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.