See You Later, Alligator

"I needed a new machete," I told Paul as we walked through Wal-Mart. "Can't find the old one; I don't know what happened to it. I figure buying a new one is the quickest way to find it."

"It'll show up tomorrow," agreed Paul.

"If I find it, you can have the old one."

"Really?"

"Sure. Is it irresponsible parenting to let my nine-year-old have his own machete?"
"No," said my nine-year-old.

I grabbed a seven-dollar machete off the shelf. Paul said,"What's this thing you're going to tonight?"

"Tomorrow, not tonight. I got no plans for tonight. Tomorrow I have the trivia fundraiser for the shelter. It's in McElhattan."

"Oh. Okay."

"It's at Henry Shoemaker's house, which is a winery these days. They're holding this for us as a fundraiser---I'll be the guy asking all the local history questions. Shoemaker is the guy who wrote all those ghost legends down; his place is probably haunted."

"Cool," said Paul. "I wish I could go."

"Can't take you to a winery, kiddo," I said. "You and me will do something special for your birthday."

I walked around the old house, checking my EMF detector. I didn't get too much, but I didn't want to spend too much time outside checking, either. I was needed in the winery area.

I walked inside, where a couple of other people from the shelter were waiting for me. Tara said,"Find anything?"

"Not this time. How'd you know I was checking for ghosts?"

"I know you."

"We only had one team register," said Carrie. "They win by default. They're okay with not competing, but they wanted to know if you could give them a talk about Henry Shoemaker, since we're on his property."

"Oh sure," I said. "I can do that."

"Just out of the blue like that? Are you sure?"
"Not my first rodeo," I said.

"How did it go?" my wife asked when I walked back in the door.

"Only one team, but we still wound up making about eighty bucks," I said. "I gave a speech on Henry Shoemaker. Where's the kid?"

"Out back, playing with his friends."

"I brought you a bottle of wine," I said.

I handed it to her, and she looked it over. "This looks good. We'll have to try it later."

I walked into the kitchen and dropped my pack onto a chair. I sat down and opened my laptop. It wasn't too likely I'd get an emergency message from the shelter, considering I'd just met with some of them, but I figured I'd better check. I checked my e-mail, and then looked over the rest of my messages. There was one about a speech in Renovo on Friday.

I walked back to Michelle. "What's your schedule like Friday? I've been asked to go talk to a kids' class in Renovo."

"I can get home to be with Paul."

"Okay." I went back to my messages. And I found a good one.

I went out back, where Paul was bouncing on the trampoline with a couple of his friends. They taken the garden hose to make it wet and slippery, because it wasn't already unsafe enough. I called the kid over to the edge.

"You're home!" he said.

"Just got in. Listen, little man, got big news."

"What?"

"Fifteen years ago, I worked on a project. It had to do with a Civil War submarine that sank in 1863. This was called the Alligator. There was a prototype model, smaller, that sank in New Jersey, and people have been looking for that, too. They may have found it."

"And you helped find it?"

"I helped."
"You can't even find my machete."

"I did some of the research that helped with this. My old friend Alice contacted me. They found some sort of big metal thing in the right river, and they're trying to raise money to get the equipment to find out more. It might be the Alligator Junior, and I helped with the research on that."

"Cool."

"Here's the thing---The guy who designed this thing, Brutus Devilleroi, lived here in Clinton County for a while. When I worked on this project, the government was convinced he made his money here. He lived up near Kettle Creek for a year and a half, and there's no record of him owning any businesses. When I looked into this fifteen years ago, I came up with the theory that he may have discovered a lost silver mine up there---There's documentation that there might be one. And now, they may have found the Alligator Junior, and my research went into that." I grinned. "And that, kid, means that we're involved."

I got into work in the afternoon, and checked my e-mail. I finished up a research job involving an article from 1940. I tried processing books. But no matter what I did, my mind was already pretty much up in Noyes Township with the lost silver. Finally I gave up pretending, and started working on that a bit.

I refreshed my memory on some of the stuff I'd dug up fifteen years ago. I started by checking Linn's History to confirm the silver, and I found that without too much trouble. There was a long paragraph about a man who'd seen the Native Americans up in the north end of the county canoeing down the Susquehanna with packs full of silver that they'd pulled from someplace. He'd searched for it throughout a couple of townships, but never found it.

I had a memory of Devilleroi living in what was now Westport, right where Kettle Creek met the Susquehanna River. The 1862 map confirmed that one; he'd been staying at a place owned by Colonel A.C. Noyes, and I was able to locate Noyes's place easily enough, right where I remembered.

Then I laid out an old warrant map on the table in the PA Room and started studying it to chart out where Devilleroi had owned. That's what I was doing when Chris came in.

"Hi, Lou. What's up?"

I looked up from the map. "I'm reopening the USS Alligator."

Chris is one of the few people I can open a conversation with in that way. "Really? What's it been, ten years?"

"Fifteen. I was called in on the Alligator in 2009. But there's news---They may have found the Alligator Junior."

"Was it off the coast of North Carolina?"

"That's the big one. This one was the little prototype, and they've detected a mass of metal in the correct river in New Jersey. They're raising money to study it further, and this brings back the question of the lost silver."
"You proved that, didn't you?"

"Fifteen years ago, I studied the land Devilleroi owned, and realized it was the same place where there were legends of a lost silver mine. The silver has actually been documented in Linn's, so it's not like it's just a rumor. Devilleroi was supposed to be lumbering the area, but there's no real record of him actually doing that. The government is convinced that he made the money here in Clinton County, so I came up with the theory that he may have found the silver."

"What minerals would form with silver?" Chris asked.

"Quartz, for one. Silver tends to piggyback on other minerals, so sometimes if you find quartz, you'll find silver."

"Is there quartz up in Noyes Township?"

I grinned.

"That's what I'll have to find out."

At the end of my shift, with nothing better to do, I decided to do a deep dive into the possibility of silver in Clinton County. I'm not a geologist, and only have a basic understanding of the principles, but I am one hell of a good local researcher. So I went to the index.

I found more than I expected. Looking up "silver" in the index gave me a lot of newspaper articles over the years. Some of them, I was able to dismiss as being too far away geographically for my purposes. I copied down the date of the earliest I could find----1871---As closest to Devilleroi's time. I got the microfilm and rolled it to the date.

It was about finding silver in Beech Creek Township and Centre County, which wasn't where I needed to be. But I was encouraged---It was possible to find silver.

The next one I looked at was from 1936, and more comprehensive than the first. It involved silver in several possible areas, including Elk and Potter Counties. I checked the map--Elk and Potter were both reasonably close to the area I needed. If there were reliable deposits in Elk and Potter, it was a reasonable guess that there might be traces in northern Clinton, too. 

So my target area, extrapolating off this article, was both Keating Townships, plus Leidy, Noyes, and possibly Chapman. And I wasn't getting there very soon to do a full-scale exploration---But in the near future, I was getting there.

The after-school program was in a church in downtown Renovo. I went in, and the instructor, Donna, gave me a hug. "Did the driver find your place okay?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," I said. "Everything went smooth." Shockingly, I am at the point in my career where sometimes they'll send a vehicle to pick me up.

"Thanks for doing this," she said. "It's National Paranormal Day, and I thought you'd be a good program for today. The kids are all excited."

"Glad to be here. Thanks for inviting me."

I set down my bag, and the adults organized the kids and got them sitting down and passably quiet. The kids all seemed to be around six to eight years old. I stood in front of the bunch. "Hi, guys. Today is National Paranormal Day, and I'm a paranormal investigator. Does anyone know what 'paranormal' means?"

Hands went up. "It means ghosts." "Something you don't understand." "Stuff that's weird."

"All technically correct," I said. "Paranormal means things that we can't explain yet, like ghosts. I brought some equipment to show you, and my ghost-hunting outfit. You want to see my ghost-hunting outfit?"

Cheers. I was already wearing my uniform, so I dug into my bag and pulled out the vest. I put it on. One of the kids asked,"Isn't that heavy?"

"Kind of, yeah. You should see my other one. But you get used to it. Oh, can't forget the gloves."

I pulled out the gloves---I'd forgotten that with this vest, I'd brought the fingerless armored kind instead of the usual ones with the skulls on them. One of the kids asked,"If you hit a ghost with those gloves, would it hurt?"

"Would hitting really be the best way for the ghost and me to solve our problems?" I did a quick spin and showed off the vest. "It carries all my equipment, like this---Here's an EMF detector."

Excited chatter from the kids. They'd seen one of these before someplace. I demonstrated the detector, and the laser thermometer, and played them back an EVP. Passed around some of the equipment and let them take a turn checking it out.

The kids were clearly having a good time with all of this. I showed them how to make trigger objects and set them up. Then, while they were distracted, I slipped out for a moment.

Renovo is in Chapman Township, right by the border of Noyes. So it's pretty much centrally located to the northern part of Clinton County, which, geologically, is convenient. I walked south, heading for the river. In Lock Haven, the river is always north of you. In Renovo, it's south.

I thought about the last time I'd worked on the USS Alligator. It had been the winter of 2009, and I'd been called in by the NOAA to research. I'd been working for a local museum then, with a somewhat tyrannical boss and a teenaged assistant. Paul wasn't born yet, and Chris was still a couple of years away from showing up and becoming my best friend. LHPS had only formed a few months previously. 

I'd pulled all of the files from the courthouse, deeds, legal papers. For a while, I'd deepened the mystery, until I'd come up with the realization that Devilleroi had owned the same land as the stories of lost silver. I'd actually hiked up into the forests in the north part of the county to search for it, and found a couple of caves that showed some potential. I'd wound up getting mentioned on a national radio show on NPR for this stunt, which had been my first time on NPR but not the last.

Fifteen years ago.

I was conveniently already in my outfit. I walked across Huron Avenue, the main road through Renovo. Nothing to see here; just a guy in a military-grade tactical vest taking a walk across town. Renovo isn't that big; in a minute I was at the river.

I climbed down the bank. On a geological level, to test, the Susquehanna would probably be the least disturbed place, at least for my purposes. I got out a piece of litmus paper and tested the water, which turned out to be very mildly acidic. I poked around in the dirt, coming up with a few handfuls of dirt and stones. I sifted through, looking for something that wasn't just generic rock.

People are under the assumption that paranormal investigation is just going out and doing some exciting sitting around while the ghosts arrive. Television has a lot to answer for. To really be doing it right, you need at least a basic understanding of biology, chemistry, history...and geology.

After a little while, I found a white, sparkly stone. Quartz. I tucked it in my pocket, then climbed up the bank and headed back.

I slipped back into the room, where the kids were setting up their trigger objects. I said,"If you check these on Monday, you never know, they may have moved. You might have found something."

"Thanks for doing this, Lou," said Donna. "The kids are having a great time."
"Glad to help," I said.

 I sat in my office, digging through my old files. I'd been piling up folders full of information since 2006, and I'd had most of them organized into a box upstairs. I found the Alligator file from fifteen years ago and looked it over.

I was going to need to do more digging; add some documentation to it. This file had been compiled by a much younger guy, far less experienced. I'd done the best I could with it at the time, but I was fifteen years more experienced by now. Reopening the file again this summer, I could do better.

Paul came up the stairs. "Mom says it's almost bedtime, Daddy."

"Okay. I'll take the dogs out before bed. You remember the submarine job, with the lost silver?"

"Yeah."
"I took a few samples today. I found quartz and acid. That means it's possible there's actually some silver up there."

"Cool! Are we going to look for it?"
"Over the summer, yeah, I think we are. Maybe when I go up to do my annual talk at Hyner this year."

"Fun."

I walked out into the hallway. "See this poster, kiddo?"

Paul looked at the USS Alligator poster I'd had hanging in the hall for his entire life. "Yeah, I know that one."

"I got this during the last round of research. It's actually about all I got paid for that job. I made a lot of progress on this last time I looked into it. This summer, we're gonna do it again."

"Cool!"
I smiled. "Get to bed, kiddo. I'll be right with you."

Little Treasures

"...I never wanna hear you say....I want it that way!"

This would have been okay if it had been coming from the SUV's radio, but it was not. The radio wasn't even on. The song was coming from Paul and his little friend Serina, sitting in the back of the vehicle with Tif.

"Sing louder!"

"You sing louder!"

"You do too much!"

"You do too much!"

We were halfway to Lancaster County, and this had been about typical for the trip.

I turned in my seat, hoping to forestall further performances. "So we'll be at the camp pretty soon, you two. We'll check in at the cabin, and you guys can go play in the pool a while. I got some stuff to do later, if you like."

"There's ghosts, right?" Paul asked.

"That's right. In one book, I found a legend of the ghost of an old farmer, who rides around on a glowing tractor. That's real near the camp, so we can walk around and take a look. We'll be in Columbia again visiting the Turkey Hill Experience, so we can make a stop and look for the Albatwitch. And there's a buried treasure down in Lancaster County, too."

"Yay!" said Serina. "Buried treasure!"

"Back in the 1700s, robbers used to steal from people traveling in the area. They hid the loot, and many of them never went back for it."

"Like pirate treasure!" Serina said. "X marks the spot!"

"Well, this should be pretty well hidden, and it's said to be guarded by a Native American ghost. But yes. We can go looking for that, if we like."

"Okay," said Paul. "But first the pool."

"We'll have plenty of time; you can swim in the pool. But when you feel like investigating, I brought some of my equipment."

"How long until we get there?" asked Paul.

I glanced at my watch. "About another hour."

"You are....My fire...My one....Desire...."

The cabin was a small, one-room thing with a couple of bunk beds. We'd brought a lawn chair for Tif, who decided she wanted to sleep outside on the porch. When I'm traveling, I make an effort to remain somewhat organized, so that most of my stuff is already packed at any given time. By contrast, the kids had their clothes scattered on the floor within moments of entering the cabin.

By nightfall, they'd already spent a couple of hours in the pool. Both of them were sitting on their bunks, and I figured I'd go out exploring. I pulled my paranormal bag out from under my bunk, and got out my vest. It was a travel model---Soft, a cryptozoology vest, but that was okay. I pulled it on over my "Paranormal Investigator" shirt, and Serina immediately looked up.

"You're not going out ghost-hunting without us?"

I should have known I'd never get away with that. "You want to come? Get your uniforms on."

Both of them immediately scrabbled for their T-shirts. Paul had an LHPS uniform like I did, but when the neighborhood kids had begun asking for paranormal lessons, I'd had some customized shirts made. Paul's was pink, and Serina's was black. Both had their names, and a logo that said "Ghost Gang."

We left the cabin, and headed into the main camping area. These Yogi Bear camps were heavy on the kid-friendly fun, and we were essentially on the outskirts, in a nice little forested spot. Not far up the road were the bathrooms, and then the big playground. In the dark, we walked to the other end, where the camp ran up against farmland.

There was a fence separating the camp parking lot from the cornfield, but it was a halfhearted effort at best, and we were past it in no time. I said,"This field is where the ghost farmer was sighted. According to one of the books I found, a policeman saw him riding on a glowing tractor, and you could see him shining from miles off."

"I don't see any glowing," commented Paul.

"Me either, yet."

Serina shook her head. "This ghost do too much."

I got out my all-in-one EMF detector. The temperature was holding consistently at sixty-eight, and I wasn't getting so much as a flicker on the EMF. Corn isn't electric. I walked around the edge of the field a while, but nothing came up.

"Looks like the farmer ghost isn't out tonight, guys," I said. "Let's get back to the cabin. You got a big day tomorrow. Time for bed."

The Turkey Hill Ice Cream Museum is basically a huge advertisement for the brand, but well worth seeing. We'd been there before, but it was worth another stop, especially since Serina and Tif hadn't seen it. The kids were running around the second floor, playing on the slide in the big pasteurizing tank, and I was learning that it was somehow five times harder to supervise two kids than one kid. Mathematically that shouldn't happen, but somehow it does.

"I want to go back for another free ice cream sample," said Paul. "Mint chocolate chip this time."

"I'll go, too," said Serina, and off they went to stand in line.

I went and got a sample of raspberry iced tea from the sample bar. (See, I can do product placement, too.) I found Tif in the fake freezer, exploring the place.

"Having fun sleeping outside?" I asked.

"It's peaceful," she said. "I heard coyotes last night. And some kind of owl, I think, but it didn't make the typical noise."

"Screech owl, maybe. Did you fall last night?"

"Nope. I got up, but didn't fall."

"I heard something make a really loud thumping noise outside. I thought it might have been you, but when I looked out the window, you were asleep. I can't figure out what was thudding like that."

"Bigfoot, maybe."

"He has been known to pound on things."

"What's the plan for the rest of the day?"

"On the way home, we'll stop and look for the Albatwitch. Then it's back to the camp, let the kids splash in the pool all day."

"That Albatwitch. Isn't that a mini-Bigfoot?"

"It is. They steal apples from orchards. The name comes from the German, meaning Apple witch."
"Oh, I like that."

"We took a shot once before, but it was during the Albatwitch Festival. It's never going to appear with thousands of people around. We'll try today, while it's quieter. And it's under an overpass---You know cryptids love overpasses. They can't get enough of them."

"Why is that?"

"They look blurrier from up there."

With Paul and Serina behind me, I hiked into the forest. As we climbed down to the creek, Serina knelt down on a rock. "What kind of shell is this?"

I glanced at it. "That's a mussel shell. Kind of like a clam."

"There's a bunch of them. Can we each keep one?"

"Sure, no reason why not. Something's been eating them---Some animal caught these in the Susquehanna, and ate them up here."
"The Albatwitch?" Paul asked.

"Could be just raccoons, but you never know. Mostly the Albatwitch eats apples, though."

"The Albatwitch do too much."

We crossed the creek, and we were in a grassy field near the Susquehanna River. I could see the Columbia Bridge towering overhead.

"This forest is where the Albatwitch is often sighted," I said. "We'll check around."

"I'll look this way," said Paul.

"Be careful. Stay away from the edge of the river."

Serina followed me down to the path. I said,"This is where we tried last time. We baited it with an apple, but the Albatwitch didn't take the bait that time."

"How do you know where to look?"

"When you want to catch a cryptid, you have to look near water. Every living thing needs water to survive. So in this area, it pays to stick near the forest close to the Susquehanna."

I love the Susquehanna River. It covers like a third of the state. Wherever I go on an adventure, the Susquehanna tends to be somewhere around. This was a wider area of the Susquehanna than I got to see in Lock Haven, but still the same river as home, and there was something comforting about that.

We looped around, and met Paul on the edge of the field. He said,"Something was shaking the trees over there. I watched it for a while."

"Nice work," I said. "You guys ready to go?"

"Got your towels? Water?"

I left the cabin with the kids, and we started walking toward the pool. These Yogi Bear camps look big, but they have everything within a reasonable walking distance. It's a five minute walk over to the pool, the kids' favorite bit.

Serina and Paul went running ahead as we walked. Behind me, a couple of kids were riding bikes, and I turned as one of them hit the corner wrong, skidded, and landed in the gravel. He scraped his knee and began to cry.

I ran over. "Hey, buddy. Here, can you stand up? Let me help."

The other kids gathered around as I helped him stand up. His knee had a minor scrape and was bleeding. I said,"Not too bad. We can take care of that. Are your parents around?"

One of the other kids pointed. "They're right at the camp up there."

"Okay. This'll get you there to show them, and they can put a band-aid on." I dug in my pack for some spray Neosporin. "This will clean it up, and it won't hurt at all. Might be a little cold." I gave him a squirt. "There. Should be okay."

"Thanks!" said a little girl.

I smiled. "No problem."

The kids raced to the pool as I sat down at the table by Michelle. She said,"Kids doing okay?"
"Yeah, they can't wait to get at the water. We got like fifteen towels hanging on the porch railing drying out. We have any plans for the rest of the day?"

"There's a build-a-bear thing in a while, I thought the kids might want to go to that. A dance party and then a movie tonight. You have anything you want to do?"

I shrugged. "Might take a look around for that buried treasure. I know roughly where to look; I been staring at old Lancaster County maps for weeks. There were thieves who used to hide the loot, which means it needs to be near a roadway. Someplace accessible---They meant to go back for it later. Probably near water; everyone needs water to survive."

"And you think it's out there somewhere."

"I know it's out there. Whether or not it's where I figure is the question, but it's worth looking."

"Did you bring a shovel?"

"I brought a folding trowel. If they wanted to retrieve it later, they wouldn't have gone too deep."
"How do you know nobody else found it?"

"It's not a precise science, Michelle."

"I'm going to go get a drink. Do you want anything?"

"Nah, thanks, I'm good. I'll keep an eye on the kids here for a while."

One nice thing about this trip, the mornings weren't too hot and humid. I drank a cup of coffee while I stood over the fire, scrambling some eggs in a pan. 

Tif was looking over the railing of the porch at me. "Is that toothpaste you have on the pan there?"

"It is. I always bring some. Old trick I learned as a kid---You smear toothpaste all over your cookware before you put it on the fire. The toothpaste scorches instead of your pan. Preserves stuff; this cook kit was made in 1975. It's the same one I used as a kid; it's older than you."

"Last day today. You got anything planned?"

"The kids are going to spend most of it at the pool, though there was talk of glitter tattoos later. Personally, I thought I might go out and explore a bit."

"Bye, Dad!" called Paul. "See you later!"

It's been nine years, and I still get a little thrill every time he says Dad. I'll never really get tired of that.

"Aren't you coming?" asked Serina.

"I have to get cleaned up here. I'll catch up with you guys a bit later, see how you're doing. And tonight, I want to burn off the last of the campfire wood. So I'm gonna start a big fire, and you guys can eat marshmallows until you puke."

"You do too much," she said, and raced off after Paul and Michelle.

I walked down to the wash station with the breakfast dishes and washed them. A few years ago, this sort of thing bugged me, but then I realized that nobody else could do it right and I didn't like swimming anyway. I put everything away and straightened up the cabin a bit, then pulled out my uniform and put it on.

Time to do my thing.

I walked down the path, and then veered into the woods. I stopped a moment to check the map, and then continued. At the bottom of the hill, there was a pond, and Stewart Run cut right through the forest about there. I followed it, going southeast. 

If I'd walked along the road, I was looking at a couple of miles of hiking. Assuming I could stick close to Stewart Run, I would be cutting a lot of time off my trip.

It was a nice morning.

I followed the creek downhill, pushing my way through the brush. I couldn't tell at exactly what point it entered the protected natural area nearby, but I followed it to the back road on the map. There, the creek crossed the road, exactly where it had centuries ago.

"X marks the spot," I said softly.

I got out the EMF detector and scouted around a bit, hoping to find some sign of the Native American ghost guarding the place. Nothing. I switched over to temperature, and realized it had dropped to 71.

What the hell? It's getting to be like a hundred and sixty out here. How am I getting a dip like that?
I looked around. There was a cool breeze coming from my left. I followed it, and found the goddamnedest swampiest area I'd ever seen. It was coated with mud and muck, enough to suck me down like quicksand. On the other side there was a rock outcropping, and that seemed to be where the breeze was coming from.

Swamps can contain their own fixes, if you look hard enough. The ground is wet and soft, but not solid enough to support trees. I selected a decent-looking tree and braced myself between it and a rock. They'll grow 'em, but they won't support 'em.

I shoved, and the tree uprooted and went over. It crashed across the swamp, giving me a small bridge to use. I balanced my way across to the rock outcropping.

Standing on stable rock, I examined it. The breeze seemed to be coming from behind a decent-sized flat rock. I got out a small prybar and worked my way around, wiggling it free, and then pulled it out. And, bam, there it was. A small cavern, hidden behind the rock.

I got a small flashlight out of my vest pocket and shined it inside, examining the interior. 

That looks pretty precarious to me. That whole thing could collapse, and three hundred years of neglect hasn't helped any. 

On the other hand, it is a good place to hide a buried treasure.

I crawled inside. Slow, careful. If I fucked this up, I could get buried like Fort Reed, and nobody even knew where to look for me. Probably I should have told someone where I was going. A few feet back, it opened up more, and I was able to get up and walk crouched over.

At the far end, there was a flat rock sitting on the ground. A small package was on it, folded paper tied up with string.

When I reached out and picked it up, the whole thing fell apart. Inside was a handful of small metallic nuggets, sparkling in the flashlight.

Brushing the dirt and dust off, I examined them.

We got a storm that night. The kids were out at the movie when it started to rain, and I went down and walked them back home. When we got back to the cabin, it really began to pour.

"We're gonna die," commented Serina, lying on the top bunk.

"Nobody dies," I said. "It's just a storm. We've been through it before. Having started with one last year, I much prefer getting the storm at the end of the trip."

"Do we have to go to bed yet?" asked Paul.

"Well, first, I have an announcement," I said. "You remember that buried treasure? Good news and bad news. This morning, I did some hiking, and I found it." I brought out the handful of nuggets.

"What's the bad news?" asked Serina.

"Well, this isn't gold. It's iron pyrite. Fool's gold. The robbers a long time ago didn't know the difference---They stole this, and hid it, but it's not valuable."

Paul turned a nugget over in his hand, looking it over. "Can I have some of this?"

"Sure. You can add it to your rock collection."

"You do too much," said Serina.

"You do too much."

Paul and Serina climbed up on the bunk together, looking it over. Eventually, they turned to their tablets, and began watching some silly video online. I'd begun the summer wishing they'd have a good one, and it seemed to have happened. I watched them, two best friends, being little kids for a while. The only treasures I'd ever really needed to discover.

"Bedtime soon, guys," I said. "I want everyone to get lots of sleep. We have a big day tomorrow---We're heading home."

Deader Than Ever

FIVE WEEKS LATER

The imprint could have been a Sasquatch print. Could have been a puddle. It was kind of hard to tell.

I knelt in the mud, looking down at the ground in the Wayne Township forest. Upon completion of the new nature trail in the township, they'd suddenly gotten Bigfoot sightings. The township supervisors had capitalized on it by putting a wood carving of a nine-foot Sasquatch along the trail. I was doing some investigation.

"Daddy? Come look over here."

I stood up and pushed my way through the brush. I was wearing my new professional paranormal outfit---Black Bigfoot shirt with day-glow yellow stripes, yellow bandanna around my right ankle, and a black jacket with all sorts of zippers and buckles on it. I walked over to my son along the trail.

Paul is six. He was wearing his gray shirt with "Queen of Everything" written on it, and blue terrycloth shorts. I looked at what he was pointing at, in the mud.

"A Bigfoot print!" he announced.

"Hunh," I said. "You might be right, little man." The print was indistinct, but visibly a footprint. I could clearly see toes. It appeared to be about fifteen inches long---Not impossible for a person, but unusual. 

"Here's what we do," I said. "If you don't have a ruler, you lay something down beside it before taking a photo. That way, you can show how big it is." I set down my Swiss Army knife beside the footprint and fished out my camera. "Just call me Jack Link, because I am messing with Sasquatch."

"Also, I think Bigfoot went to the bathroom over there," said Paul.

"Get a sample," I said.

My name is Lou, and I live in Lock Haven.
Don't ask me what I do for a living. That's hard to describe.
I'm sort of the history expert at the public library, but I also do a lot of paranormal investigation. I write about it all for the local newspapers, a website, and the occasional magazine.
There was no box for this on the college applications. I kind of fell into it over the years, as I discovered I was really good at it.
If you got it, haunt it.

It was a cool, pleasant morning. The colored leaves were falling as I rode my bike down West Bald Eagle Street. I turned and headed toward Bellefonte Avenue, where an exercise class was doing stretches outside the local coffee shop. The instructor saw me riding by, and waved. He called out,"It's Lou! Hi, Lou!"

I waved back as the whole class turned and called out greetings. I rode into work---The Ross Library.

I put on my mask, walked in and took my temperature, and then headed up to the third floor. I walked into the monthly staff meeting. 

"You're late," said the New Boss.

I frowned. "We're supposed to be here at a time?"

"Hey, Lou," said Holly. "We took a vote while we were waiting, and we decided that the last person in should take the minutes."

I sat down. "Well, you'll definitely regret that."

"Let's talk about the annual book sale," said Mel. "It's coming up next week."

After the meeting, I walked down the back way. It's my favorite route to my desk. As you leave the third floor, you can enter the oldest part of the building, an old mansion built in 1887. I can disappear in the twisty hallways upstairs. I passed the attic door and cut past the Sloan Museum Wing, going down the back stairs to my desk.

Our founder, the woman who gave us the library, was Annie Halenbake Ross. Her funeral was about where my desk now sits, which I've always found cool. I sat down at my desk in the old, haunted building, and to type up my half-assed meeting notes.

"Let's find the brick sidewalk, Daddy!" Paul said happily as we walked down the street in the dark. It was our usual Alien Patrol---Since sometime last summer, we'd been going out at night and checking for possible UFOs. Protecting Lock Haven from aliens since 2019.

"I think it's right up here," I said. "One of my friends on city council asked me to look into it. He wants to know if the brick is original to the city, or placed later." I shined my flashlight down on the corner. "I think this is it, right here."

We knelt down, looking at the sidewalk. Down below, near the corner, it was ragged, almost randomly placed bricks. But as it went uphill, it was better preserved, and formed an actual walkway, all dark brown brick.

"Daddy! Look! This one has words on it!"

I shined my light on the brick. Stamped on it, it had the words PENN BLOCK CALDER PA. "That's a pretty good clue," I said. "We gotta look that up."

Back at the house, I pulled out my Pennsylvania map. There was no Calder on it, which was interesting. I got online, and searched the term. I found it on a page run by the Cameron County Historical Society.

I found Paul back downstairs. watching TV. I said,"Guess what, little man?"

He looked up at me. "What?"

"Those bricks came from Cameron County, way up past Kettle Creek," I said. "The town on them, Calder? It doesn't exist. A guy named Calder built the Penn Block Brick Works, and wanted to found a town with his company homes. He started making bricks with the name Calder on them, but then couldn't get the license to start the Calder Post Office, so his plan failed. So he wound up with a bunch of bricks with the name of a nonexistent town on them. When the place went out of business in 1920, a local bank bought them and sold them at a deep discount. Those bricks have probably been there a hundred years."

"Cool," said Paul.

"I'm gonna do some more digging," I said. "I can probably get an article out of this."

I used to hate meetings. Then COVID-19 hit, some asshole invented Zoom meetings, and now I hate those even more. Whose idea was it to take terrible meetings and mix them with technology so you can now do them from home?

I sat down in my office, turned on my computer, and brought up the link. The camera came on, and I saw SaraLee sitting there, wearing her gray ghost-hunting shirt.

At least this one was with someone I like.

"Hey!" she said with a smile. "How are you doing?"

"As well as anyone," I said. "How about you?"

She shrugged. "So, you said you had some ideas about the team?"

"Kind of, yeah," I said. "I think we're gonna have to start getting back out there. Things are opening up, and we have clients who've been waiting like forever. I think we're gonna need to start investigating again, but with some precautions."

"Agreed," she said. "What did you have in mind?"

"Small and limited," I said. "Maybe two of us at a time, for shorter investigations, on a volunteer basis. Masks and gloves. It's not ideal, but it's way better than nothing."

"I think you're right," she said. "Let's pitch it to the others."

"I feel bad for you, actually," I said. "You just got on the team, and then this shit happens, and we have to go on hiatus."

SaraLee laughed. "I know, right?"

"I'll contact a few clients on the waiting list," I said. "See if they're still interested. If we can't manage that, we'll go do some exploring on our own."

"Good."

"Hey," I said. "I misjudged you. I really did."

"How's that?"

"You know I had reservations about you joining the team," I said. "You know how I am about the psychics. But I was wrong. You're smart and you're active. You're exactly what we need right now. I misjudged you, and I'm sorry."

SaraLee smiled. "You mentioned that back when we met in February. You were forgiven then, and you're forgiven now. Let's do this thing."

"Hey, Ari," I said, leaning over the table. "You know those posters you made to advertise my haunted tours in October?"

Ari, our new tech person, looked up at me. "Yeah?" she said.

"Can you make a smaller version?" I asked. "Four to a page, so we can cut them and hand them out at the book sale?"

"Let me check," she said. "I think I can. I'll definitely try, and see what I can come up with."

I smiled. "I have every faith in you, Ari."

I walked through the lobby and out the library's back door, into the book sale on the patio. It was insane---People were in the aisles, staying six feet apart, and still managing to form a crowd. We had mask rules in place, arrows showing people which way to go.

I walked through the sale. I was wearing my new black sweatshirt with the little alien on it. It was easy to forget, for a little while, that we still were in a pandemic. But everyone was wearing masks, and the library staff had been ordered to be cautious.

Ari came out, holding out a stack of little flyers for the tours. I took them.

"You're a genius, Ari."

I think she smiled behind her mask. "Let me know if you need more."

I put them on the table, and went inside. I walked into the Pennsylvania Room and sat down---I had the whole place to myself. I pulled History of Cameron County and looked through it. 

Nothing on Calder or the brick works. But I found a huge entry on the Dent's Run gold.

Dent's Run was the supposed place that some gold had been lost during the Civil War. I'd dealt with this before---It was the first article I'd ever done for the Pennsylvania Wilds. I'd become a little dubious of the existence of the actual gold, in fact; a lot of the details didn't make a ton of sense. I read through the story.

It contained more detail than any account I'd yet seen, which was interesting. I had to wonder where some of this had come from. Dates, names, and a detailed description of the route, which I hadn't thought existed.

Zach looked in. "Lou, can you cover the desk a little early? I gotta get out to the sale and run the register."

"Oh, sure," I said, and stood up.

"Sorry to interrupt you---"

"I can do this at the desk as well as here," I said. "It's cool."

"So I was looking for information on bricks, but I found a long entry on the Dent's Run gold," I said. Then I mixed the chicken into the casserole.

"There's gold?" Tif asked, sitting at the table. Paul was outside, running around with his little friend from next door. I think both of them were wearing black dresses. Meanwhile, our senior Schnauzer, Kasper, was wandering around the kitchen.

"Well, maybe, but I'm a little dubious," I said. "The story is that during the Civil War, a shipment of gold was taken through Pennsylvania, but the crew largely died. The one remaining guy, Connors, made it as far as Lock Haven, and the gold never turned up. I worked on this one a few years ago."

"Has anyone found it?"

"Nah, not yet. I'm not convinced there's anything to find. Efforts have been clownish and badly researched. The earliest mention of this was in a magazine from like the fifties. A lot of details don't match up. I've begun to think it's most likely a myth."

"Be cool if you could find the gold, though," said Tif.

"I think it's more likely I'm gonna find proof it never happened," I said. "Which would also be cool. With the details I have from the Cameron County book, I should be able to track some things down. It would have made the news at the time. If there's a total absence of news, that'll tell me something."

"I mean, how can you tell?"

"With this new information, I have the date Connors supposedly came to Lock Haven. That'll be big news if it really happened. If I go through the newspapers and don't find a mention of it, that tells me a lot. If I do find something, even better. Either way, I can get an article out of it."

"And your title?"

"Baby, It's Gold Outside."

"Jesus christ. That's the worst one since the one about the guy who tried to blow up his girlfriend in Renovo you called An Explosive Romance. It would be cool to go to Cameron County and look for treasure, though."

 I put the casserole in the oven. "Well, keep next Friday open. Not Cameron, but we're going up to Potter County."

"What's in Potter County?"

"After dinner, we're gonna take a drive up to Cherry Springs State Park. It's the furthest place away from any streetlights in Pennsylvania. Darkest place in the state. We're gonna sit and look at the stars."

"Sounds good," said Tif.

 In the morning, I walked into work, hung my backpack on the hook, draped my jacket over the chair, and immediately was hit with a question.

"Lou, do you know where we can find the book Doctor Nina and The Panther?" Barb asked me.

I rolled my eyes. "Are you serious? This again?"

"A book club wants to read it."

"It should be in Pennsylvania Biographies, but I wish they'd knock it off with that stupid book. It's supposed to be about a woman doctor who lived in this area, but historically, none of the details check out. It's likely a fraud, and people come to me all the time asking when I'm going to write about it. At this point, I'm sick to death of hearing about Doctor Nina and the Goddamn Half-Wit Panther."

Barb went to check biographies. I went to the card file. 

Speaking of things that probably weren't true. Nothing under Connors or Castleton. I checked the biggest books---Linn, Meginness, Furey. No mention. I went to the newspaper archive.

We have a little card file that nobody knows about but me. I keep telling people how to use it, and everyone keeps forgetting that it's there. It shows what newspapers we have from which years, and where to find them. It saves me tons of time.

I flipped through it, checking to see what newspapers we have from 1863. I know newspapers got a little sketchy during the Civil War, and it could be chancy finding them. To my delight, there was one entry for the Clinton Democrat, with spotty issues throughout the year. It had a notation.

ASK STAFF FOR ASSISTANCE.

That meant the attic. I was the staff they'd ask for assistance, so I knew roughly where to look. I walked up the stairs and into the attic, in the newspaper room. The shelf was all pulled out and rearranged from my attempt to get into a secret door back in May. Sometime I'd have to come and straighten that up.

I dug around---The newspapers in the attic aren't in much of a discernable order---Until I found the ones from 1863. I unwrapped the brown paper around them, and started paging through.

When I got back downstairs, Barb was back at the desk. "Someone filed it under fiction," she said.

"Probably a good idea," I said. "It wasn't in the attic. I checked."

"Is there someone on that roof?" I suddenly asked, looking at the Larsen Building across the street.

Tif, Michelle, and Paul all turned and looked up. We were sitting in one of the city lots, eating subs for dinner. Michelle said,"I don't see anyone."

"There was someone there," I insisted. "They ducked down. Can't see them now."

"What would someone be doing on the roof?" she asked.

"Personally I'm hoping sniper. It would liven things up around here."

"They'd definitely be after you," said Tif.

"Fair," I said. "Been doing a lot of work on the Dent's Run gold."

"Does it exist now?"

"Likely not," I said. "I pulled the old---There he is!"

We all looked up. Looked like a couple of young people were doing something on the roof. Michelle said,"Huh. There is someone."

"I told you."

Paul stood up and shouted,"THANK YOU FOR ENTERTAINING US!"

We all laughed. I said,"So, no mention of the lone survivor of the Dent's Run incident in any of the best books, for one thing. No mention of a guy staggering into town and then later being claimed by the Army."

"Which would have been big news," said Tif.

"Right. With the new date I found, I checked through the newspapers at that time. We have them for June and July 1863, which is allegedly when it was happening. No mention of any of it, which is telling as they reported all sorts of other Civil War stuff going on at the time."

"They would have said something," noted Tif.

I nodded. "With all the Civil War news, they'd have said something. I noticed something else, too---There was a lot of recruiting being done, but they all were catching a train to Harrisburg. If there had been an actual Army outpost in Lock Haven at the time, the way the legend says, they'd have signed up right here. There's nothing supporting this legend."

"So there's no treasure to find," said Tif.

"No digging required," I said.

Paul was waiting on the sidewalk with me when SaraLee's car pulled up. Rolling down the window, she said,"Hi, Paul! How are you?"

Paul, who to the best of my recollection had never met SaraLee before, cheerfully said,"Good!"

"Are you doing school online?"

"Yeah," said Paul. "It's fun."

I hugged him. "Back soon, buddy."

"Will you be back before bedtime? You promise?"

"I promise."

I got in SaraLee's car. I had a black mask with a single ghost on it. Hers had ghosts and bats and stuff all over it. We were both wearing our gray ghost sweatshirts, and I had the jacket with all the buckles and zippers on it.

"Right around the corner," I said.

"On Highland," SaraLee said. "I remember."

"Right, I keep forgetting you grew up in this neighborhood," I said.

"Paul's cute," she said.

"He's a great kid. We're having some clinginess problems lately....Since the lockdown, he doesn't want me out of his sight. He gets scared when I have to go to the grocery store."

She nodded. "I've been feeling like a terrible parent, when I need five minutes alone. I get it."

"Right up here," I said.

By 7:30, we were set up and investigating the house. The clients had left us alone---Occasionally clients do, though it's uncommon. I looked at SaraLee and said,"Bring any of your equipment?"

"I have a recorder, but I forgot it," she said. "With my kids home, I wasn't as organized."

"Understandable," I said. "Here, you can use my spare laser thermometer and EMF detector. Let's get started in the living room."

We sat down on the floor. I turned on the recorder. "Is there anyone here?"

"Can you say your name?" asked SaraLee. "Do you have a message to pass on?"

There was a sound, a little tap, near the stairs. SaraLee looked at me and pointed, and I nodded. I leaped up with my camera.

7:53 PM. We were upstairs in the hallway. Recorder running. "I mean, I just wanted to get out and do my thing again, you know?" I was saying. "It's been so long since we got to do anything."

"Sixty-nine degrees," said SaraLee, aiming the thermometer. "I know. Believe me, I'm so over this."

8:16 PM. Down in the kitchen. 

"You know what really drives me nuts? The bags at the grocery store---You can't get them open anymore! You can't lick your fingers with a mask on...."

"Oh, I know," said SaraLee.

I said,"I mean, during the lockdown, I felt so useless, you know? All I could do was sit at home and teach Paul survival skills. And I love the little guy, but I wanted to get back to work. And that made me feel guilty, too."

"I know. I felt bad going back to work....Instead of being home, spending time with my kids. My son asked me when he got to spend a day with me."

"And doesn't that just stab you through your heart?" I said.

"Having a night out is good," said SaraLee. "I needed this."

I nodded. "Me, too. We should get back to doing this more, even if it's just me and you."

"Agreed."

I looked at the recorder. "Might as well wrap this up. I did promise Paul I'd be home before bedtime."

She slid the laser thermometer across the counter at me. "Here you go."

I slid it back at her.

"Keep it," I said. "You've earned it."

It was dark in Potter County. I mean really, truly dark. You may think you know what dark is. I assure you that you do not. Not the kind of dark that comes with being miles and miles from any available streetlights.

We sat in the dark, looking up at the stars. The Prius was parked in the middle of the field at Cherry Springs, and we had lawn chairs set up. Tif and Michelle sat in two of them. Paul was running around in the field, and I sat on the ground. I was wearing my dark blue sweatshirt with the rainbow alien on it, and my backup paranormal jacket, black denim with white spots.

"Daddy, I'm scared," said Paul.

"What are you scared of?"

"There might be ghosts."

"I've never heard any stories of ghosts at Cherry Springs," I said. "Besides, what are you worried about? We look for ghosts all the time."

"Yeah, but it's really dark here."

"It's too bad Biz couldn't make it," said Tif. "She's not feeling well. At least we're still doing this tonight."

"No way I was missing out on this," I said.

"I can see the Big Dipper," said Paul. "And I see Cassiopeia!"

"Very good, little man," I said. "Hey---What's that?"

There was a bright white light above, moving through Cassiopeia toward the horizon. It began to stop, hover, and then continue, growing brighter and dimmer as we watched it.

"What the hell?" said Michelle.

"It's a UFO," said Tif.

"It is a UFO," I said. "It's not identified. I don't know anything that behaves that way. Heading north-northeast. Eight-thirty five PM. I can't think of what that might be."

It hovered, dimmed again, and then disappeared.

"Wow," I said.

"We just saw a genuine UFO," Tif commented.

I crossed my arms. "This turned out to be a pretty good night."

Half an hour later, we were riding home along Route 44. It was dark, Michelle driving, Tif in the seat beside her. I was in the back with Paul, who had fallen asleep with his head on my shoulder.

Yeah. This is why I adopted a kid.

As we rounded a bend, he stirred, opened his eyes briefly. "I lv you, Dy," he murmured.

"Love you, too, little guy. You have fun tonight?"

"Mhm."

"Last few days, we've looked into Bigfoot, ghosts, a buried treasure, and a UFO. Been a pretty busy time, huh?"

I looked down. His eyes were closed.

He was asleep again.

Regional Treasure

My name is Lou. I live in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania. I'm a writer, librarian, explorer, paranormal investigator, and museum curator. I get involved in a lot of stuff. And I write about it all here. So either you're welcome, or I'm really sorry, depending on what you're into.
It takes me five and a half minutes to get to work on my bike if I'm not screwing around. I've timed it. I parked it by the street sign out front, where I can see it from my office window, and locked it up. My other car is a UFO.
As I walked into the library, I was met by a tall woman with dark hair, waiting by the front desk. She smiled and shook my hand.
"Lou," she said. "Thanks for meeting with me."
"Thanks for coming, LaKeshia," I said. "Let's have a seat."
We walked back to my desk. She looked around. "So this is your office."
"I dream of walls," I said. "This is the oldest part of the building; Annie Halenbake Ross's funeral was held right here."
We sat down. She said,"So, as I told you on the phone the other day, I'm in charge of the PA Wilds home page. We promote tourism in the PA Wilds area of Pennsylvania, a thirteen-county area. We're looking for content. You and I worked together on the Eagle Eye and the Express, and I thought of you."
"You'd like me to write about local tourism for the website?"
"I would."
"I'm in."
She laughed. "I can give you more information about it...."
"If giving me more information will make you feel like you're doing your job, go ahead," I said. "But I don't see any downside to this. I've been looking for more ways to write and promote tourism. I'll be happy to contribute."
"Well, excellent," she said. "I'll be your editor. I'll need a headshot and a short bio for the site."
"I'll get you something," I said. "It'll be the usual, mostly, history and ghosts and adventures...."
"I'm familiar with your writing," she said. "That's perfect."

"What you doing, Daddy?" asked Paul.
"I'm gonna check some of my messages, little man," I said. I sat down at my desk. I'd woken up in my haunted house with the four dogs, made coffee, and now I was checking for any historic or paranormal e-mails. Paul's shirt had a UFO and said We come in pizza, and mine said Giwoggle: Official Monster of Clinton County. Typical morning.
Paul sat and played on the floor of my office with Duke and Gwen, the pugs. Mickey and Kasper, our new Schnauzers, were downstairs---They're afraid of steps. My office is on the second floor of my home; it contains a lot of my files and history books, as well as artifacts on the shelves. Shoemaker's Lost Chord, a peg from the old phone system, a bottle of bootleg whiskey, a glass jar with a demon in it. Tell me your office is decorated that cool.
 I got on my computer and found I had several messages.
"Hunh. Hey, Daddy's in demand today, little guy."
I opened the first of them.
Of course, it was about lost treasure.
Typical morning.

"So how was your day?" My wife asked. We were sitting at the Chinese restaurant in Mill Hall, having dinner with Paul. Paul's default position on almost all foods is that he doesn't like it, but he likes Chinese. He will turn up his nose at beef, pork, and almost every vegetable, but will happily eat an egg roll.
"Kinda busy," I said. "By the time I got up, I had three messages about the lost Civil War gold....You remember I looked into that once?"
"Kind of, yes."
"A shipment of gold from the Civil War, lost somewhere in the area. It was taken on a covered wagon by an Army unit, and disappeared. The one survivor, a guy named Connors, came into Lock Haven to recover, and when he was drinking, he said he knew where the gold was. The Army transferred him to a remote outpost. The gold has never turned up."
"So why are people suddenly asking you about it?"
"Because maybe it's now been found. A group of treasure hunters and the FBI are digging over in Elk County."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Funny thing is, I kind of saw this coming. A few weeks ago, I got calls from both the treasure hunters and the FBI, asking about the Lock Haven end of this. They asked me to keep it quiet, though as it's now national news, I guess it's safe to talk about it now."
"You think they've really found it?"
"Could be. It's hard to say. It'll make a great piece for the PA Wilds website, though. Oh, yeah, and I've been asked to do some writing for the PA Wilds website."
"When did this happen?"
"Yesterday, I worked with the woman who runs it on the Express and the Eagle Eye. She needed someone to produce some content, and she thought of me. This kind of opens up a whole new territory for me; I have thirteen whole counties to play with now."
"And you're going to start with the gold."
"It'll make a good article." I ate a piece of shrimp. "You know what bugs me? I'm jealous of the information they have. When the treasure hunter called me, he said he knew Connors's first name, and I've never found that out. He's holding it back for verification reasons. I'm not jealous of the gold; he can keep the gold. But that's what I'm jealous of---I want to know the first name."

"Did you get my message about the Civil War gold?" Norman asked me, sitting at the microfilm machine in the library. Norman is a good friend of mine, a historian over in Centre County. He's sort of the Lou equivalent across the border, and we talk about this stuff a lot. Buried treasure, ghosts, monsters. Guy stuff.
I laughed. "You and three other people. I had my inbox crammed with that by the time I woke up. I was talking about it down at Piper this morning."
"Your new intern mentioned to me that you guys spent an hour talking about Batman and your Star Wars action figures."
I took the Wookiee toy off my desk and held it up. "You're gonna have to say that in front of Chewbacca, pal."
Norman laughed. "You really think they found it?"
"I don't know. I'm working on an article about it, but my pet theory is that it was up around Altar Rock."
"Most of the researchers think it's further west than Altar Rock."
"Yeah, well, most of the researchers haven't actually found it yet, have they?"
"A fair point. I'm not sure they've found it, either. I've been following the story, but the research looks kind of half-assed to me. These guys are all over the place, and there's a lack of primary sources. This could all come to nothing."
"Make a great article, though," I said. "I'm writing for the PA Wilds. This is a good one."
"You'd mentioned that. Sounds like fun."
"I'm excited. It gives me a new outlet, some stuff I haven't tried before. By the way, didn't you once have an encounter with the Ingleby Monster?"
"I did. You want to see my notes?"
"Yeah, thanks. Can I quote you? This will make a good piece, too."

Later, once I got off my desk shift, I went to research. I like working at the library, in the historic section---Everything I need is right by my desk.
I started with the Civil War file, and looked through that. Plenty of stuff, but nothing about lost gold. I looked through the history book on Elk County, too, and I found the suspected site on a map, but no details.
I pulled a couple of articles from the old newspapers, and then dug through another file and found a 2013 piece that I'd written myself. I looked it over, made sure I had all my facts straight.
Then I got to work writing.
These old legends aren't gonna publicize themselves.

"My uncle has an old photo from the newspaper," the woman said over the phone. "It's all beat up, and I'd like a new copy. When I called the newspaper, they sent me to you guys. Can you find it there?"
"It's possible," I said. "We have newspaper archives going back to 1813. Tell me about the photo."
"It's a group picture from a school. None of the people are named."
"Ah. Do we have a date it ran?"
"No, that part's torn off. It could have been anytime."
"Oh. That complicates things. We have a newspaper archive, but there's nothing to look up there. There's nothing that might appear in our index."
"So what's the process?" she asked. "How do I go about getting this?"
Sometimes I curse the businesses that make sure to provide you with whatever you want. History doesn't work that way. Some people think historic research is like fast food; you just explain what you want and it gets handed to you. It's not like that.
"That's what I'm trying to gently tell you, miss," I said. "Maybe you don't. The only way I can think of would be to go through them all, and that's very time-intensive."
"Well, I could try that. They don't run the old photos every day, do they?"
"They've actually been running them almost daily for about fifty years."
"Oh." She sounded deflated. "But if I did come, you could help me?"
"I can show you how to work the microfilm and look for it, yes."
"I'll talk to my uncle, and come by," she said. "Thanks."
My story had hit the site earlier in the day. Lost And Found. LaKeshia had e-mailed me the link, as if I hadn't been checking daily. I was looking at it on my computer screen at the library when Adam buzzed me over the phone.
"Hey, man, we got a guy here who needs to find two graves," he said. "Also there's a phone call on line one that you might want to handle."
"Send him back," I said. "Having an insane day. I'll help him, and then I gotta look up four obits for a lawyer friend of mine and run them down to him. I'll be back before my desk shift."
"You got it."
I picked up the phone. "Hello, can I help you?"
"Hi, I saw your article on the lost Civil War gold," said a voice with a southern accent.
"That was fast. I've been asked about that a lot lately."
"There was an old article in your local paper about that," said the guy. "I have the date. Would it be possible for you to find it and send it to me?"
I could do that while I worked the desk. "Sure, I can do that," I said. "I can get that in the mail today, no problem."
"That would be great. Thanks so much."
I got his information and hung up. Turning to the old guy whom Adam had sent back, I said."What can I do for you?"

Seven minutes after leaving the building, I walked back in. "Man," I said. "When you take documents down to a lawyer's office, do not make a joke about being there about a murder charge. No matter how funny you think it is, the receptionist won't get it."
"Noted," said Adam. "You ready to take the desk?"
"I'm on it. Give me the key."
I took over the desk, and I started working on the Civil War article. I can see the desk from the microfilm reader; I can do both at once. I got the roll and put it in the machine, scrolling through. These days, I can do microfilm in my sleep.
I found the article and skimmed through it.
Then I smiled.
And printed another copy for myself.

"How was your day, Daddy?" Paul asked, sitting at the kitchen table.
"Pretty good, little guy," I said, turning away from the stove. "I looked into some Civil War gold. Dinner's ready. Everyone go ahead."
Michelle, Tif, and Biz all gathered food onto their plates and sat down. "What's this I hear about Civil War gold?" Biz asked.
"An article I wrote," I said. "Some treasure hunters thought they found it, but it turns out they didn't. Their dig came up dry."
"So you still have a shot at it," Tif said.
"I've always thought it was up around Altar Rock, a big outcropping in the Keating area," I said. "If it is, it's entirely possible that they built Route 120 right over it. I could try digging, but I'd have to disguise it as a twelve-foot pothole, which is not unlikely."
"Maybe it'll never turn up," said Tif.
"Maybe not," I said. "But I'm happy. I got a good article out of it, and I learned a little more about the one survivor who came to Lock Haven. He's mentioned in an old article I found today." I smiled. "His name was Connors....James Connors."

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.