain on ghost stories."

I cracked a couple of eggs into a measuring cup and scrambled them up. With Michelle and Paul out on a shopping spree, I had some time to make myself breakfast. Rosie followed along, because you never know, I might drop something edible. 

From the front room, I heard a bark. Just one single, very familiar-sounding bark. Like fifteen years worth of familiar.

I set down the knife and walked into the room. I glanced out the front window---Nobody was out on the sidewalk.

I looked down at Duke's empty bed. 

"Duke?" I whispered. "You there? I miss you, buddy."

I felt myself beginning to cry. "You were such a good dog. I loved you, pal. Things just aren't the same without you. I hope you're still around; I hope you can hear me. I miss you so, so much."

I sat casually at the meeting, taking notes in the haunted house. When your best friends are ghost hunters, that happens.

Millie, Ashlin, and SaraLee sat with me in the living room. The Lock Haven Paranormal Seekers were back to meeting once a month, which we hadn't been able to do since February of 2020, when COVID hit.

The Lock Haven Paranormal Seekers were back.

"So anything else for us, Lou?" Millie asked.

"I met with my editor recently," I said. "Turns out, her family owns the Straub Brewery up in Saint Marys. Great beer. They're convinced it's haunted, and they'd love to have us up there. Maybe for a public event in a year, once COVID numbers are down."

"I have a feeling that won't be until July of 2022," said SaraLee. "But I'm in."

"I knew you'd be."

"What about the other investigations?" Millie asked. "Should we start requiring proof of vaccination?"

"You know, that's a good idea," I said. "Things aren't going to be getting any better until it becomes more of a problem to stay unvaccinated. We really should do that. I'll contact our clients and ask."

"What we need," Millie said,"Is a place where we can just go and investigate, without a client."

SaraLee held up her hand. I turned and looked at her.

"That's right, your place," I said slowly. "That's a great idea. I'm in."

"We have activity," SaraLee said. "And I'll have you guys in anytime."
"I love it," I said. "Let's do that for our next meeting, in September."

"Are we bringing all of the equipment, or just the personal stuff?" Millie asked.

"Let's go with just the smaller stuff," I said. "We'll do an inventory in October, check to see what still works. We always have the October meetings at your place anyway, Millie. I'll wear my new outfit....I changed it a year ago. You guys remember the tactical vest? I got rid of that because it looked too much like the terrorists who raided the Capitol."

"Yeah," Millie said,"You don't want to be associated with them."

"Instead I went with a more casual outfit, with buttons and stuff all over it. Nobody mistakes that for a terrorist."

"You ever going back to the vest?" asked SaraLee.

"I don't know. When the world calms down, maybe."

"Do me a favor," I said to my daughter. "Find our when Edgar Allen Poe died."

My daughter Tif picked up her tablet from the kitchen table. "Alexa," she said. "When did Edgar Allen Poe die?"

That annoyingly calm computer voice came on. "Edgar Allen Poe died on October seventh, 1849."

"Okay," I said. "That checks out."

"Do I want to know why I just did that?" Tif asked.

"I was talking to Kevin the other day," I said. "You remember my friend Kevin? The Thunderbird specialist from New Jersey? He turned up documentation of an old Shoemaker story that suggested Edgar Allan Poe carved his initials on a cave in Centre County."

"Cool!" said Tif.

"I'm a little dubious on that," I said. "But when I was checking some of the local ghost books in my office, I found a mention of the Eutaw House. Supposedly, Poe stayed there overnight once, about 1836, when he was visiting family in the area, maybe trying to deal with a family member's death. It's said that he carved his initials in one of the tables there: EAP. The house has been around since about 1823, and if Poe didn't died until 1849, the timing at least works out. It's said he's still haunting the place."

"That's really cool," said Tif.

"I'm not sure how true it is."

"Shut up."
"Hey!" said Paul, playing with Rosie on the other end of the table. "Don't tell Dad to shut up!"

"I want to think Edgar Allen Poe is haunting the area."

"Well, I'm working on that," I said. "I actually have something else going in Centre County right now. I'm going to check into this Poe thing at the same time."

"Hey, Lou, you know where Reeder's Tavern is?"

I turned from where I was ordering breakfast. The question came from the cluster of old guys drinking coffee at a table---Every fast food place has them. I think they're mandated by federal law. "I think so," I said. "Up along the pike?"

"Yeah, that's the place," said the guy. "There's a cemetery up there, just before you get to it. It's on the left. We were wondering what that was."

"It's on the left," said another guy.

"I'd have to look it up," I said. "Feel free to stop by the library----"

"Yeah, we wondered about that," the guy continued. "It's a little thing, right by the side of the road. It's hard ot describe where it is---"

"No, I got that---"

"It's on the left," the second guy said again.

"There are seventy-three cemeteries in Clinton County," I said. "I don't have them all memorized. But we have all the cemetery records, so I can look it up."

"Yeah, it's kinda hard to say where. But it's up along the pike, near the Black Forest. You ever go to the Black Forest?"

"I'll check into this," I said. I turned to the guy at the counter, who was watching with some amusement. "Ham and egg sandwich, please."

I biked back to the library. The weather was cool and the leaves were just beginning to turn. I've always loved autumn more than any other season. Something about the fall energizes me, makes me feel as if there are new adventures ahead.

Back at the library, I pulled the Gallagher Township cemetery booked and checked the map. Up about where they were describing was Luculls Cemetery, which was indeed on the left. I dialed down to the shop.

"Hi, it's Lou....I was just in there? Are the seniors with the coffee still there? I was wondering if you could pass on a message for me. It's Lucullus Cemetery, founded 1862. Yes, that's right. Thank you."

Okay. Serious research. I started with "Haunted Pennsylvania," re-reading what I'd already discovered. then I checked the index file---You never know, sometimes you get lucky. There was one mention of Edgar Allan Poe---He came up in a Henry Shoemaker story called "She Knew The Poet" from the Indian Steps book. It's right across from my desk, so I pulled it and read the story.

Shoemaker had Poe visiting the area around 1836 or so, staying in a local mansion called the Walters Mansion, and falling in love with a woman who lived there. I cross-referenced it---I checked the location of the Eutaw House, and then pulled the 1874 map of Centre County. I found property very near the location owned by a family named Walter---John Walter, George Walter.

Hot damn! Corroboration. That felt good. Is it haunted, or not? Only your paranormal investigator knows for sure.

Lunch time. I pulled my food out of my pack and went upstairs. Paul had been making me sandwiches to take to lunch lately---With COVID numbers rising, I wasn't going out and getting lunch anymore. I was eating upstairs to avoid sitting at my desk maskless.

Today's sandwich was salami and ham. I sat down to eat it. I'd had an enjoyable summer full of cryptids, but it was nice to be diving headfirst into ghosts and old legends again. I perused "Haunted Pennsylvania" again while I ate.

Harrison Shawley had bought the Eutaw House in 1939. He claimed to have found the old sign in the attic and renamed the hotel, and found the initials EAP carved on a table. Shawley had been the one to start publicizing the story of Poe's visit.

So, a timeline....

1823: The Eutaw House built. 1836-ish: Poe allegedly visits. 1912: Shoemaker writes about it, with a certain amount of embellishment. 1939: Shawley maybe reads the Shoemaker story and starts telling poeple that Poe visited.

Edgar Allan Poe. 1939. I'd heard those things together before. Why was this banging on my subconcious so hard....?

After a moment, it hit me.

"The Poe Toaster," I said to Tif. "You familiar with the Poe Toaster?"

"Is that an appliance?"

"It is not," I said. "Beginning sometime in the 1930s, a guy in an overcoat and hat started showing up at Poe's grave once a year. He would leave roses and take a shot of cognac, then disappear. Happened annually until 2009, and then he wasn't seen again."

"Oh cool. Now that you mention it, I think I heard something about that. I didn't know about the cognac, though."

I was cooking dinner. Rosie sat down at my feet as I chopped kielbasa. I dropped a piece for her; Rosie gets a lot of table scraps. "Here's the thing. Harrison Shawley bought the Eutaw House in 1939, and needed a way to publicize it. He was the one who claimed to have discovered the initials carved in the table."

"You think he was the Poe Toaster," said Tif.

"I think Shawley may have been the Poe Toaster."

"How long did he live?"

"I checked the cemetery records. Shawley died in 1988, but he had a son and then a grandson. The grandsom died in 2009, which is when the Poe Toaster stopped. So the times work out. The Poe Toaster may have been from Centre County."

"That's cool. You going to write about this?"

"Nevermore."

"Okay, where do you want me?" I walked out onto the patio, where staff and volunteers were unpacking boxes of books for the annual fundraiser. Mel glanced around the patio.

"Get busy," she said.

"I could use a few more specifics."

"We haven't put anyone on the religion section yet. Go unpack religion. That'll be fun for you."

"First time in a while I've got religion."

"Nobody buys them," she said,"So neatness doesn't count. I don't care how they're arranged."

I was stacking up a bunch of Tomato Bisque For Your Mental State books when Barb came out. Looking around for a moment, she found me. "Lou? Your wife called. She said to call back."

"I'll use my cell. Thanks."

Then it took me a few minutes to find my cell phone in my backpack---I rarely ever use it---And forty-five seconds to turn it on. I'd timed it once. I called home as I walked out into the backyard of the library.

"Yeah? Got your message."

"Paul's running a fever."

I felt a sudden panic---A fever. Christ. After a year and a half of COVID...."How high?"

"A hundred point five. I want to give him some Tylenol and call the doctor to see if he needs a COVID test."

"Okay. That sounds like a good plan. Call me on my cell and let me know."

I hung up and slipped the cell in my pocket. Then I collapsed, crouching against the wall of the library. Crying. Wrapping my arms around myself. 

Paul. 

My son.

"I called off work today," I said. "I won't be going in. Gonna spend all day at home with you."

Sitting at the kitchen table, working on his math, Paul nodded. "Good."

"Maybe later we'll give Grandpa a call. You did really good with the test today, buddy. I was proud of how well you did with that."

"Daddy? I'm scared."

"What are you scared of, buddy?"

Paul started to cry.

"I'm scared I have COVID."

"Hey. Hey. Come here." I hugged him. "It's gonna be okay, buddy. You're gonna be allright. Your mom and me will protect you. We're gonna take care of you, don't worry."

I held my son.

"We'll get through this, little man. We'll get through it."

"Dinner." I set the plates on the counter and removed the sausages from the oven. Michelle put some food on a plate and sat down.

"Not too hungry?" she asked me.

"Forcing myself to eat," I admitted. "Paul's sick. COVID numbers are rising. I've spent my entire life learing how to survive and deal with emergencies.....But I never envisioned anything like this."

Her cell phone made a sound. She glanced at it. Today I'd been kind of glad I barely use mine----It had negated the urge to check it every fifteen seconds or so. Michelle picked her phone up and checked the message.

"It's negative," she said. "Paul doesn't have COVID."

I breathed. Suddenly, once again, I could breathe.

"You want to tell him?" she asked.

I nodded. We walked into the living room, where we found Paul and Rosie, curled up together and asleep on the couch.

I looked down at my son.

"Let's let him sleep for a while."

I walked through the book sale, looking things over. It was safe for me to come back. I rearranged a couple of science fiction books, grouping authors together. I was wearing my kraken shirt.

My cell phone rang. To some extent, that was a little surprising. I was still carrying it in my pocket, in case Paul needed anything.

It wasn't Paul. It was SaraLee. "Hey, pal."

"Hey, buddy. I wanted to talk to you....I need to cancel the investigation tomorrow. Family stuff."

"Oh. Okay," I said. "That's allright. I'll tell the team."

"You sure it's okay? I feel kind of bad...."

"Can't help these scheduling things. I'll stay home and play with the kid," I said. "Family stuff."

I spotted a thick book with a blue cover, and picked it up. The Complete Works Of Edgar Allan Poe.

I grinned. "Hey, Zach, I'll take this one."

The next night, when I walked into a haunted house, it was my own. 

First Rosie ran to greet me, and then Paul. I gave the kid a hug. "Hey, little man. My ghost hunt for tomorrow was cancelled, so I get to spend time with you. I'd rather do that anyway."

"Yay!"

"We can get Chinese food and eat in the park. Maybe you and me will go looking for ghosts, sound good?"

"Yeah! Did you bring me any books, Daddy?"

"I did. Here's one for kids about ghosts." I handed it to him, and he took it and left the kitchen. I turned to Tif, sitting at the table. 

"He doing okay today?" I asked.

"He's getting his energy back. He seems fine," said Tif. "How are you doing?"

I sat down. "I'm still kinda recovering. Scared to death. I am furious at the selfish assholes who put us in this position."

"Yeah, me too," said Tif. "I'm so sick of this."

"I could kill. At this point, we shouldn't have to deal with this. It's being dragged out by the stupid bastards who won't get the vaccine."

"I need something to take my mind off it," said Tif.

"Well. I have a book about Edgar Allan Poe."

"Cool. When are you reading it? I might want to borrow it for October, when I read all sorts of spooky stuff."

"You can have it then, sure. In the meantime, I got something for you to work on. Sometime this week, come on up early. You and me are gonna light up one of my expensive cigars and do some writing."

"What kind of writing?"

"I got some stationery with roses on it. We're gonna write down a Poe quote and a mysterious message, and mail it to the Eutaw House. We'll do this once a year, and create a new mystery. You're gonna be the new Poe Toaster."

Tif grinned. "I like it. I'm in."

"We'll let someone else figure it out. We're gonna take this haunted place, and make it into a new local mystery."

The Prius pulled into the Citgo station just before highway 322, and we got out. I looked across the street at the Eutaw House, still standing in Centre County.

"That's the place," I said. "That's where Poe was said to have stayed. The place he may still be haunting."

"Is it still a hotel?" Michelle asked.

"It doesn't seem to be," I said. "The sign says it's PennDOT headquarters now, which is scarier than a haunted hotel." I turned to Paul. "You want the thermometer or the K2 meter?"

"The thermometer."

I handed it to him. We held hands as we walked across the street. I said,"Get a baseline reading along the building. Stay on the side, watch for traffic."

"Sixty-two degrees," he reported.

I held up the K2 meter, which went straight to red. I said,"Check it out, Paul. This is topping out immediately. No wires, nothing that should be setting it off."
"It's haunted?" asked Paul.

"Could be," I said.

"I want to try that."

I traded the K2 meter for the thermometer, and then I snapped a couple of photos. This was going to make a great article. I walked along the side of the road, checking out the haunted hotel with my little boy.

I finished my Chinese food, sitting in Riverview Park. Nearby, Paul was running around on the playground with some other kids. I watched for a while.

He was looking pretty good. He'd gotten his energy back, and was up and around. With each passing day, I was feeling better about his health.

I dug into my backpack, pulling out my K2 meter and my laser thermometer. I slipped them into my pockets, and then pulled on my jacket with all the buttons and badges. I walked to where Paul was playing on the climbing stuff.

"Hey, kiddo. There used to be a haunted hotel right over there."

"Oh, yeah, I remember."

"It was torn down decades ago. They say a lumberman got murdered on the stairs, and there was always a blood spot there. I'm going to go check it out. If you need me, I'll be right over there, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy."

I watched him play for a moment, then turned and walked across the park. My son was okay. I was doing better than I'd been. I was still afraid and angry. I was just going to have to find ways around that.

I pulled out the K2 meter and hit the button. It lit up as I walked, sweeping it side to side.

With the leaves falling around me, I walked through the park.

From childhood's hour, I have not been

As others were---I have not seen

As others saw----I could not bring 

My passions from a common spring.

Cryptid Summer: Angels Among Us

"Excuse me," the woman said, standing by my desk. "I was wondering if you have a moment."
You ever meet one of those people where you see them, and immediately think,"Oh, shit"?

She'd come to me a few years ago to bitch me out for an article I'd written. I'd found an obit of a man who'd claimed to have created a very popular product, except he hadn't---The patent documentation from the company proved he'd been eleven when the product was invented. I'd written an article about it, and this woman had turned out to be his granddaughter. She'd stopped by to  ream me for about an hour.

"What can I do for you?" I asked coolly.

"Well, I wanted to talk with you," she said. "You'll be getting some old documents from my family."

"Um....Me personally, or...."

"Well, the library. But I know that you seem to be in charge of the history here, so I wanted to let you know. An old house in my family is being sold, and there's a lot of old papers.  I wanted them to come here, and I just wanted you to promise me that you'll check with me before writing about my family."

Well, that was definitely not going to happen. As diplomatically as I could, I said,"I'm unlikely to be writing about your family, ma'am."

"Well, you might change your mind. There's some fascinating stuff. And I just wanted you to promise that you'll check with me before you do it."

"As I said....I'm unlikely to be writing about your family."

"If you change your mind, I want you to check with me."

"I doubt I'll be changing my mind."

"Just in case. Do you have my contact information?"

"I won't be needing it."

I could see her considering who else she might complain to. "Is Diane still the director here?"

"No, she retired three years ago."

"I see. Do you still write for John?"

"I still write for the Record, but he sold the paper."

"Mmm."

She stared at me for another moment, and then turned and left. I turned back to my desk and went back to work. 

My phone blipped, that little sound it makes when the call's for me. I picked it up. "Lou."

"Hey, Lou. It's Ian." My friend Ian, a park ranger with DCNR. "I know it's a little late in the year to ask, but would you be willing to do a program for me?"

"I'm always willing, Ian, you know that. What do you have in mind?"

"Any stories you can come up with. You always do some good ones. Talk about true stories from the area."

"I can handle that. You want me at Little Pine or Kettle Creek this year?"

"Actually," he said,"This year I want you at Hyner Run."

I was working the desk when Gracie came in. "Hey, boss!" she said. "How was your trip?"

I'd been calling our director "Boss" for three years, and I'd referred to Theresa that way in the past. It felt considerably different being on the receiving end. "It was good," I said. "I looked for some ghosts, and checked around for the water monster. How have you been?"

"Pretty good," she said.

"Is that a Fresno Nightcrawler button on your vest? Proud of you."

She smiled. "Got anything for me to do today?"

"I do," I said. "I'm gonna sic you on the microfilm."

"Yes!" She did a little fist-pump.

"Oh, you've been waiting for that?"
"I really, really want to try it."

"You're familiar enough with the system by now. I have a program to give up at Hyner Run State Park in two weeks. I need you to find me some material. Look up Chapman Township, Hyner, North Bend, and see if you can find anything good."

"Okay," she said. "Should I look up Youngwomanstown, too?"
"Good idea. Excellent thinking. We'll be camping out up there, so I figure I'll look into some stuff. The Giwoggle is up there, Clinton County's official cryptid, and the Swamp Angel, the ghost of a woman who died in the swamps. A century ago, they believed that if you went to the swamp and asked the Swamp Angel for help, she'd come and help you with your problem."

"That's pretty cool. We have some good legends here, don't we?"

"We do," I agreed.

Gracie was hard at work when the phone rang. It was Tif.

"Dad, you may want to come home and check on Duke. He's not breathing well, and he can't stand up."

"I'm on my way," I said.

I hung up the phone and went to the microfilm.

"Gracie, I gotta run," I said. "My dog isn't doing well."

"Go," she said. "I got this."

I biked home to find Duke lying on his dog bed, unable to stand. I knelt down beside him.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," said Tif. "I'm sorry I had to call you."

"You did the right thing," I said.

"I thought you should be here."

I held Duke.

"You're a good boy, Duke. You are so much loved." I whispered to him as I hugged him. "I love you, buddy. You saved my son's life. I love you, so, so much."

I got to the coffee shop at about the same time as my last two editors. LaKeshia, who'd recruited me for the Pennsylvania Wilds in the first place, and Hannah, who was currently pretty good at putting up with all my crap. Hannah had sent me a rare e-mail that morning, inviting me to get coffee with them while she was in town.

Hannah gave me a hug. "It's nice to meet you in person finally," she said.

"Nice to meet you, too," I told her.

"I'm trying to get better about the e-mails," she told me.

"I have no complaints," I assured her.

We got our drinks and sat down at the table. Hannah said,"So how are you doing?"

"As well as I can. Our old dog Duke died on Monday."
"I saw on Facebook. I'm so sorry."

"It kind if creeps up on me in unexpected places, you know? I'll go get the leash to take him out, and then remember. Otherwise, doing okay. Got a talk to give in Hyner Run, so I'll be double-dipping and doing an article for you about the trip."

"That sounds great," said Hannah. "I love those little family articles. Paul is so cute."

"He is aware of that."

"I love that blue thing he always wears on his head."
"He pretends that's his hair. It started out with him trying to look like his favorite cartoon character, and then Covid hit, and I think it's now a security sort of thing."

"Aww."

"I thought of you recently," said LaKeshia. "Well, not immediately. But afterward. I saw a cryptid."

"Tell me about it."

"I was driving out on the Farrandsville Road," she said. "It ran across the road in front of me. It was weird, a small brown thing---Not a deer, but looked a little like a deer---And its legs didn't bend. It's hard to describe, but strange-looking."

"We can file this one under Not-Deer," I said. "A creature that you think is a deer at first, but then you realize it's not. I just learned about them from one of the newsletters I get. I recently got another sighting of one. I'll look into it."

"Look, the creek is up," my wife said as we drove into the park.

"There's been a few flash flood warnings lately," I commented, getting out of the car. Hyner Run was up and running strong, right beside the campsite.

"The sound is nice," said Michelle. "Maybe it'll help me sleep tonight."

"I'll get the tent set up," I said. "Then I'm going to check in at the main office, and take a walk."

"We'll be up at the pool."

I got the tent set up. We've had the same tent since before we were married, an eighteen-dollar Ozark Trail piece of work. I'm always astounded at how much use we've gotten out of it; we wound up paying less than a dollar a year for this thing. One day, it'll fall apart, and I'll genuinely miss it.

I walked up to the office to check in. There was a woman working the desk.

"Hi," I said. "I'm the guest speaker for tonight. I just wanted to check in, mention I'm here."

"Oh, yes, thanks for coming," she said. "I'm a big fan. I read all of your columns."

"Well, that's nice to hear. Thank you."

"I'm looking forward to hearing you tonight. Is that what you always wear for these things? Kind of so people know who you are?"

I looked at myself. I was wearing black jeans and my black ghost t-shirt. "Pretty much, yeah. It's the uniform."

"Well, I'm really looking forward to this. Thank you again for coming."

'Thanks for having me."

I walked around the park for a while, getting a sense of the place, and then back to the camp. I lit a cigar as I tried to get a fire started. It was an uphill battle; my firestarting skills seemed to have atrophied in recent years. It was about an hour before Michelle and Paul came back.

"I'm hungry," said Paul.

"Well, that works," I said. "I think I have this fire started just enough to cook a couple of hot dogs, if you like. Or we have cold baloney sandwiches."

Paul thought it over. "Can I have a baloney sandwich while we cook the hot dogs?"

"Yeah, you can do that."

I got out some of the cooking equipment and retrieved two of the extendable skewers. "This stuff is older than I am. My dad used to use it, and he gave ti to me. One day, when my camping days are done, I'll give it to you."

"I don't like nature as much as you. I mostly come because you like it."

"Is that so?"

"Daddy?" Paul said softly. "I feel like nobody likes me."
"What? People like you. You're a good little guy."
"I feel like I have no friends."
We'd been going through COVID for a year and a half now. Paul hadn't been in school, and had mostly been playing with the little girl next door, who was a grade-A pain in the ass. Like everyone else, his mental health had taken a hit.

"You're a good kid, Pipper, and people like you a lot. Right now, it's still too dangerous to send you back to school, but as soon as we can get you vaccinated, we'll get you back in."
He thought this through for a minute.

"Do black lives matter?" he asked me.

"Yes."

"Do I matter?"

"God, yes, you matter," I said. "You matter more to me than anyone."

"Thanks for coming, folks," I said, standing in front of the small audience. "I hope you enjoyed the talk. Check out my column."

I greeted Chris and his wife, who'd shown up for the program, and talked to Ian for a minute. Afterward, I walked back to the campsite. Michelle and Paul were waiting there. Paul said,"I don't want to complain, but I'm not having fun. I want to go home."
I shrugged. "Gonna be honest, I'm not as into this as I thought I'd be, either. If you two want to pack up, I won't be upset about it."

"Let's go home," said Michelle.

"We'll roast a few marshmallows, put out the fire, and get on the road," I said. "Honestly....Last year when we went to Little Pine, it made me feel better about stuff. Now....Now I'm just depressed."

"I miss Rosie," commented Paul.

"I'm going to take a little walk," I said. "Soon as I come back, we'll pack the car."

"Are you okay?" Michelle asked.

I shook my head.

"Nobody is."

I was partway down the path when Paul caught up to me. "I want to come, too, Daddy," he said.

"Okay," I said. "Why don't we go down to the bridge, and look for the Swamp Angel a bit?"

"What's the Swamp Angel?"

"It's the ghost of a woman in the swamp, from an old legend. They say if you need help, and you ask, she'll come and help you. Christ, half the country needs help right about now."

We walked down the path toward the bridge. I said,"Look at the mist coming from the creek."

"That's campfire smoke."

"Well. Maybe."

"Dad, I feel lonely," Paul said. "I feel like everyone will always pick on me."

"That's not true," I said. "Mostly lately, you've been playing with the kid next door, and she's not a very good friend. Hopefully soon, we'll be able to get you vaccinated and send you back to school, and then you'll have plenty of kids to choose from." And because of the assholes refusing to get vaccinated, I now had a choice between my son's mental health and his physical health, which made me furious as hell.

We reached the bridge and turned down onto the grass by the creek. 

"The Swamp Angel lives here?"

"Well, around here somewhere. According to the story."

"I want to wish for new friends."

"I wonder if I can still skip a rock," I said.

I picked up a flat rock and tried to spin it across the water like I had when I was a kid. It plonked right in.

"Nope," I said. "I used to be better at that."

Paul picked up a rock and threw it in. "I can do it. Wait, that didn't work."

"You have to get a flat rock, and kind of spin it. You want to just drop rocks off the bridge?"

"Yeah!"

We found a couple of good-sized rocks, and I let him heave them off with a satisfying splash. He sat on the stone wall.

"Dad, you've been acting weird all day."

"Have I?"

"Yes."

I sat down next to him. 

"I haven't been doing so well myself, little man. You know how you've been feeling sad and lonely? I have, too. I still miss Duke. The Coronavirus has lasted too long, and hurt a lot of people. I'm feeling depressed, so I know how you feel."

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

"You know what? You and I need to come up with more stuff to do together. Maybe I haven't been spending enough time with you lately. Might make us both feel better."

"Yeah. That would be good."

Maybe the Swamp Angel had managed to find a way to help, after all.

"Come on, buddy," I said. "Let's pack up and go home."

Cryptid Summer: Midnight Prius To Georgia

It wasn't my idea to go to Georgia to visit my in-laws. But it was kind of my fault.

Michelle's mother had refused to get vaccinated for COVID. My wife had been worried about her.

"Tell her we're not coming for a visit until she's vaccinated," I said. "We couldn't take that risk."

Michelle, in a phone call, had evidently told her mother just that. And a week later, we'd been sent a photo of her getting her first shot.

"Well, now we can visit," Michelle said happily.

"I didn't say we'd definitely go," I said. "I said we wouldn't visit unless she did...."

"I'm going to visit my mother in Georgia," Michelle said. "Now, are you coming, or not?"

Which is how I came to be sitting in the Prius halfway across Virginia. It was the first time I'd been outside Pennsylvania in nearly two years, thanks to COVID---The last time I could recall leaving the state, it had been an overnight trip to New Jersey in November of 2019 to look for the Jersey Devil. The last time I'd been in Georgia specifically was about six years ago, when we'd finalized Paul's adoption. We'd stopped for a visit on the way home. I try to avoid going to visit my in-laws more than, say, twice a decade.

I was wearing my shirt with an America map on it, with cryptids on each state. I figured I could use it for directions if I got lost. I'd packed one cryptid shirt for every state we'd be traveling through. I didn't want to think too deeply into what it meant that I actually own one cryptid shirt per each state.

But I had a couple of things planned. There was a haunted cemetery near Michelle's mom, and the Altamaha-Ha, a water monster from nearby. I'd learned about the Wog, a dog-like monster in the state. I planned on slipping off to investigate those, if I could.

Someday, I might travel and just do the planned itinerary.

But not in Georgia, for damn sure. And not today.

I rolled out of bed in a hotel in North Carolina, wearing my Lake Erie Monster pajamas. My wife was already up. 

"Should we call the kennel?" she asked.

I nodded. "I'm worried about Duke. He wasn't doing too good yesterday."

Duke and Rosie were in a kennel in Avis for the week. We'd gotten calls from them as we traveled yesterday, with seventeen-year-old Duke not feeling well. We dialed the kennel on her cell phone.

"Hi, this is Michelle," said my wife. "We called to check on Duke and Rosie."

"Oh, Duke is doing better," said the kennel lady. "The emergency vet put him on antibiotics, and he's up and around now. He ate some canned food. We had to mix the antibiotics with the canned food; he doesn't like to be given pills."

"No, he doesn't," I agreed. "But he does love canned food."

"We put him in his own cage, but he didn't like it. When we moved him in with Rosie, he felt better."

"How is Rosie?"

The lady laughed. "She's fine. She's a little sweetie."

Paul came out of the bathroom carrying the little hotel soaps and shampoos. "Do we get to keep these?"
"We do," I said. "You know what else they don't mind you keeping? This notepad and pen. You can write with them if you like."

And that was how I came to have notes delivered to me from the back of the Prius via paper airplane all the way to Georgia.

I walked across the sandy lawn, careful to avoid the fire ants. The South. Jesus, the South drives me up the wall. You'd think I'd enjoy a place more when the insects are all basically already cryptids.

I retrieved my laptop case and cryptid bag from the Prius, and went into the trailer.

"There's cactuses growing on the edge of the lawn," I said. "Cactuses. I don't think I've ever seen a cactus in the wild before."

"Oh, we got 'em growing all over the place," said my mother-in-law.

I turned to my wife. "There's a trailer across the road that looks like a serial killer stole it from another serial killer."

"Probably is," said Michelle. "Pizza for dinner? My sister's on her way over."

"Sure." I picked up my copy of Weird Georgia, which I'd brought along. I began paging through. I found a mention of Saint Simons Island, said to be haunted because of slaves that drowned themselves in the ocean. According to legend, you could hear the ghostly chains rattling.

"You want to go to Saint Simons Island tomorrow?" Michelle asked. "My friend Mary Jane is staying near there."

"Sure," I said. "I'm up for that."

Didn't even have to be sneaky about that one.

I was in the back of the vehicle, Michelle's old school friend Mary Jane driving. I shared the back with Paul and Mary Jane's granddaughter as we headed for Saint Simons Island. Paul and the granddaughter had hit it off right away, comparing toys and favorite games.

"The island is haunted," announced the granddaughter.

"Is it?" Mary Jane asked. "I never heard that."

"Me either," commented Michelle. She glanced back at me. "Lou? Did you know anything about this?"

"I've read about it," I said. Just last night, in fact. "Weird Georgia has a whole chapter on it. Slaves who died, haunting the island."

"Good! Finally!" said Paul. "Ghosts! Something me and Daddy can do together!"

I smiled. "You know, there's a haunted cemetery near Nana's place. Also, a water monster. We can go check that out, if you like."

"Yeah!" said Paul. 

I walked along the beach, Paul playing at the edge of the water. I was wearing my Altamaha-Ha T-shirt. I knelt down and picked up a shell, turning it over. Tif had wanted us to bring her home some shells. I saw the live crab inside, and set it down. I picked up another one. There was a crab in that one, too.

I walked along, found a couple of clamshells that seemed to be crab-free, and dropped them in the side pocket on my pack. I got out my K2 meter and took a reading---Not much of a flicker. There wasn't much point in trying the laser thermometer, not with the ocean on my side and the breeze. What I really needed was a few minutes with the digital recorder, but that wasn't going to happen on this trip.

I picked up another shell. Nope, crab.

A little later, we walked up to the top of the lighthouse. A hundred and twenty-nine steps to get there. I stood on the edge and looked far out, over the ocean.

I'm at the edge of America. Out where I'm looking, it's not my country anymore. This is the edge of my land. That's always fascinated me.

"Look out there, Paul," I said.

"Cool," said Paul.

"I can't believe I didn't want to come to this place," said Paul in the back of the Prius. He was polishing off his corn dog and starting on his grape slush. With COVID, Sonic was the perfect place to sit and eat in the car.

"Knew you'd like this," I said. "You want to stop at the river and get water samples on the way home?"

"Sure," said Paul.

I turned to my wife. "You can get us to the Altamaha?"

"If I remember the way."

"Last time, it was Jaycees Landing Road...."

"That's right, I remember now. Wasn't that the place where the old people on the porch swing told you that you were going to be eaten by an alligator?"

"Yeah, that's the place."

"I wonder if they're still there."

"They may still be on that same porch swing, for all I know."

We pulled down the ramp to the river. The old people weren't there, but there was a redneck in the water. He was riding a four-wheeler into the water, with a Confederate flag on the back. Jesus christ. The South. There was a sign that said "No Swimming," and technically, he was following that particular rule---Swimming usually doesn't involve four-wheelers.

He rode away as I got out of the car. "I'm coming with you," said Paul.

"Hoped you might," I said. "Come on."

I grabbed my crypto bag from the back of the car, and slung it over my shoulder---Green bag with a Bigfoot patch on it. We walked down to the water, and I handed him a sample container.

"Go ahead, we'll both get a sample." I knelt down and scooped up some water. I was still wearing my Altamaha-Ha shirt. Maybe the monster would notice.

"I got it half full," said Paul.

"That's plenty for our purposes." I took a few photos.

Michelle was looking around. "Wasn't this where the old people were? I don't even see the cabin. Just that set of restrooms."

"My guess is a tornado took out the cabin, and they replaced them with the restrooms. Gonna rain. Lets; get back to the trailer."

I set the water samples on the counter and got out my litmus paper. "You want to show Nana how this works?"

"You take the color-changing paper," said Paul. His grandmother leaned over to watch. I was reasonably sure that Paul had more experience with litmus paper than Michelle's mom. "You dip it in the water and it changes color. See?" He held up the paper, which had turned a light green.

"Match it with the chart," I said.

The litmus paper came with a small chart that had all the colors, acids to bases. Paul lined the paper up. "That one. Seven."

"That's right. And what does that mean?"

"Things can live in the water," he said.

"That's right. Maybe a water monster."

For the first time in four days, I walked into a library. But this one was on an island. And a thousand miles away from Lock Haven. And probably not quite as haunted.

"Hello," said the staffer at the desk. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, just browsing," I said. "I work in a library up in Pennsylvania, and I kind of wanted to compare."

"Welcome!" he said. "My name's Jim. We use Overdrive for our digital services."

"Yeah, us too. Still getting used to the system changes."

He nodded. "We got a lot of patrons into it last year, when we were closed for four months because of COVID."

"Yeah, us too. Did some virtual tours to keep people busy."

"That's a good idea. What are you doing on Saint Simons Island?"

"My wife is from Georgia. We're visiting family."

Paul stuck his head in the door. "Dad! Come on!"

I smiled. "My son. Nice talking to you."

I walked out to the park area, holding the K2 meter. As I approached the picnic tables, it lit up, going red for a moment. It continued to flicker, not a steady reading, but jumping back and forth to red, as high as I've ever seen a reading. I held it up to Paul.

"Check it out, kid."

Paul looked at the meter. "That means there's electricity."

"Or ghosts."

"This place has electric lights," Michelle pointed out.

I lowered the K2 to the ground, and it went dead. "I'm only getting a reading about five feet off the ground. If there are wires, they'd be buried; I'd get more readings at ground level. Something's going on here."

"We're going to take Paul swimming," she said. "You able to kill a little time?"

"Sure. I'll explore a little."

Michelle took her sister and her mom into the pool area with Paul. I shrugged my backpack on and walked around the island. The visitors' center, the touristy downtown stretch along Mallery Street. It always amazes me, travel. All you have to do is sit in a vehicle for some predetermined length of tie, and you can just be someplace. Somewhere everything is different.

I bought a new T-shirt at one of the stores and then walked down to the pier. With my camera, I walked out to the end and looked at the ocean. Jesus, I love the ocean. I mean, to see it I always have to be in godawful places like the deep South or New Jersey, but I love the ocean.

I walked to a local bar and had a beer, my first in a while. It was really nice just to sit in a bar again. I was to the point I reach in every trip, when I'm ready to go home. I missed Tif and Biz. I missed Rosie and Duke. I missed Gracie, and the library, and pretty much all of Lock Haven.

So I did what I always do when I'm down. I went out and researched the mysterious.

 I walked back down to the park area and took a few more EMF readings, getting those high red flickers again.

"Hi, Daddy!" Paul was approaching down the path, followed by Michelle, Jill, and their mom. I set my pack on the picnic table.

"You have fun swimming, little man?" I asked.

"Yeah! There was a slide!"

Jill indicated the large poles holding up some of the hanging tree branches. "Know why those are there?"

"I assumed to support the branches after they got to a certain size."

"Yeah, one of them fell and killed a picnicker a few years ago."

"That's not where I expected this to go," I said.

"These trees are really, really old," she said.

I considered it. "About how old are they?"

"I don't know exactly, but really old. Several hundred years old."

"Ah,: I said. "That explains a lot." I turned to Paul. "That's why I might get a reading around the trees. The ghosts are familiar with them---The trees are the only thing that have been here as long as they have."

Friday morning, on an overcast day, we packed everything back into the Prius and got in. I said,"Ready to go, little man? We got some neat stuff to see on the way."

"Yeah!" said Paul. "I miss Rosie."
"Me, too. Also, there's a water monster in North Carolina---He's in Lake Norman, so they call him Norm. We'll take a look as we go past."

"Can we stop at Sonic?" Paul asked.

I nodded.

"Let's get on the road."

Cryptid Summer: Better Off Dead

I wasn't even done with my coffee yet when I heard the rattling of the door behind me. I hate it when that happens.

The library has an old emergency door right beside my desk. I'm the only one who ever uses it; it's my secret escape hatch. But every once in a while, someone mistakes it for the main entrance and tries to get in.

There was a guy rattling at the door. I opened it and said,"The main entrance is over there; can I help you?"
"Oh, yeah, I was asked to deliver this to you," he said. He handed me a small bound photo album. I opened it and saw photos, with notes attached, and ink marks all over them.

I sighed. "Thank you."

There had been a woman calling me lately. She claimed to have seen UFOs, ghosts, and cryptids....There wasn't much paranormal stuff she hadn't seen. The problem was that she was, to put it generously, insane. The photos showed a bunch of things that she'd labelled as creatures and UFOs, none of which was really visible among the blurriness.

First thing in the morning.

I got home from work and walked into my haunted house through the back door. Our old dog Duke walked into the room to greet me, but otherwise there was a distinct lack of shouting and running around. This was explained when I went out to get the mail, and found Tif, Paul, and Rosie out front splashing each other with water.

"Daddy!" said Paul.

"Mom went to take a walk," said Tif. "Get some exercise."

I sat down on a lawn chair and shuffled through the mail. "Piper Museum newsletter," I said. "Looks like they're short on money. COVID did a number on their funds, and cut back on income."

"Why did you leave Piper? Is there something I don't remember?"

"Mostly Paul. He was turning four, I wanted to spend more time with him at home. I loved the museum, but it was taking up the most time for least return."

"I thought it was something like that."

"I might contact John and see if I can do a fundraiser for them. I might be able to bring in a few hundred dollars."

"One of your ghost-hunting classes?"

"I play to my strengths."

"I thought you were getting out of ghosts for a while."

"Yeah. I was. But for Piper....I'll get back in."

I sat at the kitchen table, late at night, with my new laptop. The house was dark, and everyone else was asleep. Even Duke, curled up on his dog bed. Just me.

I took a deep breath, and then typed out an e-mail to the president of the Piper Museum, offering to do a ghost-hunting fundraiser to help. Then I turned off the computer, and went into the other room to watch TV.

Fifteen minutes later, I was back in the kitchen, checking to see if there was any reply.

Nothing.

I opened a beer and went back to the TV.

I checked again before going to bed.

And again when I got up in the morning.

Nothing yet.

I checked when I got to work.

Also six times throughout the day.

I checked again when I got home.

It's possible I was taking this thing too seriously.

Four days later, the reply came in.

"Yes!"

"Are we going to see the Jersey Devil?" asked Paul.

"You never know," I said, walking Rosie down our street. "The last time the Jersey Devil was seen at the paper factory was a hundred and twelve years ago. But maybe."

I love our neighborhood. There's history, haunted houses, a crytpid or two, and underground tunnels and caverns everywhere. I never want to move. Also, moving is a pain in the ass.

"Tell me about the Jerset Devil, Daddy," said Paul.

We turned the corner and headed down toward the paper factory. "The Jersey Devil is from New Jersey," I said. "It was born about three hundred years ago. It's kind of a flying kangaroo horse creature, and it gets seen in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey. It was seen in Lock Haven a few times in the winter of 1909."

'That's cool," said Paul.

His hand slipped into mine. Sometimes he wants to hold hands as we walk, and sometimes not.

"Looks like it's going to rain," he said.

I nodded. "We could be in for a storm."

"Does the Jersey Devil like storms?"

"Not as much as Thunderbirds," I said.

"Sorry I'm the only one who came to your birdwatching program, Daddy," said Tif.

"Don't be," I said. "I got some time with my daughter, and I managed to hold a program without having to deal with the general public. This is basically best-case scenario, unless we see a Piasa Bird."

We were sitting out on the southwest lawn of the library, with binoculars and a camera, looking for birds. 

"President John okayed the fundraiser," I said. "It's set for July 10th. I've started advertising; I hope I get a crowd."

"Let's hope," said Tif. 

"I'm going to have to practice a bit," I said. "I haven't investigated a haunted place since Gwen died. I'm out of practice."

"You've been doing this for years. You know what you're doing."

"Well, I need to brush up a little. You know the last three months is the longest I've gone without ghost hunting since, what, 2007 maybe. Before I can teach it again, it'd be best for me to find a place to investigate."

"Where you thinking? Highland?"

"I can investigate Highland anytime I want. And I've spent the last year investigating nothing but our place and the library. I need someplace a little challenging. Somewhere different."

"Have anywhere in mind?"
I looked across the street. "I might have some ideas."

I watched as Rosie raced around on the grass, pursued by three other dogs. We'd recently discovered a dog park in Flemington, and we'd been taking her there in the evenings to wear her out. She loved playing with the other dogs. Her best friend was Jackson, a giant black thing who was very gentle with her. 

"Think I'll walk over to Flemington Cemetery," I said. "Paul, you want to come with me?"

"No, I'll stay here with Rosie," said Paul.

"Okay," I said. "Back in a bit."

I grabbed my pack and left the dog park, leaving Paul and my wife to watch the blur that was Rosie. I walked up past the playground, through the bowling alley parking lot, and across High Street to the cemetery.

The Flemington Cemetery had been around since the 1840s. Originally intended as the site of a church, a man had fallen during construction and died. They'd buried him where he lay, scrapped the church, and made it into a cemetery. It would do as well as anywhere for retraining.

I dug into my pack. For the first time in a quarter of a year, I held my laser thermometer, digital recorder, and EMF detector. I was wearing my black jacket with all the buttons and patches on it, and my Snallygaster shirt.

"Time to work."

Taking photos, I walked through the cemetery. Flemington is a lovely cemetery. I mean, it's not Highland, but it's a beautiful, historic spot on top of a hill. I had a selection of old tombstones to work with. I needed one where the birth and death dates were close together. I needed the grave of a child.

I looked at the stones as I walked through the cemetery. Zinck---Nineteen years old; a possible. I got a high temperature reading on the stone of Margaret Keller---Not even one year old; I'd have to consider that. Weiler---Two years old. Maybe.

I was over the hill when I found the best one.

There was a plot for the Bryerton family, marked off by a concrete barrier. The parents were buried there, and a twenty-year-old son who'd died in 1900. And, next to that, two white stone lambs that were just barely visible over the grass.

As a general rule, lambs meant a child's grave. There were obviously more to see of the markers, but over the years they'd sunk too much and become buried. The only thing I could see were the stone lambs themselves. Not a child's grave---The grave of two unidentified children.

I got out my digital recorder.

Cue the Rocky theme.

I was sitting in a haunted house with a beer. I'm allowed to do that when it's my own haunted house. I sat at the kitchen table with my laptop, Duke at my feet. I was drinking Labbatt---Goddamn COVID had caused a shortage of some beers, and my usual favorite was commonly out lately.

My wife came into the dark room. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Checking my messages. What are you doing up? You went to bed two hours ago."

"Couldn't sleep. Too hot. Anything interesting?"

"Kevin sent me an e-mail from New Jersey. He's discovered old articles about a new cryptid in Potter County."

"This is what you do after everyone else goes to bed?"

"Articles in the Potter County newspaper from 1897 talked about hunters encountering this weird, gorilla-like creature with a hairy head and tusks. The paper did an investigation into it, and found other witnesses. They suggested it was some sort of escapee from a traveling circus show, and said it probably ran further south, down toward Kettle Creek."

"You going to look into this?"

"Yeah, I might get an article out of it for the PA Wilds. I'll pitch it to Hannah, and if she doesn't respond, I'll know she likes the idea."

President John was coming out the downstairs door as I was coming in. It was my first time at the Piper Museum in quite a while....It used to be practically daily.

"Hi, John," I said. "Came in to pick up the key, like you asked."

"Oh, sure," he said. It had been quite a while since I'd seen him. He'd grown a little older, looked maybe a little more frail. "Come on up. You can see the new space."

We got in the elevator. "Love your articles," he said as we rode up to the third floor. "They're really good. I read every crumb, every week."

I smiled. "That means a lot."

We got out on the third floor and walked across the hall. What had once been a big, empty room had now been converted into a party room, with tables and chairs arranged throughout. I said,"This is great."

"You can rearrange it however you like," said John.

I shook my head. "It's perfect the way it is. I won't have to change a thing."

"So, you coming back to help us out?"

I nodded.

"Whenever you need me."

Saturday night. Quarter to seven. John and I opened up the third floor and turned the lights on. I moved a chair out onto the floor for him, and I was getting my equipment set up on the table. I was wearing the new outfit---My black shirt with the ghost on it, my yellow Piper bandanna, and one of my jackets with all the buttons and badges on it.

People began filing in, and I took their money. A teenaged girl came in, with light brown hair and a blue bandanna. I fist-bumped her. The kid had been doing some volunteer work for me at the library.

"Gracie! Good to see you. Thanks for coming."

She smiled shyly. "Thanks for inviting me."

We wound up with about a dozen people, plus a support dog. Everyone chose tables, and I took a deep breath.

Okay. I've been out of ghost hunting for a while. But I've practiced, I know this, and it's time again. 

Let's do this.

"Thank you for coming," I said. "With all of you here, plus my own donation, we've made a hundred and twenty dollars for the Piper Museum." Everyone applauded as I handed the money to John. "Tonight, I'm going to teach you how to responsibly, scientifically investigate both ghosts and UFOs. How many of you watch the ghost-hunting TV shows?" A couple of hands went up. "Yeah, forget all that. They really dramatize it on the TV shows. Let me show you how it's really done."

I began with the historic research, and taught all that I could. I moved on to the equipment, showing the cameras, digital recorders, laser thermometers, and K2 meters.

A woman raised her hand. "Could that detect a pacemaker?"

"Hmm. Good question," I said. "I've never been asked that before."

"Because my husband has a pacemaker."

"Well, let's find out." I walked over to the table and handed her the K2 meter. She held it up to her husband's chest, and the lights went up to red.

Everyone laughed. I said,"Hunh. That actually works. You have batteries that need to be changed about every five years, am I right?"

He nodded. "Just had it done last year."

"Well, it's still working, apparently." I walked back to the table and spread my equipment out. "Let's do a practice investigation. Who wants to borrow my equipment?"

Gracie was the first one to jump up. "I want that thing in your hand."

I handed her the laser thermometer. She began checking temperatures around the kitchen area, and I handed out a few other pieces of equipment to the crowd. After a few minutes, I said,"Let's sit down and do an EVP session."

We all sat down at the tables. I decided to sit with Gracie, and I picked up my digital recorder.

"Be patient with me," I said. "I just recently got this model. I like it because it's rechargeable---I don't have to mess around carrying batteries. But I'm still learning the buttons."

I turned it on, and set it on the table. And, for the first time in months, I flipped the switch.

"Recording," I said. "Third floor of the Piper Museum, July tenth, eight-forty-five PM."

"I'm here." Barb arrived at the main desk on the hour. That's our signal---"I'm here" is what we all say to signify the changing of the guard. I stood up. I had a researcher going through the microfilm, young Gracie helping to file the obit index, and a new book about cryptids that Mel had just gotten me from ILL.

"Thanks, Barb. Be at my desk if you need me."

"Hey. That donation you made. On the memorial, is that all you want the name to say?"

"Yeah, just like I wrote on the form."

"So the plate will just say 'In memory of Baby Gwen'."

I nodded.

"Yeah. That's all I need."

I pulled my bike into the driveway of the house. I stopped for a moment to look around....It was the first time I'd been here in a year and a half..

I walked up the path. I didn't have to ring the doorbell; Millie saw me coming and opened the door. I reached out and gave her a hug. Millie, not normally a hugger, hugged back.

It was the first LHPS meeting since February of 2020. We all arrived. Ashlin, Charlie, and SaraLee. Hugs and greetings, and then we sat down to get to work. Just me and my friends....For the first time in a long time.

Cryptid Summer: The Yurt Locker

I put the cover on the rice, the gave the chicken a stir. Tif sat at the kitchen table, watching me cook.

"What's for dinner?" she asked.

"Pre-assembled chicken and vegetable bowls," I said. "Tracey got a book in with all sorts of bowl recipes, and it inspired me."

"Smells good. What's that sauce?"

"That's just garlic salt and oil. Did I tell you I'm getting a new editor with the Pennsylvania Wilds?"

"No. LaKeshia get tired of dealing with you?"

"She got a promotion. The new editor is named Hannah. She never responds to my e-mails, and barely communicates with me at all. I love her. She's great."

Tif laughed. "You'd rather be unsupervised."

"I tend to work best with minimal feedback."

"So when's dinner?"

"Hey, I'm working on a piece about UFOs in Jefferson County. My article on Bigfoot sightings in Bald Eagle State Park got over two hundred shares. Did I tell you about the newsletter I got with the Bigfoot tracks in Michaux State Park?"

"You get Bigfoot newsletters?"

"Also UFOs. Have to stay current."

"So there were tracks....?"

"Judging by the photos included, obvious fakes."

"How can you tell?" Tif asked.

"Bipedal creatures roll their feet as they walk. The toes and heels are deeper, and the middle is all mushy. These are too deep and clear. Let me show you." I picked up my work tablet. I hate tablets, but during COVID, I've gotten used to the one the library assigned me. I signed in and brought up the e-mail.

"I want to see," said Paul. I sat down and put him on my lap.

"Here. See how all the prints are very clear, and uniform depth? It's exactly what you'd get with a fake foot on a stick pressed into the ground. It's a fake, and not even a good one. Come on, hoaxers. Take a little pride in your work." I got up and stirred the vegetables. "Speaking of Bald Eagle State Park, your mother booked us a yurt for June."

"A yurt?...."

"It's a little like a wikiup, only bigger----"

"I know what a goddamn yurt is. You guys are going camping?"

"All of us. It's handicap accessible."

Tif looked the park up on her tablet. "Huh. That does look accessible. It's paved, so I can bring my wheelchair."

"Also there have been Bigfoot sightings. So, you know, there's my weekend."

"Stop at the main office, hon," I told my wife from the backseat. "Who wants a map?"

"Why would we need a map?" Michelle asked.

"Why would you not? Does nobody want to know how to get around?"

"I can't read a map," said Tif.

"I'll teach you."

"I can't, either," admitted Biz.

"You served in the military!"

"Military maps are different."

"I'll take a map, Daddy," said Paul.

I went into the main office and got five maps.

We drove to the yurt. I unlocked it, and we went in. It was a big, round thing with a partition in the middle. The kids fanned out a bit to explore.

"This place is bigger than my apartment," said Biz.

We let Rosie off the leash, and she ran around, sniffing everything. I walked into one of the bedrooms and dropped my pack on the top bunk. Paul said,"When we're unpacked, I want to go swimming!"

"Thought I might walk around some," I said. "I'll take Rosie and look for Bigfoot."

"I'll go along," said Biz.

"I might come, too," said Tif. "I have a fitbit, and I'm trying to get more exercise."

"I'll start a fire later," I said. "I got hot dogs for dinner. Let me bring all the stuff in."

I slung the khaki green pouch over my shoulder as we left the yurt. "Got my cryptozoology kit on me. Let's go walking."

"You have a cryptozoology kit?" Tif asked with some amusement.

"Got a kit for everything. I have different equipment in different rigs, depending on what I'm going to be investigating. UFOs, buried treasure...."

Halfway down the loop path, Tif paused on her crutches and breathed. "Gotta stop, guys. I'll wait here at the picnic table and meet up with you on the way back. You guys go on ahead."

"You sure?" I asked. "We're not in any big hurry." Aside from Rosie, who pulls hard on the leash anywhere she goes.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I can meditate while I wait."

"Okay. Catch you on the way back."

Biz and I walked down the path to the trailhead. I said,"Here we go, the footbridge path."

"How far to the footbridge?" asked Biz.

"I think we can practically see it from here. Did I tell you I got a new rifle microphone?"

"I don't think so. What's a rifle microphone?"

"It looks kind or like a ray gun with a radar dish on the front. You can use it to listen for things at a distance. I plan to use it for Bigfoot."

"Still not hunting ghosts?"

"Not at the moment." Rosie was sniffing everything she walked past; a lot of this was new to her.

"Hey! Guys!" It was Tif, calling from the trailhead. "Stay where you are! I'm coming down!"

Biz and I paused on the path and waited for Tif to come down on her crutches. "Oh," she said, looking at the path. "It's gravel."

"You made it down," I commented.

"I decided palsy could kiss my fat ass," said Tif. "I want to see the footbridge."

"Well, it's right around the corner."

We walked down the trail and turned, and there it was---The footbridge. It was made of a hundred feet of wood, stretching across the lake. 

"It looks like it's going to fall down any minute," said Tif.

"It looks like something from Middle Earth!" said Biz. "I could picture Hobbits living here."

"It's solid," I said. "Come on, let's walk out on it."

It was about one-thirty in the morning when I heard the yurt door open and close. A moment later, I heard it again. When I'd gone to sleep, Tif and Biz were still up talking, and Paul had changed his mind about his sleeping location maybe twenty times. He'd wanted the top bunk, but Rosie didn't like it. She'd actually jumped off, because the puppy has no sense of survival. Paul had bounced around for a while, finally passing out in the main room with the girls, with Rosie sleeping on the floor.

I decided I'd better get up and check what was going on. I love my daughters, and they're competent, independent women. And then every once in a while one of them forgets to not shower with a cell phone or something. Wearing my Lake Erie Monster pajamas, I climbed off the bunk.

I found Biz outside with Rosie. She said,"Tif went down to the bathrooms. I thought I'd better bring Rosie out."

I nodded. "What time did Paul pass out?"
"Maybe eleven or so. Rosie's been up and down."

"They're both all excited as hell."

"I should go check on Tif. Hold Rosie?"

I took Rosie's leash and waited as Biz walked down the path. It was a nice night; it had cooled down and things were pleasant. I could see Tif coming up the path, Biz going down to meet her. Something made a sound in the woods nearby, and I saw Biz turn with her light.

"Yeah," I called out to her. "I heard it, too."

"Bigfoot, Daddy," Tif commented as she approached.

"Sounded awfully small for Bigfoot."

"A child Bigfoot."

"Probably a raccoon or a possum." I looked up at the sky. "Can you guys see the Big Dipper? Who can tell me which way north is?"

Both of them turned and pointed in opposite directions, both wrong. I said,"It's that way. You follow the two stars at the end of the cup, and they point to the North Star."

"Oh," said Tif. "I thought it was the handle."
"I'll see you two in the morning."

Breakfast was scrambled eggs and hash, all of which Biz slept through. Rosie got all the leftovers, the spoiled little thing. As we finished up, Michelle said,"I just have to make two calls for work, and then we can make a run for supplies."

"Think I'll take a walk while you do that," I said. "There's an overpass I want to check out."

"Is Bigfoot by the overpass?" Tif asked.

"It's possible. Cryptids love overpasses. The Virginia Bunnyman does nothing all day but hang around overpasses."

"Take your map," Michelle said.

Leaving the yurt, I walked west. (I know which way west is.) I found the Shrike Trail, which looked about right. Checking the map as I went, I walked up and over the hill, and in about twenty minutes, I found the overpass. I walked down and headed under.

As I went under, there was a very strong, distinct smell. I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. The closest I can come to describing it is the beach, when there's a lot of dead stuff washed up in the sun. I was intrigued; Bigfoot has been described as having a smell. Though I'd never heard it described as a bucket of dead clams.

I walked under the overpass and a little further up, then turned around and came back. As I passed through on the return trip, the scent was gone.

I noticed it again a short way back up the Shrike Trail. I stopped and glanced around---The smell was right where a line of damaged grass led into the thick woods, as if a large animal had pushed its way in and stomped all the grass flat on the way. I looked for prints, but didn't find any---Too much grass. It could have been an especially unhygienic deer, but I took some photos anyway. You never know.

"Daddy? I'm bored."
Paul had been running around with Rosie ever since dinner, and I was a little amazed that either of them was still standing in the heat. I said,"Well, what would you like to do?"
"I want to hang out in the yurt with my sisters, but they want to stay outside."

"Well, it's pretty hot in here," I admitted. "Tell you what....I know what we can do. You want to take a walk with me?"

He shook his head. "I don't feel like it."

"Then how about this?" I got out a solid briefcase, and opened it up. Inside was the rifle microphone, my night-vision binoculars, and two comlinks. I turned them both on and handed one to Paul.

"You press this button to talk. Hold it in. Now, I'm gonna go on my walk, but we can stay in touch. Sound good?"

"Yeah!" He pressed the button, and his voice came from across the room, ten feet away. "I love you, Daddy."

"Love you too, buddy. I'll be back soon."

I left the yurt. This time, I went down and around the loop until I saw the small amphitheater---The trailhead was behind it. Paul's voice came across. "How's it going, Daddy?"

"So far, so good. I found the trailhead. It's behind a little amphitheater---That's a small stage out here in the woods."
"Cool, cool."

I walked down the Swamp Oak Trail. It wasn't long before I stumbled on the reason for the name. I hit the button. "Still with me, kid?"

"Ten-four, good buddy."

Clearly he'd gone out to sit with Tif and Biz, and was now being coached. "I just found a giant tree. It's a really, really big oak tree. I mean, it's huge."

"Cool!"

"Ask Sissy if she wants a crow feather."

"Sissy says yes."

I picked up a black feather and put it in the crypto kit. The trail moved through the swamp, and then rose up the hill. I followed it up.

I heard something, not too far off, making noise in the woods. I couldn't see it, but I could hear it clearly, rustling off the path.

"There's something else out here with me," I said. "I can hear some sort of animal."

"A Bigfoot?"

"Maybe."

"Sissy says don't get eaten."

The trail went up and turned, moving northeast across the hill. I walked it, casually, still hearing the sounds from the forest.

"Whatever it is, it's still with me."

"Roger!"

After a while, the trail turned northwest and went downhill. It was coming back to the footbridge. I hit the button.

"Inbound on the footbridge, kid. I'm not too far from home now; I'll be arriving in a few minutes."

"Okay. I love you, Daddy."

"I love you, too, buddy."

"You can run ahead, if you like," Tif said as we walked up the path.

"Nah, I got nowhere to be." We were walking back up toward the yurt. The sun had gone down. "Great trip."

"Yeah, it was a fun one," said Tif. "I can't believe I did seven thousand steps yesterday."
"You basically went hiking. You're doing really well, for you."

There was a sound---A thump, almost like a drum beat, from off in the woods. I glanced at Tif. "Did you hear that?"

"It sounds like a turkey," she said.

"Turkeys play the drums?"

"The male ones make noises like that. We had them at my grandmother's house when I was little."
We walked back to the yurt. Michelle was reading a book. Paul was eating some cheese curls, and Rosie was keeping a close eye on both him and Biz, who had the graham crackers. "Sit," said Paul. Rosie sat, and got a cheese curl.

Tif sat down. I sat at the kitchen table and got a glass of water. The heat had dropped, but I was still sweating some. I said,"Tomorrow I figure I'll make the rest of the eggs and hash for breakfast. Everyone eat all the groceries. I don't want to repack them in the morning."

From outside, there was the gobbling sound a turkey makes, in the distance. Tif said,"You hear that, Dad?"
I nodded. "It's wild turkeys, allright. That's from roughly the direction of the overpass I saw earlier."

"They're angry," Tif said. "Something's attacking them. A lone coyote?"
"Maybe Bigfoot," suggested Biz.

"Why the hell am I just sitting here?" I got up and opened the briefcase.

"The rifle microphone," Tif said.

I snapped the pieces together. "Let's see what I can hear out there."

Paul picked up the might-vision binoculars. "I'm going with you."

We left the yurt and stood in front of it, looking west. I put the headphones on and aimed the microphone, picking up sounds in the distance. Beside me, I saw Paul press the button that turned the green laser night vision on the binoculars.

"I don't see anything," he said. "Just trees."

"I can hear the turkeys, but nothing else. Can't tell what's hunting them."
"Maybe Bigfoot."

"Maybe," I said.

I felt his little hand slip into mine. "Wait until I tell my friends back home, Daddy," he said. "I'm having fun."
I held his hand.

"Me, too," I said.

Cryptid Summer: Release The Hound

Jeremiah Church founded Lock Haven. He also founded two other towns, plus Clinton County, traveled the country, and raised a daughter. He accomplished all this because he was smart enough to avoid staff meetings.

"We're reopening in June," said the Boss. "Now that the mask mandate has been lifted and staff is almost fully vaccinated, the board is discussing a full reopening."

I was sitting at the table between Tracey and Barb, my folder in front of me with the UFO stickers on it. I'd been scribbling notes, but they were mostly about Bigfoot, so I almost missed it when the Boss said,"Lou, do you have anything?"

"Well, scavenger hunt upcoming," I said. "And I'm bringing back the tours this summer. I'm excited about that. With the summer reading theme being animals, I have some good stuff coming up, but I'll get to that later."

"Oh, come on," said Mel. "Don't leave us hanging! Give us a few details."

"Yeah, Lou, don't be a tease," said Jim.

I laughed. "Okay, fair enough. I have a couple of animal photo shows, and a class on how to investigate cryptids. I asked the Boss if, for our purposes, cryptids count as animals, and she agreed. I assume she actually listened to the question. So I'll be teaching how to investigate monsters. A summer of cryptids."

"Oh, that's cool," said Mel.

"I'm also planning some bird watching, and I'm working on an event involving the water creature in the Susquehanna," I said. "But I'm not quite there yet."

I did what I always do after a staff meeting. I walked down the main stairs one floor, and then disappeared into the old section of the building. Once an old house, it was full of winding halls and odd staircases. One of these deposited me in my office, right behind my desk.

Which had a stack of yearbooks on it, old ones from Lock Haven High. They hadn't been there when I'd arrived an hour ago, so I followed procedure and shouted,"Okay, who put the yearbooks on my desk?"
"That was me," said Jayne, who was shelving over in large print. "Someone came in and donated them. I thought you might need them."

"I'll check and see what we already have," I said.

I walked back to the circulation area, where Tracey was hard at work doing something. I don't pretend to understand what it is Tracey does. I checked the yearbook shelves, and I was pleasantly surprised to find out that we were missing a couple of the ones that had been donated. I filed them on the shelf.

Taking the other two, I walked back out to Jayne. "Good news. We needed two of those; we didn't have Forty-Nine and Fifty-Two. I'm taking the others to the attic as spares."

"Have fun."

I love the library's attic. It's a hundred and thirty-four years old, and looks about that old. It's got all the unused and spare stuff we have stored in there someplace, including a ton of books and files that don't work in the Pennsylvania Room. I added the remaining yearbooks to the stack.

The shelf of Keystone Folklore Quarterly magazines caught my eye, and I pulled a couple down to look at. What the hell, I wasn't all that busy today.

I paged through. Keystone Folklore Quarterly is an old magazine dedicated to old legends; I'd gotten some good stuff out of there before. I found an entire issue devoted to stories from an African-American family descended from escaped slaves. They had some good ghost stuff in there, some interesting old mythical stuff. I read one where a man named Thomas Wood had been buried in a cemetery, and his spirit had turned into a dog to roam the place.

That actually sounded local. Some of the details seemed to match up. I took the magazine downstairs.

I checked the index card for for a Thomas Wood. There was one who had died in the late 1800s, buried in Drury's Run. I pulled the Chapman Township cemetery index and found him---Section Five.

Huh. A graveyard dog.

I've always wanted one of those.

I went downstairs and checked my cell phone. There was a sixty-second message I listened to. Zach was on desk.

"You'll never guess who I just got a message from," I said.

"Who?"

"You remember a couple of years ago, this insane drunk woman came in with a bunch of photos of ghosts and UFOs she wanted me to---"

"Oh god. How did she get your cell number?"

"It's generally printed with my columns. At the time, she claimed that she had photos of the paranormal, but you had to have the same eyeglass prescription to view them."

Zach laughed. "I don't remember that part."

"Yeah, that may have happened after you ran out of the room. Not that I blame you. I will admit, though, that it's nice of the Annual Summer Nutcase to call first."

I went upstairs. I didn't want to be around people for this next part. Every summer, we get at least one lunatic who comes in and causes a scene. They tend to return all summer, say and do all sorts of crazy things, and because I'm a paranormal investigator, they cling to me. A couple of years ago, we'd had a weird guy in white robes come in venting about the government. Last year, we'd had a homeless guy trying to sleep on the picnic tables who'd swear at you when you told him he wasn't allowed. They never went away on their own, so I had to get this next part over with.

I called back. The phone picked up, went immediately to hold, and then came up with a TV blasting in the background. "Yeah?"

"Hi, this is Lou....You left a---"

"Oh, yeah! Thanks for calling me back!" At least she sounded somewhat sober this time. "You remember me? It was, what, two or three years ago when I came in and showed you some pictures. You said you couldn't see it unless you wore my glasses."

"That's not actually how I remember the conversation going."

"I just got off the phone with NASA. They told me to find a local paranormal investigator to look at my pictures. Do you know anyone?"

"Uh....."

"I mean, I guess I could call the newspapers....."

"They'd just refer you to me. I tend to be the big name around here for the paranormal; everyone you talk to will tell you to contact me. I'll tell you what. If you'd like to bring the photos back in, I'll take a look and get a statement from you."

"Oh, that'd be great! I'll come in as soon as I can," she said. "Thanks so much for returning my call. Everyone else tells me I'm nuts."

"Your children," Michelle said as I sat down to dinner,"Used your sound-thingie in the yard today."

'The rifle microphone?" I asked.

Paul nodded. "Yeah."

"What were you using that for?"

"To listen for the ice cream truck."

"Well," I admitted,"That is an appropriate use of the rifle microphone." I turned to Biz, sitting next to me. "You know anything about graveyard dogs?"

"The legend, you mean? Or the band?"

"There's a band?"

"I don't know. Probably. I know a little about graveyard dogs. They're usually ghost dogs that stand guard over a cemetery, also called grims. They come from a dog---Or maybe a person whose ghost took the form of a dog---The first burial in the cemetery, usually on the north side."

"Why are you asking about graveyard dogs?" Tif asked me.

"Think I found one in Renovo."

The phone rang. I walked into the other room---I still have a phone in the other room---And picked it up. It was Chris.

"Hey, Lou," he said. "You know that article you wrote for the Express on the mine accident in Bitumen in 1888?"

"Yeah, it ran last Saturday."

"There's been some talk online about it. Some people in a Bitumen group are criticizing it; they want to know where you got the photo of the mine that ran with it."

"Hell, that was a stock photo the art director chose to fill space."

"A lot of people in the Bitumen group are debating whether it's a real photo of a Bitumen mine. They're kind of upset that you didn't reach out to them and use a historic photo."

"Hell, I don't do photos. I write a hundred articles a year; I let the editor handle the graphics."

"You want me to add you to the group so you can respond?"

"Hell no. I avoid online groups as a way of handling my own blood pressure. I'll let them work it out; they don't need any comment from me."

Chris laughed. "Okay, then. You in the library tomorrow? I need to come in and do some research."

"I should be, yeah."

It was a Tuesday when we fully opened the library for the first time in a year. I was wearing my cryptids mask and the shirt with nine different monsters on it.

"I'm going out for my break," said Zach. "Back in half an hour."

"Have fun. That leaves me remarkably unsupervised."

Zach grinned. "Don't burn the place down, that's all we ask."

"No promises."

With Zach gone, I was the only person in the library at the moment. But the doors were open. Anyone could come in.

Finally.

I walked through the building, looking at the place. Somehow, it looked brighter, more cheerful. It seemed like such a long time ago when we'd shut down for COVID---March of 2020. Well over a year ago, I'd helped shut down the library and went home to teach survival skills to my son. Concentrated on what I could do from home, or by myself. A year of ghosts at home, UFOs within a block, lonely cemeteries.

My cell phone was ringing, inside of my backpack. I answered it.

It was, of course, the Annual Summer Nut.

"Hi, Lou. I'm not going to be able to come in today. I got too spiritual, and it just wore me out."
I'm never exactly sure how to respond to statements like that. Probably I should plan something in advance.

"That's fine; you can come in whenever."

"The same thing happens when I give psychic readings. I just need to rest for a few days."

"No problem. I'm at the library all the time anyway; you don't really need an appointment to come and talk to me."

"I was arranging my photos last night, and on TV, a news show about UFOs came on. I was like, whoa! Isn't that weird?"

The government had recently declassified some UFO files, so it would be a bit weird if this wasn't all over the news. I chose to skip the question and said,"I'll be back in on Tuesday. Feel free to come in after that."

"Okay, I will."

I hung up before the conversation could continue.

I went to the microfilm and pulled Thomas Wood's obit. He'd been an Irish immigrant, and a soldier in the Civil War before getting employed by the railroad, like most of the people in Renovo in those days. I was looking at the cemetery records when Chris walked in.

"Hey Lou. Anything new on the Bitumen thing?"

"Yeah, one guy finally e-mailed me to ask about the photo. I explained that it was a stock picture selected by my editor, and he said that he didn't realize the press had the right to deceive people like that. I left it at that; there's not gonna be any convincing that guy."

"Of course," Chris said. "Anything else interesting?"

"Looking into a graveyard dog."

"A graveyard dog? You've wanted one of those for a while."

"Discovered a mention in an old folklore magazine. I've found the grave it's connected to, a Thomas Wood up in Renovo. Now, the interesting thing here is that the story seems to have adapted to the grave itself."

"How's that?"

"Graveyard dogs are said to be at the first grave in the cemetery, usually to the north. It's an English legend---Thomas Wood was Irish, but I'd have to think the folklore would spread over there. Now, get this---Wood was buried on the north end of the cemetery in 1894."

"In that area, he couldn't have been the first grave there, though. Could he?"

"No way; the cemetery was around long before that. But here's the thing---It was founded by the local Catholic church. They built a new church in 1892 in downtown Renovo. This grave wasn't the first in the cemetery, but it was the first for the new church. It checks all the boxes---That's where the story of the graveyard dog came from."

On Memorial Day, I did what I always do and fired up the grill. The whole family loves it when I grill; Tif usually starts begging for it around mid-March. Paul helped me with some of the recipes, and we wound up with chicken, hot dogs, peppers, corn on the cob, carrots, and asparagus. We sat around a folding table in the back yard, with Duke and Rosie tied up in the grass.

"So this summer, we have camping trips and some cool stuff," I said. "With the summer reading theme being animals, I'm going to be giving a couple of tours and classes on monster hunting. Got some good stuff planned. And with the vaccines, we'll be able to do more. Some camping and a few trips, maybe go visit some relatives for the first time in a while."

"A summer of cryptids," said Tif.

I nodded. "A summer of cryptids."

"You may experience some side effects," said the pharmacist. "You might get some pain in this arm, maybe some flu-like symptoms. Chills, a headache. It should all go away in a day or two. Left arm okay?"

I nodded. "Let's do this."

He stuck the needle in my arm, just under where I had my "Bigfoot: Social Distancing Champion" shirt rolled up. It only took a second, and then he was applying the band-aid.

"You're bleeding a little."

"I'm gonna tell people I got in a fight."

"Stick around for fifteen minutes, and then you can head out. That would be two-nineteen."

"I brought a paperback. I'll be fine."

A little while later, I was home. Paul and Rosie were asleep on the couch. I went up to my office. I had the first mask I'd worn the one my wife had made for me over a year ago, when I was doing an archaeological dig in the back yard. Little Christmas trees and an alien patch on it. At the time, I'd been expecting to retire it in two weeks or so.

Now, I had a collection of masks with ghosts, Bigfoot, and aliens on them.

I hung it up on the trophy shelf. The symbol of this whole terrible, traumatic year....Now coming, finally, to an end.

For the first time in almost two years, I stood in front of a crowd for a summer history tour. Seven people and a dog, all turned out for my event. I smiled as I looked around at everyone.

"Thanks for coming, everyone," I said. "It's good to be back at this again. This is the first summer tour I've done since 2019, so bear with me if I seem a little uneasy. Also forgive the hair; I been cutting it myself for a year and a half."

Laughter. I continued,"Tonight's tour is Water Street. So, if you'd like to follow me, let's go on out to the sidewalk. It's a nice night. Let's learn some history."