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.
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."
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