Visions Of Sugar Valley: The 2018 Christmas Special

Once a month, I get together with the other ghost hunters. It's my only social life. LHPS had gathered at Millie's house for our annual Christmas meeting, and I was exchanging gifts with Millie, Ashlin, Kara, Kris, Charlie, and Theresa.
"Thank you, Ashlin." Ashlin's gift to me was a six-pack of various beers, which the local grocery store had recently begun to sell. "These look great." Instead of my uniform, I was wearing my new sweatshirt with Santa and aliens on it. It said I want to believe.
"Can anyone re-cork the wine?" Kara asked. I stood up and picked up the cork.
I tired to force it back into the mouth of the bottle, and struggled a bit. Charlie asked,"Having some trouble there, Lou?"
"Can't seem to get it in."
Everyone laughed, and Kara said,"Is that a problem you have often?"
"Yeah, I heard it when I said it. You guys know this is sexual harassment, right?"
"Oh, I feel so sorry for you," said Theresa.
I laughed. "Sure. Shame the victim."
"And look at this!" Charlie picked up the present I'd brought. "You wrapped this with newspaper!"
"It's my column!" I said. "See? You even get a photo of me!"
"So what else have you been working on?" asked Kara.
I shrugged. "Nothing too special. Research on a home moved from Sugar Valley. Also in Sugar Valley, a Bigfoot sighting and a UFO sighting, both of which look likely to be hoaxes. I don't know, been a little slow lately. I'm waiting for something interesting."
Kara smiled. "Something will turn up."

"Merry Christmas!"
The publisher of the local newspaper gestured at the food table, and everyone gathered around. As a freelancer, I'd been pleasantly surprised to have been invited to the annual Christmas party.
I got a plate and sat down at one of the tables. I was joined by a few others---A photographer, a circulation guy, another freelancer. I felt like I was at the Freelancer's Table.
"So, Lou, any haunted Christmas stories?" someone asked.
I get this a lot. It's what happens when you've made your career as the local history paranormal writer guy. Not that anyone else would know that.
"Matter of fact, Henry Shoemaker wrote a couple," I said. "My personal favorite is from down in Sugar Valley; he called the town Black Snake Mills in the story, but it was really a thinly disguised Eastville. There were said to be some magical mannequins that would come to life on Christmas Eve, walk to the nearest church, and pray for their owner."
The publisher grinned. "You gonna write about that?"
"Already sent it in. I've always wanted to find out who the owner was, though---The guy who owned the empty store in Eastville and had the walking mannequins. That would be kind of cool."
"Might be worth another column sometime," he agreed.
I walked around and chatted, had some food, discussed upcoming articles with Editorial. And then, as the party wound down, I did what you'd expect from a paranormal investigator.
I ghosted.

It was the next day when the meat came in the mail.
I was at the desk, trying to figure out a way to get out of a conversation---A woman was explaining to me, in great detail, how the government was murdering people to conceal evidence of phoenix sightings in Renovo. The delivery guy carried three boxes into the library. One was a shipment of books, one was the cardboard shipping boxes for the Record we were expecting, and one was a box from a frozen steak company, addressed to me.
"What the hell....I didn't order anything," I said.
The delivery guy looked it over. "Lucky you," he said, and left.
I set it on the desk. Sue and Tracey gathered, and I said,"Someone sent me a box of steaks. Who the hell...."
"Is there a card?" Sue asked.
I found the card, tucked in under the label at the top of the box. "It's from my research clients. They hired me a while ago to find the history of a home they'd had moved from Sugar Valley out to Indiana. I traced back the deeds, and figured out it was built in 1840." I looked it over. "What the hell am I going to do with this? I've never been paid in meat before."
"It's on dry ice," commented Sue. "It should last for a while."
"I'll ask my wife to run me down later," I said. "Otherwise I have a crate of steak sitting here thawing by my desk all Christmas vacation."

I walked in the back door, across the kitchen, and began pulling things out of the freezer. Paul ran into the room. "Daddy!"
"Hi, little man. How you doing? Where's Sissy?"
"I'm here," said my daughter, Tif, walking into the room with her crutch. "What're you doing?"
"Gotta clear some space out of this freezer," I said. "You remember last week when I had to run down to the new courthouse building and do a title search on a property? I thought they were just gonna send a check or something. They sent me a box of steaks."
"Wow. It's gotta be nice doing research for rich people."
"I've never actually gotten steaks in the mail before. It's actually out of proportion to anything I really did; it was just a basic title search. I been spending a lot of time researching Sugar Valley lately."
"How come?"
"I might look into the walking mannequins story. You remember that one? An old Henry Shoemaker piece. An old shopkeeper closed up his store in protest to the lumbering industry, but he left his mannequins on display in the window. They loved the shopkeeper so much that every Christmas Eve, they came to life and walked from the store to the church, and prayed for the owner. Every Christmas, the people of Sugar Valley would see the mannequin footprints in the snow. There was a man who was driving through, and his car broke down, and he spotted the mannequins."
"Wow."
"Yeah, Shoemaker's stuff didn't invariably make a ton of sense. You want some frozen vegetables?"
"Sure."
I put them in a bag for her. "So I thought I'd look into it a little; see who the shopkeeper was from the story."
"How are you going to figure that out?"
"Years ago, Chris and I ran down to Sugar Valley and scouted the place out. Typically for Shoemaker, the story is geographically accurate---Store, church, everything. The story takes place about 1910, so if I can trace back the deeds maybe, I can figure out who owned the store around that time."
"How do you know it takes places in 1910?"
"Shoemaker lists the car as a 1905 model. So it had to happen after that, and long enough after for the car to break down. I'm estimating, but given what I know, 1910 might be about right."
"And then what? Why bother with any of this?"
"It's good to keep in practice. Beside, I may get an article out of it for the Pennsylvania Wilds." I looked at the now-empty freezer. "That oughta hold a box full of steaks. We can cook up some for Christmas."

"Glad you're here, Lou," said Adam when I walked into the library. "There's a package for you, and the microfilm machine is having problems."
"I'll take a look," I said. "Got some time before my program up on three, and I need to do some stuff with the microfilm anyway."
"What're you working on?" asked Tracey.
"Trying to track down a guy from one of the old legends," I said. "I just came from the new courthouse annex. I did the title search on the building there, and I found a James Frank who owned it at about the right time. Now I need to dig through the obits here, and see if the details check out."
Tracey shook her head. "I don't know why I even ask."
I got the package out of my mailbox and retreated to my desk. It turned out to be a Christmas gift from Resurrection Casey---A little multi-tool with a knife and even a small electronic scale on it. That plus the mailing must have been a significant cash outlay for Casey, who was generally broke, so I sent her an e-mail thanking her, with instructions on how to find UFOs, and a promise to send some bus money soon.
Then I got to work. I checked out the microfilm machine, and it wasn't any big deal---A lens had been inserted wrong and was blocking the light. I got it back into place, and then went to the index to look up James Frank.
I found obits listed for both him and his wife. I got both the reels, and took them both back to the machines.
Frank had died in 1952. His wife in 1921. I found their obits---The wife had died of cancer. I tapped my pen against my teeth for a minute and did a little mental math---Frank had been fifty-two at the time, old enough to have become the lonely old man of the story.
Frank's obit listed the church of his services as the Sugar Valley Church of the Brethren. Which struck me as an improbably long name, but not the point. I went back to my desk and checked the map.
It was the same church from the story, the one right beside his store.
1921, not 1910.
I walked up to the third floor, into the bowels of the Ross Library. Generally, "the bowels" of some building would be downward, more basement-wise, but at the library, it's up. Once you pass the meeting rooms, there are furnace rooms, rooms that control the air and the elevator, hidden spots that the public never gets to see.
Bill, our maintenance guy, was at his desk.
"Got a question for you," I said.
He looked up. "Your sink need repair again?"
"No, not this time. This time it's cars. Old ones. Back about a century ago, how long would a car have lasted before it began to break down?"
"Back then? Decades. They were made to last."
"So it's not implausible that a car made in 1905 would suddenly start breaking down in the early 1920s?"
"No, that's about right," said Bill. "Sounds right to me."
I nodded. "Thanks, Bill. Merry Christmas."
"You learn what you needed?"
"Yeah." I said. "I think I did."
When I got back to my desk, there was a gift on it. Kara.
I opened it up and smiled. Two T-shirts. One was Green Lantern, and the other one was Bigfoot.

"Almost done with Christmas dinner, everyone," I said, standing over the stove. "You guys like yours well-done, right?"
"Medium," commented Tif.
"I like mine the way you and Michelle do," said Biz.
"Barely dead. Coming right up." I flipped the steaks. Biz was playing with the indestructible pink pen I'd given her, and I was wearing the Bigfoot pin Tif had given me. Paul, dressed as Harry Potter, was sitting on the floor playing with a huge selection of new toys.
"How do you cook those?" asked Biz.
"Well, first I pulled an assessment record. Then I went to the Register and Recorder, and---"
"Never mind."
"So I figured out who the old man was who owned the mannequins."
"From the legend? Who?" Tif asked.
"His name was James Frank, and he owned a shop in Sugar Valley. I'd been thinking about it as way too early. He was widowed in 1921, and that's sometime around when the story took place. He's buried down there; he died over fifty years ago."
"So. You got what you wanted?"
I looked around the room at my family.
"Yeah, I really did," I said. "Who's ready for steaks?"

Thunderbird In The Hand

I sat at the table, with the rest of LHPS. I was between Millie and Kara, and around the table sat Theresa, Lacey, and Ashlin.

How did I get this lucky? Really, how did it happen?

My best friends are ghost hunters.

"We did the intake interview in the Gardens," said Kara. "I'm going to call the client to schedule an investigation."
"Personally, I think it may come down to repressed memories," I said. "A lot of the stuff she was describing, including the feeling of being touched while she sleeps, are symptoms of lost memories of abuse. I'm betting on that."
Theresa nodded. "What else do you have, Lou?"
"Thanks for the help with the haunted tours," I said. "With you guys, I made about two hundred bucks for the library."
"How you doing, now that they're over?" Kara asked.
"There's always a letdown," I said. "I spend months working on these things, and then it's done like that. So right now, I'm feeling blank....I'm just waiting. Waiting for the next big thing to come along."

I've always loved autumn. I love the leaves, the cool air, the feeling of possibility. Other people view autumn as the end, the dying before winter. It's never felt like that to me. Autumn has always felt like the beginning, a new time, the start of endless possibilities.
I rode my bike to the library, and grabbed a cup of coffee. Then I got to work, wearing my Loch Ness Monster shirt. I set up the Sloan Room for a program, worked on an article, looked through the history files. I got online for a while. There was a new ghost-hunting group in Lock Haven that was very bad at it, and they'd plagiarized some of my work to make up for their lack of research. I sent them an e-mail threatening lawyers while I waited for something good to happen.
The trouble with trying to make an adventure happen is that you can't. Adventures come to you, at times you're often not expecting it. You can't force it, no matter how hard you try.
"Hey, Lou, call for you on line one," said Adam. "Says someone referred him to you."
"Thanks, Adam." I picked up the line. "Hi, can I help you?"
"Hi, is this Lou?"
"It is."
"My name's Kevin, and I'm calling from New Jersey. Rich from Renovo referred me to you."
"Ah, I think I see where this is going already."
He laughed. "Do you? I'm calling to ask about Thunderbirds. Is that what you expected?"
"Pretty close, actually. I was betting on Giwoggles."
"You do know Thunderbirds?"
"I'm familiar," I said. "Huge birds, hidden in the woods. Possibly an undiscovered species. The Native Americans believed that they brought on storms."
"So, I hear there have been Thunderbird sightings out there?"
"All over the county," I said. "I investigated one personally in Swissdale a few years ago."
"Interesting," he said. "A lot of these stories seem to have been reported by a man named Hiram Cranmer. Are you familiar with him?"
"Oh, yes," I said. "He was an old guy up in Leidy who told a lot of these stories. He talked about ghosts, UFOs, and creatures. He was like a thousand. Ironically, he didn't die of old age."
"I read that he died in a house fire."
"That's correct."
"Have you heard of the lost Thunderbird photograph?"
"That's a new one," I said. "I admit, I haven't."
"There is said to be a photo, showing men standing in front of a Thunderbird," he explained. "All of them, arms stretched out, to demonstrate how big it was. People remember seeing it, but nobody can find it now."
"I'm intrigued."
"There was a researcher named Ivan Sanderson," Kevin said. "He interviewed Cranmer, and it's thought that he may have taken the photo to him. In which case, it may have burned up in Cranmer's house when he died."
"You know, I'm gonna look into this," I said. "That's plausible. Cranmer was a collector; I've dealt with some of his stuff before. He may have donated the photo to some other organization, and maybe I can find it."
"Thanks for listening," said Kevin. "I was hoping I wouldn't get someone on the phone who would treat me like I'm crazy."
"Nah, I get this all the time," I said. "Besides, this could be my next big adventure."

"When is Mommy coming home, Daddy?" Paul asked.
"Thursday night, little guy," I said. "Mommy is going to New Jersey for work, and she'll be there
for four days."
He sighed. "That will be forever."
"Well, she just left an hour ago."
"Can we get pizza?"
"We can get pizza. I know. You want to go out in the backyard and look for aliens?"
His face lit up. "Yeah! Let's look for aliens!"
"We'll need flashlights and binoculars."
Paul went and found the pack full of adventure equipment that my mentor had sent him for his birthday. He dug out his flashlight and his binoculars. I grabbed my crypto kit, and threw it over one shoulder.
"Grab your coat, little man. It's cold out there."
Shining our flashlights, we walked out into the back yard. We walked down to the edge of the lawn, by the garage.
"I see a alien, Daddy!"
"Where?"
"Over there! In Bonnie's yard!"
"What's it look like?"
"It's all colors! And it's going like this!" Paul waved his arms around liquidly and made a noise like Blugga-blugga-blugga.
"Yeah, that does sound like an alien."
"Hey! I see lights!" He pointed northeast, at the blinking red cell towers on the mountain. "Those are aliens!"
I smiled.
"You got it, little guy. You're finding aliens."

I looked over the table of baseball-related items and snapped a photo. I was in the back room of the Express with the publisher, the editor, and the subject of my article, one of the men who'd won the Little League World Series for Lock Haven in 1948. Paul was there, too. We'd gone down to meet with the newspaper and the former player, see some of his souvenirs, and get some pictures.
"Well, thanks a lot, sir," I said. "I'll call if there are any other questions. I appreciate it."
"Daddy?" said Paul softly in my ear. "I thought we were going to see the attic."
"We will, little man," I said. "You're being very good." I turned to the editor. "Lana, I have two favors. One is that the library's event for tomorrow has been rescheduled for the twenty-ninth. Can you run a notice?"
"Sure."
"The other is, do you still have an archive of photos in the attic? I'm looking for one that may or may not be here."
"Sure, go ahead. You've been up there before, right?"
"I have. This way?"
"Yep."
Holding Paul's hand, I walked up the stairs and pushed open the door. Paul looked around. "Is this the attic, Daddy?"
"Yeah, it's the attic," I said. "I need to look for pictures."
There were several green file cabinets on the east wall. They'd done some organizing since I'd last checked. I found the two folders most likely to have a lost Thunderbird photo, Hunting and Groups: Unidentified.
"I'm getting hungry, Daddy," said Paul.
"Just gonna be a minute, little guy. We'll get you some food as soon as we get home."
As fast as I could manage, I flipped through each photo in the folders. I found some really interesting ones, but nothing that matched the description of the Thunderbird photo. I filed the folders back into the drawers.
"We done now?" Paul asked.
"Yeah. We're done now."
"Did you find what you were looking for?" Lana asked as we walked down the stairs into Editorial.
"No, you guys don't seem to have the photo," I said. "But at least that means I can rule one thing out."

"It's pretty dead in here," I said, looking out the library window at the snow.
Barb nodded, walking past. "We're on a skeleton crew. About half the staff couldn't make it in today."
We'd been hit with the first  big storm of the season, and snow was pouring onto central Pennsylvania. The library was open, because it takes a statewide crisis to close us, but nobody was around. There had been barely any snow plows out, because in spite of having been based in snowy Pennsylvania for the entirety of its existence, PennDOT never seems to understand that winter is going to arrive. I stared out the window looking for Yetis for a while, but they're rare in Lock Haven, except as exchange students. So I took the opportunity to go hunting for the lost Thunderbird photo.
First I checked the index, under both Cranmer and Thunderbird. There were mentions of Cranmer, but nothing that indicated he'd ever donated a photo. Which meant I could rule out the numbered albums---If we had it, it was in one of the uncatalogued files.
A few years ago, I'd had to look into Cranmer and figure out if he had the Holy Grail. It's a long story. I'd pulled his will from the courthouse, and I'd put it on file in the library. I thought I remembered it being in a file folder near my desk, and after a few minutes of searching, I found it in the blue file cabinets.
It contained nothing surprising. Most of his stuff had been given to the local historical society, which hadn't had a building yet. Which meant that most of it had been placed at the library.
I walked upstairs to the attic, startling hell out of Zach, who was already up there gathering holiday decorations.
"Jesus! What're you doing up here?"
"Oh, sorry, Zach. I'm looking for a photo that may or may not exist."
"Well. Good luck."
The attic had no heating system, having not once been upgraded since 1887. It was chilly up there, and the windows were rattling in the wind.
I'd spent six and a half years foraging through this attic. Any photos were going to be framed, and on the shelves. I walked through, looking at the old books and newspapers, but the Thunderbird photo wasn't there.
I went back down to the second floor.
I opened the door to the Sloan Museum Room, and looked around. It was where we stored all the photos, of which there were probably a thousand. I'd already checked the index, so I knew I could probably rule out the numbered albums. I dug through the file cabinets.
I found the folders I remembered being there. Three folders full of unidentified photos. I took them and retreated back to the Sloan Room, which was warmer and more comfortable. Setting them on the table, I started flipping through old photos.
It took about half an hour. I found a photo of the disappearing woman statue from Zindel Park. Not what I'd been looking for, but intriguing. I set that one aside for later. I found a stack of old, black and white hunting photos, and I got excited for a moment, but the closest I came was five guys holding up a medium-sized turkey. None of the photos had any indication where they'd come from.
I put the folders back, and went back downstairs to my desk.
I sat there for a while, biting on one fingernail, then I pulled the Cranmer file again. I thought about Henry Shoemaker, my hero and a local writer and historian. I knew Cranmer had been one of his sources, and I took a moment to consider that Shoemaker might have ended up with the photo, until I realized that Cranmer hadn't even acquired it until after Shoemaker's death. I had no doubt Henry Shoemaker was haunting someplace as a ghost, but he was unlikely to be carrying a lot of photographs.
I found the articles about the house fire. It had happened in 1967, and was covered in both of the major newspapers at the time. Cranmer had died in an attempt to get out of the house through a window. Photos of the place showed the house flattened---Nothing left.
Back to Annie Snyder's drawing board.

It ended the way it began.
I sat in the living room with Millie, Kara, and Ashlin. "So we're agreed, we need to keep an eye on this new team," I said. "I've already called them on plagiarizing my work, and they removed the entry. They're terrible at this; I don't think they're gonna last very long."
"They may do a lot of damage in the meantime," said Millie.
I nodded. "That's why we watch them."
"Maybe they'll come to our next seminar," suggested Ashlin.
"In which case, we let them," I said. "We can take their money for the library, show them how it's done, and let them know what clowns they are."
Ashlin grinned. "I like that."
"In other news, I've been looking for the Lost Thunderbird photo," I said. "An old photo that may have disappeared in this area, showing a bunch of hunters with a Thunderbird."
"If it existed," added Kara.
"If it existed," I conceded. "I take it the Record doesn't keep some sort of old photo archive?"
She shook her head. "Just a few sports photos. Nothing like what you're looking for."
"So there are Thunderbirds?" asked Millie.
"Well, that's kind of up in the air," I said. "The photo could show a condor or some kind of oversized bird. We'll never know without it. And, after checking everywhere I can think of, I can't find it. I'm coming to the conclusion that it's not there anymore. I think it went up in the fire that killed Hiram Cranmer in 1967."
"So it's gone," said Millie.
"If it existed," Kara said again.
I nodded.
"If it existed."

Walk On The Child Side

"I need your help," the woman said. "I have to sue the people who sold me my house."
"Law books," I said. "You want Acquisitions. Just a second, I'll call her."
"No, I want to talk to you."
I looked across my desk at her. She sat, legs crossed, gazing at me. I said,"That's more of a legal question, miss. I'm not a lawyer, and I really can't give legal advice."
"Well, but this is your area. The house is haunted."
"Ah. I see. Where is the house, miss?"
"North Vesper Street."
"Well, if you'd like a free investigation, we're available." I slid my business card to her. It was my recently redesigned one, with a Bigfoot print and a ghost.
"No, I don't want that," she said. "I want the ghosts out of there. Now."
I cleared my throat. "Well, we're investigators, miss, not exterminators. We can check into it, of course, but...."
"I want to sue them," she said. "They didn't tell me the house was haunted. They legally have to tell you."
"No, they don't," I said. "That's a common misunderstanding."
She gave me a look. "What're you talking about? I thought you were the big ghost expert. Of course they have to tell you. Everyone knows that."
I sighed. "What you're referring to it Stambovsky v. Ackley. Look it up. It refers to a stigmatized property, which doesn't mean they have to disclose that the house is definitely haunted. It means they have to tell you if the house has been publicized as being haunted, which is a different story altogether. While hauntings have never been legally proven, nobody wants curious jerks trespassing and trying to break into their house. Your house hasn't been publicized, miss. I'd know---I'm the guy who publicizes them."
She stood up. "Well. Maybe I will talk to a lawyer."
"Of course," I said. "And if you decide to go with an investigation, I'm not going anywhere."

I get stuff like this.
My name is Lou. I work for the local library. Also as a freelance writer. And also, I'm a paranormal investigator. It's mostly in that last capacity that I tend to attract the nuts.
It's not always like that. There are some lunatics out there, and some people who don't really understand much of what they're talking about. But there's some interesting people out there, too, and some good stuff that happens.
I like it. I like it so much, I've been teaching a class on it.

"Guys, I'd like to welcome you to the first meeting of the year," I said, standing at the head of the room. "This year is special. As of tonight, it's an anniversary. It's been five years since Teen Paranormal was formed."
Kara sat at the table beside me. Around the table were my kids, the ones I taught. Some of them were new to the group, and some had been around a while. Aubree, Meridian and Seth, Alex, Catie, Skylar, and Olivia were all looking at their handouts.
"The purpose of the group," I continued,"Is to teach you how to be responsible paranormal investigators. We're going to learn how to find measurable, provable evidence of the paranormal. I'm an investigator myself, and I've been with the Lock Haven Paranormal Seekers for over a decade. I'm going to teach you."
"Are we going to go on an investigation?" asked Seth.
"Next meeting," I said,"I'm going to show you how to use the equipment, and we're going to investigate the attic. Right now, I'm going to show you how to do the historic research on a haunted house. Follow me."

Standing at my desk, I held out a cigar box. "Everybody take a name."
Each of the kids picked a folded piece of paper out of the box. Seth and Alex, my most enthusiastic, both took two. They unfolded their papers, each of which had a name.
"You guys each have someone to look up," I said. "These drawers are the indexes to our newspaper file, which goes back to 1813. We have obituaries and cemetery records for everyone who has ever died in the county. Each one of you should have a name on your paper. I want you to look them up, and tell me something interesting about that person."
Thw kids got to work. Alex began digging through the file in search of Mary Elizabeth Crocker. Aubree began to check for Wilson Kistler in the cemetery indexes. Kara leaned back against my desk, arms crossed.
"I always like when you do this," she said.
I smiled. "It's been a bit of a learning curve, these last five years. I've found the best way to teach the kids is to have something hands-on for them to investigate."
"Hey!" Olivia burst out. "I'm in here!"
I looked over her shoulder. "Mentioned in your grandfather's obit. Pretty cool." I turned and glanced into the PA Room, where Aubree was sitting. "How's our little social mutant doing over there?"
Aubree grinned. "I think I found Wilson Kistler. Is he in Highland Cemetery?"
"That's him. He's in a crypt up there." I turned to the others. "That's how you find the historic information. Next time, we'll be learning the actual investigation. Come on in."
We gathered around the table. I said,"We're gonna go up in the attic, and I'll teach you how to use the equipment. We'll investigate the place. We're getting some construction done on the building, too, which has been known to stir up ghosts. Wear something dark, that doesn't reflect---Dark blues and greens are good. See you guys at the next meeting."

"I'll schedule the investigation and post on the forum," Kara said as she pulled up by Taggart Park. "We'll see about finding the time to go in."
"Text me," said Lacey, jumping out of the car. "Go softball practice. See you guys later!"
She ran for the field, and Kara pulled out. She said,"So where are we going?"
"Oh hell, I got nowhere to be. Want to go look for the Ingleby Monster?"
"What's that?"
"Down around the Centre-Clinton line, near Sugar Valley, there are rumors. A creature that's been reported, though never seen---It's thought to be invisible. Said to have attacked and beheaded people, though that could be a myth."
"I don't want to get beheaded."
"You won't get beheaded."
"Tell me where to go."
"Narrows Road, Sugar Valley."
She turned onto Grove Street. I said,"That's John Sloan's house."
"That one? The artist John Sloan?"
"Yeah, that one right there with the plaque on the door. The famous artist is from here."
"Did he live here a little, or is he really from here?"
"No, he was born here. His family moved to Philadelphia when he was about seven. Sloan grew up to be a famous artist, and came back to Lock Haven once during his life. Rebecca Gross showed him where he was born, and Sloan didn't like it. It had no character, he said. So he chose a really terrible building on Church Street, and claimed that was the birthplace. His ashes are scattered in Highland Cemetery, near the Kistler crypt."
"No kidding."
"This makes me the only tour guide in the world who can show a famous artist's two birthplaces and final resting place."
We were passing Salona, heading south. We sat in companionable silence for a while.
"Are you going to do the psychic lesson for the kids this year?" asked Kara. "That's always fun."
"I usually get to that one in the winter," I said. "You know my feelings on psychics. They piss me off."
"That's why it's fun. Haven't you ever had a psychic experience? A dream that came true?"
"When I was a kid, I dreamed that my cousin Wendy was going to die."
"Did she die?"
"Twenty-two years later, yes."
"Where are we?"
I said,"Narrows Road. Turn here."
"This goes to Loganton?"
"Eventually."
"I don't want to get lost."
"If we find Loganton, we won't be lost."
We drove through what appeared to be a cloud. Kara wrinkled her nose. "Did you see that?"
"Seemed like smoke."
"Yeah, but wasn't that a little weird? Would it be that heavy if someone was burning something earlier?"
"No, and I didn't see any fire. It's strange."
"What do you think?"
"Ingleby monster," I said.

"Come here, let me show you this," the young woman said. "I did your star chart."
I looked up from my desk. "Huh?"
"Remember I was in here a couple of months ago, and I asked when you last had your astrological chart done?" she said. "I did one for you. Come over here."
I walked over, and sat down next to her at the computers. She had some sort of diagram on the screen, a circle divided into several segments, with odd symbols and red and blue lines.
"Now, you are very powerful," she said. "You're gifted. You may not admit it, but you can't hide it from me. You're very gifted with psychic abilities."
"Well, no, because that's not a thing," I said.
"You can deny it, but I see you. Look, right here," she said,"This means you're an empath. You can feel the emotions of others. You could totally be inside me if you wanted."
"Um...."
"Now, you're a Leo, right?" She pointed at another place on the chart. "Your Mercury is in Virgo. That means you're a fire sign. You're really hot."
"....And what's that mean?"
"You're a very intense person," she said.
I nodded. "I have been called intense."
"I'm a water sign. I'm wet."
Did she realize she was doing this? I said,"Um....."
"Now, let me show you this," she said. "We can take these signs, get their numerical values, and add them up. It's all math."
"No wonder I don't understand it."
"The value here is sixty-nine. You feel me? You're an empath, and very powerful, whether you admit it or not. We can even combine the charts to show how alike we are. Here, let's see what happens if we put you on top of me."
I closed my eyes.
She continued,"Now, let's take a look at Uranus---"
I stood up.
"I better get back to work."
I retreated to my desk and checked my messages. Kara had sent one; she couldn't make the Teen Paranormal meeting. I took a few minutes to send an e-mail to Resurrection Casey, with some instruction on how to look for ghosts. Then I stood up and paced a little; my family was still out of town, so I was feeling a little off.
I checked to see if there were any books to process. Nothing. No pending articles to be written, no new comments on the haunted stuff I'd written for the PA Wilds. I needed a quest. I have no life. Someone had to be more pathetic than this. There had to be someone out there with less of a life than me, and I was determined to find that person.
Halfway down the hall, it occurred to me that it might be the chick with the horoscopes, and I returned to my desk.
There was another message waiting for me. My old friend and former intern Chris was back in town, and he was asking if I was working.
I thought a moment, then got out my cell phone.
"Hey, Chris. You wanna come to a meeting?"

I stood in front of the kids, at the head of the table in the Sloan Room. Chris was sitting to my left, and Alex, Aubree, Caitie, Skylar, and Olivia sat around the table. My regulars.
"Guys, good to see you," I said. "Tonight we're gonna learn how to do a responsible investigation. I have my equipment with me." On the table in front of me, I had my camera, recorder, EMF detector, and laser thermometer. I was wearing my LHPS uniform, with the leg rig containing some of my stuff. "I'm going to teach you guys how to use this....And then we're gonna go upstairs, into the attic, and do an actual investigation."
Aubree grinned at me. "I got a recorder, too. I brought it along."
"Excellent," I said. "You guys might as well just go buy all this stuff immediately....You're gonna end up with it all anyway, so you might as well get it over with. Let me show you how this all works."

The Ross Library's attic was old. Like 1887 old. And it hadn't been upgraded too much during that time. The kids followed me up the stairs into the dusty five-room attic, and I opened the door to one of the storage rooms and walked in.
"First, get photos. Every conceivable angle. Get some EMF readings, and use the thermometer to get a baseline temperature. Check everything before we settle into the EVP session."
"I'm showing about seventy-eight," said Chris, who was handling my laser thermometer.
"That sounds about right," I said.
"Can I use your camera?" asked Alex.
"Sure, go ahead. Get photos all over the room." I handed it to him, and he headed off with Skylar, clicking pictures.
Aubree turned on her recorder. "I'm gonna get everything."
"Good. Good. Remember to tag all the intrusive noises from outside, and leave plenty of space for possible answers."
"Think we're gonna get any activity tonight?" asked Caitie.
"You never know," I said. "It's happened before. And they've been working on the windows lately---Construction can make the ghosts act up; sometimes they don't like it. So it's possible."
"Will we hear anything?"
"We have the recorders running right now," I said. "But remember, sometimes you don't hear anything until later. It's what they never show you on the TV shows---The review is important. You have to play this all back; a lot of the evidence comes from what you find after the actual investigation is over."
"I got a weird picture," Olivia said.
She held up her cell phone, and I looked it over. It showed one wall of the room with a weird streak of light.
"Get a temperature reading and some EMFs over here," I said. "Take more photos. Check this."
Aubree and Alex moved in, getting photos and checking with the EMF detector. Aubree said,"I'm getting a bit of a reading."
I nodded, and looked at my watch. "We're almost out of time tonight, guys. But we may have something here. You did good. I'm proud of you."

"Daddy!" The staff door at the library opened, and my son came running in. He was followed by my wife as he raced across the floor. "We're home!"
I picked him up and hugged him. "Welcome back, little man. I'm glad to see you."
"Did Sissy get me a surprise? What is it?"
"You'll see it when you get home. Also, I got you some more little gumball machine dogs for your collection. They're on the table."
"Thank you, Daddy!"
"So, did you have fun in Georgia?"
"Yes! But I misseded you, Daddy!"
I picked him up and hugged him again.
"I misseded you too, little guy."

A Room With A Boo

"Bye, Daddy." The little voice in my ear, as I lay on my bed. My son gave me a kiss.
I opened my eyes at six AM and hugged him. "Bye, little man. You and Mommy have fun in Georgia. You be good."
"I will," he said, and climbed off the bed. He left the room.
I lay there a while, with my eyes open, thinking about how my family was going to visit the in-laws for a week. I had the house to myself, which didn't actually feel like as much fun as it used to.
Fortunately, I had stuff to do.

I walked into the Genetti Hotel with the New Boss and the library's tech person. Looking around the lobby, the boss said,"I'll get us checked into the seminar. Coffee is over there."
"I need some," I said. "Who'd have thought there was a seven-fifteen in the morning, too?"
I was carrying my pack and the library's laptop. I dropped them at the table, and hung my jacket over the back of a chair. My shirt was the dark blue UFO one that said Believe.
I was sitting at the table with my coffee, trying to get the laptop to work, when one of the servers came around to pick up the empty mugs. She said,"Do you write for the Express? Are you Lou?"
I looked up. "Yes, that's me."
"I love your column!" she said. "I really liked the one about the Tiadaghton Elm. I actually wondered about that."
"Oh, thanks. I expected to get some hate mail over that one, but everyone seems to love it."
"Have you ever heard about the ghost in here?"
"Bits and pieces," I said. "Nothing too concrete."
"Over on the stairs, there's a photo of the ballroom," she said. "It has a little girl in it, sitting in a chair, but she's barely visible. She's all blurry. Some people think that's the architect's daughter. They think she died when she fell down a laundry chute as the hotel was being built."
"I've never heard that one before," I said. "What year was this place built?"
"1922," she said immediately. I liked that.
"Where's the picture?" I asked.
"At the bottom of the stairs, near the lobby."
"I'll check it out," I promised. "That's my lunch break today. Thanks."

On the way up to the conference room, I stopped and looked over the local brochures. I picked up one about the Avenue of the Arts---Fourth Street in Williamsport seems to be filled with murals and sculptures. I pocketed that one for later. Then I went up and got a seat in the seminar.
I plugged in my laptop---Low-budget public library machine; you can't depend on the batteries---And set out my notebook. I had the pen with the little multi-tools built in. It hadn't started yet, so I grabbed my camera and went off in search of the stairwell.
I found the photo after a short search. Framed photo, black and white, clearly old. The little girl was on the right side, and she was blurry as hell. Could be a ghost. Could be a fidgety kid. I got out my camera, turned off the flash, and got a picture for myself.

Back upstairs, I sat down with the laptop and a coffee. There were maybe twenty people in the room; New Boss was near the front. The instructor began talking about some of the library information systems we had available. I had the main page open. I also e-mailed LaKeshia in another window, asking if the Pennsylvania Wilds was interested in an article about the Avenue of the Arts.
I listened to the seminar for a little while, but to be fair, it got boring real fast. I opened another window and did a search for the Genetti Hotel.
Found it. Completed in 1922. The architect was William Lee Stoddart. Okay. that's a start, let's dig into him.
He was a fairly famous architect, responsible mostly for hotels. There was tons of information on his work, but very little on his family. I found one page that repeated the laundry chute story the hotel employee had told me, with no sourcing. It named the girl as Allison, but gave no other details. I looked up at the instructor and asked a question to prove I was paying attention, then went back to not paying attention.
Stoddart's biography detailed his two marriages. He'd been married once, divorced in 1909, and then remarried in 1923. I drank some coffee and did the math in my head. Making the safe assumption that he wasn't bringing illegitimate children to work with him, that would make the youngest possible age of his child about thirteen or fourteen while the hotel was in construction. A little old to be the little girl tumbling down a laundry chute like a moron.
LaKeshia e-mailed back, okaying the Avenue of the Arts piece. I tried Stoddart on findagrave. I hate findagrave; it's a clumsy way to handle cemetery research, but a county away from home in a seminar, it was all I had. I found him buried in New Jersey, and I checked for other family members. He had one daughter listed, who had died in 1998.
So, the story about the little girl had to be untrue.
I checked my watch, and slipped my camera out of my pack. Then I discreetly got out my portable ghost-hunting kit---I generally have a little basic equipment on me, just in case. You never know. I clipped the black packet to my belt.
"It's time to break for lunch," said the instructor. "We have a meal available to order, or you can go out for lunch. Whatever you choose."
Everyone stood up. Toward the back of the room, I spotted my old friend JA. She used to work at the library before accepting a director position somewhere else. She smiled at me.
"Hey, Lou! I wondered if you were going to be here. How's everything?"
"Good to see you, JA! I'm good. How about you?"
"Pretty good, pretty good." JA had always been a high-intensity sort of person; when she was speaking to you, you had her whole attention to the point her eyes practically burned lasers through you. "How's the little guy?"
"Oh, he's good. In Georgia with his mother right now. He's such a funny little guy." I got out the latest photo of Paul, and showed it to her. She smiled.
"He's a growing boy," she said. "He still believe in Santa? You can still play that card?"
"Right now, yes."
New Boss turned to me. "What did you want to do for lunch?"
"Hunt ghosts," I said.
"Your weirdness to work ratio is something like six to one."
"So you noted on my annual performance review."
"You really going to hunt ghosts?"
"Actually," I said,"I thought I'd just go for a walk."

I love this. I can't help it---I've always loved sneaking off on a little side quest while everyone thinks I'm doing something else. I've spent half my life doing that. Over lunch, my plan was to get photos and information for the Pennsylvania Wilds, and check out the haunting in the ballroom. It's amazing what you can accomplish over lunch hour if you move fast enough.
I walked out the front doors of the Genetti and onto Fourth Street, heading southwest. I put my lanyard with the PA Wilds ID on it around my neck. There is no real reason for this, other than it makes me feel like a low-budget Hemingway. I got photos of the Inspiration Mural and the Community Arts Center. The Long Island Medium was advertised to appear there in about a week, which pissed me off. I turned and walked back northeast, then turning onto Pine Street for more photos.
There was a wonderful bas relief of the lumbering era on the side of a building, and the corner of Third and Market was set up to be a baseball field, with statues of children playing ball. I took pictures of all of it.
I looked at my watch; I'd only managed to kill about twenty minutes. I could even grab some food, if I wanted. I passed Vinnie's Italian Eatery. Vinnie's! I'd forgotten about Vinnie's; it had been at least five years since I'd been there. Definitely before Paul was born.
Five minutes later, I was standing on the sidewalk by the Heart of Downtown sculpture, eating two huge slices of vegetable pizza.
"I love Williamsport," I said aloud.
When I finished the pizza, I walked half a block down to the visitor center. The woman at the desk looked up when I walked in. "Hi! Can I answer any questions for you?"
"I'm just browsing, at the moment."
"Okay, then," she said. "You browse, and let me know if you need anything."
I picked up a couple more pamphlets to add to the article, and then I saw the stack of PA Wilds T-shirts for sale. I picked out a tan shirt with a cross-cut of a log and the PA Wilds logo on it. Id' wanted one for a while, so I spent part of my recent PA Wilds paycheck on a PA Wilds shirt.
Then back to the Genetti, where I dropped off my new shirt and then slipped down the back stairs.
The ballroom was dark, but not locked. I checked to make sure nobody was watching, and then slipped in. This was going to be a quick one, not the usual heavy investigation I would do with LHPS.
Based on the photo, I worked out about where the girl in the picture was. The room contained pillars and little alcoves under the balcony, and she was pictured in the fourth one from the left. I sought it out and unzipped my pouch.
First I checked temperature with my laser thermometer. It was an even sixty-eight degrees, pretty much uniformly throughout the room. Hell, I've worked in museums that are less climate controlled than the Genetti. Then I checked with my EMF detector. Nothing. No signals.
So. Not only was the story untrue, it was likely that the hotel wasn't even haunted.
I put my equipment back into the pouch, and went back upstairs. I sat down and cleared my search history.
JA walked by.
"Hey, pal. Finding any ghosts?"
I grinned. "Well, not today."

I walked in my back door, dropped my pack in the usual place, and hung my jacket in the cellar door. Tif was inside, sitting in a chair in the living room.
"Hi, Dad. Thought I'd drop by and clean up Paul's toys while he's away. How was your day?"
"Pretty busy, for a seminar. I looked into a haunting and worked on an article."
"Weren't you supposed to be learning things?"
"In my defense, there were other options."
"You want to have dinner tonight? I could go for a Hot Mess down at Hangar Nine."
"Not tonight, hon. I'm exhausted. Tomorrow would be better. Let's meet up after work."
"Okay, Dad." Tif headed out the door.
I sat down at the table, picking up the newspaper. Usually I skim the local papers, looking for my name. Something brushed my ankle---Kasper, our Schnauzer.
I reached down and petted him.
"You and me, pal. I know. I miss the little guy, too."

Go Bigfoot Or Go Home

"Oh, by the way," I said,"I found Bigfoot."
My wife looked at me from her car seat. "Did you, now?"
"Yeah. You remember that Bigfoot T-shirt I lost a couple of weeks ago? I finally found it. It was in the drawer with the superhero shirts."
She looked out at Highway 309. "Should I be watching for Bigfoot right now?"
"Probably. There have been some sightings, not too far from Dad's place. When we get there, I'm gonna check into it a little. Someone reported Bigfoot in the general neighborhood. They heard some noises, found some oversized footprints in the mud. People are thinking that all the rain and flooding has driven Bigfoot out into areas he wouldn't ordinarily be seen."
"How do you know this?"
"I get the newsletter. There's some reports of a vanishing hitchhiker, too."
"A what?"
"A vanishing hitchhiker. Sometimes they call them Resurrection Marys. You know, someone who catches a ride and then disappears."
"Right here?"
"No," I said. "Along 873, between Dad's place and Schnecksville."
"So why should I be worried about it now?"
"I didn't say you should, I said....Nevermind. I just said it was interesting, that's all."
"Are we almost to Grandpa's?" my son asked from the back seat.
"Almost there, little guy," I said, the way I'd said it fifteen times over the course of this trip. "We'll be there soon."

The sign said PSYCHIC READINGS AND TAX ASSISTANCE. It was outside the building on the corner of Main and Walnut Streets. That was typical Slatington.
I grew up in Slatington, Pennsylvania. Though I now investigate the paranormal in Lock Haven, I still visit home. We drove in the back way, through the forests, instead of the main way through Slatington. In the valley, we passed a place where the guy had wooden Bigfoot cutouts beside his barn.
"Those are kind of creepy in the dark," commented Michelle. "Did you see their eyes?"
I nodded. "Looks like reflective paint."
We pulled into the driveway, where the family was waiting. My brother Jon, is wife Amy, and my dad. Plus Miles, the little beagle.
"Hi Miles! Hi, Grandpa!" Paul called as he ran over. "We're here!"
"Check out my new keychain," I said to my brother. I held it out.
He looked it over. "A multi-tool. Nice. Is that Bigfoot?"
"Yeah, I decided I needed to replace the Piper Comanche keychain since I left the museum. It's got small wrenches and a bottle opener on it. And I have a new pen, indestructible titanium with an emergency tool." I was also wearing my green waterproof jacket with the survival kit in the pocket and the small survival tool sewn into the liner. It's possible I've taken the whole preparation thing a little too far.
"Come on in, you guys," said Amy. "Have you eaten? We have your room ready for you."
"Thanks, Amy," I said. I picked up my backpack. "It's good to see you."

It was late. Fifty-six degrees. I walked out onto the porch and sat down on the swing.
I was alone. Practically everyone but me was an early sleeper. I lit a cigar. I wasn't smoking them nearly as much since Paul was born, but I still liked to have one sometimes. I sat quietly and smoked.
My family owned thirty acres. I could see a significant portion of it from the porch, looking mostly south. The moon was almost full. I had a pretty good view.
It was as good a place as any to stake out the property and look for Bigfoot.
I sat and waited. The cigar would keep me out here about half an hour. I could hear crickets and bugs, a few birds. I could hear Highway 873, and it was half a mile away.
My home. I'd lived here almost my entire childhood. I'd organized my cousins into a group I'd called the Ghost Gang. I'd searched the fields for a mythical creature called the Christmas Tree Goblin. I'd made a sea monster trap for the pond. You know. Kid stuff.
I heard something, somewhat southwest. A loud thump that echoed through the valley---Something heavy. Then another one, and then the sound of a branch cracking.
Something was out there in the forest. It could be a bear---The last time I'd heard something like that, I'd encountered a bear on the Mid-State Trail.
I sat and waited a while more, but there was nothing more. It seemed to be done for the night.
So was I. I went inside and read a Stephen King novel for a while, and then walked upstairs to the guest room. To my surprise, I found Paul Matthew on the floor in my sleeping bag, still very much awake.
"What're you doing, little man?" I asked softly.
"I'm too excited to sleep, Daddy," he said. "I want to go downstairs."
So Paul had been planning a side adventure on his own. "No, you're staying in here," I said. "But if you want to sleep in the sleeping bag, I'll lay down and sleep with you."
Paul nodded. "Okay."

I slipped out of the house without anyone noticing. A lot of paranormal investigation works like that. My wife was watching TV, everyone else was out working the farm, and Paul was playing with Miles on the porch. Paul and the beagle were largely unsupervised, which was okay. My family's farm was the only place I was really comfortable with that---It hadn't killed me as a kid, and I'd been actively trying.
I got my green jacket, and threw my crypto kit over my shoulder. It was a black shoulder bag that contained everything I needed for checking into land monsters, water monsters, or flying monsters. I walked due north up the hill first, and then turned and went down, off the path. After a few hundred yards, I stopped.
I was now as far from any houses as I could get. I was in the most remote spot on the property.
I looked around. I didn't see anything too outstanding. As I'd walked, I'd seen one of the new homes at the top of the hill---A few new people had moved in since I'd been a kid. He'd had a hunting stand and a target range, and if Bigfoot ever wandered up there, he'd almost certainly be shot immediately. There was a deer track on the ground, in the mud, that stretched for about eight inches---The deer had slipped in the wet ground.
I walked downhill, toward the creek. All living things need water. If you want to catch a land monster, stake out the water. It's what I teach the kids.
The creek was way up, due to all the rain and flooding. I looked it over. This particular creek originated at the pond near the road, and ran about a mile into the Lehigh River. Right now, it had three or four other creeks running into it that weren't usually there, due to all the rain. If Bigfoot wanted water, he wasn't going to have much of a problem finding some.
There was no point in testing the water. I knew it was drinkable. I looked around at the plant life, checking to see if anything had been torn, damaged, eaten. Most of it had, but in a forest filled with furry creatures, I couldn't reasonably blame it on Bigfoot. For all I knew, Miles had been down here chewing on plants.
I spotted a print---It was large, maybe a foot or so long, but it was in a grassy spot, smeared an indistinct. Could have been anything. Just to be thorough, I got my camera and tape measure out of my kit. Holding the tape measure beside the print for reference, I snapped three photos.
There was no point in making a plaster cast. The print could have been anything.
The forest was filled with water, but somehow, I was coming up dry.

We were sitting on the front porch. Michelle was on both the swing and her phone, and Paul had started out there, but was now chasing Miles around on the floor. Dad held a cigarette; my father had been smoking since he was fourteen, which I assume was back in the 1700s.
"So we have two options for dinner," Dad said to me. "I can go pick up subs, or I can go out and get hot dogs from Yocco's. You have a preference?"
"I could definitely eat either of those," I said. "Let's let Michelle be the deciding vote. Hey, Michelle! Subs, or Yocco's?"
My wife looked up. "Oooh, Yocco's!"
"There you have it," I said to Dad.
He nodded. "It's hunting season," he said. "After dinner, I might just go out and see about getting a deer with my crossbow."
"You have a crossbow now?"
"I'm getting a little too old for regular bow hunting. The crossbow is a lot easier."
"Well, let me know if you happen to see Bigfoot."
Dad laughed. "I'll call you."
"I saw a few deer tracks down in the woods today."
"Yeah, there's deer. Still a few bears running around. I see them occasionally. Saw one about a month ago. The dog tried to chase it."
"Jesus. Miles couldn't take down a bear."
"He'll never believe that. It paid him no attention; it just walked down into the woods, toward the creek."
"Left some prints in the mud?"
"Of course."
I nodded.
"Thanks, Dad," I said. "That answers a few things."

It was cool and breezy. I walked along the road near 873, wearing my jacket and smoking another cigar. I'd done this walk a million times as a teenager, sneaking out of the house by climbing out my bedroom window, crawling over the doghouse and onto a cement wall, and launching myself into the grass. It was how I slipped out without alerting my parents, who probably wouldn't have noticed if I'd never come back.
Up ahead, near the junction of 873 and Church Street, there was a girl.
She had light hair, and was wearing jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. She looked about nineteen. And, yes, she was hitchhiking. But she was very definitely alive.
She looked my way when I was about thirty feet away. "Don't suppose you're heading into town," she said.
I shook my head. "Sorry. I'm on foot, like you."
"Ah, damn. It's impossible to catch a ride this time of night."
"You do this often?"
"Mostly every night."
"You're my vanishing hitchhiker," I said.
Her eyes lit up. "Someone thought I was a Resurrection Mary? That's awesome!"
"You interested in the paranormal?"
"Hell, yes! I love the paranormal. I'm fascinated by it. Love your shirt! Bigfoot: World Hide And Seek Champion."
I smiled. "There's a convenience store right up the street. You want a cup of coffee?"

"So let me see if I got this straight," she said, sipping coffee. "You're a paranormal investigator. And a writer. You write about history and paranormal in the newspapers."
"And I work at a library," I said. "Part time."
We were sitting on the curb by 873, in the light of the convenience store, drinking our coffee.
"I wish I could get into something like that," she said. "I'm a journalism major at Lehigh Carbon Community College, in Schnecksville. I take some night classes, which is why I have to hitch back and forth. I usually ride into town and then jump out at a stoplight, which is where all the vanishing stories are coming from."
"I'm an LCCC graduate myself," I said. "My name is Lou, by the way."
"Casey."
We sat in companionable silence for a minute, drinking our coffee.
"So you're a journalism major," I said.
"Yeah."
"And you like the paranormal."
"Love it."
"Okay. First thing," I said,"Buy a bus pass, kid. You're gonna get yourself killed." I held out a twenty-dollar bill. "As I recall, this should keep you going for about a month. When that runs out, let me know, and I'll send you a check for more."
"Hey---No---I couldn't---"
"Yeah, you can," I said. "Consider this your first paycheck. Cause you're gonna work for me now."
She slowly reached out and took the money. "Doing what?"
"I live out in central Pennsylvania, but sometimes I need somebody on the ground here. I can't get back here as much as I'd like. If there's something that I need investigated in Slatington, I'll send you an e-mail, and you look into it. Get back to me with your conclusions. In return, I'll pay for your bus passes and help you get published in some good stuff around there---The Lehighton Times News, Morning Call, and maybe I can pull a few strings with the Lehigh Valley Tourism Region."
"That would be awesome."
I reached into my pocket, and gave her my survival kit. "This is yours now. You can add to it as you go; I'll get another one when I get home. This gives you everything you need to get out and do this kind of research. I'll train you by e-mail until you know what you're doing."
She looked it over. "This is cool. When can I start?"
"Right now. Your first assignment is to look into some of the Bigfoot sightings in the area," I said. "I'll send you the details. It looks like it's probably gonna be bears, but I want you to double-check me on that. I'm gonna be back for a visit in a month, and I'll sit down with you and talk it over then."
"Sounds great."
I held out my hand. "Partners?"
She shook it.
"Partners."

It was morning, the sun was shining, and my father was standing outside. He was watching my brother work on the roof of the new barn that he was building. Paul looked up hopefully at my dad.
"Grandpa? May I please have a tractor ride?"
Dad smiled. "Sure. Just let me get the keys."
A minute later, he was back with the big green John Deere. He started up the tractor, and I put Paul on his lap. I climbed up on the back of the tractor, hanging on, and Dad started to ride up the hill. Three generations riding on one tractor.
"Do you want to drive?" Dad asked.
Paul smiled. "Yeah!"
"Hold on....Put your hands here...."
It was like when I was a kid, and my grandfather had given us tractor rides. He'd had about fourteen grandchildren at the time, and had piled us all over his old Farmall---On the hood, the wheel covers, clinging everywhere. Safety wasn't invented, back in the seventies. It's amazing any of us lived.

We pulled out of the driveway and headed down the road. Paul was sitting in the back, already giving every indication that he was going to fall asleep. My wife glanced at me as I looked back at my childhood home.
"You find what you need?" she asked.
I nodded. "I've found enough."
As we made the turn onto Low Road, I was making some notes in my notebook. I turned the survival pen over in my hands and looked at it a little. I said,"Stop at the bottom of the hill, okay? I want to get photos of the Bigfoot cutouts."
She pulled to a stop at the bottom of the hill. I opened the door. Paul said,"What you doing, Daddy?"
"Just want to get a photo, little man."
I got out of the car and snapped a picture of the Bigfoot cutouts. The property owner was doing some yard work at his place across the street. He said,"I believe in that guy!"
"That's cool. I'm a fan," I said. "I wanted to get a picture."
"You go right ahead," he said. "Bigfoot hasn't come by yet, but I'm hoping to capture him."
As I was getting back in the car, I looked over my shoulder and smiled.
"I'm working on it."

From Bad To Curse

I was sitting alone in a dark hallway in Bellefonte, remaining very still and quiet while I waited.
My name is Lou. Among my other jobs, I'm a paranormal investigator. I was wearing my black uniform, identifying me as a member of the Lock Haven Paranormal Seekers. My equipment was in a packet strapped around my leg and hanging on my belt. A digital recorder sat on the floor by my side. My teammates were scattered throughout the house, doing the same thing---Recording and waiting for ghosts. The client, SaraLee, was in the living room.
I've had worse Saturday nights.
"Nine fifty-three." It was my partner Kara, sitting in the bedroom behind me.
"Got it." I picked up my comlink. "Guys, it's nine fifty-three. The client reports a noise almost every night between now and ten-five. It's zero hour. Let's stay tuned."
Ashlin's voice came back from downstairs. "Okay, Lou. We're on it."
I set down the comlink and waited.
We stayed quiet for nine minutes. Until you actually do it, you don't realize how hard it is to sit still and silent. At three minutes after ten, we heard it.
A loud thump, coming from the direction of the living room.
"Did you hear that?" Kara asked from the room behind me.
"I did. There it was."
"Guys, was that you?" Ashlin, from downstairs, coming over the comlink.
"Not us. Unexplained. I'm in motion."
I leaped up and ran down the hallway, looking at the living room. Nothing. I checked out the front door---There was nothing, no car doors slamming, no people walking, nothing all the way up and down the street. I went back down the hall with my laser thermometer, checking each bedroom in turn.
I hit the button on the comlink. "Nothing. Gather in the kitchen, guys."
Kara and I walked down to the kitchen. From the basement stairs, Ashlin came up with the two newest members, Kris and Lacey.
I looked them over.
"We got it on tape," I said. "Nice work, you guys."

"Henry Shoemaker," I said. "Anyone who reads any of my columns will come across the name of Henry Shoemaker."
Ashlin, in the back seat, grinned. "Yeah, pick up any three of Lou's columns, you'll see Shoemaker mentioned about ten times."
It was an exaggeration, but not much of one. Kara was driving in the dark on Interstate 80, heading back to Lock Haven. Rain pattered against the windshield. Ashlin and Lacy were in the back seat. As Lacy was new, we were educating her.
"Tell her about the Giantess," suggested Kara.
"That's my personal favorite," I said. "It happened in present-day McElhattan, back in the sixteen hundreds. A Native American prince, Pipsisseway, fell in love with a girl from another tribe, but she left him for a warrior out west. He had a statue carved to look like her, but it was cursed---When he had it put up on the mountain, crops died, the river flooded, animals swarmed, and finally his dad, King Ironwood, ordered the Giantess taken down and buried underneath McElhattan Run."
Everyone was quiet, listening in the dark.
"So time goes by. Pipsisseway married, had a son. Ironwood died, and Pipsisseway became the king. And one day when his wife and son were traveling, he had the statue brought up and put back on the mountain. Well, the curse kicked in again....And this time it killed him. He died in a successful attempt to save his family."
"Do we know where he's buried?" asked Kara.
"We think we do. I found a cairn out near Zindel Park a few years ago. The people buried him near the Giantess, and there's a hint that the flood of 1865 dug up the Giantess enough that the curse was responsible for the death of Lincoln. The story ends with this spooky note about what will happen the next time it comes up. Well, that was about ten years ago, and it was us."
"Wait, what?" said Lacy.
Kara grinned. I nodded. "Back in 2008, I found a stone humanoid figure underneath the water, in Zindel Park. You have to know where to look. We did some investigating out there, got photos. I've been keeping an eye on it ever since."
"Cool," said Ashlin.
"You ever consider bringing it up?" asked Lacy.
"It'd be expensive," said Kara.
"I've thought about it," I admitted. "But it would be problematic. It's on city property, and in a tough place. My approach has been to leave it alone, and not disturb the curse."

"So, tell me about the Giwoggle," the guy said.
I smiled, standing behind the desk at the library. "Oh, you know the Giwoggle?"
"Well, not really," he said. "My wife saw you giving a tour one night, wearing that shirt." He pointed at my shirt, which did have the Giwoggle on it. "We were wondering about it...."
"Oh, sure. I've written about the Giwoggle a lot. It's Clinton County's official monster. It was from the north end of the county, said to be created by a witch. It was a wolf with the hands of a bird and the feet of a horse. People still spot this thing, along back roads."
He grinned. "Pretty cool. Hey, thanks."
"No problem. Thank you for asking....This is a more pleasant conversation than I usually have on a Monday."
My name is Lou. My job...I don't have a clue in hell how to describe my job. I'm a paranormal investigator, and I work at the local library. I give tours, and I write columns for several publications. I'm never sure what to call this, especially since "Ghost writer" is already taken.
I walked back to my desk and sat down. I did a little work on an article for the PA Wilds. Answered a few e-mails. Then I walked back to the rack, picked up the local newspaper, and sat back down. My column wasn't in it today. Front page---Some school district stuff, some city hall stuff. Weather---Consistent rain, and getting worse. Comics---Doonesbury was pretty good.
I found the article on the front page, and grimaced. Sue, walking by my desk, said,"What's up, Lou?"
"Oh. Ancient curse."
"On the front page?"
"Sort of. In a manner of speaking." I folded up the newspaper. "Now it's a Monday."

"There." Kara pointed out the window of her vehicle. "That's where the witness saw the Jersey Devil. That same house where you say it appeared in 1909."
I looked out the window at the Grove Street house. "Back then, there was Jersey Devil panic on every corner. People were calling off work because of Jersey Devil attacks. It reached out here, this far, with sightings in the winter of 1909. The newspapers report the guy in this house woke up and claimed to see a creature on his roof. He propped a ladder up the next morning, and let his neighbors look at the hoof prints in the snow. What did this witness see?"
"He woke up, late at night, and said he heard hoof sounds. Two hooves, not four. He looked out the window and saw a big shadow, something moving past----"
"Which window?"
"That one there, on that side of the house. He said something near the window growled at him. He didn't go out and check. He sat inside with his rifle the rest of the night." Kara shrugged. "His girlfriend's a friend of mine, and she told me. I thought you'd be interested."
"You thought right. I'll look into it."
Kara started driving again.
"Remember the Giantess curse? We were talking about it the other night?"
"Of course," said Kara. "I was there when you found the thing ten years ago. What's up?"
"I'm a little concerned." This is my social life, driving around talking about monsters and curses. "The local paper reports a huge problem with invasive species out there, bugs and plants that are doing a lot of damage. The city is dealing with it, but I may want to look into it. Guess where it's all happening?"
"You're kidding me. Zindel Park?"
"You got it. And I've seen cases where curses turned out to be real things----One case that was thought to be a curse turned out the be radiation, for instance. Depending on what causes the invasive species, it's not too hard to imagine people a long time ago assuming it's a curse. Now we have the invasive species, plus the latest flood warnings due to all the rain. I want to check it out. I need to get out there."

I stood in my office, on the second floor of my haunted home. The door was closed---The back side of the door, where nobody would see it, was where I kept my ghost-hunting stuff.
I pulled my shirt on: Black, with the LHPS logo. My jeans were black. I pulled on my steel-toed black sneakers, and stood up.
I passed over my tactical vest: For a small apartment, I wouldn't need it. I selected my leg strap instead, clipping it on my belt and snapping the strap around my leg. It held a camera, recorder, laser thermometer, and EMF detector.
I turned, checking myself over.
Ready.

"A camera, where, here?" Kara asked, pointing to a corner of the bedroom. "Would you say this is one of the hot spots?"
"This whole room is," said the client. "We've all seen ghosts in here. We're afraid to go in here anymore."
I walked through the apartment on Main Street, looking things over during our paranormal investigation. Kara and Lacey were busy setting up tripods and recorders.
"The building was built in 1869," I said. "It was part of the old Opera House, which doesn't exist anymore---This section was closed off, but the rest was torn down in 2005. This apartment was once occupied by a pharmacist and his family, and then later, a business owner who buried toxic chemicals in the Hill Section. He committed suicide, but not here---It was in a later home in Dunnstown."
I glanced out the window. I could see the courthouse across the block. I ran my EMF detector along the wall, and got a reading.
"Guys, I'm gonna step outside for a minute," I said. "I want to get a feel for the exterior."
Kara nodded. "Hurry back," she said.
"You want to take the back exit?" asked the client.
I looked up. "There's a back exit?"
The fire escape was tall, thin, and barely attached to the building. I walked down with some enjoyment, and took a walk around the back of the building. It was wedged between two bars. As I walked around the exterior, taking photos from the sidewalk, a flock of drunk girls came out of the Riverside Saloon. One of them called to me,"Hey, could I buy a cigarette off you?"
"You could if I smoked," I said. "I haven't really since my son was born."
"Hey, that's great," she said. "Good for you. It's my friend's birthday."
"Well. Happy birthday."
"How come you're taking pictures out here?" asked the birthday girl.
"Paranormal investigation." Was a time, I felt stupid saying that to people. But that's long past.
"Oooh, cool! Is there a ghost in there?"
"Well, I don't know. We're still looking into it."
"Can I have your autograph?" asked the friend.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah! This is really cool!"
Five minutes later, I walked around the back in the alley. I glanced at the house on Grove Street for a moment---The ghost hunt was right across the alley from the house where the Jersey Devil had been sighted. I looked it over for a minute, then took out my EMF detector and walked across the alley, into the back lot.
It lit up immediately and went red. I walked through the lot, hearing the familiar brrrrrr that meant I was picking up electromagnetic fields. It didn't shut off, which was unusual---It kept consistently getting a reading throughout the entire lot. Power cables strung over my head, and tied into the east side of the building right above me.
I walked back upstairs.
"That took a while," commented Lacey.
"Snd autgrfs," I mumbled.
She wrinkled her nose. "What?"
I sighed. "A couple of drunk girls asked me for my autograph."
Lacey laughed. Kara said,"So, when you weren't performing for the paparazzi, did you learn anything?"
"Well, we're right near the Jersey Devil house," I said. "The back lot, behind the building? It's solid EMFs. Wall to wall readings. I've never seen EMFs so heavy outdoors before."
"Really?" Kara's eyebrows rose.
I held my EMF detector up to the window, which faced that lot. It immediately lit up.
"Wow."
I nodded. "I'd bet on like eighty percent of their problems being caused by the heavy EMFs. You know how some people are sensitive? I think we have our answer, right there."

"So, Dad," I said,"Electromagnetic fields."
My brother-in-law Michel laughed. "You just jump right into it, don't you?"
I was in Slatington, sitting on the front lawn of the house I'd grown up in. It was my brother's birthday, and his wife was throwing him a party. I sat with my food and my iced tea. My son was playing in the yard with his cousins, whom he'd always adored.
"What?" Paul shouted. "You guys are here? Are you very serious? Are you kidding me right now?"
Amy, my sister-in-law, walked past and gave a nod to my shirt. "Is that Bigfoot riding the Loch Ness Monster?"
I grinned at her. "You like it? It's new."
"What about electromagnetic fields?" Dad asked.
"We check for them when there's a haunting," I said. "I had a place on Main Street recently that was packed with them. The parking lot, out back, was wall to wall with them. My detector went off, and didn't stop."
Dad frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."
"I agree, but here we are."
"What's there? Overhead, next to?"
"Apartment building. The power lines come in on that side, connect to the meters. Regular lines, far as I can see. No fields on any of the other sides."
"It could be due to what's in or under the building. Can you check what's buried underneath?"
"I can find that out. How much interest would the power company have in this? Fixing, cutting down?"
Dad shook his head. "None, unless there's a problem. It doesn't hurt anyone."
"Was this at night?" asked Michel.
"Around midnight."
"I'd check during the day, or at dusk," he said. "Street lights could have affected it. A cable would be buried, and it would be off during the day."
"Moving right along, is there a chance that high electromagnetic fields could affect migration patterns in birds?"
"It's possible," Dad said. "That kind of thing can happen. I remember when we put in the high-power lines at Lake Wallenpaupack, and people were concerned about the birds."
I nodded.
"That tells me a lot of what I need to know. Thanks, Dad."

"So I was with my friend, and we found a brick from the Queen's Mansion!" the man said. "How much could we get for that?"
I stood in the Pennsylvania Room, among the history books. "Let me guess," I said. "You found a brick with a stamp on it, that says Queen's Run."
"Yeah! I knew Queen Anne had a mansion over in Farrandsville, and I found this brick! Now I can get rich!"
"I doubt it; they're everywhere," I said. "While it's true that Queen Maria Christina of Spain had a mansion in Farrandsville, the brick with the stamp wasn't part of it. That was manufactured by the Queen's Run Fire Brick Company---They made thousands of them. Queen's Run had nothing to do with the actual queen; it was a mispronunciation of Quinn's Run, named after Samuel Quinn. What you have is a regular, common brick, though an interesting artifact."
He looked at me. "So you're kind of a history guy around here?"
"I dabble."
I pulled out Linn's History, flipping to the part about Wayne Township. I checked for minerals in the area---It was listed in the second column.
I walked out to the main desk, where Joe had shut down most of the lights. "Closing time," he said. "You ready to get out of here?"
"I was beyond ready two hours ago."
I set the alarm, and we all moved out of the library through the back staircase. As we went out into the parking lot, Zach said,"I'll see you guys tomorrow. I have to make a stop at the grocery store on the way home, pick up some baking stuff."
"I have to make a stop, too," I commented. "Some ghost-hunting follow-up."
I climbed on my bike and rode across town down Jordan's Alley. It was dusk; I could see the sky turning pink. I pulled up in the parking lot behind the Main Street apartment, and got out my EMF detector.
"Hey, big guy," I said. "Sun's getting real low."
I pressed the button. It came on and....Nothing. No signal. I walked in circles for a moment, and nothing lit up. It was getting darker. Then the streetlights came on, and my EMF detector beeped.
I walked back and forth. It gave me a patchy, intermittent signal. Not as much as it had lit up the other night, at midnight, but it was finding EMFs. During the day, nothing. But it increased overnight.
Now I need to check the curse.

In the pouring rain, I ran down the path. I was wearing my waterproof jacket, the green one with all the survival equipment concealed in the pockets. I'd been along this path in McElhattan a thousand times, but it looked different. McElhattan Run was up, raging in the wood to my right, and the path was about half covered in water.
I dodged the puddles, trying to get in and out before the path was flooded out. I was going in alone---I couldn't ask Kara to do this. She'd have come.
Up ahead, the path was washed out by rising water. I took three steps and leaped, going over it like Green Lantern and coming down on the other side. I got to the end of the path, and turned left, over the stone bridge. And then I was there. The home of the Giantess.
Zindel Park.
Built in 1929, Zindel Park was a scenic portion of the city water system, coincidentally placed right where the Giantess story had happened. About ten years ago, I'd discovered the humanoid sculpture in the water, and chosen to not publicize it. I stepped up onto the concrete platform above the water, and looked down. The run was churning too much; I couldn't see the Giantess underneath.
Of course it's a flood. This thing was even said to have caused the flood of 1865.
I stepped back down onto the wet, mushy ground and knelt down.
I got my EMF detector out of my pocket, held it up, and turned it on.
Nothing.
Then I lowered it to the ground, and it lit up.
There was magnetism here. At ground level, the place was loaded with EMFs.
And that explains a lot. I looked around at the park. I have some idea what's going on now. Rest easy, Pipsisseway. I got this covered.

"So how was the Main Street investigation?" asked Millie.
It was the monthly LHPS meeting. I sat in the living room with my friends: Millie, Kara, and Theresa. "Went well," said Kara. "We didn't find much on video, and there was a lot of interference on the audio."
"I found a high amount of EMFs in the building and outside," I said. "I think that's their problem right there."
Kara nodded. "I agree."
"Overnight, when the street lights come on, the EMFs go up to incredible levels," I said. "In addition to causing the apartment to feel haunted, I think it caused a Jersey Devil sighting. The EMFs affected migration patterns, screwing up at least one bird. Kara, take your phone and look up 'Great Blue Heron'."
Kara brought a video up on the phone, and played it. It showed a large bird, making a loud, frightening groaning and growling.
"I think that's what the witness saw and heard," I said.
"I think this is crazy, Lou," said Kara. "He's a hunter. He'd recognize this. he said he heard hooves."
"When blue herons snap their beaks, it does make a sort of clopping sound, like hooves. I checked."
"It could have been a deer," said Kara.
"They have been known to come downtown, I'll admit," I said,"But the hunter wouldn't recognize a deer?"
"Enough with the sarcasm."
"I also checked out the Giantess sculpture, out in McElhattan," I said. "I think it's something similar, magnetic fields. The curse, in the story, is described as crops dying, birds blocking out the sun, stuff like that. Which could be caused by invasive species. That could be caused by birds getting off their migration patterns---Birds can carry seeds with them, which can grow and choke out the crops."
Millie nodded. "That makes some sense."
"The ground out there is loaded with iron," I said. "I looked it up. Moving it around, carving it, placing a stone heavily mixed with iron....That could have shifted the magnetic fields. Over time, they'd build up, and cause what the Native Americans would view as a curse. The good news is, once they start digging out there, it can break the field and calm everything down for a while."
"Could be," said Theresa.
"So anyway," I said,"Case closed on that one." I sat back. "Is there any more orange soda?"

The Voychek's In The Jail

"How fast can you get to the post office?" Sue asked me. "You think you're fast enough to deliver this before the staff meeting?"
I looked at the clock. I had ten minutes. "I'm on it," I said. "I have no ideas for a PA Wilds article anyway. Adam, can you put this book away for me? Will I need money?"
"Yeah. About five dollars should do it. You think you can make it?"
I held up a thumb. "Challenge accepted."
I grabbed the package and went outside to my bike. My name is Lou. I work at the local  public library in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania. I'm also a historian, paranormal investigator, museum curator, and days like this, I'm a bike messenger, too.
I raced down to the post office, sent out Sue's package, and raced back. I'd been gone three minutes. Adam said,"Wow. I didn't even have time to put the book away."
We all gathered in the reference room for the staff meeting. We hold them once a month. City founder Jeremiah Church probably had to sit through meetings. He probably hated it. But not having to attend any more meetings was probably one of the advantages of having died in 1874.
We discussed the new cash register and the window replacements. Sue said,"Oh, and somebody left a box of books out back again yesterday, right outside my window. I had Zach bring them in."
"Oh, that was me," said Joe. "I brought them back from one of my delivery stops."
"What happened to the bedbug books?" asked Bill, the maintenance guy.
"Those were the bedbug books," said Joe.
I started laughing. I couldn't help it. Sue turned to Joe. "So you put books with bedbugs outside, and we brought them in for the book sale? Why didn't you put a sign on them?"
"I told Bill. Why did you bring them in?"
"We always bring them in! People leave book donations outside three times a week!"
I could barely breathe. I couldn't stop laughing. New Boss said,"We have insurance, in case of things like bedbugs. Lou, how are your summer programs going?"
I took a deep breath and got myself under control.
"Pretty good. The band on the twenty-eighth had to cancel. Tour attendance is up---I think it might have been the TV show; gave us some free publicity. And I'm stuck for an idea for a PA Wilds article, so if anyone thinks of anything, let me know."
New Boss nodded. "Anything else from anyone? Okay. Meeting adjourned."
I walked out to my desk, right outside the reference room. I sat down and got online. I had half a dozen e-mails from various Piper committees, which I either dashed off replies or ignored for later. I did a quick search for "Clarion County, PA," and found the Wikipedia page, which is useless. With most of the county histories, they often are, and this is why we invented the back button.
The county government page, surprisingly, was better. They had a whole column full of random historic facts, and I read through. And there, I found my article.

"Vincent Voychek," I said. "He's said to be haunting the Clarion County jail. He's the only guy ever hung in Clarion County, just like Luther Shaffer is the only guy ever hung in Clinton. What do you think of onions in the salad?"
"No, not tonight," said my daughter. "So they're similar to us."
"Yes, but they're also unique. He was hung in 1911 for stabbing his landlord, Andrew Stupka."
"What was his story?" asked Tif.
"I want a hot dog, cooked," said my son Paul, playing with his toys at the table.
I stuck a hot dog in the microwave. "He didn't really have a story. He didn't speak English. He went to the gallows in 1911 still claiming he was innocent. He may actually have been; when I e-mailed the Clarion County Historical Society, the woman there sent me an article and told me that Stupka's grandson once had visited, saying he thought Voychek had been framed."
"Wait....The grandson of the victim thought he'd been framed?"
"Yeah. It kinda makes you...."
"Yeah, it makes you think about it," she said.
"So I'm gonna look into it." I gave Paul his hot dog. "Write it up for the PA Wilds, get out there and get photos."
"Working title?"
"Hang In There."
"Of course."
" I may even figure out who did it."
"Won't make any difference to him," said Tif.
"No, not as this all happened in 1911," I said. "But if he's haunting the jail, it might give his ghost some relief."
"If I was killed for a crime I didn't do, I'd haunt the jail," said Tif.
"You never know how these things work. You feel like ranch dressing?"
Paul began playing with his Legos, building a replica of the Susquehanna Seal. As nobody had ever really seen the thing enough to furnish a complete physical description, maybe his portrayal was accurate---Bright colors, corners, and all.
I sat down on the end of the table.
"I haven't announced it yet," I said,"But I'm going to step down from Piper."
It was the first time I'd said it aloud.
Tif looked at me with some surprise. "I'm amazed you chose the museum," she said.
"You knew?"
"I could tell you were considering dropping something. I really didn't expect it to be Piper."
"Well, the Highland Cemetery board doesn't ask for much---A meeting every three months, usually while I'm at the library anyway. I can't leave LHPS; my entire social life is there. The PA Wilds pays well, and I can handle that from home mostly. Times I need to travel for the PA Wilds, we can make it a family trip. I want to spend some more time with Paul, and it's the museum that takes up all my time."
"Well, good for you, Dad. If that's what it takes to make things easier for you....."
"Yeah, out of everything I do, lately I feel the least appreciated at Piper. I do love the place, but it's time to leave. I'll be giving it a little more time before I make the announcement; there's a few things I want to accomplish first."
Paul came over and climbed up into my lap.
"I don't like it when Daddy goes to the museum," he said. "I like it when you play with me."
"Pretty soon, little man," I said. "I'm going to stop going to the museum, so I can play with you lots and lots."

Sue watched me as I paced across the library. "You having a slow night, Lou?"
"More or less. It's been slow all day. No ghosts, no Bigfoot sightings, no UFOs."
"I hate when that happens."
"I'm gonna redecorate," I decided, and headed for the attic.
There was a painting up there---Ole Bull's castle, a big castle on a mountain that had been put there by a famous singer. He'd intended to make a series of towns to replicate his native Norway, but had been ripped off and lost the land. It was now a state park.
The painting had been donated to the library decades ago, by Henry Shoemaker. I picked it up and carried it downstairs.
I climbed up on a stepladder in front of my desk. My office had recently been moved about eight feet, and I'd wound up staring at the wall. I was right in front of the Henry Shoemaker books, and I'd decided to change around the art a little. Hell, I was the one who had to look at it.
I removed the old piece, and stored it. Then I hung up the Ole Bull painting. I sat down at my desk and looked it over for a while. I liked it.
Sitting at my desk, I brought up the website for Clarion County. It took me a few minutes, but I finally found an e-mail address for the webmaster. I wrote up an e-mail and sent it to him, asking about sources for the Voychek information on the site.
Five minutes later I got it back, undelivered, because that e-mail was outdated.
I looked around some more on the site. Finally I found the e-mail addresses for the three county commissioners and three courthouse administrators. Figuring that at least one of them had to be more organized than the webmaster, I copied and pasted my original question into a new e-mail, and sent it off to all six of them.
Half an hour later, I had a reply from a commissioner. He sent me some new information, along with an invitation to visit sometime and see the sights of Clarion County.
You can get away with quite a lot if people know you're going to give them good publicity.

I walked into the hangar of the museum. It was dark, after hours, when nobody else would be around. Slowly, I walked through the hangar, touching the airplanes. one at a time.
The yellow Cub. The Pennsylvania state plane. It's been an honor.
I touched the Tri-Pacer, the Grasshopper. The Comanche, the newest of our acquisitions and one of two I'd arranged. I am going to miss seeing new planes come in. 
I walked to the Aztec, my favorite, touching it, taking some comfort.
Gonna miss you most of all.
I walked upstairs to my office....No longer mine, I suppose. I gathered my personal items---A black jacket with my adventure equipment in the pockets, a couple of books, my coffee mug, my photos of my family. I slid them into my backpack.
Then I took my key off my key ring, set it on the desk, and walked back downstairs.
I walked through the hangar on my way out, taking one last look. Seeing everything as if it were the first time.
Or the last.

I went home. My family was asleep.
I think I did the right thing. My whole life, I've been fiercely loyal to the organizations I join, never leaving. This has generally led to me either getting thrown out eventually, or quitting in anger when I couldn't take it anymore. None of that is a healthy choice. It's time to break the pattern.
I got a beer, walked upstairs to my office, and dropped my stuff. I sat down and turned on the computer. Sitting in the dark, I used four hundred dollars worth of electronic equipment to view an old newspaper article from 1911.
It was the one sent to me by the Clarion County Historical Society. I'd skimmed it, but I hadn't studied it much. The article detailed a lot of the Voychek incident---The crime, the hanging. I read through it carefully, making notes in my PA Wilds notebook. I drank beer from the can while I worked. Did Henry Shoemaker drink beer while he did his research? Actually, he very likely did.
I found a line: "Later Stupka with a lantern in one hand and a poker in the other went to see if Voychek had left the premises. Mike Sidor accompanied him."
I took a sip of the beer.
"Well. A clue."
This is a complicated research technique known as "getting lucky."

"So....It seems like I know what happened."
I was sitting in the car, my wife driving. Tif, Biz, and Paul were in the back as we rode through Clarion County.
"So, what's that?" asked Tif from the back.
"It all started in a bar," I said. "Voychek was involved in a fight, but it broke up pretty quick. He went home and had dinner, and when the landlord, Stupka, arrived, the whole thing started up again. After an argument, Voychek left, and a few minutes later was followed by Stupka and another guy, Mike Sidor. When Sidor came running back saying Stupka was stabbed, Voychek was found carrying a bloody knife, and arrested."
"Wow. Sucks for him," said Biz.
"Yeah, but you look at the facts. There were three people present----Voychek, Stupka, and Sidor. One ended up dead, and the other said he didn't kill him. You do the math."
"The other guy. Sidor," said Tif. "But can you prove it?"
"Circumstantially, which is good enough for me," I said. "He was the only other person present. Seems immediately after the murder, Sidor bailed---He left Clarion, left Pennsylvania. I tracked him down eventually---He's buried in Canada."
"Canada," said Biz. "Well, he couldn't wait to get out of town, could he? It does sound suspicious."
"Park up here," I told Michelle.
There was a parking lot in the middle of Clarion, and we pulled in. We climbed out of the van, and I pointed at the elaborate, unusually-shaped building just down the alley. "There. The haunted jail."
We walked down to it. I was holding Paul's hand. Biz and I were in the lead. I stopped to get some photos, and got out my EMF detector.
"Anything?" asked Biz.
I shook my head. "Nothing from here. But this is the place. This is where an innocent man was hung."
Biz stopped to look up at the building. "Is this still a jail?"
"I'm not sure. I don't think so. I'm gonna have to spend some more time out in Clarion, do some research for the PA Wilds."
"But now you know what happened."
I nodded.
"Now I know."

"Daddy? Can we sit in the hallway and talk about ghosts?"
Paul was standing in the doorway to my office. I glanced over from my computer, where I was working on the Voychek article. Nice thing about the PA Wilds is that I can do it from home.
"You mean an EVP session? You want to investigate like Daddy does?"
"Yeah!"
"Okay. Why not?" I saved the article and stood up. My LHPS vest was hanging on the back of the door, and I fished my digital recorder out from the pocket. We walked out into the hallway and sat down.
"Okay, little man. Here's what we're gonna do. We'll record this, and then you and me say our names, and then we ask questions and listen for ghosts. Okay?"
"Okay!"
I turned on the recorder, and said,"We're in the upstairs hallway. Daddy."
"Paul."
I gave it a moment, and then asked,"Is there anyone here?"
He giggled. "Yes! Daddy and Paul!"
"No, I mean, that was a question for the ghosts, little man."
"Oh."
Outside, I heard a plane go over. I glanced out the window and saw the bright yellow airplane in the sky. I watched for a moment, and then turned back to my son.
"Tagging---Plane outside. Let's keep looking for ghosts, little guy."