Philadelphia Phantom

"How about in August, we go to Philadelphia?" Michelle asked me.

I looked up from dinner. "What's in Philadelphia? I mean, there's a lot of stuff, but what specifically this summer?"

"There's a Chinese lantern festival. I'd really like to see it. I know you've been to Philadelphia plenty of times before, but...."

"I was born near there. But that actually sounds pretty cool. Sure, if you want to, see if you can find us a place to stay." I turned to my laptop and did a search.

"Oh....Wow," I said.

"What?"

"It's very near Fairmount Park," I said. "I've been dying to get to Fairmount Park for years now. You know what's in Fairmount Park?"

"The Philosopher's Stone, kid," I said. "You know the Philosopher's Stone?"

Chloe nodded. "Sure I know the Philosopher's Stone!"
I'd invited Chloe out to Dunkin' Donuts for coffee and a fruity drink she was having. Chloe is a teenager about to start college, and the words "awesome kid" come readily to mind with her. She'd been coming on my tours for a few years, and had shown a strong interest in local history. We'd recently reconnected, and were hanging out and chatting.

"So there's this old legend down there, connected with some history," I explained. "The history part is that there were a group of monks living in Fairmount Park back in the seventeen hundreds. They lived in some caves down there. You can still apparently see the cave of their leader, Kelpius. He died there, but before he died....Here's the legend part...He gave his assistant, Geissler, a box of ancient magical artifacts."
I took a sip of my coffee. Chloe was listening intently.

"Kelpius wanted the artifacts thrown into Wissahickon Creek so that they never fell into the wrong hands. But according to the story, Geissler decided to preserve them for future generations. So he buried them somewhere beside the creek. Now, the magic part is also kind of plausible---The local farmers believed that these guys could do magic; when their crops failed or a cow got sick or something, they'd go to the monks. One of the artifacts that was said to be in their possession....And therefore buried....Is the Philosopher's Stone."

Chloe smiled. "So....."

"So someplace down in Philadelphia, buried, may be the Philosopher's Stone, or at least an item that the monks believed to be the Philosopher's Stone. I've been dying to go after this one for years. So when we go on vacation down there....Now's my chance."

"That's so cool," said Chloe. "I hope you find it."
"That brings me to a favor I wanted to ask you, kid," I said. "When I'm away, it kind of makes me feel better to have someone back home to talk to....A message or maybe a couple of phone calls. Would you mind being my lifeline while I'm away?"

"Oh, sure," said Chloe. "Feel free to message me. I'd love that."

"Great. I appreciate that. It always makes me feel a bit better to have someone to keep in touch with, you know?"
"I can understand it."

"I may be trying out a new paranormal uniform," I said. "I always wear a tactical vest when I'm investigating, because it has enough pockets for all my stuff. But lately....Well, honestly, I just look too much like an ICE agent."

Chloe made a face. "Yeah, you don't want that."

"No. I don't like the image, I don't want to scare anyone by accident. I've been wearing this thing for years now, but I look at photos of these guys and I cringe. So I'm thinking about a temporary change to the outfit."

"Have anything in mind?"
I grinned.

"I've been thinking of something a little more ninja."

"When I was a kid, Pipper, we used to come to Philadelphia," I said. "My dad would bring us; we lived not too far from here. I had some fun times here. Look! There's Boathouse Row!"

"That's cool, Dad," said Paul, sitting in the back of the Jeep. I looked at Boathouse Row, lined in white lights, as we passed along the Delaware River.

"There's a few haunted spots near where we're going to be," I said. "You want to check them out with me later?"

"Sure," said Paul. 

"We have the Chinese Lantern festival tomorrow night," said Michelle. "Should be at the apartment any minute."

"On our way out on Thursday, I'm going to look for the Philosopher's Stone," I said.

"Harry Potter already found that," said Paul. "I saw the movie like five times."

"This one was owned by a group of monks," I said. "They lived in Philadelphia."

We found our parking garage around the corner from the place Michelle had rented. There was a psychic shop on the corner as we passed by, offering tarot readings. Typically for Philadelphia, everything was tagged---The whole city is pretty much held together by spray paint.

"Look over there, Paul," I said. "That's the Delaware River. And across from there is New Jersey. We're on the very edge of the state here."

The apartment was a nice one, with a bedroom and kitchen area, and a living room with a pull-out couch. I dropped our stuff and dug out some of my maps and charts, sitting down at the desk for a while. Then I looked up at Paul.

"Want to go for a walk?" I asked him.

"Sure."

We came out of the building, and I was wearing my new uniform. 

I'd dropped the tactical vest. I'd always loved it, but I don't want to be dressing like the bad guys. So I'd spent some time redesigning my outfit.

I needed something functional that could be carried places, and would hold all my equipment. Something that stood out a little, but didn't mark me as too unusual. And after some work, I'd come up with it.

The fingerless gloves remained. I had a shoulder bag slung over my left shoulder, with a strap across my chest, bandolier-style. It had a couple of small pouches on the strap to hold my most important equipment. And I had a black hood, pulled down.

"What do you think, kid?" I asked. "This is the new outfit. I'm thinking I look like a ninja, or maybe Robin Hood or something."

Paul looked me over.

"Not bad," he decided. "But with the hood up, you look like a kidnapper."

'Not a ninja?"

"Kind of a ninja. But I'm definitely getting kidnapper vibes here. You're not going to wear the forest ranger jacket again, are you?"

"No, that was for Covid. I'm done with the forest ranger jacket."

"Okay. What happened to the skull gloves?"
"I traded them for these plain black ones. You like the skull gloves?"

"Yeah, I liked those."
"Maybe I'll re-add the skull gloves."

"There's a Seven-Eleven over there. Can I get a hot dog?"

"Yeah. I'll buy you a hot dog."

We walked peaceably down the street while Paul ate his hot dog. I was pointing out stores and things I remembered from Philadelphia when I was a kid. I saw a sign and said,"The Betsy Ross House! Do you want to see the Betsy Ross House?"

"Sure."

"Have you learned about Betsy Ross in school?"

"A little. Didn't she put nineteen stars on the flag because there were nineteen states?"

"Yeah, that's right. The house is said to be haunted, maybe Betsy Ross herself." I got my EMF detector out of the pocket, and turned it on. It didn't react for a minute, and then flared up to .14, and then back down. 

"Now, that's interesting. And now it's back to nothing. Yeah, kid, we may have a ghost here."

I sat at the small desk, maps spread out in front of me. I'd sent Chloe a message asking where Benjamin Franklin was supposed to be haunting. I was drinking coffee from the only mug that had been provided---The Airbnb people had left us ten coffee pods but one mug. Michelle came out of the bedroom.

"How's the kid?" I asked.

"Still asleep. Where are you off to?"
"Thought I'd take a walk, do a little exploring and investigating. There's plenty of haunted spots around."

"No Bigfoot this time?"

"You don't get a lot of Bigfoot sightings in downtown Philadelphia. I checked."

"How long are you going to be out?"

"Probably not too long. I promised Paul we'd take him shopping a bit later. I think he might like the Fashion District."

My cell phone blipped. I checked my messages---Chloe had answered my question: Independence Hal.

I smiled.

The kid had come through.

I walked through Philadelphia wearing the new uniform. Turning south, I went toward the City Tavern. It had been a meeting place of the Founding Fathers, when they'd wanted a beer, and if that was the catalyst I figured we should send a few cases over to the White House right now. It had burned down, but a reproduction had been rebuilt, and it was thought to be haunted by a bride who'd died in the fire.

The new outfit was working. It did what I needed it to do, and in the city, it didn't stand out excessively. In Lock Haven, where I was known, I could get away with a lot. I'd wondered about Philadelphia, but it wasn't attracting a whole lot of attention. I'd already passed like six guys with similar chest rigs.

I got to the City Tavern, which was right across from our parking garage. I pulled out the EMF detector and walked around the outside of the building. No readings initially, just like last night at the Betsy Ross House.

I found a small garden on the southwest side, and it didn't look exactly closed to the public, so I walked up into it. Pretty little place. As I walked across, I got a reading on the EMF detector---Just for a moment, and then it was gone.

I walked back and retraced my path twice, and I couldn't get it to come back again. No power lines. No lights. No reason that I could see for the flicker I'd gotten.

So, maybe a ghost. It made at least as much sense as the Philly Phanatic.

Philadelphia knows what it is. The city promotes its historic sites with the same intensity it pushes food trucks on the corner. I walked through the historic district with my EMF detector, reaching Independence Hall.

It's amazing to me, the way you can just....Be somewhere. Two hundred and forty-nine years ago, our entire country was created right here, just a few blocks from where we were staying. And here I was, in the same place that great men had walked. All you have to do is sit in a car forever, and you can just be there, in the same place they'd been. There's really something magical about it.

My EMF detector did it again---A spike, for a few seconds, and then a drop to zero. No reason for it. No lights or cables. I lowered it to the ground to test---Other places I did this routine, I'd attracted stares. In Philadelphia, I wasn't even close to the most unusual thing going on today. No readings, meaning that underground wires weren't causing the signal.

I smiled. I'd have to tell Chloe.

We walked through Franklin Park, looking at the Chinese Lantern festival. I had to admit, it was worth the trip. Elaborate, colorful Chinese lanterns were on display throughout the park, in a variety of shapes. My personal favorite was the bear.

We walked through a tunnel of lanterns, made to look like flowers with bees flying among them,

"Bees," I said. "Why did it have to be bees?"

"Can I get a hot dog?" asked Paul.

We sat at a table with hi shot dog, and he ate half in a single bite. Michelle smiled. "This is wonderful. I've always wanted to come to one of these things."

"I got to go shopping this morning," said Paul. "This is the best day ever!"

"My favorite part, buddy, was walking around the city with you," I told him.

I'd been on plenty of trips with the family. Me being me, I'd always had to have some sort of a side quest---I always tried to find out where the ghosts and cryptids were, have something to sneak off and go investigate. And more than once, I'd been so excited about the upcoming adventure that I'd almost missed the smaller moments.

It hadn't been like that, this time. I'd been enjoying all of it, every little stop along the way. I'd been having a good time with my kid, and not trying to leap forward to the next thing.

Maybe, finally in my fifties, I was learning to enjoy the moment.

"Well," I said,"All I need to do is find a Philosopher's Stone, and I'll be having a pretty good vacation, too."

I sat at the small desk, drinking coffee. Outside, the sun was rising over the Delaware River. I was wearing my black alien T-shirt. It was already looking to be a nice day.

Michelle came out of the bedroom. She said,"Is there still coffee?"

"Should be plenty. How's the kid?"

"Still asleep."

"Yeah, that sounds about right. I got all my stuff packed."

"We have to be out of here at ten. And he has dance tonight."

"We'll be headed home in plenty of time," I said. "I just want to hike out to the Cave of Kelpius, and then we'll be on our way."

"Hermit Lane," I said. "Pull in there. It's named after the hermits who lived here."

"Seriously?" asked Michelle.

"Oh yeah, really. Back around 1700, they were pretty big in the area. Look, there's a playground we can park in. Paul, you want to come with me, or stick around the playground?"

"I think I want to play," said Paul.

"Okay." I got out of the car. "I'll be back soon."

Wearing the new uniform, I walked through Wissahickon Park. I followed the trails listed on my map---I like working in a print shop; I can print off as many maps as I want. The park was a nice place, with a lot of forest area to explore. 

I came out of the forest in what appeared to be a backyard. An elaborate garden surrounded what appeared to be an old mansion. It could be the hermitage where the monks had lived, but it was equally possible that I'd gotten misdirected and stumbled into someone's private property.

No, it was the hermitage. I walked up the stone stairs alongside, and found another trail. After a moment to check the map again, I walked down into the woods.

After a while, the path split off to the right. I took the turn, and made my way along a winding footpath that led up and over a hill....And there it was.

The Cave of Kelpius.

I stopped to admire it for a moment. It reminded me of my father's root cellar, back on the farm. A small stone door built into the hillside sat next to a stone monument that explained who Kelpius had been. I took it all in, standing in the woods. I'd wanted to come explore this place for fifteen years....And now I was here.

I'd actually made it.

I stepped inside and looked around. The stone walls surrounded a dirt floor, a little bit smaller than Paul's bedroom. After a moment, I walked back out into the sunlight.

A path led down to the river. I followed it, and a few minutes later, came out beside Wissahickon Creek.

This was where Daniel Geissler had stood, and thrown artifacts into the water. Or buried them, depending on exactly which version of the legend you selected. 

I walked back and forth along the path for a moment. Then I stopped, and began to make a few concentric circles through the woods, walking with my EMF detector. At one point, I got a faint flicker, and I stopped there and looked around.

In one spot, there was a place where the grass was growing differently than the rest. For about a foot, the grass looked mangled, twisted.

Like there was something underneath it, affecting the way it grew.

I knelt down beside it. I pulled a trowel out of my pouch---I'd loaded the new outfit up with all sorts of useful stuff---And began digging.

About a foot and a half down, I found it.

Something was there. I wriggled it out of the ground. It was wrapped in a sort of waxy parchment paper that fell apart as I lifted it. And as the paper fell away, I saw it.

A stone.

It was roughly egg-shaped, golden and glittering. Like nothing I'd seen along the path. It sparkled in the sun as I held it up.

The Philosopher's Stone. The stone that Kelpius had believed to be the mystical one.

I slipped it into my pocket and stood up. I started walking back up the path. My family would be waiting.

"Well, I'm glad you had a good time in Philadelphia, Dad," said Tif.

She was finishing up dinner at the table. I was washing the dishes. I said,"Yeah, it was great. Did some exploring and some ghost hunting, Paul went shopping, Michelle got her Chinese lantern festival. We had a good time."

"Good."

"So, you want to see the new look?"

Tif's eyes lit up. "Yes!"
I walked out, and came back a minute later wearing the new uniform. She looked it over. "I like it."

"It does what I need it to do. It's functional, carries my stuff, and I've wanted a hood for years now. I think it's got kind of  a ninja look."

"I'm getting Robin Hood, for sure."

"Yeah, there's some Robin Hood in there, too."

"So how about the Philosopher's Stone? Did you find that?"

I grinned.

"Funny you should ask."

It ended the way it began---Having coffee with Chloe.

"So how was Philadelphia?" she asked me, sitting across from me in the little café on Main Street.

I smiled. "It was pretty amazing. We had a great time, saw a lot of cool stuff. We all got to do something we liked. Michelle got her Chinese lantern festival, Paul got to shop...."
Chloe grinned. "I can understand that."

"....And I got to hunt ghosts. By the way, thanks for helping out with that."

"Well, thanks for letting me. A lot of the time, people will say they might ask for help, but they don't. So it was nice that you followed through."

"Well, I really did need the help. And maybe you helped me find Benjamin Franklin's ghost." And I was pretty sure I'd also found a new partner.

She leaned across the table. "So, did you bring it?"

I brought out the Philosopher's Stone and showed her. "See? It sparkles. It was pretty much right where I expected it to be."
"That's really cool. I mean, what are the odds?"

"There's always an adventure out there, kid," I said.

Rock On

You'd think that nobody in his right mind would be out at nine AM on a Sunday morning, hiking two miles up a steep grade. You might be right about that, but here we are.

"Field Four. We're here," I said. "Right in this way."

"How far?" asked Nate.

"I can practically see them from here," I said.

Nate is a local teacher, and a friend of mine. We'd been planning for months to walk on the trail above Farrandsville, and today was the day. We walked in on the path, and found the field. And in the field were cairns---Several large, very structured shapes of rock, spaced out and carefully shaped like a dome, a couple of cones, and some rings. And that's what it takes to get me active on a Sunday morning---Ancient secrets.

"There's the cairns," I said.

"Wow," said Nate. 

We walked through the field, looking at them. I got my camera out, leaving my pack on one end of the field, and took some photos. I said,"I've written about these things several times, and I always get somebody telling me that they were built in the thirties by the CCC, or maybe farmers. But I've never thought that makes any sense---Both the CCC and all farmers everywhere have better things to do than creatively stack rocks."

"Yeah, I agree," said Nate. "Farmers are too busy to do this."

"These were planned, carefully structured," I said. "It always made more sense to me that they were done by the Native Americans as a symbol, or memorial. The Suquehannock tribe. I mean....These things meant something."

We walked around the field a while, taking photos and looking over the cairns. I commented,"We chose the right time of year for this. Last time I was up here, it was the middle of summer, and the grass was about waist high. I was terrified of snakes."

"Yeah, I wondered about that," commented Nate.

I stopped and looked at the dome cairn.

"I never noticed this before," I said. "There's a hole going through this one." I leaned over and peered through it. "It goes all the way through."

Nate looked at it. "Hunh. Let me climb up there and get a photo."

I turned and sprinted for my backpack, getting out my mutli-survival device. I think everything should be a multi-tool. This one had a magnifying glass, signal mirror, firestarter, thermometer, and a compass. 

"The hole goes directly east to west," I said. "Sunrise and sunset."

"Did you ever think," Nate asked,"That these might be Celtic? I've seen photos of Celtic cairns that have holes like this."
"That never occurred to me, but I can't rule it out," I said. "If Celts ever came through here, say, pre-1700s, I'd have no real way to know it."

"Definitely not the CCC, though," said Nate.

"No," I agreed. "The cairns are elaborate enough. No way they'd be bothering to build a perfectly aligned hole clean through."

Let's get all of the whining out of the way right now. I hate May. My mother died in May, my cousin died in May, my grandmother died in May. The whole month depresses the hell out of me; by the end of the month if a Chupacabra devours me, I'm ready to go.

But, stuff to do. I got the library job in May, too, nine years ago. Sometimes I even manage to do the work I'm paid for. 

Ah, you know what they say. Heavy is the head that wears the Loch Ness Monster cap.

I started with general research. Pulled my copy of Mysterious Ancient America and found a whole chapter on very similar cairns all over the country, dating back centuries. To my mind, that pretty much ended the whole argument that the cairns were built by the CCC----There's not a lot of logic to the concept that all the other cairns in the country were centuries old, but the CCC built these particular cairns in the thirties.

I checked the 1862 map of the county. There was no mention of the cairns, which would have been in the woods and hard to get to at the time. They may have been there, but unknown. The Hazard Road wasn't listed on the map, either, not having been built yet, but there was a path down below, mostly along Lick Run, which made sense.

I checked the index just to be thorough. Not that I expected much there, but we had nothing related under "cairns," or "Farrandsville," or "Colebrook Township." Just another thing to cross off the list.

It was May fifth. My mother had died eighteen years ago today.

And if you could see me now, Mom, would you be proud? Would you like that I write for the newspapers?

No....You wouldn't, would you.

You'd ask me when I was going to quit messing around with dead people and monsters and find a real job. We sure as hell went through that enough when you were alive.

Never mind. I pulled one of the big scrapbooks that sat across from my desk. I remembered an article in there.....After paging around for a moment, I found it.

There was a long article on discoveries made by Thomas Brown Stewart. Stewart had been a very prominent local archaeologist and historian. We had a lot in common, he and I. I studied the article, and found that Stewart had documented quite a few burial mounds and similar cairns throughout Clinton County, most of which had been destroyed by now.

Sometimes you get lucky.

"Hey, pal," I said into my cell phone as I walked the third floor of the library. "I have a favor to ask, if you're up for it."

"Sure, buddy, whatever you need," said SaraLee. "What's up?"

I was on the phone with her as I looked out the highest windows in the library, which were also the highest windows in the immediate vicinity. I was wearing my UFO shirt that said "Believe." I'd been doing some UFO checks from the third floor lately, which actually made a pretty good lookout point.

"Can you handle the incoming inquiries for LHPS online?" I asked. "Keep this between us, but....I need a break from ghosts for a little. A year of COVID, and Gwen died in my arms....Right now, I can't handle any more death."

"Sure, I can do that," said SaraLee. "You want to talk? I'm always here."

"Might call just to talk at some point, thanks. You and me should probably call each other about once a week anyway, to be honest. Just to catch up."

"Wouldn't mind getting together when I'm in town, every other Friday," said SaraLee. "Talk and hang out."

"That sounds great, actually," I said. "Let me know when."

"Left or right arm?" the pharmacist asked me as we sat down.

I took off my jacket. I was wearing my "Bigfoot: Social Distancing Champion" shirt. "Is there any practical difference?"

"Well, after getting the COVID shot, some people experience some soreness in the arm. If you're right-handed, you may want to try the left arm."

"I am. Left, then."

He picked up the needle. "Might feel a little pinch....."

"If a medical professional were coming at me with a machete, they'd tell me it was a little pinch."

He jabbed the needle into my arm. "I know when I got it, I immediately felt better....More free. Like things are getting back to normal."

"As normal as it can, anyway. I'm not too used to normal."

He put away the needle. "Done."

"That wasn't too bad, actually."

"CDC guidelines have people waiting fifteen minutes before leaving. You can self-time, and have one of the chairs over there."

"I brought a comic book."

"Your arm might feel a little sore. Don't baby it, just use it normally. We'll see you in three weeks for your second shot."
"So I can still go doing archaeology in the woods."

He gave me a funny look. "If that's what you had planned."

I was doing lobby duty, and I was almost relieved when the woman came in and asked to talk to the historian. I mean, how many rounds of Solitaire can you really play?

"That'd be me," I said.

She looked surprised. "I expected someone older," she said.

"You'd be amazed how often I hear that."

"My name is Susan. My neighbor Jayne works here. She recommended I talk to you."

"Oh, yeah, she mentioned you'd be stopping by. What can I do for you?"

"I'm interested in the pottery cave near Queen's Run. I found a mention of it in a book."

"Not familiar with that one offhand. It sounds like a Shoemaker legend, though."

"No," she said. "I found it in the Maynard book."

"Really?"

Ten minutes later, I was in the Pennsylvania Room, pulling the Maynard book from its shelf.

I flipped the pages. Okay, Queen's Run, that's in....Not Colebrook Township, it's one over in Woodward. Woodward Township. 

It turned out to be on the last page of the book. A paragraph about two men in Woodward, finding a Native American cave filled with pottery on the mountain, about five miles north of Queen's Run. It had happened around 1854, so I walked to the 1862 map on the wall and checked it out.

North of Queen's Run would be up in the mountains. I roughly estimated the spot. Then I compared it.

Driving on the roads today, it would be half an hour. But back then, walking overland in a straight line---Like the Susquehannocks would have done it---They were less than a mile from the cairns.

At seven AM, I got up just before the alarm. I prefer that; I can turn the obnoxious-sounding thing off, and I don't have to listen to it. I took a shower and put on my black T-shirt with the crop circles on it. I poured a cup of coffee, and then went to Paul's room.

Rosie had gotten out of bed and was curled up on a pile of laundry. She wagged her tail when she saw me. I gently shook Paul's shoulder.

"Hey, kiddo," I said. "Time to wake up."

It took a solid two minutes of prodding, but I finally got him to open his eyes. "What time is it?" he asked blearily.

"Seven-thirty, buddy," I said. "Time to get up and get ready. We have some exploring to do."

It was cloudy and overcast when we drove into Farrandsville. We parked the Prius and got out, and Paul ran over to the footbridge and began dropping sticks in the water, fascinated. I spent the time staring at my watch, and then a few minutes later, Nate pulled up in his SUV.

"Right on time," I said, and we climbed in.

Driving to the top was way easier than hiking it. We were up at the field in ten minutes, and we climbed out of the vehicle.

"There's the trail," said Nate.

"Just a minute," I said. "Before we go in, I want to check out that tree."

It was one of those Sherlock Holmes moments, one of the times I knew nobody could figure out what I was talking about, and I didn't care. I walked over and examined the tree, which was bent to the ground at a right angle, essentially making it resemble almost a Z-shape, growing toward the sky.

Nate came up behind me as I was taking photos. "What do you see?"

"This tree....The Native Americans used to bend them in this way as trail markers, border lines. I mean, it can happen by accident if a branch falls on a sapling, but they did it deliberately a lot. I wanted to check it out."

We cut through the forest and caught up with Michelle and Paul on the path. 

"You can see them from here, little man," I said. "Right up there."

"Cool," said Paul, and ran ahead to the cairns.

I walked in behind him. "Look, Pipper," I said. "There's the hole through the cairn we found last time. Check it out. You can see clean through."

Paul smiled and crept closer to the cairn. "I can see the other side!"

Nate and I walked around the field, hitting the outskirts. I said,"There's another one of those trees...."

"Another one over there," Nate observed.

"There's a bunch....And look, this one....It's a double. One on each side. I've seen photos of trees just like this used as boundary markers from the Native Americans."

Nate glanced around. "They're pretty much surrounding the cairn field."

"And look....They're only surrounding the field. About a hundred feet out, you can't see any bent trees like this anymore. The CCC definitely didn't create these trees. This is a sign that these cairns were built by the Native Americans."

We walked around in a loop, and rejoined Paul and Michelle. I took some photos of the trees and the cairns. I asked,"You having a good day, little man?"

"Yeah!" Paul said. "Cool!"

Pandemic: Digging In

"Recording. We are investigating Paul's room, noon, April 11, 2020. Lou."
"Paul."
I watched as my digital recorder counted up the seconds. I had my LHPS vest on, but hadn't bothered zipping it up. Next to me, Paul sat with his tie-dyed shirt and black tights.
"Is there anyone here?" I asked.
"Is Ida here?" Paul asked.
We waited as the recorder counted off three seconds. Paul had been interested in doing an EVP session today---For some reason, he'd begun to take an interest in Ida, our ghost.
"Where did you drink the poison?" Paul asked.
We heard a small noise. Could have been anything, but his face lit up. "Did you hear that? That was Ida!"
"Should we play it back?" I asked, reaching for the recorder.
"Yeah. And then let's do another."

"We're going to dig up the backyard," I announced to my wife. I've learned the best way to reveal these plans is to just rip off the Band-Aid.
"Uh-huh," she said. "Instead of that, you could always try cutting back some of that brush while we're on lockdown."
"Yeah, you know all those times I said I was going to do home maintenance when I had the time?" I asked her. "Turns out that wasn't the issue. During the week, I figure we'll do an archaeological dig in the backyard."
"You're going to fill it in eventually, though, right?"
"What do you care? You never go back there. A few years ago, Barb found an article about a homeowner on our street who found a secret root cellar for bootleg whiskey under his property. That was George Yost, Ida's father. This whole area was big for stills, because before it was settled, there were a lot of springs up here. It's why everyone's basement always floods immediately."
"You and Paul?"
"And Tif. I know there's something under there---A few years ago, when some guys came to install a new pipe next door, they dug up traces of an old wall or foundation---I can see where it runs under there. We're gonna spend the week digging it up."

"You've gotten sort of more interesting since you've been so bored," said Tif. "Which is really saying something."
"Not my fault I live in a fascinating area," I said.
We were out in the backyard, digging. I'd marked off a grid area about eight feet long, about where I thought the old wall was. I was working in my Zombie Response Team T-shirt. Tif was digging more or less randomly in holes, and I was working slowly in the precise squares I'd learned to do. Paul was popping in and out, in between playing in his sand pit and swinging.
"So far, I found two rusty nails and a razor blade," I said. "Not bad for surface area."
"Does Mom know we're doing this?" Tif asked.
"I told her," I said. "I'm not above just doing it without informing her, but I had the time, so...."
"I found an old pocketknife," she said.
"We'll clean it off and put it in the can." I was keeping the finds in a coffee can I'd filched from my own recycling. Stuck at home, with the local recycling services cancelled, I'd found ways to put a lot of that stuff to use. I was beginning to understand my grandmother's love for reusing junk after the Great Depression.
"How far down are we going?" Tif asked.
"Until we hit the wall I think is there. Or until we get bored. Worst case, it keeps me busy a while. Best case, it'll give me some aged whiskey and a new Batcave."

"You're wearing a ghost shirt on Easter," Tif said.
I looked down at my grey sweatshirt with the ghost on it. "You're right. Totally inappropriate. Easter is no time for things that come back from the dead."
She was sitting on the porch steps. I was putting in a couple of hours working on the dig. Paul was flitting back and forth between us, mostly playing on his swing. I held a piece of glass up to the light. "Bottle. Definitely. Looks like probably medicine."
"How can you tell?"
"Got this ridge here. Rules out windows and lenses. Could have been the bottle Ida drank acid from."
"You had to get macabre, didn't you?"
"I mean, I doubt it. Not old enough." I pulled a large, rusty nail out of the sifter. "Old nail. If I had to guess, I'd say I'm down to about 1945 now."
"That's weirdly specific. You know this how?"
"Well, sort of an educated wild guess. The house was refurbished in 1942, after Ida's family sold it. They collapsed the back wall right over into this yard---Because of the war, they couldn't tear it down and rebuild, so they built another house inside the first and tore the old one down around it. This is an old nail, but not square-nail old. I'd guess this in the forties, maybe from the new construction."
I was somewhere around eight inches down, where the good stuff was beginning to show up. "What's this? Ceramic?" I tapped the piece against my teeth.
"Hey! Does Mom know you do that?! We're trying to avoid a virus here and you're sticking things in your mouth?"
"It's an old trick. You can't identify the substance, you tap it on your front teeth. A little practice, you can feel the difference between wood, stone, glass. Yep. It's ceramic."
"So what are you hoping to find?"
"Well, whatever's there. I know there's the stone foundation down there, and I'm hoping to get down to that. It's not like I don't have the time. Before Ida's grandfather built the house, the property belonged to a woman named Ellen Curts and her husband George. He built the plain-looking house on the corner of Water and Vesper. If there were old hiding places for alcohol up here, woulda been during their time. We'll see."

"Can you put an alien patch on my mask?" I asked Michelle.
Sitting at her sewing machine, she said,"If you have an alien patch available, sure."
"I usually keep a ten-pack around."
"Once I'm done making yours, I'll make one for Paul, and then Biz," she said. "We can drive it up to her."
I walked into the TV room, where Tif and Paul were getting rowdy. I said,"Paul, I have a question for you, and I'm not sure I want a straight answer. A lie will be fine. How did toothpaste get all over the wall of the bathroom?"
Paul looked at me, and very seriously said,"I don't know, Daddy."
He's getting better.
"I'm gonna go outside for a while," I said.
I walked outside and lit a cigar. I'd cut way back on cigars since Paul was born, mainly because I didn't have the time anymore. I didn't usually smoke around him, but he was in the TV room, playing with Tif. I walked out to the garage.
Months ago, when I'd begun cleaning the garage, I'd built myself a little concealed space. I had a couple of chairs, a small shelf, and the walls were made of boxed-up crap. I sat down on a chair that had once belonged to my grandmother, smoking my cigar, surrounded by my camping equipment. Fortress of Solitude. I could use a little solitude right now.
I've lived here a long time. I've always tried to help my city....Protect it where I could. But I never envisioned anything like this.
It took me maybe a minute and a half to begin getting bored. How the hell did Superman ever do this at the North Pole? I walked back out and pulled the tarp off the dig.
Long ago, I'd gotten good at digging and smoking a cigar at the same time. I did some work on it, digging out a few more squares, going down a few more inches. I let myself get lost in the sifting and digging---There's something oddly relaxing about archaeology, for me, at least.
Two rusty nails. I like rusty nails. I found a white ceramic bead, from before they were all plastic---Paul would love that. And in the sifter, I pulled a stone, but one that had obviously been worked.
It was jagged, chipped into the shape of a rough lightning bolt. About two inches long. When I washed it off, I realized that it was slightly sparkling---Sandstone, maybe. I took it inside.
Tif and Paul were playing some game that seemed to require Paul leaping off the couch in his underwear. I held up my find. "What's this look like to you?"
"I mean, a rock," said Tif.
"Harry Potter's lightning bolt," Paul said immediately.
"That's it," I said. "A lightning bolt. Pretty sure this was worked; it didn't form like this by accident. This looks Native American to me. And it seems to be sandstone, I think, which means it's not original to this exact property."
"What do you think it is?" Tif asked.
"Something Native American. An amulet, an effigy. Without falling into the religious fallacy, I'd guess at some sort of decorative amulet. This far from the river, I'm a little surprised. It's a find."

Paul was looking in the mirror, smearing makeup on his face. He announced,"I'm trying to make myself all white, like a ghost."
"Wait here a minute," I said. I walked upstairs to the bathroom, where I remembered a long-unused tube of white makeup. I went downstairs with it. "Here, little man. Sit down."
Paul sat on my lap, and in a few minutes I had him made up pale white, with black circles around his eyes. He looked in the mirror and squealed.
"I'm a ghost now! Oooooh!"
"Yeah, little guy, you're a ghost." I walked into the kitchen. Paul followed me, and put on my alien hat, then picked up my whip.
"Now I'm Daddy!" he declared. "I have a whip and I'm white!"
Also he had dark circles under his eyes. I laughed. "Yes, little man. You're just like Daddy. What are you going to do?"
Paul looked at the back door.
"I'm gonna go outside and dig."

Bottle Episode

On Father's Day, my family decided to go out and look for some lost whiskey that was buried during Prohibition.
Hallmark doesn't really make a card for that.
We were in my wife's car, a white Prius, doing our exploration to celebrate Father's Day. My younger daughter Biz had suggested this, because it's something I enjoy doing. My wife was driving, with daughter Tif in the front seat. I was in the back, sharing space with Biz and Paul Matthew in his car seat.
I'd taken the kids out a few years ago, doing the same thing. We'd found a field where we'd dug up a bottle of high-quality bootleg whiskey, based on a lot of my research. It had been a great time, hiking into the wilderness and hunting for buried treasure.
Ever since, Biz had been on me to do it again.
The family that explores together, adores together.

"Prince Farrington was America's most notorious bootlegger," I explained from the back of the car. "He was from North Carolina, but he lived right here in Clinton County. He had a reputation for churning out a high quality, excellent whiskey, not that rotgut stuff that would blind you. A lot of his stills are still out there, and probably a lot of his whiskey, as well. He had a habit of burying some of it to be found later. Turn left up this road, Michelle."
You might think there's not enough room for us all in a Prius. You'd be correct. We were essentially wearing the car.
Why am I bothering to write all this down? Of course that's what you're thinking. People want to read about something interesting, not my plans for Father's Day. That's a valid point, except here you are reading this.
"How'd you figure it's in Farrandsville?" Biz asked me.
"I checked the documentation on Farrington," I said. "There are lists of every place people think he had stills. This one didn't look to be much of a drive. There used to be some farmland up here, plus a creek known as Whiskey Run. Farrington liked to set up in limestone country, so I checked a geological map."
"What was the deal with the limestone again?" asked Tif.
"It filtered the taste out," said my wife.
"But you'd want your whiskey to taste like whiskey," said Tif.
"Not the whiskey, the water," I said. "Bootleggers needed to set up by springs because they needed a steady supply of fresh water to distill whiskey. The feds figured out that the process left a faint whiskey taste in the water, so they'd taste the streams to find the stills. Farrington caught on, and discovered that limestone would filter out the taste. The man used geology to bootleg."
"This is fun," said Biz as we went over a bumpy road. "I love doing this."
"Keep your eyes open for water," I said. "The stream over there is actually called Whiskey Run, most likely after Farrington's work. Somewhere along there stood one of his stills."
We watched out the car windows as Michelle drove up the rocky road. Tif commented,"This is really pretty. It makes me wish I could get outside and hike more."
"There was a spring over there," said Biz.
"There was?" I asked.
"Yeah, one of those ones with a pipe stuck in the ground for fresh water."
"Stop the car, Michelle," I said.
My wife pulled to a stop along the deserted road. Biz said,"It wasn't a natural-looking spring; it had a pipe...."
"Yeah, the pipe's man-made, but the water isn't," I said. "That spring has always been there. Which would make it perfect for a Farrington still. Let's try it."

"Have to go potty, Daddy," said Paul.
We climbed out of the car. My wife said,"He needs to go. Can you show him?"
"Yeah. Come on, little man."
We walked off the trail, out of sight of the girls. I said,"Okay, little man. We're going to go potty right here."
"We go potty outside?"
"That's right." I tugged down his pants. "That's the great thing about the outdoors; it's all one big bathroom. In the forest, you can go outside, just like inside."
It's one of those unexpected parental moments. We'd adopted Paul three years ago. When you're getting a child somehow, you tend to anticipate the big stuff. You except sleepless nights and hospital visits. I was totally ready to save for college. But this kind of blindsided me. Nothing manages to prepare you for the moment you teach your son that he can whiz in the woods.
"Now listen, little man. Here we go, this is how we do it. Now, just for the record, I don't want you doing this in the backyard while the neighbors are watching."
"O-Kay."
There isn't going to be a photo added to this entry.
"Wow! I go outside!"
"That's right, buddy. You never forget your first time."
And on that note, I'm kind of relieved we got a boy.

"I want to explore too," said Paul
We walked up the road. Paul was staying near Tif. Michelle was guarding the car, which we could see from where we were. Paul stopped to pick up a few rocks. I asked,"Where did you see the spring, Biz?"
"Right up here," said Biz. She pointed. "There." There was a pipe with running water sticking out of the ground jsut off the road, in the woods.
"Okay, we'll look around here," I said. "This is perfect." I crossed the road and stopped at the edge, looking down at the run. Paul joined me.
"I find a rock, Daddy!"
"I see that. Okay, wait here---Stay with Sissy."
"We havin a adventure!"
I climbed down the bank and stood by the creek. There was a slat area---Most of the old stills are gone now, though a few still remain. I didn't figure I'd find any trace of this one, but the flat spot was basically perfect for a location.
Biz was climbing down the bank after me. She slipped and tumbled into the dirt, and then got up. Paul laughed at her.
I knelt by the stream, looking it over.
Shallow, cool water....Flat rocks....
I reached into the water with one hand, splashing around a bit. I felt the soft mud underneath, and then felt around the rocks. Finally, I grabbed the biggest flat rock, flipped it over, and stuck my hand underneath.
It was only later that I thought about the possibility of getting bitten by snakes, fish, or water monsters. At the time, I just felt around under there.
And I felt something flat and smooth.
Glass.
Gently, I pulled it out. I'd found a broad, flat bottle with a glass and cork topper. It was about two-thirds full of tan liquid.
I stood up.
"Hey, Biz!"
She looked up, still coming down the bank. "Yeah?"
I held up the bottle, and she grinned.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. It was hidden in the stream."
I carried it back up to the top, and handed the bottle to her. She carefully popped the glass plug out, and sniffed it.
"It's whiskey, allright," she said. She turned it over in her hands, examining it. "Uneven seam on the bottle, which makes it about the right age." I was ind of proud of her. You know those guys who brag that their kid made the winning home run or whatever? Yeah, the hell with those guys. My kids can find ancient artifacts.
"We found it!" Biz said.
I smiled.
"We did."

We walked back to the car. I held up the bottle to show my wife, and she raised her eyebrows and shook her head.
"How do you always get so lucky?" she asked.
"It's not luck, not really," I said. "I'm very good at what I do."
"We go home now?" asked Paul.
"Yep," I said. "We're going home now. I got some food to cook on the grill."
For Father's Day. Almost as if we were a normal family.