Eight PM. We'd locked up the library doors, turned out the lights, and set the alarm. I walked with my co-workers Zach, Sue, and Tracey, down the stairs, out the door, and to my bike on the sidewalk.
Then I biked east, over to Willard's Alley, at the remains of a burned building.
Why? Well, that gets complicated.
The library job I'd just left is only a part of what I do. I also research history, write articles about it, investigate the paranormal, and explore abandoned places. It's not anything I envisioned myself doing in kindergarten, I'll tell you that.
This particular abandoned place had, a hundred years ago, been the home of the Clinton County Times, Lock Haven's wildest professional newspaper. It had burned in December of 2016, and still stood as a burned-out shell of a building. City council had been making noises about tearing it down, which was probably necessary, but I wanted to
I parked my bike at the mouth of the alley. The city had barricades up, which were clearly meant for other people. I slipped around them and entered the dark alley. (Seriously. Don't do this. I'm a professional.)
I was wearing my black jacket with half a million pockets. Out of one pocket in the left sleeve, I took a flashlight, and shined it as I walked down the alley. Burned boards lay across it, broken glass everywhere. The building had those old heavy glass 1950s windows, many of which had simply exploded outward during the fire.
I looked around. There didn't seem to be anything to find, to my disappointment. I heard voices coming up Bellefonte Avenue---College kids, out drinking. I killed the light and ducked behind a power pole, hiding in the dark until they'd passed.
I'd been hoping for some artifacts, something salvageable that I could put on display. But there was nothing; anything that had fallen into that alley was junk. Useless.
I walked back to my bike, and fifteen minutes later I was with my friend Ashlin, playing old ghost EVPs to entertain the cashiers at the grocery store.
They can't all be winners.
"It's National Aviation Month, Lou," said Mel at the desk. "You going to get some Piper stuff out on display?"
"I actually just recently had some Piper stuff," I said. "It's also Native American Heritage Month, so I got some artifacts out."
"That's right," said Mel. "I saw that. They look great."
"I did like the Piper items, too, though," said Adam.
"It's also National Impotence Month," I said,"But I didn't want to do a display about that."
Mel looked at me. "How did you find out it was National Impotence Month?"
"It wasn't hard."
Adam laughed. I went to my desk to work on an article about Great Island Cemetery. The cemetery, once up along Bellefonte Avenue, had been moved in 1918, and I was trying to write something for the anniversary. My working title was Year Of The Moving Dead, but I was flexible on that.
My desk is in the oldest section of the library, built back in 1887. It's by the Pennsylvania Room so I can help people with historic research, and exactly where our founder Annie Halenbake Ross's funeral was held so I can be haunted. Outside my window, the weather had turned colder, and I could see all the trees on West Main Street turning colors, which I enjoyed. The only drawback is that I'm missing actual walls; the general public can help themselves to my pens.
I checked my computer. I'd received a message from a friend, Tasha, who had seen mysterious lights in the sky on the east end of the city. She'd sent several photos, which showed a set of four lights, arranged in a square, shining down through the clouds in the neighborhood above the Robb Elementary School. Tasha was sort of a UFO enthusiast, which was actually how we'd met.
I studied the photos for a few minutes. It didn't exactly scream aliens to me, but things had been a little slow lately. This was something to look into.
"I'll say this just once, and then I'll stop bitching about it for the winter," said Tif, helping herself to some meatloaf. "I hate Daylight Savings Time."
"You're not gonna stop bitching," I said.
It was family dinner at the haunted house, which we did about twice a week. Tif and Biz, the daughters, came for dinner with my wife and me. Little Paul was always glad to see his sisters.
"It gets dark so early," said Tif.
"Yeah," Biz agreed,"It's dark at like four-thirty. It's depressing."
"Not for me," I said. "I'm a ghost hunter. I like the dark. This is my jam."
"At least it doesn't last for long," said Biz.
"It sucks," said Tif.
"Seriously, I'm forty-eight and I just used the phrase 'My jam' correctly," I said. "Is nobody going to address this?"
"No," said Biz. "Can I have that last potato?"
"Take it."
"I broke the back off my wheelchair," said Tif. "Is there any chance you can fix it?"
"I can take a look. Got a UFO sighting down on Church Street."
"Actual UFO? Or someone letting their imagination run away with them?"
I love our dinnertime conversations. "Hard to say, so far. I'm checking into it. It's most likely to be something mad-made, as the lights were arranged in a geometric, symmetrical shape. It's not far from Piper, so a good bet is some sort of aircraft or drone."
"If only you knew someone to check with down at Piper," Biz said.
"Chances are it's not actually aliens," I said. "Hey, Paul, what do aliens say?"
"Take me your leader," said Paul.
"So remember, we interview witnesses, we visit the site, we eliminate other possibilities," I said to the kids. "UFO does not necessarily mean little green men. Check all the possibilities before you write up your report."
Teen Paranormal is a group I run. We meet once a month at the library, and I teach the kids how to investigate the unknown. I glanced around the room at the kids: Alex, Olivia, Meridian, Seth, and Emma. I was wearing my alien shirt that said It's cool. We come in peace.
"I just happen to be working on an actual UFO investigation right now," I said. "A witness got this photo of four lights, flying in the clouds above Robb Elementary. We have here a CE-2. I want to take a look, and let you guys discuss it."
I handed out color printouts of the UFO seen down on Church Street. The kids all passed them around, and studied them.
"Sun shining through the clouds," said Seth.
"I don't think so," Emma commented. "It's too geometric, it's all a square."
"This was taken in the early evening," I said. "The sun sets in the west. At that time, the sun would be over Highland Cemetery on the other end of town."
Alex was studying the photo intently. "A helicopter? Or four, flying in formation?"
The idea of a formation had genuinely not occurred to me. "Could be, I suppose. The airport is down there, and there's a military armory just across the river."
"Or drones," suggested Emma.
"I was considering drones," I said.
"Too big," suggested Alex.
"Actually, that's an important lesson," I said. "Size can be quirky when discussing UFOs. There's nothing to compare it against, up in the air. So it can be difficult to tell how big an object is." The kids were all studying the printouts. "So, let's try this---What can we rule out?"
"Well, nothing," said Seth. "Anything is possible."
"I don't know," I said. "I think we can rule out most natural things---This is clearly not four meteors flying in formation. Not birds or animals. This was clearly something designed by people, or at least something that understands basic shapes."
"I'm thinking drone," said Emma.
"I'll have to check," I said. "There are a couple of drone clubs that meet down that way; it's near Piper. Fortunately, it's real easy for me to check Piper. You guys can keep these photos. Next month, Bigfoot. Class dismissed."
"They're working on the heat," Stacy said to me. "Your office is okay, and the hangar is never heated, but the rest of the museum has been cold. We have a guy in fixing it."
"Yeah, we gotta get that done," I said. I'm the curator down at the Piper Aviation Museum, on the east end of Lock Haven. It's been two years now, and I still haven't quite overcome the thrill of it. Being able to work in an old airplane factory with secret staircases? Having access to actual planes? It's going to be a long time before I take that for granted.
The repair guy stuck his head in Stacy's office. "I have to run out and get a new part," he said. "Hey, I know you. You're that guy who writes for the newspapers."
"That's me."
"I got something I want to ask you," he said. "Later, when nobody's around."
"I'll be here," I said, and he walked off down the corridor. Stacy and I looked at each other.
"Ghosts," we said simultaneously.
I grinned. "I get that a lot. I'm gonna go poke around down in the hangar for a while."
"Don't forget, board meeting in half an hour."
I walked back to my office, and then took the secret staircase downstairs. It led down to a little-used back room, with all sorts of old airplane parts piled everywhere. I found an old seat, red upholstery, looked like it had come from a Tri-Pacer or something.
Could I....?
I looked it over.
Yeah.
Yeah, I think maybe I could.
It was a double seat, but it had one back attached. The size looked about right. It was the kind of stunt I generally thought of, often motivated by a desire to be known as The Guy Who Did The Thing, and it's astounding how often that works out for me. But I really thought I was on to something here.
This might actually work.
I examined it for a while, then went to the workroom and found a pair of pliers. I twisted the screw holding the seat in place, and it came out. The whole seat came free, and I carried it upstairs to my office.
I called Tif from my cell phone---The museum extension in my office hasn't worked since 1997.
"Hello, Daddy." Paul. He was learning to answer the phone lately, and quite enjoying it.
"Hello, Paul. How is your day?"
"Goot. You want to talk Sissy?"
"Yes, thank you."
A moment later: "Hi, Dad."
"Hey, hon. I think I can fix your wheelchair. I'm gonna slap an airplane seat on that."
"What? Seriously?"
"Oh yeah. You think I don't have access to airplane parts? I got a seat here that looks perfect. I think it's out of a Tri-Pacer, or maybe a Comanche or something. I'm pretty sure I can fix that on for you."
"Well....If you think it'll work."
"I think I can do it. You'll have the only wheelchair in the world that's part airplane. I'm like Red Bull----I give you wings."
"That's about it," said President John, sitting at the long table in the conference room. "Anyone have anything else?"
He looked around the table. Out of the seven board members attending, nobody had anything outstanding. We all stood up and started filtering out.
"John," I said,"Was there anyone flying drones down here, about a week ago?"
"Not right at the airport," he said. "There's a blocker that won't let you, so it doesn't interfere with the planes. They have to shut it off for the drone club. Might have been a block or so away."
"I got a report of a UFO over near Robb Elementary."
We stepped into the elevator. He said,"Yeah, there could have definitely been someone flying a drone over there. The blocker wouldn't extend that far." He laughed. "Better than what I did out in Indiana in my youth. I had half the National Guard out by tying a flashlight to a kite. I'd rigged it to have a red light on one end, and a white light on the other, and I flew it over town. They called out the National Guard."
"Oh, that's great," I said. I laughed. "Better than all the damn drones."
"Okay." I began drilling hles in the plastic base of Tif's wheelchair seat. "If I've planned this out right, I should be able to get this on there. Gonna take me a little while."
"Do you need me to make dinner?" Tif asked. I was kneeling by her chair in the living room.
"No. But preheat the over to 425."
I started attaching an L-brace on with a screwdriver. Paul said,"I want to help."
"Okay, little guy. Go get me some bolts. They're on the table."
Paul ran into the kitchen and came back with bolts. I said,"Good. Do you see a pliers anywhere around?"
"Uh, no," he said. and then found one on the floor and held it out to me.
"Good. I'm gonna need that." I pushed the bolts through the drill holes and then picked up the seat. Holding it in place, with some swearing, I started bolting it to the seat base, one bolt at a time.
The thing came out looking better than I'd planned. In about half an hour, I had the Tri-Pacer seat back attached to the base.
"That's not bad," Tif said, looking it over. "Better than I expected."
I looked it over, rather impressed with myself. "You have the world's first wheelchair/Tri-Pacer hybrid," I said. "This could be a new hobby for me."
"You can get other parts?"
"Availability of parts is not the issue. I could build a Comanche in the backyard by smuggling out one piece at a time. Wings on my bike! Longerons on the Prius! An altimeter on Duke!"
"What's for dinner?"
"Pork and vegetables. Time for me to get to it."
I was at the stove when Paul called out,"Mommy's home!"
My wife and Biz came in. I said."Just in time. I been marinating this pork since last night."
Biz looked over the wheelchair. "That looks pretty good," she said. "It looks like it belongs on there."
I smiled.
"Yeah," I agreed. "Yeah, it kinda does."
No comments:
Post a Comment