Thin Ice: Cold Wave

In decades of ghost-hunting, I'd never seen anything this terrifying.

"Do not touch anything," I said.

Paul and his little friend Ella looked up at me as we stood in the music store, among the expensive musical instruments. I was looking around at the inventory, absolutely terrified that something was going to be broke within the next five minutes.

"Your mom is picking up your violin for school," I said to Paul. "In the meantime, you guys stay calm. Do not test the drums. Do not try the guitars. Just don't. Touch. Anything."

"Okay," said Paul.

"Oooh, are those pianos?" said Ella.

I walked outside into the parking lot. I didn't want to see whatever came next. It was snowing. I dug into my pack, pulled out my binoculars, and looked south, toward the river.

"I have a new UFO sighting," I told Emily. "Well, new for me. It happened in 1992."

I was packaging some papers, and she was trying to fix a printer jam. She asked me,"Where's this one?"

"Williamsport. So I thought I'd take a look while we were getting Paul's violin with the kids. I really didn't want to be in there with them. Paul's friend Ella somehow manages to be both a little sweetheart and a holy terror simultaneously. She's a nice kid, but she's wild. Every time she comes over to the house, we get things broken, expensive perfumes sprayed on the dogs, my shaving cream used to make slime, and whatever else she can think of. In retrospect, bringing her along to the music store was not a well-thought-out move."

"Oh good god," said Emily. "So how'd you find out about this UFO?"

"My friend Norman shared it on his blog," I said. "In February of 1992, a whole lot of witnesses all along the Susquehanna saw boomerang-shaped UFOs with flashing lights in the sky. There were newspaper articles about it; I'm going to check the archives later. My personal file designation for this is WP-92, but at the time it was known as the Williamsport Wave."

"Any ideas?"

"It being 1992, I can safely rule out drones, but otherwise, not yet. Gonna run down the checklist, look at airports, military testing, and stuff like that."

"That makes sense, to have a sort of standard operating procedure."

"If you have any thoughts, let me know. I can use the input," I said. I picked up the small drill I'd brought in. "I'll be down in the basement doing some repairs."

Emily smiled. "Got it."

I walked downstairs. The basement of the print shop was becoming quite a project for me. I'd started by creating a little secret hideout, and then expanded, and the whole thing was becoming a big work thing on my part. I had a whole lot of new shelf space created, I was weekly cleaning out all of the scrap cardboard, I had a workspace, and I even had vague plans to make an exercise area on the south end. 

I walked into my hideout, and got a dry-erase marker. I wiped off the laminated sign that read "42 DAYS WITHOUT AN ALIEN INVASION" and changed it back to zero. My way of keeping track of UFO investigations.

Using the drill, I moved a portable light from one space to a better one, and then repaired a small table and moved it into my work area. I moved some useless junk down to the far end out of the way, and cleared off a shelf and moved it into place. Then I went back upstairs to get some of the stock paper and bring it down, thus clearing some space above for other purposes.

Everyone was in the front office. Emily grinned at me. "We can hear you hammering down there."

"Got some stuff fixed," I said. "Did you know there are three mattresses down there?"

The boss laughed. "I knew about one of them. Did you see the oven?"

"There's an oven?"

We had a vegetable platter on the table; I helped myself to a couple of them. "My suggestion is that we move all the paper stuff away from the west wall. That seems to be where the moisture is coming in. I'll work on that once this seriously gets underway."

Kelli laughed. "You've been at this two weeks, shoving stuff around all day, and you're not seriously underway yet?"

"Well, been making myself a secret headquarters."

"Is there room to lay down one of those mattresses?" Emily asked. "I've been looking for an apartment."

I grinned. "Wouldn't it be cool to stay overnight and ghost hunt?"

"That'd be creepy."

"Nah, you get used it."

"I'll never be late for work," she said. "I can call upstairs and say,'Hey, I'm working from home today.'"

It was snowing and icy at the bus stop on the corner. Of course, that didn't stop Paul and has friends from wearing light jackets and sandals. Meanwhile, I was wrapped up in my puffy vest with my fleece hood. I used to worry that my kid was just weird about the cold weather, but it turns out they're apparently all like that.

"Don't forget, Dad," said Paul,"The Bingo fundraiser for my dance class is Sunday."

"Down at the Piper Museum, right? I've signed up to volunteer for it. I also donated five tour tickets that I had Emily design for me. I won't forget."

The kids were playing around. One of the boys, a nice enough kid, always chats with me about stuff he's interested in. I decided to put the kid to use.

"Hey, Wyatt, you're into planes, right? Do you know any of them that are sort of boomerang-shaped, with a couple of lights on each wing?"

"B-52 Spirit," the kid said immediately. "It's a stealth bomber."

I nodded. "That helps."

The bus came, and the kids all climbed on. "Bye, Dad! Love you!" Paul called as he ran for the bus.

I walked home in the snow. Rosie and Butters were waiting for me when I got there. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. Worked on an article for a while, and then re-read some reports of the Williamsport Wave.

Might have been some sort of plane, but it wasn't a stealth anything; witnesses reported hearing a loud noise as it flew. I found an account from one guy who claimed he'd figured it out, and it was an old dirigible from a New Jersey company, but when I looked up the company, they'd gone out of business by that time.

I checked social media, and saw that one of my former editors had posted a photo. She'd seen what appeared to be a deer in her yard, but it was weird---Short and chubby and not entirely deer-like. I looked at it and smiled.

"It's called a Not-Deer," I told Emily. "That's when people think they've seen a deer, but then they realized there's something wrong with it. They kind of look like deer, but you can see they don't quite line up. This one is pretty easily explainable; people are probably just seeing deer with some sort of disease or deformity. In this case, a former editor of mine posted a photo of what looks like a deer, but it's especially chubby and has forward-facing eyes."

She grinned. "I like how you can just come up with all these different cryptids."
"Oh, there are plenty of them. You familiar with the Squonk?" 

"Is that some kind of Bigfoot?"

"No, the Squonk is a little pig-like creature indigenous to Pennsylvania. They're considered very ugly, and they know it, so they sit in the forest and cry all day."

"Awww...."

"I know. Everyone loves the Squonk. Funny thing is, if the Squonks knew how much people love them, they'd stop crying."

Emily grinned. "Is it still cold out?"
"Like twenty-nine degrees. Solid sheets of ice outside. Plus a wind warning."

"Did you have any trouble biking in today?"
"Oh, you have no idea."

"When's the first day of spring?"

"I think it's March twentieth, and personally I cannot wait."

"So, any ideas for investigating?"

"I figure I'll call DCNR and ask about the Not-Deer. They can tell me if there are any genetic anomalies or anything that could explain it. As for the Williamsport Wave....Well, down at the Piper Museum they have files on a lot of government testing and flights. I need to get a look during Paul's Bingo game Sunday."

"You mean....."
I nodded. "That's right. I gotta sneak into the Piper Museum."

"B-4."

I stood by the door, directing people into the Bingo game. We were on the third floor of the Piper Museum, where I'd once been the curator. Michelle had met a couple of her work friends and gone to play, and Paul had disappeared with some of his little friends from dance class. After telling me that I was embarrassing and instructing me not to look directly at him. And then asking for money.

The owner of the dance studio came up. "How's it going?" she asked.

"Smooth enough," I said. "Not too much overcrowding yet."

She nodded. "Good. Now, those tour tickets you donated....Is that one ticket per person, or....?"

"Nah, unlimited number of people. I've done tours with as many as ninety people; I can handle whoever they can come up with."

"Oh, good. I'll make an announcement. I'm not even sure I know ninety people."

Looking through the door, I saw my friend Ian walk out into the hall, and I stepped out and chased him down. Ian works with the DCNR, and is the guy who books me for speeches and stuff in the state parks. 

"Ian! Hey! Got a question for you."

"Hi, Lou! What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking into deer lately. Is there anything, any condition or something, that might make a deer look like it has front-facing eyes?"

"You know deer don't, right?...."

"Yeah, I know, they're not predators. But is there anything that might give that impression?"
"Discoloration, perhaps. Or a genetic mutation. Or, most likely, some sort of sore that people mistook for eyes."

"That could be. Thanks, Ian. E-mail me about programs this summer, okay?"

"You got it."

I walked into the room across the hall. Michelle wouldn't notice; she was playing Bingo. She was probably used to this by now anyway. I'd been slipping off on some little side quest on family trips and events for the last couple of decades; she'd probably be alarmed if I didn't disappear for a while. 

Down in the lobby, I took a moment to plan out my route. I'd been the curator of this museum for three years; I knew every hallway and stairwell. I knew which doors led where, and which were most likely to be unlocked.

There was a door way back in the back that led down to the hangar. I had to climb over a small barricade, but I walked down the stairs and onto the floor. I walked past the planes; I'd always loved these airplanes. I took a moment to stop at my favorite, the Piper Aztec, and then I walked into the workshop area and behind some old Piper signs.

The staircase was where I remembered it, on the exterior wall behind the workshop. It led upstairs, into the archives.

"I'm in." 

I've always wanted to say that.

There was a lot of stuff in here, if you knew where to look. And I knew---This had once been my office.

I checked the air route map first. It showed me that the area where the Williamsport Wave had been sighted was, in fact, a legal air route---Planes were routed along that part of the Susquehanna. 

That's a start.

I checked a couple of other files, and found what I needed. There had been some aircraft testing done in the nineties at Fort Indiantown Gap. It would have likely taken them along the river.

"Bingo."

I slipped out, retraced my route, and went back upstairs. The Bingo game was still going on. I made the rounds, checked to see if I was needed.

Paul appeared out of nowhere. 

"Dad? We had a spill in the play room."

"Okay," I said. "Let's go see."

We walked into the play room, which was actually just an empty room where they'd sent the kids. Paul and his little dance friends were having a good time in there, occasionally breaking out into songs. One of them asked me,"Did you bring the tickets for the haunted tours?"

"Yeah, that was me."

"He does that all the time," Paul said airily.

Her eyes widened. "Do you see ghosts?"

"Well, we investigate them."

One of the other girls said,"Can you tell us some ghost stories?"
I smiled.

"If you'd like," I said. "We've been to a lot of haunted places."

On Monday, the temperature rose to forty-six degrees by the time I left for work. It's amazing how warm that can feel after almost two months of weather in the teens. I biked in to work with my lighter jacket on for the first time in a while.

Downstairs, in my hideout, I looked at my sign. "0 DAYS WITHOUT AN ALIEN INVASION." I scrubbed out the zero, and added a one.

Emily found me outside the back door of the Hecht Building, along Mill Street, facing the YEarick Building. The bank sign across the street said it had gone up to fifty-two degrees.

"Thought you might have gone down to your secret hideout in the basement," she said.

"I figured I'd come and enjoy the nice weather for a bit," I said. "Looks like spring might be on the way."

"About time. How was your weekend?"

"Bumped into a friend who answered the Not-Deer question. And I did get into the files over at Piper---Turns out there was military testing from Fort Indiantown Gap around that time, so that may have accounted for the Williamsport Wave. All of the secret passages and concealed stairways are where I remember them being."

Emily laughed. "And you just snuck in."

"It's amazing what you can accomplish when you're not above a little trespassing. How was your weekend?"

"It was nice. I spent time with my sister, since she was home from college."

"Ah, good. Glad you had a good time." I looked out at the street. "Nice day."

"Nice day," she agreed, and we turned our faces to the sun.

I smiled.

"The cold doesn't last forever," I said. "Spring is coming."

Cryptid Summer: Better Off Dead

I wasn't even done with my coffee yet when I heard the rattling of the door behind me. I hate it when that happens.

The library has an old emergency door right beside my desk. I'm the only one who ever uses it; it's my secret escape hatch. But every once in a while, someone mistakes it for the main entrance and tries to get in.

There was a guy rattling at the door. I opened it and said,"The main entrance is over there; can I help you?"
"Oh, yeah, I was asked to deliver this to you," he said. He handed me a small bound photo album. I opened it and saw photos, with notes attached, and ink marks all over them.

I sighed. "Thank you."

There had been a woman calling me lately. She claimed to have seen UFOs, ghosts, and cryptids....There wasn't much paranormal stuff she hadn't seen. The problem was that she was, to put it generously, insane. The photos showed a bunch of things that she'd labelled as creatures and UFOs, none of which was really visible among the blurriness.

First thing in the morning.

I got home from work and walked into my haunted house through the back door. Our old dog Duke walked into the room to greet me, but otherwise there was a distinct lack of shouting and running around. This was explained when I went out to get the mail, and found Tif, Paul, and Rosie out front splashing each other with water.

"Daddy!" said Paul.

"Mom went to take a walk," said Tif. "Get some exercise."

I sat down on a lawn chair and shuffled through the mail. "Piper Museum newsletter," I said. "Looks like they're short on money. COVID did a number on their funds, and cut back on income."

"Why did you leave Piper? Is there something I don't remember?"

"Mostly Paul. He was turning four, I wanted to spend more time with him at home. I loved the museum, but it was taking up the most time for least return."

"I thought it was something like that."

"I might contact John and see if I can do a fundraiser for them. I might be able to bring in a few hundred dollars."

"One of your ghost-hunting classes?"

"I play to my strengths."

"I thought you were getting out of ghosts for a while."

"Yeah. I was. But for Piper....I'll get back in."

I sat at the kitchen table, late at night, with my new laptop. The house was dark, and everyone else was asleep. Even Duke, curled up on his dog bed. Just me.

I took a deep breath, and then typed out an e-mail to the president of the Piper Museum, offering to do a ghost-hunting fundraiser to help. Then I turned off the computer, and went into the other room to watch TV.

Fifteen minutes later, I was back in the kitchen, checking to see if there was any reply.

Nothing.

I opened a beer and went back to the TV.

I checked again before going to bed.

And again when I got up in the morning.

Nothing yet.

I checked when I got to work.

Also six times throughout the day.

I checked again when I got home.

It's possible I was taking this thing too seriously.

Four days later, the reply came in.

"Yes!"

"Are we going to see the Jersey Devil?" asked Paul.

"You never know," I said, walking Rosie down our street. "The last time the Jersey Devil was seen at the paper factory was a hundred and twelve years ago. But maybe."

I love our neighborhood. There's history, haunted houses, a crytpid or two, and underground tunnels and caverns everywhere. I never want to move. Also, moving is a pain in the ass.

"Tell me about the Jerset Devil, Daddy," said Paul.

We turned the corner and headed down toward the paper factory. "The Jersey Devil is from New Jersey," I said. "It was born about three hundred years ago. It's kind of a flying kangaroo horse creature, and it gets seen in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey. It was seen in Lock Haven a few times in the winter of 1909."

'That's cool," said Paul.

His hand slipped into mine. Sometimes he wants to hold hands as we walk, and sometimes not.

"Looks like it's going to rain," he said.

I nodded. "We could be in for a storm."

"Does the Jersey Devil like storms?"

"Not as much as Thunderbirds," I said.

"Sorry I'm the only one who came to your birdwatching program, Daddy," said Tif.

"Don't be," I said. "I got some time with my daughter, and I managed to hold a program without having to deal with the general public. This is basically best-case scenario, unless we see a Piasa Bird."

We were sitting out on the southwest lawn of the library, with binoculars and a camera, looking for birds. 

"President John okayed the fundraiser," I said. "It's set for July 10th. I've started advertising; I hope I get a crowd."

"Let's hope," said Tif. 

"I'm going to have to practice a bit," I said. "I haven't investigated a haunted place since Gwen died. I'm out of practice."

"You've been doing this for years. You know what you're doing."

"Well, I need to brush up a little. You know the last three months is the longest I've gone without ghost hunting since, what, 2007 maybe. Before I can teach it again, it'd be best for me to find a place to investigate."

"Where you thinking? Highland?"

"I can investigate Highland anytime I want. And I've spent the last year investigating nothing but our place and the library. I need someplace a little challenging. Somewhere different."

"Have anywhere in mind?"
I looked across the street. "I might have some ideas."

I watched as Rosie raced around on the grass, pursued by three other dogs. We'd recently discovered a dog park in Flemington, and we'd been taking her there in the evenings to wear her out. She loved playing with the other dogs. Her best friend was Jackson, a giant black thing who was very gentle with her. 

"Think I'll walk over to Flemington Cemetery," I said. "Paul, you want to come with me?"

"No, I'll stay here with Rosie," said Paul.

"Okay," I said. "Back in a bit."

I grabbed my pack and left the dog park, leaving Paul and my wife to watch the blur that was Rosie. I walked up past the playground, through the bowling alley parking lot, and across High Street to the cemetery.

The Flemington Cemetery had been around since the 1840s. Originally intended as the site of a church, a man had fallen during construction and died. They'd buried him where he lay, scrapped the church, and made it into a cemetery. It would do as well as anywhere for retraining.

I dug into my pack. For the first time in a quarter of a year, I held my laser thermometer, digital recorder, and EMF detector. I was wearing my black jacket with all the buttons and patches on it, and my Snallygaster shirt.

"Time to work."

Taking photos, I walked through the cemetery. Flemington is a lovely cemetery. I mean, it's not Highland, but it's a beautiful, historic spot on top of a hill. I had a selection of old tombstones to work with. I needed one where the birth and death dates were close together. I needed the grave of a child.

I looked at the stones as I walked through the cemetery. Zinck---Nineteen years old; a possible. I got a high temperature reading on the stone of Margaret Keller---Not even one year old; I'd have to consider that. Weiler---Two years old. Maybe.

I was over the hill when I found the best one.

There was a plot for the Bryerton family, marked off by a concrete barrier. The parents were buried there, and a twenty-year-old son who'd died in 1900. And, next to that, two white stone lambs that were just barely visible over the grass.

As a general rule, lambs meant a child's grave. There were obviously more to see of the markers, but over the years they'd sunk too much and become buried. The only thing I could see were the stone lambs themselves. Not a child's grave---The grave of two unidentified children.

I got out my digital recorder.

Cue the Rocky theme.

I was sitting in a haunted house with a beer. I'm allowed to do that when it's my own haunted house. I sat at the kitchen table with my laptop, Duke at my feet. I was drinking Labbatt---Goddamn COVID had caused a shortage of some beers, and my usual favorite was commonly out lately.

My wife came into the dark room. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Checking my messages. What are you doing up? You went to bed two hours ago."

"Couldn't sleep. Too hot. Anything interesting?"

"Kevin sent me an e-mail from New Jersey. He's discovered old articles about a new cryptid in Potter County."

"This is what you do after everyone else goes to bed?"

"Articles in the Potter County newspaper from 1897 talked about hunters encountering this weird, gorilla-like creature with a hairy head and tusks. The paper did an investigation into it, and found other witnesses. They suggested it was some sort of escapee from a traveling circus show, and said it probably ran further south, down toward Kettle Creek."

"You going to look into this?"

"Yeah, I might get an article out of it for the PA Wilds. I'll pitch it to Hannah, and if she doesn't respond, I'll know she likes the idea."

President John was coming out the downstairs door as I was coming in. It was my first time at the Piper Museum in quite a while....It used to be practically daily.

"Hi, John," I said. "Came in to pick up the key, like you asked."

"Oh, sure," he said. It had been quite a while since I'd seen him. He'd grown a little older, looked maybe a little more frail. "Come on up. You can see the new space."

We got in the elevator. "Love your articles," he said as we rode up to the third floor. "They're really good. I read every crumb, every week."

I smiled. "That means a lot."

We got out on the third floor and walked across the hall. What had once been a big, empty room had now been converted into a party room, with tables and chairs arranged throughout. I said,"This is great."

"You can rearrange it however you like," said John.

I shook my head. "It's perfect the way it is. I won't have to change a thing."

"So, you coming back to help us out?"

I nodded.

"Whenever you need me."

Saturday night. Quarter to seven. John and I opened up the third floor and turned the lights on. I moved a chair out onto the floor for him, and I was getting my equipment set up on the table. I was wearing the new outfit---My black shirt with the ghost on it, my yellow Piper bandanna, and one of my jackets with all the buttons and badges on it.

People began filing in, and I took their money. A teenaged girl came in, with light brown hair and a blue bandanna. I fist-bumped her. The kid had been doing some volunteer work for me at the library.

"Gracie! Good to see you. Thanks for coming."

She smiled shyly. "Thanks for inviting me."

We wound up with about a dozen people, plus a support dog. Everyone chose tables, and I took a deep breath.

Okay. I've been out of ghost hunting for a while. But I've practiced, I know this, and it's time again. 

Let's do this.

"Thank you for coming," I said. "With all of you here, plus my own donation, we've made a hundred and twenty dollars for the Piper Museum." Everyone applauded as I handed the money to John. "Tonight, I'm going to teach you how to responsibly, scientifically investigate both ghosts and UFOs. How many of you watch the ghost-hunting TV shows?" A couple of hands went up. "Yeah, forget all that. They really dramatize it on the TV shows. Let me show you how it's really done."

I began with the historic research, and taught all that I could. I moved on to the equipment, showing the cameras, digital recorders, laser thermometers, and K2 meters.

A woman raised her hand. "Could that detect a pacemaker?"

"Hmm. Good question," I said. "I've never been asked that before."

"Because my husband has a pacemaker."

"Well, let's find out." I walked over to the table and handed her the K2 meter. She held it up to her husband's chest, and the lights went up to red.

Everyone laughed. I said,"Hunh. That actually works. You have batteries that need to be changed about every five years, am I right?"

He nodded. "Just had it done last year."

"Well, it's still working, apparently." I walked back to the table and spread my equipment out. "Let's do a practice investigation. Who wants to borrow my equipment?"

Gracie was the first one to jump up. "I want that thing in your hand."

I handed her the laser thermometer. She began checking temperatures around the kitchen area, and I handed out a few other pieces of equipment to the crowd. After a few minutes, I said,"Let's sit down and do an EVP session."

We all sat down at the tables. I decided to sit with Gracie, and I picked up my digital recorder.

"Be patient with me," I said. "I just recently got this model. I like it because it's rechargeable---I don't have to mess around carrying batteries. But I'm still learning the buttons."

I turned it on, and set it on the table. And, for the first time in months, I flipped the switch.

"Recording," I said. "Third floor of the Piper Museum, July tenth, eight-forty-five PM."

"I'm here." Barb arrived at the main desk on the hour. That's our signal---"I'm here" is what we all say to signify the changing of the guard. I stood up. I had a researcher going through the microfilm, young Gracie helping to file the obit index, and a new book about cryptids that Mel had just gotten me from ILL.

"Thanks, Barb. Be at my desk if you need me."

"Hey. That donation you made. On the memorial, is that all you want the name to say?"

"Yeah, just like I wrote on the form."

"So the plate will just say 'In memory of Baby Gwen'."

I nodded.

"Yeah. That's all I need."

I pulled my bike into the driveway of the house. I stopped for a moment to look around....It was the first time I'd been here in a year and a half..

I walked up the path. I didn't have to ring the doorbell; Millie saw me coming and opened the door. I reached out and gave her a hug. Millie, not normally a hugger, hugged back.

It was the first LHPS meeting since February of 2020. We all arrived. Ashlin, Charlie, and SaraLee. Hugs and greetings, and then we sat down to get to work. Just me and my friends....For the first time in a long time.

The Fall Of The House Of Fishburn

There weren't supposed to be kids in the Tiger Den.

I was on my way home from work after a busy day with a three-hour webinar from hell. Last year at this time, I'd have stopped to lock up the Tiger Den, the local playground in my neighborhood. But that was in the Before Times, when Coronavirus hadn't closed everything down. The Tiger Den was supposed to be locked to avoid spreading the virus.

But I was seeing it---Gate open, lock missing, and kids playing on the swings. I stopped for a moment and watched. One of the girls from the grocery store across the street was watching, and she said,"I thought the parks were supposed to be closed."
"Yeah, they are," I said. "I should call the mayor." I always feel pretentious saying stuff like that.
I dug my cell phone out of my pack. Five minutes later, Mayor Joel was getting out of his car.
"What the hell?" he said as he approached the gate.
"Yeah, I know," I said. "Lock's completely gone."
He looked it over. "Someone just took it off the chain," he said. "Could be someone making a political statement."
"Yeah, I thought about that."
"I have a temporary one for now," he said. "I'll send somebody to replace it with a better one in the morning." He clipped one on. "I mean, who would do this? Makes me mad."
"Yeah, I knew you wouldn't be thrilled about this."
Joel laughed. "Nah, you did the right thing by letting me know. Thanks."
"You know how to find me if you need anything," I said. "Gonna go home and tell my son how I teamed up with the mayor to save the Tiger Den."

"Dutcavich....Etters....Fegler..."

I stood in my office, filing the obituary cards for the Pennsylvania Room. The Ross Library has newspapers going back as far as 1813, and a new part of my job was to file the new index cards as they came in. I'd been at it maybe an hour.

So I took a break for a moment. Messing with history wears you out. I sat down at my desk and checked my e-mail, and I was surprised to find a message from someone I hadn't heard from in a while.

I flipped through the index, and then stopped, looking at one of the cards. I laughed. Pulling it from the drawer, I walked over to my co-workers at the desk.

"You guys gotta see this," I said. "Death of a kid in 1876. Look at the name."

Mel squinted at the card. "Fishburn. Edgar Allan Poe Fishburn."

"Edgar Allan Poe Fishburn," I repeated. "The perfect find for October. I wonder if his parents were fans."

"You have to assume so," said Barb. 

"Let me guess," said Tracey. "You're going to dig into this a little more."

"I think I will," I admitted. "I might find something I can use on a tour, actually, or write about. I mean, how do you not look into a kid named after Poe? I'll see if I can find his grave, but personally, I'm hoping he's buried under floorboards, or sealed in a wall or something."

"Got an e-mail from John today," I told my wife.
"John...."
"Piper Museum."
"Oh, right, the president," she said. "They want you back?"
"He asked if I'd be willing to take on the Piper newsletter again," I said. "They haven't had one since I left, and he said it was often a pretty good fundraiser."
"You gonna do it?" Michelle asked.
"I'm thinking about it,"  I said.
A few years ago, I'd been curator of an airplane museum on the east end of Lock Haven. Though I'd loved the work, I'd felt I wasn't spending enough time with my son, and I'd resigned two years ago. Since then, I'd gone on to some other things that took up less time.
"I'm going to meet with him," I said. "Sometimes I miss the museum, though not as much as I'd thought I would, and I really miss John. We'll sit down in his office like we used to, and talk things over."
"Are you taking Paul down?"
"Thought I might," I said. "He always loved the place. It'll be good to see the Aztec again."

It had been two years.

I hadn't seen the inside of the Piper Museum since I'd resigned in 2018. I hadn't realized just how much I'd missed it until I walked inside with Paul, seeing all the artifacts and displays again.

"They still have the Super Cruiser model," I said. "I hung this up myself."

The receptionist, Stacey, came around the corner. She was visibly surprised to see me. "Hi, Lou," she said. "What can I do for you?"

"Came to meet with John," I said. "Is he around?"

"He's out to lunch. You remember how that goes."

"I do. I'll get with him later if I have to. Okay if I go walk through the hangar?"

"Sure. Help yourself."

Paul and I walked down to the hangar, and strolled around the planes. I touched the Aztec, which had always been my favorite plane.

Hello, old friend. I've missed you.

"Daddy, don't touch stuff," said Paul.

"Yeah, you're right," I said. "Look. This green one is new---A new Tri-Pacer. This wasn't here when I was."

"Cool," said Paul.

I started with the newspapers.

It took me a while, with the microfilm. The further back you go, the screwier it gets, but I'm probably the person in the county who is most used to that. Finally I found it in a blurry column at the top of page four, the son of Dr. J.H. and Rebecca Fishburn, with a scribble of poem included.

I checked the cemetery records, and to my surprise found most of his family buried in Highland. His mother, brother, and sister were buried in Section 11, over the top of the hill. I checked the rest of the county---Sometimes weird things happen---And didn't find Edgar anywhere. His grave was unmarked, which was probably about right for a kid named after Poe.

So I grabbed a city directory and looked for the houses. Interestingly, his brother had grown up to live on my street, and married the daughter of Mayor William Elliott, who lived next door. His mother had lived at 315 East Main Street.

Every one of them had died young, including Mayor Elliott.

Nevermore.

"Maybe there will be people on top of that building again," Paul commented as we sat down at the table with our Chinese food.

"Maybe." The city had been opening up downtown areas for outdoor dining on the weekends---One little positive effect of the pandemic. Michelle dug into the bag and passed out our food.

"I chose something to surprise you," she said. "Picked it from the spicy menu."

"Looks good," I said. "I could use a little bit of spicy today." I opened the egg rolls. "When we're finished, you want to take a ride up to Highland Cemetery?"

"Yay! Highland!" said Paul.

"We got nothing else to do," Michelle agreed.

After dinner, we rode up to Highland Cemetery in the Prius. Michelle said,"Where are we going?"

"Section I."

"I have no idea where that is."

"Take the lower loop, the back way around to the hill."

"Just tell me when to stop."

"Turn left."

We pulled up along the back end of the cemetery, and I got out. A moment later, Paul was following, wearing his black dress.

"I'm sinking, Daddy," he said.

"That's because you're wearing high heels."

"What are we looking for?"

"Graves with the name Fishburn." This kind of thing is a little easier now that Paul is learning to read.

I saw it almost immediately. Partway up the slope, I spotted the graves of Rebecca and her other children. "Here they are," I said.

Paul came over. "You found Fishtail?"

"These are the ones I needed," I said. "And here's a space, right here...."

"What do we do now?" Paul asked.

I knelt down. "This is where Edgar Allan Poe is buried," I said.

"How do you know?"
"I can tell by looking. See how there's a space here? The grass is a little greener, and the ground takes a dip. This is the grave of a child."

"It looks like I won't be going back to Piper, after all," I said, sitting down at the table. "They hired a new weekend guy, and the board thinks he can do the newsletter."

"Ah, sorry, Dad," said Tif. We were on the third floor of the library for my lunch break. "I know you were looking forward to that."

I unwrapped my sub. "Well, I'll survive. Spend more time at home with Paul. Write another book. Find a few adventures. But it was good to go and visit the place again."

Paul looked over at me. "If they need you to help sometime, will you?"

"Probably," I said. "I always did love that place. If they asked, I'd help."

"Can I come, too?"

"Sure," I said. "You can always come along and help."

"And see the planes?"

"And see the planes."

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."

Airplane Mode

"Okay, look at  the cards. Three cards, right? An ace, a jack, and a two. And not one of them mentions Piper."
President John studied the cards in my hand, and nodded. "Right."
I turned them over, and held them out. "Please choose the middle card."
He slid the middle card out, and turned it over. It had the Piper Aviation logo on it, and was an ad for the airplanes. I grinned.
"A card trick," I said. "It came in with the big collection we're accessioning upstairs. I've seen a bunch of Piper promo items, but never this one before."
President John laughed. "You know, when the Grasshoppers were shipped overseas during World War Two, each one had a pack of cards in it. These days, those are pretty valuable."
"Well, if anyone walks into the Fly-In this week and offers to donate one, John, I'll grab it up."

The annual Piper Fly-In is always busy. It's held by a separate organization at the airport, but the museum is open for it, and we do a lot of business. The museum is packed with visitors, the archives get donations, and there's a C-54 in the parking lot. It gets insanely busy. Not so busy I couldn't pause to show John the cool card trick I found in a donation shipment, though.
"Gotta run out to Wal-Mart, Stacy," I said, walking across the museum floor. "We're almost out of acid-free pens. Be right back."
"We'll be here," said Stacy.
Kara and I went downstairs in the elevator to her vehicle, and pulled out of the parking lot. There was a huge silver plane there, a C-54, and we passed it on our way out.
"Any chance we can stop at the Mill Hall Fire Department on the way?" I asked.
"Sure. How come?"
"There's been a UFO sighting around there."
"Okay. How do you find these things out?"
"You know how you can subscribe to websites that send you weather warnings? It's like that."
"What kind of UFO?"
"It was described as an orange light, moving in the sky and turning at ninety-degree angles."
"Hmm. Drone?"
"Could be. I found a drone last year around this time."
Kara drove to the fire department, and stopped in the parking lot. I stepped out, and looked around at the sky and the landscape. Then I climbed back into the car.
"You see what you needed?" Kara asked.
"So far. More or less."
"So. Acid-free pens?"
"Acid-free pens."

I smiled as I watched the small red plane taxi across the runway and take off. "There goes our Tri-Pacer," I said.
Kara, standing next to me by the fence, watched it go. "You know, I've never seen that thing actually fly before."
"It's neat,  isn't it?" We watched as two Cubs, a Comanche, and a Colt also lifted off, rising into the sky toward the eastern mountains. "It's fun to watch. There's just something about it."
"You okay?" Kara asked. "You seem a little down."
"Busy week," I said. "I don't know, maybe I'm falling out of love with this place. I got a problem employee, everybody and their goddamn grandmother seems to want to tell me how to do my job, and we just put that asshole Glenn on the board."
"You're not thinking about leaving, are you? You love this place. I've seen your eyes light up when you walk through it."
"Maybe it's time," I said. "I been here almost three years. There are other things that will make my eyes light up. Maybe I need to see what else is out there."
I turned and started walking toward the building across the parking lot, Kara following. I glanced at the sticker on a pickup truck's back window. I laughed. "Bigfoot. Cool."
We walked through the lobby and into the hangar. As I walked toward the Primary Trainer, I saw the Bigfoot symbol on the T-shirt of the guy passing me the other way. I asked,"Is that your truck out there, with the Bigfoot sticker on it?"
He grinned. "Yeah. My daughter saw Bigfoot along the Renovo Road."
"That'd be the place, allright."
"I do some Bigfoot hunting."
Kara was behind me, grinning. I said."We're paranormal investigators. Mostly ghost hunting."
"Yeah, I've read your columns."
"I got my UFO on shirt today. I do have some Bigfoot shirts, though. I'm always at the local library, if you ever want to network."
He grinned. "Okay. Keep finding UFOs!"
As we walked toward the stairs, Kara asked,"How is the UFO investigation coming, anyway?"
"Ah, getting there. Last year, I figured out one was a drone. Sat in the Cheyenne trying to call the local drone guy, when he was right in the conference room here."
"I remember that. So what else do you have to do?"
"Ask about drones, call around a bit and check on flight patterns, check for other witnesses. The original report was anonymous, so that does me no good. What I need is to find a few other people who might have been around at that same time."
"You'll figure it out," said Kara.
"Or I won't," I said. "And that's fine. I like a little mystery, too."

I walked out onto Main Street after talking about Piper planes and UFOs on the radio. I may be the only person who is able to use those words in that order. I walked down the street to the print shop, where I was greeted by the owner.
"I realize I only stop in here to ask weird questions," I said. "My co-worker Joe told me that you guys had a shipment of reprinted books about the local railroad that you got stuck with."
He grinned. "We do. I was going to call you about that. Would you like one?"
"That's why I'm here. How much do you want for it?"
"I was going to give you one for free. Come on back." We walked into the back room. When you're me, people wind up inviting you into all sorts of private, employees-only spaces. "I mainly want to get rid of them, and I thought you'd be interested."
"You thought right. I have a big collection at home."
He handed me one of the books. "Here you go. Enjoy it."
"Thank you." I flipped through. "Hey, this has some ghost towns in it that I didn't know about. I'll give it a good home."

When I got back to the library, our maintenance guy was out in the shed. I stopped my bike for a minute.
"Morning, Bill. Question---Since we moved my desk, is it okay if we change out that picture with the shells hanging over in the PA Room? I mean, I'm the one that's gotta stare at it."
"I don't see why not," said Bill. "Did you have something more historic in mind?"
"We have a picture of Ole Bull's castle in the attic that I like," I said. "It was donated by Henry Shoemaker, my big hero. I can measure it to see if it'll fit."
"Okay," said Bill. "That's a plan."

My new desk was right across from the Henry Shoemaker books, which was fitting. I was next to the side door, which would make a handy escape if I was bored, which I actually was, a little.
I looked at the listing for the Mill Hall UFO sighting. It read the same as it had: Orange light in the sky, making funny turns. I searched the site for similar sightings, to see if there was anything to compare it to. I ran a search for the words orange, light, and turns.
Several entries came up, all throughout the county. Mill Hall, Beech Creek, Castanea, Lock Haven. I read through them, getting a sinking feeling.
Every single one of them was the same. Not just the description, but exactly the same wording. They were all submitted anonymously, claiming to be several locations in the middle part of the county, and could have been cut and pasted. Each one read exactly the same.
Damn it. Doesn't anyone ever edit these websites?
A hoax.
The exact same entry for several locations meant the whole thing was most likely a hoax, someone making up a story for attention. I sat back in my chair and sighed.
With nothing better to do, I checked my e-mail. There was a note from my editor with the PA Wilds, suggesting a possible column. I read it through. At the end, she asked me if I'd be interested in a paid contract with the PA Wilds Center.
My eyes lit up. I mean, I didn't see that. But I felt it.
I sent back an e-mail accepting.
Then I got to work on an article about a man who had saved wolves from extinction.

"When I checked," I said,"There were identical UFO sightings all over the neighborhood, clearly just cut and pasted. They didn't even change the phrasing. So, almost certainly a hoax. And right down the road from the first sighting?"
Kara nodded. "The fake haunted attraction owned by the Inspector."
I looked around the picnic table at the LHPS team, meeting on the library's patio. "You got it. I've dealt with her before; she makes up crap stories to get publicity. This is probably another one."
"Most like we'll see a UFO theme this year," said Theresa.
"There were also a couple of meth-heads high on drugs the other night," I said,"Who began shooting at fireflies thinking they were alien lasers. That could have caused some sightings, too."
Lacy shook her head. "Jesus."
"In other news," I said,"I'll be able to get us some more publicity soon. I've been offered a contract with the PA Wilds. So I'll be doing some more writing for them."
"And Piper?" asked Kara.
"You know," I said,"I can't leave Piper, or at least not yet. I'm gonna stick around for a while more, see how it goes. But I can take a step back, stop obsessing over it all the time. Take some time for myself."
"I think that's a good idea," she said.
I nodded.
"Yeah. Me too." I looked at my notes. "Now, how about that haunted house down in Centre County?...."

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."

Grave New World

Most people don't get to spend much time in a haunted house, at least not knowingly. I spend most of my life in them.
I walked through the second floor of the Ross Library. When I was new, I used to routinely get lost up there---It's a big, twisty set of hallways and rooms. I made it to the end of the hall, and looked into the New Boss's office. The old Director had retired, but was somehow still getting mail here. Which is not surprising---Library founder Annie Halenbake Ross was still getting mail here, too, and she's been dead since 1907.
"Hey. We got the free blood pressure program going on in the lobby. If you wanted to come get a free test...."
New Boss laughed. "I'm working on grants up here. I don't want to know what my blood pressure is. Don't let me stop you, though."

I sat with my arm in the inflatable thing, squeezing it into the shape of the Gloucester Sea Serpent.
My name is  Lou. I work at the local library in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania. I'm also a historian, paranormal investigator, urban explorer, museum curator, and freelance writer. It keeps me pretty busy.
I'm a little bit famous.
The woman looked over the reading, let my arm loose, and then frowned. She turned the machine around.
"Here's your blood pressure."
I read the numbers, and then raised my eyebrows. "Seriously? That's not a blood pressure, that's a Somerset ZIP code. That's way higher than I expected."
"You can bring it down," she advised. "Cut back on caffeine and alcohol...."
"The irony being, that would kill me anyway," I said.
"....Changes in your diet, no tobacco, and get some exercise. You may want to speak to your doctor; there are certain medications...."
"I'll grab some of your literature," I said. "Thanks."

"My blood pressure is alarmingly high," I said in my office. I was at the Piper Museum with Kara. Kara is an LHPS member, has purple hair, and is a really good friend. "I had a program at the library the other day, and got it tested. That was a mistake. According to the colorized chart from the American Heart Association, I rank in at bright orange, which is not good."
"Your bloodstream is basically coffee," said Kara. "And you do tend to stress. Have you considered learning to relax a little?"
"I've been called intense," I said.
"You ever just try to calm down?"
"Sometimes I sit in the Tomahawk and make engine noises."
"I'm not sure that's the same thing."
"I mean, come on, let's be real. I always figured I was more at risk of death by a haunted attic collapse or something. Getting bit by a sea monster. If I die, spread the story that I got bit by a sea monster."
"Of course," said Kara. "You should really consider getting on medication. When was the last time you went to the doctor?"
"I was at the doctor in January."
"This January?"
"January 2014. I think. Have you seen my file on UFOs in New Jersey?"
Kara handed it to me. "You know there's a blood pressure machine in the Church Street drugstore? You can keep up with this."
"I'll try that. In the meantime, let's look for some photos for the television thing....And want to go look for some lost artifacts with me?"
"Where they at?"
"Up the Renovo Road. This one goes back a while---About a year ago, I turned over a buffalo sculpture in the library and caused an international incident. Turns out it was part of a post-World War II shipment of gifts from France called the Merci Train, and there's a whole committee to find the rest of this stuff. All of a sudden I was getting all these e-mails in French."
Kara laughed. "You're kidding."
"Seriously. So ever since, I've kind of poked into it a little, now and then. And I found out that nationwide, the 60&9 Clubs were responsible for handing out the gifts. So I have a friend who bartends at the local club, and I asked her if I could go look. She says they have a big storage area, and I could get in if I wanted. So we're going to go and check."
Kara smiled. "I'm in."

I sat down in the drugstore, looking at the automatic blood pressure machine. I took a few deep breaths. My sweatshirt was on the floor with my pack; I was wearing only my T-shirt. MOTHMAN: West Virginia University Cryptozoology Department. Slipping my arm into the cuff, I hit the green button and felt it squeeze, trying to think calming thoughts.
Cemeteries....Yeah. Ghosts. Water monsters....Mmmmmm, water monsters. I envisioned myself walking through a haunted cemetery with Bigfoot in the middle of the night. Piper Aztecs. Buried treasure. The machine beeped.
I looked down at the readout.
"Aaaargh. Come on! I ate a salad!"
I looked around the store. Nobody seemed to have heard me, or at least nobody was paying attention. There was one guy I recognized behind the counter. The cashier glanced over at me as I pulled my sweatshirt back on.
"Are you Lou?"
"Yes, that's me."
"I love your articles."
"Oh, thanks so much. I always appreciate hearing that."
"I really liked the one about the 1918 Ice Flood."
"Ice, Ice, Baby? Yeah, that was a neat one." I picked up a tiny unicorn toy and set it on the counter. "Can I buy this? My little boy loves this stuff."

"Can I get the skull for Thursday night?" I asked Sue in her office.
"Oh, sure," she said. "Let me get int touch with Lycoming."
The skull is something I've worked with before. For the archaeology lesson for Teen Paranormal, there's a kit. It comes with a skull, and I liked to pass it around and let the kids figure out gender and race. This was always a big hit, and required me to ask my co-worker to order a skull. How is your workday going?
"I'll send her an e-mail," said Sue. "We should be able to get it for you by Thursday night."
"Thanks." I hesitated. "Does it seem weird to you that I just stroll in here and ask for a skull, and you know exactly what I'm talking about?"
Sue smiled. "I know who I work with."
I went to my desk. Getting online, I opened a couple of windows. In one, I sent a message to my friend at the 60&9, asking about when she'd be in. In the other, I began to do a search for how to lower blood pressure.

"Glad you're here," said Stacey when I walked into the office. "We just got a call from the city water department. They wanted to know if we have plans of the property showing the water and sewer lines."
"Can't promise, but I can check," I said. "I brought the video camera from the TV thing, so I'll be getting footage of all the planes, too. I'm in for a busy morning. Oh, hi, Kara."
Kara had just entered in a blaze of purple hair and Star Wars sweater. "Hi, Lou. What do we have going on today?"
"Walk with me." We walked down to my office. "Gotta see about finding plans with water lines in them. This is fun. We have tons of plans; last summer I was looking for a secret tunnel into the old factory building, and I pulled them all out. John later told me, very casually, that there was a secret tunnel. He's used to this from me."
"So where are the plans?"
I led her to one of the shelves, and we looked through the rolled-up plans stacked there. I began unrolling them to check. "In other news, we're scheduled to go out to the 60&9 on Friday morning, if you're up to it---"
"I am."
"And we can look for the other Merci Train artifacts. There was a set of books, which I guarantee we'll never find, a figurine of a French couple, and a photo of the German surrender. We might find them in there; we'll have to check."
"Sounds good. How's your blood pressure?"
"Well. It's still high. When I stopped in to get it tested, I noticed that one of the employees is one of the people who put up those Nazi flyers I fought last summer."
"Oh, no."
"Yeah. So that did nothing for my blood pressure. I maybe need to find a Nazi-free blood pressure machine. You know, that common problem."
"I can always give you a lift to Wal-Mart if you like."
"Might take you up on that. And, you know, I feel another article fighting racism coming on. The Chisholm family was killed by the KKK in 1877, and I figure it's time for a column about them. In the meantime, let's find some old plans."

I hit the button, and the thing squeezed on my arm. I was having my blood pressure taken so often I was beginning to develop a bruise where the thing tightened. I thought about ghosts, and haunted houses, and the Honey Island Swamp Monster for a while. The cuff released, and I looked at the numbers. Still high.
I sighed, and put my jacket back on.
A few minutes later, I walked into the library, where Zach was decorating for Easter. He had eggs and plastic rabbits all over the display case.
"Hey, looks good," I said. "My son is gonna love this."
"Thanks," said Zach. "I got the Sloan Room set up for your teens."
"Awesome. Thanks."
Zach picked up one of the rabbits. "Check this out. His head turns all the way around." He took the rabbit's head and swerved it around a hundred and eighty degrees. "It looks like...."
"Yeah," I said. "Possessed rabbit. That's frightening." I picked up the rabbit and made my voice low and scratchy. "Your mother rots in hell!"
We laughed together. This is the kind of screwing around that always entertains us. I set it down and lifted my Saint Benedict ring. "The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!"
Tracey came out of the back room to find Zach and I doubled over with laughter, staring at the twisted rabbit. She shook her head.
"I don't even want to know. I just came out to tell you guys that there's popcorn and crackers in the back room if anyone's hungry. Someone bought the low-salt popcorn."
"That was me," I said. "I have high blood pressure, and that's everyone's problem." I followed her into the back room. "Last week, when I had the blood pressure people in here, it turns out I'm frighteningly high."
Tracey grimaced. "Oh, no."
"I looked it up, and it seems celery can help. I saw where four sticks a day can help bring down blood pressure. Do you know how hard it is to eat four sticks of celery a day? It's like a punishment at Guantanamo."
Tracey laughed. "So do you have any good articles going?"
"Yeah, I'm looking into the Chisholm family. They were killed by the KKK in 1877, and buried in Cedar Hill Cemetery. But because of vandalism, their graves were moved, and nobody knows where. We have documents that suggest Arlington, though there's other possibilities."
"That's interesting," said Tracey.
"Yeah, I gotta pull a couple of pieces off the microfilm," I said. "Time to get to work."

I dug through the old trunk, and closed it up. I looked up at Kara and Katelynn, who were standing in the old shed with me.
"Looks like it's not here."
"Well, darn." Katelynn is one of my former Teen Paranormal kids. She'd spent a couple of years with me in the group, and had learned well. She'd grown up to be a pretty good amateur investigator.
"It was a long shot," I admitted. "I thought, since the 60&9 Clubs  were in charge of handing out the items, they may have kept one. But if they did, it doesn't look like it's here anymore."
"Where else?" asked Kara. "The college, the high school...."
"Joby up at the college looked into this for me, and he didn't find anything," I said. "I'm just gonna have to do some more digging, make this my hobby for a while. Sooner or later I'll stumble on something."
Kara and I went back to the car. Sitting inside, she said,"So where to now?"
"Let's go to Cedar Hill," I said. "I want to see if I can figure out where the Chisholm family is buried."
"You think you can find that?"
"Last night at work, I got the Cedar Hill map and cross-indexed all the people who were buried around the same time as the Chisholms," I said. "If I can't find that spot, I'll retire. I need a win."

"I thought Cedar Hill was out here somewhere," I said. "It was along this road, but it's been like ten years since I've been here."
"Take my phone, and search for Cedar Hill," said Kara.
I looked at her phone. "What in our history together would make you think I'm capable of that?"
"There's a little square symbol on the bottom. Press it---"
"It's asking if I want to close forty-eight windows."
"Jesus, no, don't close forty-eight windows. Click where it says search----"
"This thing?"
"No, the other----"
"Here it is." I looked up and saw the cemetery appear randomly to our right. "I knew I could find it."
Kara gave me a look, and we pulled over and got out of the car. I was wearing the black jacket with all the equipment sewn into it. I pulled the photocopied maps and documents out of my pocket.
"They were in Section One, over this way. I have a list of some of the names who were buried around the same time. It's a good guess...."
"Right, that they'd have been pretty near each other. What are the names?"
"Seyler, Herr...."
"This one says Crotzer."
'That's one. Okay, there's another. It was right here, right in this area." I turned in a circle, looking around. "Those trees aren't all that old. They could have been planted about where the Chicholm monument stood."
Kara glanced around. "This is an open area. That would make sense."
"I think I'm at about the right spot, and this will make a good column. I'm gonna call this one solved." I looked up the hill a bit. "Oh my god. That's the Perry stone!"
I raced up the hill to it, a square white stone. Kara caught up to me a moment later. "You took off like a little kid."
"I've never seen it in place before," I said. "Did I ever tell you about this? It disappeared a hundred years ago, when Great Island Cemetery was moved."
Kara stood beside me. "You've mentioned Great Island Cemetery."
"This is cool," I said. "Let me tell you about how it turned up, totally unexplained, in 2014. And how I broke the story."

I closed my eyes and let the cuff tighten on my arm again. It was all getting very familiar to me. A moment later, it deflated, and I opened my eyes and looked at the monitor.
I was down ten points.
I smiled. Things were looking up.

"So remember, always be responsible when you do archaeology," I told the kids. I was standing at the front of the Sloan Room, with Kara at the table, and Alex, Aubrey, Olivia, Emma, and Skylar all watching me. "Dig carefully. Use the sifter. Document everything, Any questions so far?"
I looked around the table. Nothing. So I reached for the windowsill, and picked up the box with the skull in it. "Okay, then. Let's say you dig something good up."
"Whoa," said Alex. "Is that a skull?"
"It is. I borrowed it from Lycoming for you guys." I grinned, and looked them over. "So let's check it out, huh? Figure out who it came from. Let's get to work."

Four Little Aliens

"See you tomorrow, guys."
Eight PM. We'd locked up the library doors, turned out the lights, and set the alarm. I walked with my co-workers Zach, Sue, and Tracey, down the stairs, out the door, and to my bike on the sidewalk.
Then I biked east, over to Willard's Alley, at the remains of a burned building.
Why? Well, that gets complicated.
The library job I'd just left is only a part of what I do. I also research history, write articles about it, investigate the paranormal, and explore abandoned places. It's not anything I envisioned myself doing in kindergarten, I'll tell you that.
This particular abandoned place had, a hundred years ago, been the home of the Clinton County Times, Lock Haven's wildest professional newspaper. It had burned in December of 2016, and still stood as a burned-out shell of a building. City council had been making noises about tearing it down, which was probably necessary, but I wanted to risk my life get my shot at collecting artifacts first.
I parked my bike at the mouth of the alley. The city had barricades up, which were clearly meant for other people. I slipped around them and entered the dark alley. (Seriously. Don't do this. I'm a professional.)
I was wearing my black jacket with half a million pockets. Out of one pocket in the left sleeve, I took a flashlight, and shined it as I walked down the alley. Burned boards lay across it, broken glass everywhere. The building had those old heavy glass 1950s windows, many of which had simply exploded outward during the fire.
I looked around. There didn't seem to be anything to find, to my disappointment. I heard voices coming up Bellefonte Avenue---College kids, out drinking. I killed the light and ducked behind a power pole, hiding in the dark until they'd passed.
I'd been hoping for some artifacts, something salvageable that I could put on display. But there was nothing; anything that had fallen into that alley was junk. Useless.
I walked back to my bike, and fifteen minutes later I was with my friend Ashlin, playing old ghost EVPs to entertain the cashiers at the grocery store.
They can't all be winners.

"It's National Aviation Month, Lou," said Mel at the desk. "You going to get some Piper stuff out on display?"
"I actually just recently had some Piper stuff," I said. "It's also Native American Heritage Month, so I got some artifacts out."
"That's right," said Mel. "I saw that. They look great."
"I did like the Piper items, too, though," said Adam.
"It's also National Impotence Month," I said,"But I didn't want to do a display about that."
Mel looked at me. "How did you find out it was National Impotence Month?"
"It wasn't hard."
Adam laughed. I went to my desk to work on an article about Great Island Cemetery. The cemetery, once up along Bellefonte Avenue, had been moved in 1918, and I was trying to write something for the anniversary. My working title was Year Of The Moving Dead, but I was flexible on that.
My desk is in the oldest section of the library, built back in 1887. It's by the Pennsylvania Room so I can help people with historic research, and exactly where our founder Annie Halenbake Ross's funeral was held so I can be haunted. Outside my window, the weather had turned colder, and I could see all the trees on West Main Street turning colors, which I enjoyed. The only drawback is that I'm missing actual walls; the general public can help themselves to my pens.
I checked my computer. I'd received a message from a friend, Tasha, who had seen mysterious lights in the sky on the east end of the city. She'd sent several photos, which showed a set of four lights, arranged in a square, shining down through the clouds in the neighborhood above the Robb Elementary School. Tasha was sort of a UFO enthusiast, which was actually how we'd met.
I studied the photos for a few minutes. It didn't exactly scream aliens to me, but things had been a little slow lately. This was something to look into.

"I'll say this just once, and then I'll stop bitching about it for the winter," said Tif, helping herself to some meatloaf. "I hate Daylight Savings Time."
"You're not gonna stop bitching," I said.
It was family dinner at the haunted house, which we did about twice a week. Tif and Biz, the daughters, came for dinner with my wife and me. Little Paul was always glad to see his sisters.
"It gets dark so early," said Tif.
"Yeah," Biz agreed,"It's dark at like four-thirty. It's depressing."
"Not for me," I said. "I'm a ghost hunter. I like the dark. This is my jam."
"At least it doesn't last for long," said Biz.
"It sucks," said Tif.
"Seriously, I'm forty-eight and I just used the phrase 'My jam' correctly," I said. "Is nobody going to address this?"
"No," said Biz. "Can I have that last potato?"
"Take it."
"I broke the back off my wheelchair," said Tif. "Is there any chance you can fix it?"
"I can take a look. Got a UFO sighting down on Church Street."
"Actual UFO? Or someone letting their imagination run away with them?"
I love our dinnertime conversations. "Hard to say, so far. I'm checking into it. It's most likely to be something mad-made, as the lights were arranged in a geometric, symmetrical shape. It's not far from Piper, so a good bet is some sort of aircraft or drone."
"If only you knew someone to check with down at Piper," Biz said.
"Chances are it's not actually aliens," I said. "Hey, Paul, what do aliens say?"
"Take me your leader," said Paul.

"So remember, we interview witnesses, we visit the site, we eliminate other possibilities," I said to the kids. "UFO does not necessarily mean little green men. Check all the possibilities before you write up your report."
Teen Paranormal is a group I run. We meet once a month at the library, and I teach the kids how to investigate the unknown. I glanced around the room at the kids: Alex, Olivia, Meridian, Seth, and Emma. I was wearing my alien shirt that said It's cool. We come in peace.
"I just happen to be working on an actual UFO investigation right now," I said. "A witness got this photo of four lights, flying in the clouds above Robb Elementary. We have here a CE-2. I want to take a look, and let you guys discuss it."
I handed out color printouts of the UFO seen down on Church Street. The kids all passed them around, and studied them.
"Sun shining through the clouds," said Seth.
"I don't think so," Emma commented. "It's too geometric, it's all a square."
"This was taken in the early evening," I said. "The sun sets in the west. At that time, the sun would be over Highland Cemetery on the other end of town."
Alex was studying the photo intently. "A helicopter? Or four, flying in formation?"
The idea of a formation had genuinely not occurred to me. "Could be, I suppose. The airport is down there, and there's a military armory just across the river."
"Or drones," suggested Emma.
"I was considering drones," I said.
"Too big," suggested Alex.
"Actually, that's an important lesson," I said. "Size can be quirky when discussing UFOs. There's nothing to compare it against, up in the air. So it can be difficult to tell how big an object is." The kids were all studying the printouts. "So, let's try this---What can we rule out?"
"Well, nothing," said Seth. "Anything is possible."
"I don't know," I said. "I think we can rule out most natural things---This is clearly not four meteors flying in formation. Not birds or animals. This was clearly something designed by people, or at least something that understands basic shapes."
"I'm thinking drone," said Emma.
"I'll have to check," I said. "There are a couple of drone clubs that meet down that way; it's near Piper. Fortunately, it's real easy for me to check Piper. You guys can keep these photos. Next month, Bigfoot. Class dismissed."

"They're working on the heat," Stacy said to me. "Your office is okay, and the hangar is never heated, but the rest of the museum has been cold. We have a guy in fixing it."
"Yeah, we gotta get that done," I said. I'm the curator down at the Piper Aviation Museum, on the east end of Lock Haven. It's been two years now, and I still haven't quite overcome the thrill of it. Being able to work in an old airplane factory with secret staircases? Having access to actual planes? It's going to be a long time before I take that for granted.
The repair guy stuck his head in Stacy's office. "I have to run out and get a new part," he said. "Hey, I know you. You're that guy who writes for the newspapers."
"That's me."
"I got something I want to ask you," he said. "Later, when nobody's around."
"I'll be here," I said, and he walked off down the corridor. Stacy and I looked at each other.
"Ghosts," we said simultaneously.
I grinned. "I get that a lot. I'm gonna go poke around down in the hangar for a while."
"Don't forget, board meeting in half an hour."
I walked back to my office, and then took the secret staircase downstairs. It led down to a little-used back room, with all sorts of old airplane parts piled everywhere. I found an old seat, red upholstery, looked like it had come from a Tri-Pacer or something.
Could I....?
I looked it over.
Yeah.
Yeah, I think maybe I could.
It was a double seat, but it had one back attached. The size looked about right. It was the kind of stunt I generally thought of, often motivated by a desire to be known as The Guy Who Did The Thing, and it's astounding how often that works out for me. But I really thought I was on to something here.
This might actually work.
I examined it for a while, then went to the workroom and found a pair of pliers. I twisted the screw holding the seat in place, and it came out. The whole seat came free, and I carried it upstairs to my office.
I called Tif from my cell phone---The museum extension in my office hasn't worked since 1997.
"Hello, Daddy." Paul. He was learning to answer the phone lately, and quite enjoying it.
"Hello, Paul. How is your day?"
"Goot. You want to talk Sissy?"
"Yes, thank you."
A moment later: "Hi, Dad."
"Hey, hon. I think I can fix your wheelchair. I'm gonna slap an airplane seat on that."
"What? Seriously?"
"Oh yeah. You think I don't have access to airplane parts? I got a seat here that looks perfect. I think it's out of a Tri-Pacer, or maybe a Comanche or something. I'm pretty sure I can fix that on for you."
"Well....If you think it'll work."
"I think I can do it. You'll have the only wheelchair in the world that's part airplane. I'm like Red Bull----I give you wings."

"That's about it," said President John, sitting at the long table in the conference room. "Anyone have anything else?"
He looked around the table. Out of the seven board members attending, nobody had anything outstanding. We all stood up and started filtering out.
"John," I said,"Was there anyone flying drones down here, about a week ago?"
"Not right at the airport," he said. "There's a blocker that won't let you, so it doesn't interfere with the planes. They have to shut it off for the drone club. Might have been a block or so away."
"I got a report of a UFO over near Robb Elementary."
We stepped into the elevator. He said,"Yeah, there could have definitely been someone flying a drone over there. The blocker wouldn't extend that far." He laughed. "Better than what I did out in Indiana in my youth. I had half the National Guard out by tying a flashlight to a kite. I'd rigged it to have a red light on one end, and a white light on the other, and I flew it over town. They called out the National Guard."
"Oh, that's great," I said. I laughed. "Better than all the damn drones."

"Okay." I began drilling hles in the plastic base of Tif's wheelchair seat. "If I've planned this out right, I should be able to get this on there. Gonna take me a little while."
"Do you need me to make dinner?" Tif asked. I was kneeling by her chair in the living room.
"No. But preheat the over to 425."
I started attaching an L-brace on with a screwdriver. Paul said,"I want to help."
"Okay, little guy. Go get me some bolts. They're on the table."
Paul ran into the kitchen and came back with bolts. I said,"Good. Do you see a pliers anywhere around?"
"Uh, no," he said. and then found one on the floor and held it out to me.
"Good. I'm gonna need that." I pushed the bolts through the drill holes and then picked up the seat. Holding it in place, with some swearing, I started bolting it to the seat base, one bolt at a time.
The thing came out looking better than I'd planned. In about half an hour, I had the Tri-Pacer seat back attached to the base.
"That's not bad," Tif said, looking it over. "Better than I expected."
I looked it over, rather impressed with myself. "You have the world's first wheelchair/Tri-Pacer hybrid," I said. "This could be a new hobby for me."
"You can get other parts?"
"Availability of parts is not the issue. I could build a Comanche in the backyard by smuggling out one piece at a time. Wings on my bike! Longerons on the Prius! An altimeter on Duke!"
"What's for dinner?"
"Pork and vegetables. Time for me to get to it."
I was at the stove when Paul called out,"Mommy's home!"
My wife and Biz came in. I said."Just in time. I been marinating this pork since last night."
Biz looked over the wheelchair. "That looks pretty good," she said. "It looks like it belongs on there."
I smiled.
"Yeah," I agreed. "Yeah, it kinda does."