"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?"
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?"
