Daydream On Elm Street

"You can tell it's graduation in a college town," said Zach. "I passed three different parties on my way back from lunch. They're all busy getting drunk at...." He looked at his phone. "Three-thirty in the afternoon."
"Hope they don't trash the places too badly," I said. "A lot of the college kids live in historic homes that have been sectioned off for rental. I've done investigations in some of them."
"I could have gotten free drinks on my break if I'd wanted," said Zach.
"Yeah, I could go for that," I said. "I've been looking into one of the old houses up on Fairview Street. Belonged to one of the old bootleggers, and I'm working on a column about it. I'd love to get some more information about it, maybe some photos."
"You could always just ask," Zach suggested. "Most of the college kids are pretty open."
"I suppose," I said. "Most of the college kids don't have any understanding of the history of their places, though. What I'd need to do is get inside somehow, and sneak around."
After work, I stood on the sidewalk on Fairview Street, looking at the house. The kids inside were having a party, and the music was blasting. I put my hands in my pockets for a minute, looking things over.
Five minutes later, I was inside.
"PARTY!" I shouted, holding up a beer. "Hey, what year was this place built, anyway?"

I was standing at the grocery store, buying milk and chocolate sauce. Now that Paul had learned to love chocolate milk, we always needed milk and chocolate sauce.
"Hey, Lou," said Juli, one of the local cashiers. They all knew me. "I just moved into a new place, and I was wondering about it. One of the neighbors told me someone drowned a baby in the tub?"
I frowned. "I doubt it, Juli. I'll look into it, but I think I'd know."
"Well, good. I'm just as happy if nobody murdered a baby."
One of the other cashiers, a newer girl, looked at me. "How would you know?"
I laughed. "It's what I do. I'm a paranormal investigator and a history writer. That's the kind of thing that would have stuck in my memory."
"Oh, really? Cool."
"If your place is haunted, Lou is the one you want to talk to," said Juli.
"I'll check into it for you," I said. "See what I can find out."

It was a rainy morning. I was going to do some writing, make some groundbreaking discoveries, and change history as we know it.
But first, coffee.
"Tell me there's coffee," I said to Barb at the desk.
"Not yet," she said. "I've been busy."
"I'll make some."
I started the coffee, and then took a cup to my desk in my Bigfoot mug. Sitting down, I began to write a column about the Tiadaghton Elm. I went and got one of our history books for reference, paging through, and I noticed a notation that information had come from an article in the Clinton Democrat on July 12, 1918.
It was a slow morning, so my coffee and I went to look at the article. I inserted it into the machine and fast-forwarded it with one hand while I drank coffee with the other. I found the article in about two minutes, because if I wasn't good at this, I'd have to find a real job.
It was on page four. I printed off a copy, and read through it. And then I saw something that made me almost spill the coffee on my Roswell: Green Since 1947 T-shirt.
"Holy...."

"The Tiadaghton Elm," I said. "Everyone knows this story. On July 4, 1776, a group of local men called the Fair Play Men gathered under the Tiadaghton Elm in Pine Creek, to sign a Declaration of Independence. They didn't know that the Founding Fathers were signing one in Philadelphia on the same day. They sent their document out to be delivered, but were told that one had already been sent. So they came back here, and buried their Declaration somewhere on or near the grounds of the fort where they lived."
Kara sat across from me in my office at the Piper Museum. I said,"I've looked into finding the document---It may actually be in a grave. But look at this---In July of 1918, there was a big ceremony under the tree to commemorate the signing. In this article, down here, they mention that a committee figured out that the document was signed under the Tiadaghton Elm----Before 1918, they say, nobody knew the location and it was all word of mouth."
Kara studied the article. "Okay, that's interesting. I never realized that."
"It's about to get a bit more interesting. Turns out, the committee included local man John Chatham, who I know to be a notorious bullshitter. He's the guy who caused the Widow Smith debacle a few months back---Chatham had no problem making up a story, or embellishing it."
Kara was looking at the article. "So you think he did that here?"
"I'm starting to think it's likely. I checked for mentions of the Tiadaghton Elm before 1918. There's nothing. Linn doesn't mention it, Meginness doesn't mention it. No newspapers. Nobody ever brings up the Elm previous to a hundred years ago."
"Where do the others say it happened?"
"They're vague---All they mention is the plains of Pine Creek. Which could be practically anywhere in that neighborhood. But wait...." I flipped through my photocopies and brought one out. "I did find a 1914 article that mentions all the old stories handed down orally, and talks about it happening in a schoolhouse."
"That would make sense," admitted Kara. "Given that they were actually committing treason, they wouldn't have wanted to do it out in the open."
"True. And I checked the 1862 map. I did find a schoolhouse, no longer there, about half a mile west of the elm site. That's most likely the place where the signing took place---The elm had nothing to do with it. I'm meeting with some of my contacts from the Jersey Shore Historical Society on Thursday, and they're gonna see what information they have."
Kara looked at me. Her eyes lit up. "Do you realize what this means?"
I nodded. "It's like twelve years ago, when I discovered the location of Fort Reed wasn't where everyone thought it was. This is groundbreaking. We're changing history here."

Slow day. I was on desk. I did what I always do on desk; I looked into an old mystery. I wonder what it's like to work at the grocery store.
I dug into Juli's house a bit. It appeared on the Sanborn maps as far back as 1901, so I went back and checked on the 1862 map. A smaller variety of the house was there; it had clearly had some work done. I grabbed the city directories.
City directories are awesome; they're like a reverse phone book showing who lived in what house. I checked Juli's. The earliest family I could find were the Van Dykes and Kaufmans, an extended family who'd shared the property. A quick check of the obit indexes showed me that the families were big in the hardware industry in Lock Haven.
I ran through the directories, and found nothing to suggest that the baby story had actually happened. Sometimes rumors just get started; I don't know how. It would make Juli happy.
This may be setting the bar really low. But it's always a good day when you don't discover a dead baby.

"So where was the school?" Tina asked. Tina is one of my contacts with the Jersey Shore Historical Society, and we'd held some good events together in the past. She'd dropped by the library to see what I had, and I'd shown her my articles and photocopies.
"Right....Here." I pointed to the 1862 map, which had the small black mark labelled School. "It's at this intersection. The school no longer stands, but you can still find the spot."
"Is the intersection still there?"
"Oh, yeah, it's the corner of, what, Tiadaghton Avenue and Old River Road. it's about a half mile from the old elm site."
Tina shook her head. "Remarkable. And there's no mention of the elm before 1918?"
"Nothing. I checked everything I could find."
"What does Meginness say?"
I pulled out a copy. "This one's Meginness. He says it was on the plains of Pine Creek, which could have been anywhere in the neighborhood."
"You know, I always wondered why the blue marker for the elm was way out on 220."
"I'd bet that PHMC was a little dubious on the evidence, too. I've seen this before. About twelve years ago, I found out that Fort Reed wasn't where people thought it was, either. I was able to place it a few blocks to the east of where everyone assumed. I got hate mail over that. You'll notice the blue marker for Fort Reed is way the hell on the other end of town, too, for the same reason."
"You're gonna get hate mail over this, too," said Tina. "What's your next step?"
"I'd love to make this into some sort of program for the society," I said. "A speech or something. And I'll be writing it up for the papers. I'll keep you updated."

"Tell me where," said Kara.
"Up ahead is the elm site," I said. "See, where the bridge---"
"I know where the elm site is. You took me there once. Where's the school?"
"Well, where was the school," I said. "There's not even the foundation anymore. This is all farmland, it's been plowed over like a million times. Turn around."
"You spoke to the Jersey Shore Historical Society?"
I nodded. "The Jersey Shore Historical Society has the most to lose here. They hold events, they promote this thing. They're the most heavily invested in the Tiadaghton Elm, and they're okay with it."
Kara slowed down and spun her car around, heading back the way we'd come. We drove back toward the intersection, and I said,"Here's the place."
"On that side?"
"Yep. On this side."
Kara slowed down, and we looked over the field. There was nothing to see there anymore, but based on the map, I knew where the spot was.
"I figure it's within twelve feet or so," I said. "This is where the school house was. This is where they made history."

"Hi, Lou," said Laukeshia, coming in the door to the library. "I'm here for a meeting tonight?"
"Oh, yeah," I said. "Third floor. Go on up."
"By the way," she said,"I forgot to e-mail you. Your article on the Giwoggle was great---We got more hits on that than any other piece on our website. Nice job."
I smiled. "Thanks, Laukeshia. I have a few other things in mind."
"Looking forward to it."
She walked upstairs. I turned and walked back to my office.
I sat down at my desk, and began typing.
Let the hate mail commence.

Truly Madly Creepily

"Daddy? You can sing me a song?"
Bedtime is an ordeal in a lot of households. In mine, it's not any easier---It's like my kid isn't used to sleeping in a haunted house or something.
Three-year-old Paul Matthew, my son, was lying in his bed. I was sitting on the bed beside him, in the dark. Our house is haunted by a 1905 teenaged suicide, but I'm used to that. I'm a ghost-hunter.
"Sure, I can sing to you, little man. But first, tell me what we learned today."
"Never play wif Daddy's fire starters."
"That's right. Now, how about one that I used to sing you when you were a little baby?"
"Okay," agreed Paul.
I took a breath and started to sing.

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word,

Daddy's gonna find you a thunderbird.

And if that thunderbird won't sing,

Daddy's gonna find you Shoemaker's magic ring."

I'm a paranormal investigator, writer, historian, librarian, and curator. When we'd adopted my boy, I'd begun singing him this one, filled with local history and paranormal details. Specifically written for my son.

"And if that magic ring turns brass,

Daddy's gonna find you Jefferis's looking glass.

And if that looking glass gets broke, 

Daddy's gonna find you Nell Burrows's goat.

And if that Burrows goat should dally,

Daddy's gonna find you a dog named Sallie."

All things I've researched and written about in my city. Details upon request.

"And if that Sallie dog won't bark,

Daddy's gonna find you a horse and cart.

And if that horse and cart falls down,

You're still the most famous baby in town.

Hush, little baby, don't you cry,

Daddy's gonna write you a lullaby."

I looked down at my son. His eyes were closed; he was asleep.

I stood in the store, looking over a black vest with a lot of pockets on it. Perfect for ghost hunting. If you can't get adventure wear indestructible, you'd better learn to get it cheap.
"Hi, Lou. I liked your column."
I looked up. It was someone I knew. "Oh, hi, Kim, God, which one? I write so many."
"I read them all. I liked the one about the two guys who captured a bear in 1909, The Bear Facts."
"Oh, yeah, I got one coming up where I bitch for eight hundred words about the Underground Railroad."
Kim laughed. "What inspired that?"
"Someone finally asked me the wrong question one too many times."
"Been asked much about Burger King, since they're rebuilding up there? I've been told it's haunted."
"No kidding?"
"That's what the employees have said. I'm a little surprised nobody's asked you about it."
"Maybe someone has now. I been kind of at loose ends lately; it's been a little slow. I'm kind of intrigued. I'll look into it."

"Okay, I'm here to take the desk."
Barb handed me the key. "Bill turned the heat off. You want me to leave the space heater?"
"I think you'd better," I said. "It's pretty chilly back at my desk, too."
"It's like a tomb in here," said Barb.
"I've explored some tombs way warmer than this."
"Nice shirt," she said. "Study History: Realize people have been this stupid for thousands of years."
"It's new."
Mel was walking by with a cup of coffee. "What the hell book were you discussing in your book club this morning? I could hear you guys shouting at each other through the floor."
"Oh, that. We got into an argument about the location of the old Mann Axe Factory. I said it was near Mill Hall, along present-day Route 64, and some of the members disagreed. So I went to get the 1862 map, and then they said it probably wasn't the right name of the axe factory. So I went and got one of our Mann axes out of the collection in the attic and showed it to them, and we passed it around the table."
"You brought an axe into your book club?" Barb asked.
"Things escalated quickly."
I went back to my desk and sat down. The local newspaper was on the rack by my desk, and I picked it up and skimmed through it, mostly just looking for my name. I drank some coffee out of my Bigfoot coffee mug. and looked at the police news on page two.

"We need to get those J-4 plans sorted and organized," I told Kara.We were in the conference room at the Piper Museum. I had old airplane plans spread out on the table, and Kara was looking through them. I looked at a stack of papers on the table. "Look at this. That asshole Greg left the place a mess again."
"Who?"
"He's a volunteer who comes in sometimes. Some kind of professor. He's never actually had any practical field experience, but thinks he knows better than anyone else. Drives me nuts. We're having a vote about putting him on the board."
"Sorry to hear that," she said.
"Ah, well. I been looking for an arch enemy lately. Every super-hero has one; I've considered putting an ad in the personals. Oh, and maybe the Mad Gasser has struck Lock Haven."
She looked up. "What?"
"I never mentioned the Mad Gasser?"
"Not that I remember."
"Old legend. Weird kind of guy, often mentioned in the same breath as the Jersey Devil, who struck Mattoon, Illinois decades ago. Was said to have a weird silver costume and pumped gas into peoples' homes, giving them headaches. He struck Pennsylvania in the forties, down near Philadelphia."
"Weird," she admitted. "Why do you think he struck here?"
"Noticed it in the newspaper the other day. Not far from here, on Main Street, someone was breaking into a car around two in the morning. He had a silver hoodie on, and the owners of the house woke up with headaches and reported a weird smell. It fits the profile."
Kara smiled. "The Mad Gasser, huh? I dig it."
"Seriously, look it up. I been a little bored lately; maybe I'll look into it."

The house where the possible Mad Gasser sighting had occurred was on the east end, near Piper. I didn't know the actual address, but I took a detour on the way home. It's this sort of attention to detail that sets me above all the other librarian-paranormal-curator-writers.
I didn't see anything obvious. No damaged properties, no aboveground gas lines. Nothing that could immediately explain a funny smell.
You can't always catch a break. Some days would make Reverend Joseph Nesbitt kick a baby.

"Lou," said Zach,"Are you the one who's been filling up my recycling bin with soda cans?"
"Those could be anybody's Yeti brand sodas," I said.
He rolled his eyes. "Very funny."
The library door opened, and Greg came in. Great. He nodded at me, and I tried to look civil.
"Hello, Lou," he said.
"Greg."
"I just came in to grade  a few papers. You know, end of the semester and my class is important. Is it okay if I use the Pennsylvania Room?"
"Sure. It's a public library."
In the best of all possible worlds, I'd be able to prove that this asshole was the Mad Gasser.
"It's been busy," he said. "I've had students e-mailing me and asking for extensions or bonus work." He shook his head. "I can't believe students do that. I never had the guts to ask my professors for a grade I hadn't earned when I was in college."
I nodded, trying to look busy.
"I mean, did you?" he asked.
"I never asked for extra credit," I said,"But I never really gave a crap about my grades, either."
He nodded slowly. Like a professor does. "And why was that?"
"Because I started volunteering as a teen," I said. "I was actually doing the job before I even got to college, which gave me much more experience than my professors. So who the hell are they to tell me how to do the job? They'd never done it, and I had."
I walked back to my desk, opened a Yeti brand soda, and got to work.
First I took the name of the victims, and checked it against the city directory. The address hadn't been in the newspaper, but I was able to look it up in a couple of minutes. I took one of the tourist maps of Lock Haven, unfolded it on top of the shelves with all the marriage certificates, and made a mark on Main Street where the house was. I used a red marker.
Then I got a blue marker, and marked up all the potential spots where a headache-inducing smell could have come from. Gas companies, trash companies, the sewage treatment plant. My map, which already had a yellow line around the historic district, was beginning to look pretty festive, considering the subject matter.
The next part was going to be a little tricky.
I pulled the newspaper from the day in question, which was stacked on a shelf by my desk anyway. The weather listed the speed of the wind, but not the direction, which was what I needed. I sat down at my desk and considered it as I drank some more Yeti soda.
Then I called President John at the museum.
"Hey, John? It's Lou. This is something I figure pilots and people in airlines would know. I need to know if there's anyplace I can get past weather reports that include wind direction."
"Oh, sure, there's a bunch of good websites for that. Just a second, I'll e-mail you a couple."
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
"Okay, sending now."
"Thanks a lot, John. I'll be in on Monday to work on the Tri-Pacer acquisition."
I gave it a minute, drinking more Yeti soda and reading a few pages of the new Batman.  I'm not doing product placement here, it's just that the Yeti soda is really good stuff. Then I logged into my e-mail and tried the first link that John had sent.
On the night in question, the wind had been blowing north-northwest. I checked my map. That put it at exactly the right direction to have been coming from the sewage treatment plant on the southeast end of Lock Haven.
The next part was going to require a few more questions.

About fifty people gathered at the Station Gallery for the big preview of the TV show featuring Lock Haven. I worked my way through the crowd, finding Maria, our city planner.
"Hi, Lou!"
"Hi, Maria. Can you answer a question?"
"Sure."
"No big thing, most curiosity. Was there a problem at the sewer department Monday night?"
"Well, jesus christ, Lou, you know I don't run the whole city government, right? I'm just back in my own little corner."
"Sure, but you're the only friend I got at City Hall."
"The mayor thinks you're great."
"That's mutual, but I've known you longer. I figured you'd know who to ask."
"You want me to find out?"
"Only if it comes up organically."
"Let me make a couple of calls."
Five minutes later, she got off her phone and turned back to me.
"The answer is yes---There was a backup of some sort. I called Water and Sewer. Do you need details?"
"Nah, that's what I needed to know. Thanks, Maria."
"Is this going to be in the newspapers?"
"Probably not....It's not as dramatic as I thought it was."

"So, my Mad Gasser sighting wasn't the actual Mad Gasser after all," I said to Kara. "It was a minor crime that accidentally coordinated with a sewage problem. Just enough to look like the Mad Gasser, at least to me."
"So you solved a mystery that goes back for decades," said Kara. We were upstairs in the Sloan Room, with the Teen Paranormal kids arriving.
"Well, I don't know that I solved the whole thing," I said. "I'm not sure that's the explanation for everything since the 1940s. Only this one incident."
"Close enough," Kara said. "What's next?"
"Well, I did hear a rumor about a haunting at the Burger King."
"Seriously? The one they're renovating?"
"Yeah, in Flemington. Maybe I'll look into it, see what I can find out. I could get a column out of it."
"Yeah? What're you gonna call this one?"
"I don't know. 'Have It Your Wraith'?"
She laughed. "Why not?"
"What's the lesson tonight?" asked Aubrey.
"Spontaneous human combustion," I said. "We're going to learn how to investigate...."
"Like when someone explodes?" she asked.
I nodded. "More or less."
"Cool!"
"I have some chemistry stuff here to show you how to run a test," I said. "Glad to see you guys. Let's get to work."