Cryptid Summer: The Yurt Locker

I put the cover on the rice, the gave the chicken a stir. Tif sat at the kitchen table, watching me cook.

"What's for dinner?" she asked.

"Pre-assembled chicken and vegetable bowls," I said. "Tracey got a book in with all sorts of bowl recipes, and it inspired me."

"Smells good. What's that sauce?"

"That's just garlic salt and oil. Did I tell you I'm getting a new editor with the Pennsylvania Wilds?"

"No. LaKeshia get tired of dealing with you?"

"She got a promotion. The new editor is named Hannah. She never responds to my e-mails, and barely communicates with me at all. I love her. She's great."

Tif laughed. "You'd rather be unsupervised."

"I tend to work best with minimal feedback."

"So when's dinner?"

"Hey, I'm working on a piece about UFOs in Jefferson County. My article on Bigfoot sightings in Bald Eagle State Park got over two hundred shares. Did I tell you about the newsletter I got with the Bigfoot tracks in Michaux State Park?"

"You get Bigfoot newsletters?"

"Also UFOs. Have to stay current."

"So there were tracks....?"

"Judging by the photos included, obvious fakes."

"How can you tell?" Tif asked.

"Bipedal creatures roll their feet as they walk. The toes and heels are deeper, and the middle is all mushy. These are too deep and clear. Let me show you." I picked up my work tablet. I hate tablets, but during COVID, I've gotten used to the one the library assigned me. I signed in and brought up the e-mail.

"I want to see," said Paul. I sat down and put him on my lap.

"Here. See how all the prints are very clear, and uniform depth? It's exactly what you'd get with a fake foot on a stick pressed into the ground. It's a fake, and not even a good one. Come on, hoaxers. Take a little pride in your work." I got up and stirred the vegetables. "Speaking of Bald Eagle State Park, your mother booked us a yurt for June."

"A yurt?...."

"It's a little like a wikiup, only bigger----"

"I know what a goddamn yurt is. You guys are going camping?"

"All of us. It's handicap accessible."

Tif looked the park up on her tablet. "Huh. That does look accessible. It's paved, so I can bring my wheelchair."

"Also there have been Bigfoot sightings. So, you know, there's my weekend."

"Stop at the main office, hon," I told my wife from the backseat. "Who wants a map?"

"Why would we need a map?" Michelle asked.

"Why would you not? Does nobody want to know how to get around?"

"I can't read a map," said Tif.

"I'll teach you."

"I can't, either," admitted Biz.

"You served in the military!"

"Military maps are different."

"I'll take a map, Daddy," said Paul.

I went into the main office and got five maps.

We drove to the yurt. I unlocked it, and we went in. It was a big, round thing with a partition in the middle. The kids fanned out a bit to explore.

"This place is bigger than my apartment," said Biz.

We let Rosie off the leash, and she ran around, sniffing everything. I walked into one of the bedrooms and dropped my pack on the top bunk. Paul said,"When we're unpacked, I want to go swimming!"

"Thought I might walk around some," I said. "I'll take Rosie and look for Bigfoot."

"I'll go along," said Biz.

"I might come, too," said Tif. "I have a fitbit, and I'm trying to get more exercise."

"I'll start a fire later," I said. "I got hot dogs for dinner. Let me bring all the stuff in."

I slung the khaki green pouch over my shoulder as we left the yurt. "Got my cryptozoology kit on me. Let's go walking."

"You have a cryptozoology kit?" Tif asked with some amusement.

"Got a kit for everything. I have different equipment in different rigs, depending on what I'm going to be investigating. UFOs, buried treasure...."

Halfway down the loop path, Tif paused on her crutches and breathed. "Gotta stop, guys. I'll wait here at the picnic table and meet up with you on the way back. You guys go on ahead."

"You sure?" I asked. "We're not in any big hurry." Aside from Rosie, who pulls hard on the leash anywhere she goes.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I can meditate while I wait."

"Okay. Catch you on the way back."

Biz and I walked down the path to the trailhead. I said,"Here we go, the footbridge path."

"How far to the footbridge?" asked Biz.

"I think we can practically see it from here. Did I tell you I got a new rifle microphone?"

"I don't think so. What's a rifle microphone?"

"It looks kind or like a ray gun with a radar dish on the front. You can use it to listen for things at a distance. I plan to use it for Bigfoot."

"Still not hunting ghosts?"

"Not at the moment." Rosie was sniffing everything she walked past; a lot of this was new to her.

"Hey! Guys!" It was Tif, calling from the trailhead. "Stay where you are! I'm coming down!"

Biz and I paused on the path and waited for Tif to come down on her crutches. "Oh," she said, looking at the path. "It's gravel."

"You made it down," I commented.

"I decided palsy could kiss my fat ass," said Tif. "I want to see the footbridge."

"Well, it's right around the corner."

We walked down the trail and turned, and there it was---The footbridge. It was made of a hundred feet of wood, stretching across the lake. 

"It looks like it's going to fall down any minute," said Tif.

"It looks like something from Middle Earth!" said Biz. "I could picture Hobbits living here."

"It's solid," I said. "Come on, let's walk out on it."

It was about one-thirty in the morning when I heard the yurt door open and close. A moment later, I heard it again. When I'd gone to sleep, Tif and Biz were still up talking, and Paul had changed his mind about his sleeping location maybe twenty times. He'd wanted the top bunk, but Rosie didn't like it. She'd actually jumped off, because the puppy has no sense of survival. Paul had bounced around for a while, finally passing out in the main room with the girls, with Rosie sleeping on the floor.

I decided I'd better get up and check what was going on. I love my daughters, and they're competent, independent women. And then every once in a while one of them forgets to not shower with a cell phone or something. Wearing my Lake Erie Monster pajamas, I climbed off the bunk.

I found Biz outside with Rosie. She said,"Tif went down to the bathrooms. I thought I'd better bring Rosie out."

I nodded. "What time did Paul pass out?"
"Maybe eleven or so. Rosie's been up and down."

"They're both all excited as hell."

"I should go check on Tif. Hold Rosie?"

I took Rosie's leash and waited as Biz walked down the path. It was a nice night; it had cooled down and things were pleasant. I could see Tif coming up the path, Biz going down to meet her. Something made a sound in the woods nearby, and I saw Biz turn with her light.

"Yeah," I called out to her. "I heard it, too."

"Bigfoot, Daddy," Tif commented as she approached.

"Sounded awfully small for Bigfoot."

"A child Bigfoot."

"Probably a raccoon or a possum." I looked up at the sky. "Can you guys see the Big Dipper? Who can tell me which way north is?"

Both of them turned and pointed in opposite directions, both wrong. I said,"It's that way. You follow the two stars at the end of the cup, and they point to the North Star."

"Oh," said Tif. "I thought it was the handle."
"I'll see you two in the morning."

Breakfast was scrambled eggs and hash, all of which Biz slept through. Rosie got all the leftovers, the spoiled little thing. As we finished up, Michelle said,"I just have to make two calls for work, and then we can make a run for supplies."

"Think I'll take a walk while you do that," I said. "There's an overpass I want to check out."

"Is Bigfoot by the overpass?" Tif asked.

"It's possible. Cryptids love overpasses. The Virginia Bunnyman does nothing all day but hang around overpasses."

"Take your map," Michelle said.

Leaving the yurt, I walked west. (I know which way west is.) I found the Shrike Trail, which looked about right. Checking the map as I went, I walked up and over the hill, and in about twenty minutes, I found the overpass. I walked down and headed under.

As I went under, there was a very strong, distinct smell. I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. The closest I can come to describing it is the beach, when there's a lot of dead stuff washed up in the sun. I was intrigued; Bigfoot has been described as having a smell. Though I'd never heard it described as a bucket of dead clams.

I walked under the overpass and a little further up, then turned around and came back. As I passed through on the return trip, the scent was gone.

I noticed it again a short way back up the Shrike Trail. I stopped and glanced around---The smell was right where a line of damaged grass led into the thick woods, as if a large animal had pushed its way in and stomped all the grass flat on the way. I looked for prints, but didn't find any---Too much grass. It could have been an especially unhygienic deer, but I took some photos anyway. You never know.

"Daddy? I'm bored."
Paul had been running around with Rosie ever since dinner, and I was a little amazed that either of them was still standing in the heat. I said,"Well, what would you like to do?"
"I want to hang out in the yurt with my sisters, but they want to stay outside."

"Well, it's pretty hot in here," I admitted. "Tell you what....I know what we can do. You want to take a walk with me?"

He shook his head. "I don't feel like it."

"Then how about this?" I got out a solid briefcase, and opened it up. Inside was the rifle microphone, my night-vision binoculars, and two comlinks. I turned them both on and handed one to Paul.

"You press this button to talk. Hold it in. Now, I'm gonna go on my walk, but we can stay in touch. Sound good?"

"Yeah!" He pressed the button, and his voice came from across the room, ten feet away. "I love you, Daddy."

"Love you too, buddy. I'll be back soon."

I left the yurt. This time, I went down and around the loop until I saw the small amphitheater---The trailhead was behind it. Paul's voice came across. "How's it going, Daddy?"

"So far, so good. I found the trailhead. It's behind a little amphitheater---That's a small stage out here in the woods."
"Cool, cool."

I walked down the Swamp Oak Trail. It wasn't long before I stumbled on the reason for the name. I hit the button. "Still with me, kid?"

"Ten-four, good buddy."

Clearly he'd gone out to sit with Tif and Biz, and was now being coached. "I just found a giant tree. It's a really, really big oak tree. I mean, it's huge."

"Cool!"

"Ask Sissy if she wants a crow feather."

"Sissy says yes."

I picked up a black feather and put it in the crypto kit. The trail moved through the swamp, and then rose up the hill. I followed it up.

I heard something, not too far off, making noise in the woods. I couldn't see it, but I could hear it clearly, rustling off the path.

"There's something else out here with me," I said. "I can hear some sort of animal."

"A Bigfoot?"

"Maybe."

"Sissy says don't get eaten."

The trail went up and turned, moving northeast across the hill. I walked it, casually, still hearing the sounds from the forest.

"Whatever it is, it's still with me."

"Roger!"

After a while, the trail turned northwest and went downhill. It was coming back to the footbridge. I hit the button.

"Inbound on the footbridge, kid. I'm not too far from home now; I'll be arriving in a few minutes."

"Okay. I love you, Daddy."

"I love you, too, buddy."

"You can run ahead, if you like," Tif said as we walked up the path.

"Nah, I got nowhere to be." We were walking back up toward the yurt. The sun had gone down. "Great trip."

"Yeah, it was a fun one," said Tif. "I can't believe I did seven thousand steps yesterday."
"You basically went hiking. You're doing really well, for you."

There was a sound---A thump, almost like a drum beat, from off in the woods. I glanced at Tif. "Did you hear that?"

"It sounds like a turkey," she said.

"Turkeys play the drums?"

"The male ones make noises like that. We had them at my grandmother's house when I was little."
We walked back to the yurt. Michelle was reading a book. Paul was eating some cheese curls, and Rosie was keeping a close eye on both him and Biz, who had the graham crackers. "Sit," said Paul. Rosie sat, and got a cheese curl.

Tif sat down. I sat at the kitchen table and got a glass of water. The heat had dropped, but I was still sweating some. I said,"Tomorrow I figure I'll make the rest of the eggs and hash for breakfast. Everyone eat all the groceries. I don't want to repack them in the morning."

From outside, there was the gobbling sound a turkey makes, in the distance. Tif said,"You hear that, Dad?"
I nodded. "It's wild turkeys, allright. That's from roughly the direction of the overpass I saw earlier."

"They're angry," Tif said. "Something's attacking them. A lone coyote?"
"Maybe Bigfoot," suggested Biz.

"Why the hell am I just sitting here?" I got up and opened the briefcase.

"The rifle microphone," Tif said.

I snapped the pieces together. "Let's see what I can hear out there."

Paul picked up the might-vision binoculars. "I'm going with you."

We left the yurt and stood in front of it, looking west. I put the headphones on and aimed the microphone, picking up sounds in the distance. Beside me, I saw Paul press the button that turned the green laser night vision on the binoculars.

"I don't see anything," he said. "Just trees."

"I can hear the turkeys, but nothing else. Can't tell what's hunting them."
"Maybe Bigfoot."

"Maybe," I said.

I felt his little hand slip into mine. "Wait until I tell my friends back home, Daddy," he said. "I'm having fun."
I held his hand.

"Me, too," I said.

Cryptid Summer: Release The Hound

Jeremiah Church founded Lock Haven. He also founded two other towns, plus Clinton County, traveled the country, and raised a daughter. He accomplished all this because he was smart enough to avoid staff meetings.

"We're reopening in June," said the Boss. "Now that the mask mandate has been lifted and staff is almost fully vaccinated, the board is discussing a full reopening."

I was sitting at the table between Tracey and Barb, my folder in front of me with the UFO stickers on it. I'd been scribbling notes, but they were mostly about Bigfoot, so I almost missed it when the Boss said,"Lou, do you have anything?"

"Well, scavenger hunt upcoming," I said. "And I'm bringing back the tours this summer. I'm excited about that. With the summer reading theme being animals, I have some good stuff coming up, but I'll get to that later."

"Oh, come on," said Mel. "Don't leave us hanging! Give us a few details."

"Yeah, Lou, don't be a tease," said Jim.

I laughed. "Okay, fair enough. I have a couple of animal photo shows, and a class on how to investigate cryptids. I asked the Boss if, for our purposes, cryptids count as animals, and she agreed. I assume she actually listened to the question. So I'll be teaching how to investigate monsters. A summer of cryptids."

"Oh, that's cool," said Mel.

"I'm also planning some bird watching, and I'm working on an event involving the water creature in the Susquehanna," I said. "But I'm not quite there yet."

I did what I always do after a staff meeting. I walked down the main stairs one floor, and then disappeared into the old section of the building. Once an old house, it was full of winding halls and odd staircases. One of these deposited me in my office, right behind my desk.

Which had a stack of yearbooks on it, old ones from Lock Haven High. They hadn't been there when I'd arrived an hour ago, so I followed procedure and shouted,"Okay, who put the yearbooks on my desk?"
"That was me," said Jayne, who was shelving over in large print. "Someone came in and donated them. I thought you might need them."

"I'll check and see what we already have," I said.

I walked back to the circulation area, where Tracey was hard at work doing something. I don't pretend to understand what it is Tracey does. I checked the yearbook shelves, and I was pleasantly surprised to find out that we were missing a couple of the ones that had been donated. I filed them on the shelf.

Taking the other two, I walked back out to Jayne. "Good news. We needed two of those; we didn't have Forty-Nine and Fifty-Two. I'm taking the others to the attic as spares."

"Have fun."

I love the library's attic. It's a hundred and thirty-four years old, and looks about that old. It's got all the unused and spare stuff we have stored in there someplace, including a ton of books and files that don't work in the Pennsylvania Room. I added the remaining yearbooks to the stack.

The shelf of Keystone Folklore Quarterly magazines caught my eye, and I pulled a couple down to look at. What the hell, I wasn't all that busy today.

I paged through. Keystone Folklore Quarterly is an old magazine dedicated to old legends; I'd gotten some good stuff out of there before. I found an entire issue devoted to stories from an African-American family descended from escaped slaves. They had some good ghost stuff in there, some interesting old mythical stuff. I read one where a man named Thomas Wood had been buried in a cemetery, and his spirit had turned into a dog to roam the place.

That actually sounded local. Some of the details seemed to match up. I took the magazine downstairs.

I checked the index card for for a Thomas Wood. There was one who had died in the late 1800s, buried in Drury's Run. I pulled the Chapman Township cemetery index and found him---Section Five.

Huh. A graveyard dog.

I've always wanted one of those.

I went downstairs and checked my cell phone. There was a sixty-second message I listened to. Zach was on desk.

"You'll never guess who I just got a message from," I said.

"Who?"

"You remember a couple of years ago, this insane drunk woman came in with a bunch of photos of ghosts and UFOs she wanted me to---"

"Oh god. How did she get your cell number?"

"It's generally printed with my columns. At the time, she claimed that she had photos of the paranormal, but you had to have the same eyeglass prescription to view them."

Zach laughed. "I don't remember that part."

"Yeah, that may have happened after you ran out of the room. Not that I blame you. I will admit, though, that it's nice of the Annual Summer Nutcase to call first."

I went upstairs. I didn't want to be around people for this next part. Every summer, we get at least one lunatic who comes in and causes a scene. They tend to return all summer, say and do all sorts of crazy things, and because I'm a paranormal investigator, they cling to me. A couple of years ago, we'd had a weird guy in white robes come in venting about the government. Last year, we'd had a homeless guy trying to sleep on the picnic tables who'd swear at you when you told him he wasn't allowed. They never went away on their own, so I had to get this next part over with.

I called back. The phone picked up, went immediately to hold, and then came up with a TV blasting in the background. "Yeah?"

"Hi, this is Lou....You left a---"

"Oh, yeah! Thanks for calling me back!" At least she sounded somewhat sober this time. "You remember me? It was, what, two or three years ago when I came in and showed you some pictures. You said you couldn't see it unless you wore my glasses."

"That's not actually how I remember the conversation going."

"I just got off the phone with NASA. They told me to find a local paranormal investigator to look at my pictures. Do you know anyone?"

"Uh....."

"I mean, I guess I could call the newspapers....."

"They'd just refer you to me. I tend to be the big name around here for the paranormal; everyone you talk to will tell you to contact me. I'll tell you what. If you'd like to bring the photos back in, I'll take a look and get a statement from you."

"Oh, that'd be great! I'll come in as soon as I can," she said. "Thanks so much for returning my call. Everyone else tells me I'm nuts."

"Your children," Michelle said as I sat down to dinner,"Used your sound-thingie in the yard today."

'The rifle microphone?" I asked.

Paul nodded. "Yeah."

"What were you using that for?"

"To listen for the ice cream truck."

"Well," I admitted,"That is an appropriate use of the rifle microphone." I turned to Biz, sitting next to me. "You know anything about graveyard dogs?"

"The legend, you mean? Or the band?"

"There's a band?"

"I don't know. Probably. I know a little about graveyard dogs. They're usually ghost dogs that stand guard over a cemetery, also called grims. They come from a dog---Or maybe a person whose ghost took the form of a dog---The first burial in the cemetery, usually on the north side."

"Why are you asking about graveyard dogs?" Tif asked me.

"Think I found one in Renovo."

The phone rang. I walked into the other room---I still have a phone in the other room---And picked it up. It was Chris.

"Hey, Lou," he said. "You know that article you wrote for the Express on the mine accident in Bitumen in 1888?"

"Yeah, it ran last Saturday."

"There's been some talk online about it. Some people in a Bitumen group are criticizing it; they want to know where you got the photo of the mine that ran with it."

"Hell, that was a stock photo the art director chose to fill space."

"A lot of people in the Bitumen group are debating whether it's a real photo of a Bitumen mine. They're kind of upset that you didn't reach out to them and use a historic photo."

"Hell, I don't do photos. I write a hundred articles a year; I let the editor handle the graphics."

"You want me to add you to the group so you can respond?"

"Hell no. I avoid online groups as a way of handling my own blood pressure. I'll let them work it out; they don't need any comment from me."

Chris laughed. "Okay, then. You in the library tomorrow? I need to come in and do some research."

"I should be, yeah."

It was a Tuesday when we fully opened the library for the first time in a year. I was wearing my cryptids mask and the shirt with nine different monsters on it.

"I'm going out for my break," said Zach. "Back in half an hour."

"Have fun. That leaves me remarkably unsupervised."

Zach grinned. "Don't burn the place down, that's all we ask."

"No promises."

With Zach gone, I was the only person in the library at the moment. But the doors were open. Anyone could come in.

Finally.

I walked through the building, looking at the place. Somehow, it looked brighter, more cheerful. It seemed like such a long time ago when we'd shut down for COVID---March of 2020. Well over a year ago, I'd helped shut down the library and went home to teach survival skills to my son. Concentrated on what I could do from home, or by myself. A year of ghosts at home, UFOs within a block, lonely cemeteries.

My cell phone was ringing, inside of my backpack. I answered it.

It was, of course, the Annual Summer Nut.

"Hi, Lou. I'm not going to be able to come in today. I got too spiritual, and it just wore me out."
I'm never exactly sure how to respond to statements like that. Probably I should plan something in advance.

"That's fine; you can come in whenever."

"The same thing happens when I give psychic readings. I just need to rest for a few days."

"No problem. I'm at the library all the time anyway; you don't really need an appointment to come and talk to me."

"I was arranging my photos last night, and on TV, a news show about UFOs came on. I was like, whoa! Isn't that weird?"

The government had recently declassified some UFO files, so it would be a bit weird if this wasn't all over the news. I chose to skip the question and said,"I'll be back in on Tuesday. Feel free to come in after that."

"Okay, I will."

I hung up before the conversation could continue.

I went to the microfilm and pulled Thomas Wood's obit. He'd been an Irish immigrant, and a soldier in the Civil War before getting employed by the railroad, like most of the people in Renovo in those days. I was looking at the cemetery records when Chris walked in.

"Hey Lou. Anything new on the Bitumen thing?"

"Yeah, one guy finally e-mailed me to ask about the photo. I explained that it was a stock picture selected by my editor, and he said that he didn't realize the press had the right to deceive people like that. I left it at that; there's not gonna be any convincing that guy."

"Of course," Chris said. "Anything else interesting?"

"Looking into a graveyard dog."

"A graveyard dog? You've wanted one of those for a while."

"Discovered a mention in an old folklore magazine. I've found the grave it's connected to, a Thomas Wood up in Renovo. Now, the interesting thing here is that the story seems to have adapted to the grave itself."

"How's that?"

"Graveyard dogs are said to be at the first grave in the cemetery, usually to the north. It's an English legend---Thomas Wood was Irish, but I'd have to think the folklore would spread over there. Now, get this---Wood was buried on the north end of the cemetery in 1894."

"In that area, he couldn't have been the first grave there, though. Could he?"

"No way; the cemetery was around long before that. But here's the thing---It was founded by the local Catholic church. They built a new church in 1892 in downtown Renovo. This grave wasn't the first in the cemetery, but it was the first for the new church. It checks all the boxes---That's where the story of the graveyard dog came from."

On Memorial Day, I did what I always do and fired up the grill. The whole family loves it when I grill; Tif usually starts begging for it around mid-March. Paul helped me with some of the recipes, and we wound up with chicken, hot dogs, peppers, corn on the cob, carrots, and asparagus. We sat around a folding table in the back yard, with Duke and Rosie tied up in the grass.

"So this summer, we have camping trips and some cool stuff," I said. "With the summer reading theme being animals, I'm going to be giving a couple of tours and classes on monster hunting. Got some good stuff planned. And with the vaccines, we'll be able to do more. Some camping and a few trips, maybe go visit some relatives for the first time in a while."

"A summer of cryptids," said Tif.

I nodded. "A summer of cryptids."

"You may experience some side effects," said the pharmacist. "You might get some pain in this arm, maybe some flu-like symptoms. Chills, a headache. It should all go away in a day or two. Left arm okay?"

I nodded. "Let's do this."

He stuck the needle in my arm, just under where I had my "Bigfoot: Social Distancing Champion" shirt rolled up. It only took a second, and then he was applying the band-aid.

"You're bleeding a little."

"I'm gonna tell people I got in a fight."

"Stick around for fifteen minutes, and then you can head out. That would be two-nineteen."

"I brought a paperback. I'll be fine."

A little while later, I was home. Paul and Rosie were asleep on the couch. I went up to my office. I had the first mask I'd worn the one my wife had made for me over a year ago, when I was doing an archaeological dig in the back yard. Little Christmas trees and an alien patch on it. At the time, I'd been expecting to retire it in two weeks or so.

Now, I had a collection of masks with ghosts, Bigfoot, and aliens on them.

I hung it up on the trophy shelf. The symbol of this whole terrible, traumatic year....Now coming, finally, to an end.

For the first time in almost two years, I stood in front of a crowd for a summer history tour. Seven people and a dog, all turned out for my event. I smiled as I looked around at everyone.

"Thanks for coming, everyone," I said. "It's good to be back at this again. This is the first summer tour I've done since 2019, so bear with me if I seem a little uneasy. Also forgive the hair; I been cutting it myself for a year and a half."

Laughter. I continued,"Tonight's tour is Water Street. So, if you'd like to follow me, let's go on out to the sidewalk. It's a nice night. Let's learn some history."