Dead Ends

There's adventure everywhere.
I got off my bike by the railroad tracks across Fourth Street. Stepping off the street, I walked into the brush between buildings, and pushed my way back along the tracks.
Tucked inside the overgrowth, between buildings, was a huge metal frame---The remains of an old railroad repair shop from 1862. An abandoned ruin literally a block away from the local fast food places, and nobody ever explored it.
Fortunately, that what I'm here for.
There was a heavy steel girder on concrete pillars about two feet above the ground, leading into the ruin. I stepped onto it, and balanced my way across. Years of idiots drinking there had covered the ground in broken shards of glass that could punch through a sneaker. Kind of like the sneakers I was wearing. Not that I was so concerned about my sneakers specifically, but there was also a very woundable foot inside it.
In addition to the flimsy purple sneakers, I was wearing my black jacket---The one with all my tools and adventure equipment in the pockets. And my shirt that said I'd rather be ghost hunting. And my blue bandanna around my right ankle. It's like a uniform, except I'm the only one who wears it.
When I got to the south end of the ruins, which were relatively clear of glass, I carefully stepped off. There was a metal fence, with the college's expensive walking path on the other side. I walked along the back of the ruin, looking down at the ground for artifacts.
On the northeast side, I found something big. Wood, half-buried. An old telephone pole, with the old wooden pegs. It had to be at least a hundred years old.
I grabbed one of the pegs and pulled. It came out easily enough in my hand, and I slid it into a jacket pocket.
Then I heard the train whistle, coming in from the east.
It wasn't exactly surprising. I mean, I was along railroad tracks, so it wasn't so much like the train was sneaking up on me. But I didn't want to be seen. Did I mention I was technically trespassing?
I ducked against the concrete wall, flattening myself behind a girder. I hid there, waiting until the train had gone by.
Then I walked out to my bike.
The exciting life of a historian.

"Daddy! Dere you are!"
I found my son and daughter on the playground, Paul climbing on the equipment while Tif watched. I parked my bike and walked over.
My name is Lou. I'm a paranormal investigator, historian, librarian, writer, and museum curator. I'm also a Star Wars fan, a dog person, and probably an alcoholic, with eyes the color of dirty Bigfoot hair.
I suppose only that first part is relevant.
I handed the peg to Tif. She turned it over, examining it. It was about six inches long, tapered, with a screw thread on one end.
"Whoa," she said. "What is it?"
"Part of Lock Haven's early phone system," I said.
"Which part would this be?"
"Picture those big old wooden posts, with the crossbeams like you crucify someone on. This was the peg that holds the line. It's over a hundred years old, part of Lock Haven's first telephone system."
"And where'd you find it?"
"Looked through the ruins just off Fourth Street."
She handed it back. "How is it you always know where to find all this stuff?"
"Mostly, I just know where to look. Several years ago I found a trap door to a secret attic in the oldest house in Lock Haven. When someone asked me how I found it, I said,'I looked up.' There's a lot to be said for just being the guy who thinks to check."
Tif nodded as we watched Paul climbing up the slide the wrong way. "You hear about the racist flyers posted up in the neighborhood?"
"Yeah. I tore one down yesterday morning. They're advertising for a white supremacy website."
"Bastards," she said. "Someone should do something."
"I'm working on it."

"Were you and the ghost hunters in the museum recently?" Stacy asked me when I arrived at the museum. "We had a water leak downstairs by the Navajo."
Mondays.
"We're in all the time," I said. "We're going to investigate again this weekend. I don't remember a water leak, though."
"I thought maybe you guys got slimed during an investigation."
"Don't I wish. No, we've had a few sounds on audio, that's about it."
"There's still a big puddle down there."
I went to my office, and dropped my pack and my jacket. I love being on the board of an airplane museum----I love being able to get directions like Downstairs by the Navajo. I walked down my secret staircase to the maintenance room, turned to the Piper Navajo fuselage, and found it.
There it was, a large water puddle. It didn't look paranormal to me, though you never do know. It was up against a wall, and the first thing you have to ask is what's on the other side of the wall.
I walked north, counting off sixteen paces to the side door. Then I went outside, turned south, and counted off sixteen paces back. This put me directly outside where the puddle was.
I knelt down by the wall. About eight inches from the ground was a hole---It looked like a pipe had been there at one point. Now it was open, and far from waterproof. We'd had a couple of storms recently---That was where the water had come from.
Wish they were all this easy to solve.

Secret staircases. Paranormal investigations. Airplanes on display. That's my life.
I was biking to work when I saw the flyer, put up on a telephone pole at the corner of Park and West Bald Eagle. A bright blue flyer, with a website on it. I tore it down and took it to work.
Work is the Ross Library, Lock Haven's public library. I got in early, which was noticed by the boss. The director said,"You're an hour early."
"Yeah, I had a little extra time today," I explained. "I figure it'll make up for the last dozen times I was five minutes late."
"You're not really allowed to work off the clock."
"I promise to be really, really unproductive."
I was sitting at my desk typing when one of my co-workers stopped over to read the newspaper. I was wearing my shirt with the aliens that said It's cool. We come in peace.
"Hi, Lou. How's it going?"
"Oh, hi, Joe. Yeah, okay I guess."
"You don't sound so certain of that."
"Yeah, well. There have been white supremacy flyers put up in my neighborhood. I'm not real happy about it."
"Seriously? Up where you live?"
"I think I found the last one," I said. "I tore it down on my way to work. I've been writing a column for the Record, standing up against it."
"Hey, good for you."
"Well, I don't see much moral complexity in taking the controversial viewpoint that Nazis are bad."
I sent in the column, then lost myself in writing a piece about the local Elks Club entitled Heard of Elks. I had some coffee, and then was surprised when the coffee ran out. I ordered some graphic novels. A while later, my phone rang.
"Hey, Lou? It's Kara."
"Hey, Kara. What's up?"
"I wanted to let you know, the Record posted your column immediately online." Kara's mother Jeannine is my editor on the Record. I usually make the print version, but being immediately rushed into the digital copy is new to me. "Mom and John really loved it, and thought it was powerful."
"I never expected that, but thank them for me. I wrote it in about forty minutes, in a seriously pissed off frame of mind."
"You had every reason to be. Would you like a ride to the meeting tomorrow night?"
"Nah, I'll bike it. But thanks, I appreciate that."

The Piper Museum is on the east end of Lock Haven, not far from the airport and the Susquehanna River. I have an office there, and an office at the library, which basically gives me an office on both ends of Lock Haven. I kind of like that.
I got in an hour early and turned on some of the lights and the air conditioning. I'd been with the Piper Museum for almost two years, and with the Lock Haven Paranormal Seekers for nearly ten. Not for the first time, we were looking for ghosts in an airplane museum. I may be the first person ever to use those words in that order.
I walked around the museum for a while, checked my mail, and sat down at my desk. Since joining the board at Piper, I'd often had LHPS down to do practice investigations in the museum. It had once been part of the factory where they'd made Piper airplanes. It was genuinely haunted. With a factory that started in 1937, you couldn't necessarily rule out a few deaths on duty.
The Lock Haven Paranormal Seekers. When your life ends, our workday begins.

"I'm sitting in a dark airplane waiting for dead people," said Charlie. "So how did you spend Saturday night?"
I checked my recorder.
"We have a bad storm outside," said Kara. She was sitting on the floor of the hangar. We could hear the rain pounding on the hangar doors. Millie was sitting on a bench nearby, and Charlie and our trainee Kellie were sitting in the Piper Cheyenne, a plane fuselage on display in the museum. We were all wearing the black LHPS uniform with the ghost on the back.
"Yeah, it's like the new Ghostbusters movie," I said. "I actually liked that, but I felt a little bad for Chris Hemsworth. I mean, being the only male on an all-female ghost hunting team? That's gotta suck."
The women laughed. Charlie said,"Last time around, we got some evidence down here at the Cheyenne, and up in the Tomahawk. I want to see what else we can get."
"Want to split up?" I asked.
"Why not," said Charlie. She climbed out of the Cheyenne. "Let's you and me go over this way."
We walked across the hangar, past the Vagabond, the Cub, the new Comanche. All the time I've been at the Piper Museum, and I still get something of a thrill out of that.
"Good column," said Charlie.
"Thanks," I said. "I'm just like Indiana Jones, exploring things and fighting Nazis."
"You get any crap over it?"
"Not yet, but I kinda hope so. I figure if I'm pissing off the white supremacists, I'm probably doing something right."
"What's behind this garage door?" Charlie asked. "I've never seen it open before."
"That's our board president's workshop," I said. "He works on cars and planes back here. Come on."
We walked in through the big door and into the workshop area. Charlie had her flashlight out. I was used to moving around this place in the dark.
"This staircase here goes all the way upstairs," I said. "Nobody ever uses it, but it's possible to sneak up there and spy on people on the third floor. Except I never do it, because it's really boring."
"How about this one?"
"This goes nowhere," I said. I pulled open the other door and showed her. "This staircase was covered over from above when they made it into a museum. It's an empty staircase that dead ends. I use it to make stuff disappear."
"Cool."
We walked through the back room, past John's office, and through a door. Stepped out into the main hallway. With some surprise, Charlie said,"Oh! It comes out here."
I grinned. "Everything in here leads someplace."
"Except that covered stairway."
"Except that."
We walked back around the corner, and into the hangar, where the others were still waiting by the Cheyenne. Millie said,"The storm is getting worse."
"We have a temperature drop over here," said Kara.
"EMFs rising," said Millie. "We have a spike."
"Look at this," said Charlie. "I have goose bumps. What's that noise?"
"I see something," said Millie. "Dark shape, silhouetted against the windows in front!"
I stared at her. "Seriously? Those are eight feet off the ground!"
"I swear, I saw something."
"A tree, blowing in the wind?"
"It didn't look like that. More solid. Shadow figure?"
"I'll take a look," I said. "Keep those recorders running!"
I headed for the side door, and went outside. It was storming, and I could hear lightning in the distance, but the rain wasn't too bad. I looked out front, where the windows were, and there was nothing. I stood on a picnic table in front of the building, and still couldn't see in the windows.
I walked back in the side door.
"Nothing's out there, and there's no way any person could be standing in front of the windows. They're way too high."
"I saw something in front of them."
"Let's get the cameras."
Kara said,"Temperature at sixty-five."
"EMFs high," said Charlie. "We're hearing noises."
"I'll get photos," I said. "Keep the recorders running. We have something. We have something."
"Storm, haunted museum...." Millie smiled. "It's a perfect situation."
"Nobody else gets to investigate a haunted airplane museum," I said. "I love being a ghost hunter."

"....And I have to say, I'm just barely scratching the surface with what I told  you today," I said. "Lock Haven is a great place, full of fascinating adventure, and I want to welcome you all here."
I stood and faced the incoming class at Lock Haven University, giving my annual welcome talk about the local history. About fifty new students looked back.
"There are all sorts of great legends and stories," I said. "And I encourage you all to get out and explore, learn about them, and discover the city. Thanks for having me."
The students applauded. I was again wearing my LHPS uniform, which I sometimes do when I give a speech. I left the building afterward and went to my bike, riding down toward Spring Street. There was an abandoned building I wanted to take a look at.
On telephone poles along the way, I saw three more flyers. I stopped to look for a moment. Not only had the Record column run this morning, but a piece I'd written for the Express had been published, as well.
I tore the flyers down, and went to work.

"You got a call saying good things about one of your columns today, Lou," said Adam at the desk. "I wasn't sure which one, but...."
"The anti-Nazi piece in the Express, I'm sure," I said. "It ran this morning. I'm hearing a lot about it."
"Oh, yeah? The one about the hate flyers?"
"That's the one. Online today, it's been getting a lot of attention. Last I looked, about twenty people had shared it, including the mayor and a city councilman. No. My columns don't go viral, but sometimes they get sort of bacterial."
"Well, good."
"The city is on alert now, and most people are behind me on this. They've been ripping the flyers down as fast as they can go up."
"By the way, Joe had a question," said Adam. "He wanted to know if you could find the locations of some of the old brick factories. Any way you can do that?"
I smiled.
"I'm on it," I said, and got to work.

Wendigo, Wendigoing, Wendigone

I use The Field Guide To North American Monsters more than I use most of my college textbooks. I was at the library making copies out of it when my daughter rolled in on her wheelchair. I was photocopying monsters from Illinois and Wisconsin. As one does.
"When are you leaving, Dad?" asked Tif.
"Wednesday," I said. "Can you check the mail while we're gone?"
"I already said I'd be up to feed the dogs, watch your house," agreed Tif. "I'm going to put Paul's railroad tracks together, make him a big city while he's gone."
"That'll last five minutes after we get back," I said. "We'll be driving to Michelle's cousins in Chicago, and then heading up to Wisconsin to meet Paul's little brother."
The library director, passing the desk, shook her head. "Chicago," she said. "I was stuck there on a layover once. I hate it."
"My wife has relatives there," I said. "It's not as bad as when I go to Georgia to visit her parents, but I do have some backup plans. There's a haunted post office there. It's only a six-hour walk from where her cousins live, so if I can just slip away for....half a day, without her noticing...."
"I have to ask," said Tif. "Have you ever considered just having a normal, regular family vacation?"
"I can't investigate officially," I said. "In Chicago, that can only be done by Paranormal Investigators Union 7363."
The boss shook her head. "Have fun, Tif."
"Hey, this is not my problem," said Tif. "I'll be home in his haunted house with the dogs, eating his food and watching his Netflix."

My family isn't typical. I'm a paranormal investigator in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania. I have a wife, two adopted daughters, and an adopted little boy who just turned three. For Father's Day, we'd gone out looking for some bootleg whiskey. The word traditional doesn't get used around me very much.
My son has two little brothers, born to the same birth mother and also adopted. One is right here in Pennsylvania, and we'd gone to meet him in Bellefonte in early July. Little Isaac is six months old, and Paul had lit up immediately upon meeting him, hugging and kissing his little brother.
The one we hadn't met yet was Sully. He'd been adopted by a nice family in Wisconsin. This summer, we were meeting little Sully and his family. And, just in case, I was brushing up on the paranormal in Wisconsin and Illinois. You know how it is, when you travel---You stop the mail, arrange for pet care, check for any pertinent paranormal sightings at your destination.
Or is that just me?

"I'm just saying," I said,"I don't understand how you never mentioned this."
Michelle sighed. "It never occurred to me you'd be interested, that's all."
"Seriously? Did you know who you married?" We were in the car, driving along Interstate 80. "In fifteen years of marriage, it never dawned on you that your historian husband might like to know that your cousins live near Jack Ruby's grave. And not in an hour's drive near, but within a five minute walk near!"
"So is my historian husband going to check it out?"
"Quietly. It's Chicago; that can only be done by Historians Union 1833."
"Well, we'll be there in an hour."
"Yeah, we made better time than we thought." I looked at the dark forest around the highway. "Prime Wendigo country up here."
"What the hell's a Wendigo?"
"You've seen them on some of those TV shows that you like. They're an old Indian legend; the Wendigoes are a weird sort of spirit monster that haunts the north. They're created when someone practiced cannibalism in the old days. Down south they have Chupacabra infestations, and up here it's Wendigoes."
We pulled up on the street in the evening, and Michelle's cousin Christine was waiting for us. We carried the luggage into the house, and she called her kids down to meet us.
There were three: Jacob, Emma, and Amy. We introduced them to Paul, and they started playing with him.
"Dese my cousins?" he asked Michelle.
"Yes, they're your cousins," she said.
"We have plenty of toys around here," said Jacob. "We probably have some of our old ones down in the haunted basement."
I looked over at him. "You have a haunted basement?"
"Well, it feels haunted," he said.
"It's a finished basement downstairs," said Emma. "It feels really creepy. We never go down there."
"How old is this place?" I asked.
"My mom bought it in 1987," said Christine. "She says it was built in 1935."
"So it's possible, then," I said. "Did you know I'm a paranormal investigator? We could check for ghosts down there. I usually have some basic equipment on me."
Amy grinned. "Yeah. That'd be fun."
"If it's haunted, I don't want to know," said Christine.
There's always someone.

"Lou!" My wife's cousin Laura gave me a hug as I walked into her house. "It's good to see you again. What's it been, ten years?"
"Eleven," I said. "Last time I was here was 2006."
"And this must be Paul." Laura smiled at my son. "Can I give you a hug?"
"Sure," said Paul.
There was a teenaged girl standing in the kitchen doorway. Laura said,"This is my daughter, Erin."
"Hi," said Erin.
"Hi," I said.
"I told Erin about you being a paranormal investigator," said Laura. "She's really interested in that sort of thing. I was hoping you could talk to her about it."
"Oh, sure," I said. "You're into ghost-hunting?"
Erin grinned. "Yeah. I'm really interested. I'd like to learn."
"Let's sit down; I'll teach you some stuff. The bottom line is always Prove it. What I do is scientific investigation---I'm looking for measurable, provable results. Photo, video. No matter what, we're trying to prove it."
She nodded. I continued,"I have some equipment in my pack, back at your aunt's place. While I'm here, we were talking about doing some testing in their basement. You want in?"
"Yes," she said. "I'd love that."
"Someone did die down there," said Laura. "Back when we were renting it out, a guy named Marty died of a drug overdose."
I nodded and made a mental note of that. I wasn't sure I'd share that information with the younger kids. "I look into all kinds of stuff. Ghosts, UFOs, Cryptozoology. You know the Wendigo?"
"Yeah! I know about the Wendigo."
"Interesting thing about the Wendigo is what the legend represents. You can tell a lot about a culture from what it fears. The Jersey Devil legend begins with a childbirth that went bad, which is about right for a location that was miles from any real medical care. The Wendigo comes from cannibalism, which suggests how scared they must have been when the winter came and they couldn't grow more crops."
"Do you mind if I put you on the phone with my friend Haley?" Erin asked. "She's got some questions about this stuff."
"Sure, go ahead."
"Okay. Haley? You're on speaker now. This is the guy I told you about, the ghost hunter."
"Hi," said Haley's voice from the phone. "I wanted to ask you about something. I had an experience at the John Wayne Gacy House, near here....My dad was turning around in the driveway, and I saw something weird on his backup camera. A sort of funny flashing light. Could that be a ghost?"
A storm was beginning outside. I said,"With a place like the Gacy House, it's entirely possible What I would do is go back to check some more---Not that I'm encouraging you to trespass, you understand. I'd go and try some photos and audio recordings, and see if anything comes up that will corroborate the sighting."
"Cool!"
I glanced out the window at the storm. Lightning was flashing. Erin said,"It's getting bad out there."
"Wendigo weather," I said.

The next morning, I walked out of the house at nine. Time to find the grave of a killer.
I'd brought along a small black pouch. It was my adventure travel kit---I had a spare jacket in there, concealable, waterproof. Loaded with all the stuff I needed for adventures: Tool, compass, signal mirror. I was wearing the jacket as I walked west through Norridge.
Norridge, Illinois is a suburb of Chicago that's not really a suburb. It exists as its own community, with independent government and services, but it is entirely surrounded by Chicago. So no matter which way you go, you can be in Chicago in a few minutes, but ti seems that all the Chicago traffic completely bypasses Norridge. And people tell me Renovo is weird.
I found the cemetery easily. It was pretty much in a straight line from the house. There was an entrance along the street, and I walked inside and turned right. I had something of a vague direction to the grave I wanted.
I followed along the path, parallel to Ozanam Avenue. I could tell I was getting close when I saw a whole field full of Rubensteins, and I looked for an elaborate brick house. About four rows in, I found the grave, twenty minutes after leaving the house.
It was a small stone, with the name and dates on it. It would have been easy to miss if I hadn't been specifically looking. I knelt by it a moment---The man who had killed JFK's assassin.
"Wow," I said softly in the empty cemetery.
Fifty years ago, this guys had made national history. And I was here.
I placed a small stone on his grave.

Everyone was in the pool. It was a cool, cloudy day, but Michelle's aunt has a pool, so everyone had gone and jumped in. The whole family would rather swim than go and see the grave of a killer, the weirdos. I'm not much of a swimmer, which has caused me some problems when I'm investigating water creatures. So I was left roaming around the kitchen.
I was a little lonely. I can only be out of Lock Haven for just so long before I begin to get homesick. I'm like Aquaman---I can't be out of my territory for very long.
I got out my cell phone and dialed Jazmyn.
"Hello?"
"Hi, kid. It's Lou. Did I call at a bad time?"
"Lou! No, I'm just hanging out on the couch. Nothing too dramatic here---No snakes downtown or Bigfoot sightings. How's your vacation?"
"It's good. I miss Lock Haven, though."
"What've you been up to?"
"Saw a historic grave today. Jack Ruby, the guy who killed JFK's killer. And I'm gonna do a little ghost-hunting---I have some teens out here who might be interested in that."
"That's cool. You do tend to attract them."
"Well, I'll let you get back to what you were doing. Thanks, hon. Miss you. I'll see you when I get back."
"I'll stop by," she said.

"We here now?" Paul asked from his car seat.
"We're here now," I said as we pulled into the driveway in Wisconsin.
"Yay! We here!"
We got out of the car as the gathered family waited. I didn't have a Wendigo shirt (yet), so I was wearing my black shirt that said It's a Chupacabra thing; you wouldn't understand. As we let Paul out of the car, a tiny little black boy walked up to see him.
"Who's this, Paul?" I asked.
Paul smiled.
"Dat my bruvver!" he said.
He reached out and hugged Sully. Both of them beamed. And everyone gathered around smiled.
And for just a little while, I forgot all about dead people.

I didn't know if the basement was haunted, but it was definitely creepy. It consisted mostly of a tight hallway, with a kitchen at one end and a small living room at the other. About half of the lights were out. The hallway floor was about half flooded due to the storm.
The kids led me down: Erin, Jacob, Emma, and Amy. I was letting them use some of my equipment; I'd handed out laser thermometers and EMF detectors to them before we'd come down. I had my I'd rather be ghost hunting shirt on.
"The first thing to do is a sweep of the property," I said. "Get photos everywhere; check temperature and electromagnetism. Cover as much space as you can. Get a sense of the place."
"About seventy," said Amy, holding the thermometer.
"This is really creepy," said Emma.
"This is awesome," said Erin.
"What we're looking for are things we can prove. Something we can test, record, and show to others." I was snapping photos. "We're as scientific as possible. That's what I teach my kids back home."
"I got a signal," said Emma. "It beeped."
She was holding the EMF detector. I looked it over. "Do a quick sweep, and check to see if there's any reason for it. An outlet or something. And then we'll do an EVP session."
We sat down in the living room together, and I got out my digital recorder. I said,"We'll start with the date and location, and then go around the room and say our names. Then we'll ask questions and listen for a response. Leave some space between questions, so we're not tripping over each other. And if there's an outside noise, like a car or a dog, we tag it. We say what it is, to make sure we can identify it later. Everyone with me?"
"Yeah," said Erin. "This is cool."
I started the recorder.
"We're recording; it is 11:39 August fourth, we are in Norridge, Illinois, doing an investigation. Lou."
"Emma."
"Jacob."
"Amy."
"Erin."
"Allright. Is anyone here? Can you tell us your name? Did you live here? You guys can jump in and ask questions, too, if you'd like." You usually feel kind of stupid doing an EVP session at first, though I'd long since outgrown that.
"When did you die?" Erin. I'd known she'd be the first.
"How did you die?" Emma.
"How old are you?" Me.
"Did you have any kids?" Amy.
Erin turned to me. "And you do this stuff all the time?"
"Back in Lock Haven, pretty much. I'm with a team, and I teach a class on it. I write about it a lot for the local papers. There's an old prison we've investigated, and the airplane museum I run. I get to investigate a lot of stuff like that." I looked at the recorder. "It's been about six minutes. Normally, we'd do about twenty, but for our purposes, this is good enough. I'm going to end it here."
I turned off the recorder and stood up. "I now declare you guys the official Chicago chapter of Teen Paranormal. I'll let you guys know what I find."
"We have to come visit you in Pennsylvania sometime," said Erin.
I grinned. "I'd like that."

Sunday morning.
Time to go.
I packed the car, and we said goodbye. I looked over the map, and we got on the road. Drove out of Norridge, out of Chicago, and south toward the border. It was time to go home, time for me to get back to the library and what passes for normal.
We got into Indiana,  and on Interstate 80.
Somewhere around Lake Michigan, I got curious and pulled out my recorder. I plugged the headphones in and played back the audio of our investigation.
Around three minutes in, in response to a question from one of the kids, there was a sound. A sort of faint groaning noise. I backed it up and replayed it a couple of times to make sure.
I smiled.
The kids are going to love this.
Pennsylvania was ahead.