Come Hell Or Clawater

"Excuse me," said the girl at the desk. "May I sign up for a library card?"
"Oh, sure," I said. "I just need to see some ID." I got out the form and handed it to her. "Nice lanyard. That's pretty cool." The lanyard around her neck had aliens on it---I couldn't help noticing. "Are you into that?"
"Oh, yeah. I like that stuff. You?"
"Yeah, me too. UFOs, Bigfoot, ghosts. I do a lot of that---I'm a writer and paranormal investigator."
Her eyes lit up. "Really? That's awesome!"
"I give tours, too. I take people all over Lock Haven and show them the haunted places. I can always be booked for private tours. Bring your friends."
"I just moved here. I don't really have any friends in Lock Haven."
"Well, I guess you do now." I held out my hand. "Lou."
She shook my hand and looked pleased. "Laura."
I gave her her library card. "Welcome to Lock Haven, Laura."

I was at the Piper Museum when President John walked in. He pointed at me. "You. I needed to talk to you. I liked that article you did on the time they used explosives to loosen the ground in Highland Cemetery."
"A Dynamite Mystery? Yeah, that was a good one. What can I do for you, John?"
In between the ghost hunts, writing about local history, and working at the library, I'm the curator at the Piper Aviation Museum. Which is also haunted. It's like I missed that day in school when they taught you how to have a normal career.
President John asked,"Are you involved in that TV show they're filming about the history of Lock Haven?"
"Yeah, I am," I said. "There's a meeting at the library tomorrow. City council recommended me."
"Great. I want you to be the guy who represents the Piper Museum. That way I don't have to do it."
I laughed. "I can handle that. I'm already representing the library, Highland Cemetery, the Paranormal Seekers....."
"Well, us too. I have the flyer in my office. You need a copy?"
"God, no. City council mailed me one, the channel sent one, and the new boss gave me one....I got like twenty of those things on my desk."

"So tomorrow is Valentine's Day," I said to Tracey. "I need a woman's opinion here. I want to wear red and be part of the theme, but I only have so many red T-shirts. Which one screams romance: The Flash, or 'I survived the zombie apocalypse'?"
Tracey laughed. "I'd have to say it's about fifty-fifty."
I went out to the front desk to prepare for the meeting---The TV people were scheduled to arrive in an hour. Most of the time, when someone mentions television, I get hives. Television is about the worst medium for history and paranormal education; they tend to boil it down and overdramatize it. People ask me if I watch the ghost-hunting TV shows, and it's all I can do not to grow quills on the spot. I'm still pissed off at America's Most Wanted and The Dead Files, and it's been years.
But twenty years ago, a state TV channel had done a show on the history of Lock Haven, and it had been a pretty good job. They were coming back for another episode, and city council had recommended that they'd have me involved. I'd been asked to do TV shows before, and my reply had usually been a flat no. But this one was worth doing. I was already wearing the shirt that said Historian: You'd Be More Interesting If You Were Dead.
My friend Joby, the LHU head librarian, arrived before the meeting started. He said,"Hi, Lou. Thought I'd get here a little early and do some digging. I'm still looking into our missing mayors."
"Oh, yes. I wrote an article about them years ago---The three mayors that don't have portraits at City Hall, so everyone forgot about them. I've found one picture, William Mayer, and you found one of John Wynn, which I can't even believe. One more, and we stand a good chance of getting them up---City council has some interest."
"I loved the sideburns on William Mayer," he said.
"I know, the way some of those guys looked....James Jefferis, he was, what, I think mayor number five...."
"Number six," said Joby. "I have them all written down."
He showed me a list, and I looked at the names. I said,"Wait a minute....What's this? Where did you find this?"
"I think I got it out of the Furey book," he said. "W.S. Clawater, mayor in 1881. He left office in April of 1882, and Seymour Durell Ball took over."
"Joby, I didn't even know about Clawater!" I said. "You've discovered a totally new mayor!"
"You want me to show you the page?"
"Nah, you're one of the people who's as good at this as I am. If you say you found it, that's good enough for me. We're going to have to look into this guy!"
"He had a daughter who died in 1881," said Joby. "That's probably why he left office."
I nodded. "It was common, back in those days. I've seen other times when a parent basically quit everything after losing a child."
"We'll have to find out more about him."
"I may get a column out of this," I said. "I'll give you credit for the find. This is amazing---You've found a mayor we had no records of! Of course, now we're going to have to find his picture for the wall."

I got into the library the next day and went straight to work. (I'd opted for I Survived The Zombie Apocalypse.) I started checking through the library's files---Joby is good; he's very good. But there's something to be said for working on your own territory. Right now, the question was how much I could get done before the staff meeting.
I checked the index file first---Get the easy stuff out of the way. There were obits for both his daughter and his wife, but not Clawater himself. He'd moved out of town, which probably accounted for the lack of records of him being the mayor. I got both obits; little Bessie had died of cholera in 1881.
"Aren't you working the desk?" Sue asked as she walked past.
"I been as far as six blocks away while people think I'm on desk."
"So what're you working on?" Fewer and fewer people want the answer to that.
"Doing a little research," I said. "Looking for a missing mayor. Later I'm gonna write an article on the 1918 flu epidemic."
"Got a title for that one?"
"I'm thinking One Flu Over The Cuckoo's Nest."
I took a quick moment to e-mail a couple of EVPs to my new friend Laura. Then I pulled the records for Highland Cemetery, and found his widow and his children buried in Section J, on top of the hill. Then I looked through the city directories---Maybe I could figure out where the mayor's mansion was during the Clawater years. It's amazing how much stuff I do that's not technically library-related.
The city directory is kind of like a reverse phone book. Just like every other type of document, the further back you go, the sketchier the information gets. We had directories for 1874 and 1895, but very little in between. The Clawater family wasn't listed in any of them, but I found them on Bald Eagle Street in the 1880 census with no house number.
Then I had a flash of a plan, and went back to the city directories.

I biked over to West Bald Eagle Street. Pulling the map out, I walked along the block, comparing buildings. The boarding house was no longer there, but I knew where it had been. 46 West Bald Eagle still stood. There was a row of three houses that appeared on the map.
At a guess, I'd put the Clawaters in one of those. I'd started with no idea, and narrowed it down to a couple of buildings. I like being the best at what I do.
I rode over to the grocery store. Ashlin was working.
"Hey, Ashlin," I said. "You up for a little adventure? I'm looking for a missing mayor of Lock Haven."
"Sure," she said. "I'm in."
"He lived right here in the neighborhood," I said. "I tracked his property down based on the census list---I looked up all his neighbors in the city directory, and used them to figure out where he lived. I figure it's a good bet that he was near his neighbors." I'd compared the city directories with the census, plotted it out on the Sanborn map, and was proud out of all proportion to anything I'd actually done.
Ashlin grinned. "Yeah, I'd say that makes sense."
"You want to go explore Highland Cemetery with me before the next meeting?"
Her eyes lit up. Immediately, she said,"Yeah!"
"Thought you might."
And this is why Ashlin is one of my best friends. I don't invite people to go do normal stuff. Fortunately, with my friends, it doesn't matter.

On Friday morning, I go on the radio to promote the library. I join in for a half-hour show where I announce upcoming library programs and talk about local history. I'm paid in coffee. It gets me out of the building for a while, so after the show, I biked from Clinton County's haunted radio station to our cursed courthouse. You get used to it.
The women in the Register And Recorder's office all greeted me as I walked in. The RAR said,"Hi, Lou! How's your son?"
"He's good. Growing. He's a little cutie. I'm just in to check out some deeds."
"Oh, sure. What're you working on this time?"
"A missing mayor in Lock Haven's history. In 1882, we managed to lose a whole mayor."
She grinned. "It's never anything boring with you," she said.
I went into the big room and dug into the deeds for a while. There's a learning curve to that. It's really intimidating at first, but you adjust---These days I can find out anything about anything.
"Thanks, guys," I said, walking back into the office room. "Gotta get back to the library."
"Find what you needed?" the RAR asked.
"More or less," I said. "Winfield Clawater owned a lot of property, but sold it all in 1882. Which tallies with what we know. We have this entire mayor that we know nothing about....I love this city."

I walked into city hall and into city council chambers. I hadn't asked anyone---It's been a while since anybody tried to throw me out of anywhere. I walked around the wall, looking at all the portraits of historic mayors.
Mackey....Smith....Bridgens....Crist....Ball. No Clawater. His picture was missing, in addition to the missing pictures we'd already known about. Of course, Clawater himself was missing, too.
I'd arranged for free blood pressure readings at the library that morning. Mine was somewhat high, I'd discovered. I was wearing my T-shirt with a vampire bat on it. It seemed appropriate.
Back at the library, I got back to the microfilm. Scrolling through 1881, I looked for something that mentioned him leaving office.
There was nothing, but I stumbled on an article about the assassination of President Garfield. I read through it, and Clawater was mentioned. I did a little mental math, and put the dates together.
"My god."

You have to wonder what's gone wrong with your life when you spend most of your time around dead people. In the fog, Kara drove her car up the path at Highland Cemetery. Ashlin hadn't been feeling well and had cancelled out on the meeting. Fortunately, Kara was giving me a ride, and was also cool with exploring the cemetery a bit. Was a time I'd ridden my bike to these things. As I got closer to my friends, I was getting to be a lightweight.
"So who are we looking for?" Kara asked.
"Turn here. I told you about that mayor we discovered, the one we had no record of. He seems to be buried in Ithaca. We're looking for his family."
"The family he abandoned."
"You know, I actually don't think he did," I said. "Not exactly. He left office and Lock Haven because of the death of his daughter, but I think he kept sending them money. I don't think he bailed on them exactly. I've been researching this guy, and I think he was a much better person than that."
"Really?"
"Well, some of what I do is intuitive sometimes. You've seen me do that before. I learn all the provable facts about something, and I get a feel for it. Clawater was a great man. Park here."
Kara parked on the path, at the top of the cemetery. We were blocking the path, but it was irrelevant at the moment---On a miserable, rainy night, there wasn't going to be anyone up here but us.
We got out of the car. Kara went around the front, and I moved around the back. Then I saw her up there, we reversed, and met on the side of the path.
I was wearing my heavy black jacket with a million pockets---My adventure jacket. I fished a flashlight out of the left sleeve.
"Winfield Clawater was the mayor when President Garfield was assassinated," I said. "Back then, they took these things a lot heavier---Everything closed, people went into mourning. Clawater called a citywide meeting at the courthouse."
"To announce the assassination?"
"No, that had already been in all the papers. To gather everyone together, to give people time to grieve. He wanted to give everyone a safe place, an outlet."
"That was good of him."
"Especially so," I said. "I found this out the other day. He did this just days after the death of his own daughter. Clawater was a great man---He gave his city support when he himself needed it most."
"Wow."
I turned on my flashlight and stepped toward the graves. "Let's find his family."
We walked among the graves. I passed the Celtic cross, looking around with the light. I knew I had the right neighborhood.
"It ever freak you out, walking around on people's graves?" Kara asked.
"Hey. They're already dead." I kept looking at the stones. "I don't think about it a whole lot; most of history involves dead people. It's just kinda what I do."
"Fair. That's why I want to be cremated."
"I'm not sure what happens to my body when I'm done with it bothers me particularly."
"You belong up here," said Kara. "You should be here, in Highland, with most of the great people of Lock Haven."
"Dammit, I think I've gone too far. I left the paperwork in the car....I've learned the hard way not to assume I can do it entirely from memory."
"Go on and get the papers," suggested Kara.
I went back to the car, dug into my pack, and pulled out all my papers. "No, that one's UFOs in New Jersey.....Here it is. The cemetery listing. We were in the right neighborhood."
I started again, walking back and checking each name against the listing, shining the light on the gravestones. "Hahne....We're getting close....Ah. Here they are. Walked right past them."
There was a large stone, with five names on it. Clawater's in-laws, the Waggoners, his wife Patti, and his children, Charles and Bessie.
"There you are, Bessie." I knelt down by the grave. "I got you, honey."
"They're all buried together here?"
"They are. This is the place." I looked at Bessie Clawater's name. "Think of how much Clawater could have gotten done if he'd been mayor longer than a year. This guy was incredible; just think of what he could have accomplished. This child's death....It changed Lock Haven's history."

"I'll be back in a bit, Joe," I said. "Going out to the TV meeting at the Arts Council."
"Have fun," said Joe. "No rush."
I walked outside the library and got my bike. I climbed on and rode southeast, getting on Church Street. I crossed Bellefonte Avenue where the old train station had been, and rode over to the Arts Council building.
I love this place. This is my city.
I parked my bike. I could see City Hall. I heard a train coming in the distance. Overhead, a Piper Comanche was flying west.
This city is full of mysteries, new discoveries to find. And even after all these years, I'm still not done with them.
The sun was going down.
I smiled and went into the building.

Gone Ghoul

"Has anyone checked the third floor?" I asked. "Made sure it's locked up?"
"Not yet," said Sue, at the desk.
"I'm on it," I said. I headed for the stairs, out the back, got my bike, and rode off down the street.
I went as far as Vesper Street, where I parked and walked up over the dike. I went down to the river. Kneeling down, I pulled a small sample jar out of my coat pocket, and tapped on the ice.
It was solid. There had been a record-setting cold period recently, and the ice had to be six inches thick. And here I needed a water sample.
I spent the next ten minutes trying everything I could to get through. Banging it with a stick. Heaving a rock at it, which immediately shattered the rock. Jumping up and down on it. Nothing worked.
Finally I stopped and thought things over. The ice should be the same chemical composition as the river water---It was just frozen river water. So I took my pocketknife and hacked at it, coming off with a few ice chips.
I shoved them into the sample jar and stuck it in my pocket, then went back for my bike. I rode back to the library. Slipping in the side door, I set the sample jar on the heating vent.
"The third floor all closed up?" Sue asked when I walked back to the main desk.
"Huh? Oh. Yeah. It's fine."

"Tonight, we're studying water monsters," I told the kids. "And we'll be doing a litmus test on some genuine Susquehanna River water. You wouldn't believe what I went through to get it." I looked around at Teen Paranormal, gathered in the Sloan Room. Kara sat next to me. "The Susquehanna Seal was a river monster spotted near here in the 1890s. Tonight, you're going to help me investigate it. Any of you guys ever learn about litmus paper in school?"
Some blank looks. "Okay. Cool. I'm glad to be the first guy to teach you this. Litmus paper tests liquid for acids and bases---It changes color to tell you which they are. The perfect level for supporting life is neutral, about a seven." I had two small containers of liquid on the table in front of me. "Here's two liquids, vinegar and window cleaner. All you have to do is dip the paper in and see what color it turns. Who wants to try it?"
Alex and Aubrey jumped up immediately, Skylar and Olivia a moment later. About what I expected---But they were all interested. I handed out litmus paper---I'd ordered the 200-pack for about $3.50, so we had plenty for multiple tests.
"This one is acid," said Alex. "It's like a one."
"Yep, that's the vinegar," I said. "It's very acidic. How about the other?"
Olivia looked at her litmus paper. "About an eight. A base."
"That's right. Now, let's try the river water. And I haven't tested this---I genuinely don't know if a monster like the Susquehanna Seal could live in it. I wanted to try this first with you guys."
They all dipped their litmus paper, and studied it.
"Neutral," said Aubrey. "It's about a seven."
I nodded. "Which is perfect for supporting life. So....A monster in the river? It's possible."

"That was a neat idea," Kara said downstairs, in my office. "Having them test river water was a nice touch."
"I ordered the litmus paper just the other day," I said. "Paid extra to make sure it got here on time."
I started putting stuff away at my desk. I was wearing my Loch Ness Monster T-shirt. I asked,"Did you get hold of the client on Church Street yet?"
"Yes," said Kara. "If anyone from the team is available, we can do the intake interview Wednesday morning. They recently bought a Bed and Breakfast on Church Street...."
"The Wilson Kistler House," I said. "Place has been known to be haunted for years."
"They've been experiencing noises, cold temperatures, the usual," said Kara. "So we can go and do the interview before we decide on an investigation."
"I'm available," I said. "The place is right across the street; I can see it from our back windows. I'll be here anyway. I'm in."

I was drinking coffee out of my Bigfoot mug when Kara and Millie arrived. I'd been sitting at my desk in webinar for a while, and I finished off the coffee and walked from the haunted library to a haunted house. As one does.
The house was huge and elaborate, and the owner was busy installing a security system when we arrived. She greeted us at the door and let us in, and I looked around. "Been a while since I've been in this place."
"It's huge," said Kara. "We may need a little extra time on this one."
"Look at this couch," said Millie. "Isn't that beautiful?"
I knelt down by the couch. "It's got a code. The Victorian Flower Language."
"The what?" asked Kara.
"You haven't been on one of my tours when I talk about that? The Victorians had meanings for everything---Fruits, trees, leaves, flowers. It was in their furniture, their architecture. There's a secret code from this carved above the door to the post office. This couch is an example....It has roses, and, what's that....?"
"Dogwoods," suggested Millie.
"And I don't have the whole thing memorized, so I'm gonna have to go and look it up. But this means something; this couch is identifiably the right age. There's a meaning in here."
"So you think Gertrude Kistler might be here?" the new owner asked me.
"It's possible. She drowned on a family vacation in 1920, and she's thought to be haunting several places in the community. Her grandfather built this place, so she'd have had fond memories of it. I can't prove it, but I wouldn't rule it out."
We walked through the house. Kara murmured,"This place is huge. It might take more than one time through to investigate. We might also have to bring in more people."
"I have some thoughts on that," I said.
I walked through the upstairs hallway, looking around. This huge old mansion built in 1887. And we got to solve its mysteries.
This is what makes it worth it. Not the solutions, but the mysteries. I love figuring these things our....But whether I solve it or not, I love the attempt. It doesn't matter if I solve a mystery....As long as I get a chance to try.
We sat down in one of the back rooms. I said,"What we're going to do is come in and try to find provable, measurable evidence. We'll use thermometers, cameras, digital recorders. We're trying to find something like....Here, I usually have one on me." I got out my recorder. "This one....No, wait, that's the Loch Ness Monster. Here." I played one of our old EVPs, where we could hear a whispery voice say "Play....with....me."
"Oh, wow," she said. "That's amazing."
"Now, remember, that's the best of the best. Most of them aren't that good. But we'll come in, set up the cameras....This place will look like the Death Star. We'll need several hours to cover the whole place."
"We have a meeting Saturday night," said Kara. "We'll find a good time, and contact you."

We all bring our own skills and contributions to the Lock Haven Paranormal Seekers. Theresa knows the electronics, Millie has an in with the local theater, and I'm the reason we get to meet in a haunted airplane museum.
I was in my office with Kara. Ashlin, and Millie when my cell phone rang. I picked it up. "Hello."
"Lou? It's Kris. I found the museum, but I can't find your magic door on the front of the building. In fact, I can't find the front of the building."
I walked across the museum floor and down the stairs. "Where are you? What do you see?"
"The two buildings, and a sort of path between the trees."
"Okay, you're looking at the Blue Building next door. The parking lot is out front." I exited the museum, walked across the lot, and turned between the two buildings.
"I'm not seeing the door....Wait....I see you."
I closed the phone and met my friend Kris between the two buildings, under the street lights.
"Hello, Lou," she said.
I smiled. "How you been, Kris?"

"We formed ten years ago," I said. "What the Lock Haven Paranormal Seekers try to do is find provable, measurable evidence of the paranormal. We also try to explain events in a logical way---If we can't rule it out any other way, then maybe we have something paranormal."
Kris nodded. We were sitting in my office at the monthly meeting. She asked,"So, each of you. What got you into paranormal investigation?"
"I've always been interested," said Millie. "Ten years ago I went on a tour of the museum where Lou used to work, and he mentioned that he had joined a ghost-hunting team. We met that night for a walk-through in Highland Cemetery."
"First night I met you, I took you to a haunted cemetery," I said. "Do I know how to show a girl a good time, or what?"
Millie laughed. Kara said,"I experienced some things in the attic of my father's house when I was a kid. When I joined the team, we went to investigate it on one of our first times out."
"That was what really brought us together," I said. "That was the first time we really became a team."
"I was working at the grocery store and I heard Lou talking about a new teen team," said Ashlin. "I joined, and when I turned eighteen, they promoted me into this group."
Kris looked at me. "And you?"
"I like adventure," I said. "Ever since I was a kid, I went looking for stuff like this. When I was sixteen, I tried to investigate a house that was thought to be haunted. When the team formed, I agreed to advise on local history. Ten years later.....Here I am."
"We'd like to do an EVP session, just to start your training," said Millie.
Kris smiled at me. "I liked the piece you did on Marilyn Monroe being invited to judge a canoe race in Renovo," she said.
"Canoe In The Wind? Yeah, that was a good one."
I stood up and pulled on my tactical vest. Kris looked it over. "Wow. Where did that come from?"
"I order them," I said. "I tried everything to carry my equipment. Pockets, tool belts....Nothing really worked. This seems to work the best."
Millie eyed it. "I oughta get one of those. It'd be better than that bag I have to carry."
I zipped it up. "Let's do this."

Two days after the meeting, I got up and dropped my son off at Tif's house for babysitting. I had to do the title search on the Kistler House. I'd also gotten an e-mail from the local newspaper, asking for information about the 1918 Ice Flood. So I'd have to make a couple of round trips involving the newspaper, the courthouse, and the library to deal with all the haunted houses and historic floods.
Mondays. Am I right?
I started at the library, digging out photos of the 1918 Ice Flood. Then I ran them down to the Express, dropped them off with the editor, and biked over to the courthouse.
I spent half an hour pulling the deeds, and it was one of the easier ones I've ever done. No straw deeds, no cow deeds, no sheriff's sales. Just a nice straight line back to 1889, when the place was built.
Back to the library. I pulled the obits, and discovered some more new things. A lot of what we thought we'd known about the Wilson Kistler House was wrong. And at the end of it all, there had been no tragic deaths related to the house, no suicides, murders, accidents....Except for one.
Hello again, Gertrude.

We gathered in the parking lot of the library. It was the best place, right across from the haunted house. Snow was coming down, beginning to cover the sidewalks."
"Kris had a death in the family," I told the others. "She said she wanted to make it---She really doesn't want to let us down---But she wasn't sure she could get here from the funeral. I got her a card." We passed it around and signed it. "I told her we understand."
"Of course we do," said Theresa. "Give us the history, Lou."

"Okay, guys, historian coming in hot," I said. "I've done the research, and local history-wise, it's earth-shattering. The house was built in 1889, an addition to a much smaller structure that already stood on that property. The Wilson Kistler House was not built by Wilson Kistler, but by Patrick King, who may have been a relative to Kistler. This alone contradicts much of what we thought we knew about that house, and on a historic level, is fairly groundbreaking. King died in 1923, for the record, and is buried in Saint Mary's Cemetery with no marker. Incidentally, it's the same cemetery where the Witch of Sugar Run is buried; when we had that escapade in October, we probably weren't too far from his grave. "

They were gathered, watching me. Theresa, Millie, Kara, Ashlin.

"Wilson Kistler died in 1914, leaving his house to his son, Sedgewick, Gertrude's dad. Gertrude Kistler died in July 1920 on a vacation to Yosemite State Park. Most of the people involved died at a ripe old age after a full life. I have not found a record of a young or violent death on that property, which suggests that the prime candidate to be haunting the place is Gertrude, after all."

The place was big. There was no getting around it. we were never going to cover the whole thing on one investigation, so we chose the best spots and got set up. I walked around and took photos, and gave the client her historic report. When I found Ashlin, she was on the first floor, awaiting a cable that Kara was lowering down from the third through the banisters.
"You connecting that to anything?" I asked.
"No idea," she said. "Kara's on the other end."
I walked up to the third floor, where Kara was struggling with the coil. I helped her untangle it, and we dropped the rest down to Ashlin.
"Go ask Theresa if she's getting a picture down there yet," said Kara.
I went back down to Theresa, on the first floor. "Kara wants to know if we have visual."
"Yes," she said. "We're using the new camera up there. Do we want one on second?"
"Probably; let's run it up that servant's staircase to the hallway."
I strapped on my tac vest. There was a big mirror ahead of me; I looked myself over. "I love this vest. I look like an action figure."
"I'll take the first shift on monitor duty," said Theresa. "The rest of you can start an EVP session. Where do you want to begin?"
"First floor," suggested Millie.
"How about the sitting room?" I asked.
In a few minutes, we were all gathered in the front east room, a pretty sitting room. We activated our digital recorders, setting them on the coffee table.
"EVP Session," I said. "Wilson Kistler House, first floor. It's 8:02 PM. Lou."
"Millie."
"Kara."
"Ashlin."
An EVP session is when you ask random questions, and wait to see if you catch anything on sound recordings. So, quietly, in the dark, we spoke.
I opened with the usual. "Is there anyone here?"
"Can you tell us your name?"
"What did you do for a living?"
"Could you come near my device?" Millie asked. "Can you make the green light come on?"
"Or, you know, you could possess Ashlin," I said. "She's about your age."
"That's a no," said Ashlin. "I don't want to be possessed."
"What, I crawl into holes and attics all the time, but you won't let a ghost possess you for five minutes? Take one for the team."
"So I get possessed while the rest of you watch? What kind of half-assed team is this?"
"Snow plow outside," Kara said, tagging the sound.
"I'm feeling cold," said Ashlin. "All up and down my arm. It feels freezing."
"I'm getting it, too," said Kara. "Right arm. Does anyone else feel cold?"
"I don't," I said,"But that may be because I been drinking coffee and wearing a ten-pound vest. Let's do a reading." I got out my laser thermometer, and played the laser over the two of them. "Guys, I'm getting nothing. Temperature is steady around a baseline of sixty-seven. Whatever you're feeling, it's not showing up on the equipment."
"I can feel it," insisted Kara. "It's like half of me is in cold water."
"Water?" I said.
She looked up at me. "What?"
I said,"Gertrude drowned."

"Let's do one more," Theresa suggested around eleven-thirty. "We'll split up. I'll get back on the monitor."
"I still think possession of Ashlin is not off the table," I suggested.
"No way," said Ashlin. "How come my head has to spin around in circles? Why not Theresa?"
"Theresa already does that."
"Lou and I can take the second floor," said Kara. "Where do you want to be?"
"Let's do your favorite," I said. "The Pemberley Room."
She smiled. "Well, okay."
We went up, and did the usual. For us, anyway. Took photos, turned out the lights, started the recorders, and waited in the dark for dead people to arrive. Maybe usual isn't really the word.
"I seem to remember ten years ago, up in Cameron County," I said. "First time you and I ever worked together was at the top of a big building like this."
Kara laughed. "I remember. Up in that attic."
"Ten years. Has it really been that long?"
"This coming summer," said Kara. "We've had some good times."
"Yeah," I said. "Good times."

Yahweh Or The Highway

I knew it was going to be an interesting day when  I found a stack of sixty-year-old documents sitting on my desk.
There was a note from the Director, now two days from retirement. Like all notes from the Director, it was hard to read and shed light on nothing. So I went looking for her in the stacks.
"I thought you might be interested," one of the patrons said as I passed. "I saw a UFO last night. It was about three in the morning, and it was out near the onramp to the bypass. It was a white light, no sounds, no trails. It flew for a moment and then disappeared."
"Out by Clinton Plaza? Walnut Street?" I asked.
"Yeah, that's right."
"I'll look into it."
The Director began explaining when she saw me coming, holding the note.
"Those marriage certificates that we brought down from the attic," she said. "I've found more of them. At first I thought they were from some of the books we already had done, but they seem to be from a partial book we didn't know we had. Book 40, form 1953."
"Hunh. I never even saw those up there."
"Go check the attic," she said. "See if there are any more up there that we missed."
"A quest!"
"If you find any, bring them down. And see about finding a way to preserve them."
"This gives me an excuse to go searching through the attic," I said. "That's always a good time."

The attic of the Ross Library had been built in 1887. A hundred and thirty years later, I was still discovering stuff in it.
Not what I was looking for, of course. There were no further marriage certificates that I could see. But there were shelves full of other things. I found old documents, Henry Shoemaker books I'd never seen before, maps, and old military artifacts. The attic was split into four rooms, and I went through the PA Room Annex, where we kept a lot of the old Pennsylvania-based books and artifacts. It's a great time, but I didn't turn up any more marriage records.
Just to be thorough, I moved on to the other rooms. Also because I like exploring the attic. I've been working for the library since 2012, and the thrill hasn't worn off. The next room was all old newspapers, and easy enough to search---I couldn't see anything that wasn't a newspaper. Beside it was a room of paintings and old books, and in that one, I found an old Bible.
It was thick, with an elaborate blue leather cover. The inside was decorative, with colorful artwork.
I found the Director down below, in the second floor hallway in the old part of the building. She looked at me, and said,"What's that?"
"You remember when I came to work here five years ago, and we lost a Bible?" I asked. "It was just a couple of months after I came here, and we had to tear the place apart looking for it."
"Tell me you found it."
"Maybe. I don't even remember if I saw the original, or just heard about it. But I found this one in the attic."
I gave her the Bible. She looked it over. "This could be the one. I don't remember it well, either. But it could be; maybe someone moved it up there without realizing."
"Maybe it's been in the attic all along. I'm glad I turned it up before you retired."

I opened my office at the Piper Museum in the morning, filed my paperwork, and put away the newest magazines. Then I went into the back storage room and visited my hidden UFO research base.
I'd discovered the small, empty space around a year ago, part of the old plane factory that had been sectioned off when it became a museum. I'd made it into a little private UFO investigative room, because what else are you going to do with a secret room? Actually I'd once stored some ghost-hunting equipment for LHPS there, too.
I had a dry erase board, and I made some notes about the UFO sighting. 3 AM. Over Clinton Plaza. White light---No trail---No sound. It was enough to get me started. Then I went down and sat in the Tri-Pacer for a while, blowing off steam by shouting,"There's....Something....On the wing!"
When I went out into the display floor, there was pizza. It was the museum's last day before the annual winter shutdown, so one of the board members had sprung for pizza and soda to celebrate. We all sat down at the tables; I ended up next to President John and his wife.
"I'd heard that after the 1972 flood, they buried a lot of the planes that had been damaged right here on the grounds," I asked him. "There any truth to that?"
"Oh, sure," he said. "They buried them over by the paint shop. Mostly Navajos."
I laughed. "Well, no wonder Lock Haven is so haunted!"
"Well, there weren't people in them!"
"Sure, but we're right by an actual Indian burial ground out here. Over at Memorial Park, there were tribes buried, and we built a park and a dike over them. Then. years later, we come along and bury planes named after Indian tribes, which has to be offensive."
I walked down the hall to the next room. We have a 3-D layout of the Piper plant in a display case. I found the paint shop. It was practically in the museum's back yard, an outbuilding to the south, beside the forest line. I smiled---This was going to provide me with one great expedition when the weather warmed up.

I ran past Clinton Plaza on the way home. I stopped and looked around---Nothing jumped out at me. No remains of fireworks, streetlights that may have reflected, spotlights in the distance. Nothing that looked like it might have caused a UFO sighting.
I got on my bike and headed home.
Sometimes, mysteries stay mysteries.

It was the next day when the ring came in the mail.
I got two packages that day, both addressed to me. I'd ordered some litmus paper for the next Teen Paranormal meeting, and I was expecting that. The other package was too small to be harmful, and addressed to me specifically.
There was a ring inside. Small and silver, with a round face and a cross on it. There were letters all over the thing: On the cross, in the spaces behind the cross, around the rim. It looked religious. I slipped it on---It came close to fitting. A note in the package said I thought you could use this. It belonged to Reverend Maucher.
I get historical donations all the time. People come to me with artifacts and clippings about ghosts; this was only mildly unusual. I looked the ring over for a minute, then went and found Adam at the desk.
"Adam, when you signed for the packages, was there anything unusual?"
"No, man. Business as usual. Everything allright?"
"Yeah, it's good. Just something unexpected."
I went to the Pennsylvania Room and checked the archives for Maucher. There were only a couple of entries---I found him almost immediately in a book. Reverend Louis Maucher had been a doctor from Germany who'd become a priest and moved to America. He'd run the Catholic Church in Lock Haven for several years, until 1914, when anti-German sentiment before World War I had gotten him transferred. He'd loved Lock Haven, however, and had been buried in Saint Agnes Cemetery when he'd died in 1947, the only priest in the city ever to be transferred and still be buried here. He'd been popular in the community, interested in the outdoors, and a good card player.
Once I knew all that, it took me about two minutes on Google to identify the symbol on the ring as belonging to Saint Benedict, generally used to protect against evil and demons. Someone had sent this to me in my capacity as a historic paranormal investigator. I didn't, as a general rule, buy into demons or exorcism, but plenty of people did.
You know the line,"Curiouser and curiouser"?
I had a distant cousin who, last I'd heard, was working for the Catholic Church. I sent her an e-mail, asking if the church had any information on Reverend Maucher. Maybe I could even get a column out of it.
In the meantime, I wore the ring.

It fell out of my pocket when I was getting dressed in the morning. My little boy, Paul, watched from the bed as I picked it up.
"What's dat?"
"It's a ring I got."
"Can I has it?"
"No, I'm going to hang onto it. I might use it for ghost hunting."
"But I want a ghost hunting ring," said Paul.
"Tell you what," I said. "Let me look around for you, okay? I'll see what I can do about that."

When I got to work, I started digging around. At first, I didn't find much. I had enough to start an article on Maucher, so I sat down and started typing. The tentative title was God As My Witness.
I found an old clipping about Maucher's move in the Altoona newspaper, and it took me a moment before I realized what that meant. And then I thought about the church he'd worked with, and the time frame, and I walked over and checked the old city directories. He'd been in the city as early as 1905.
And it all began to come together.

"You remember that package I got the other day?" I asked Adam at the desk.
"Yeah, man."
"This is getting interesting. It contained some evidence about a local reverend---Louis Maucher. It was some evidence that he was interested in the paranormal---Exorcisms and such. I've been looking into that, and it's gotten really cool."
"Oh, yeah? What's up?"
"Found an article about Maucher in the Altoona newspaper. Now, it took me a minute---There's no reason Altoona should be reporting on a Lock Haven priest. But I realized who owned the newspaper at the time---Henry Shoemaker."
Adam grinned. "Ah! Your hero."
"Yeah." Everyone who knows me knows that I love Henry Shoemaker. "Which means that Maucher would have known Shoemaker. And it's interesting that the local priest who might have been into the paranormal knew Lock Haven's expert paranormal guy, before I came along."
"It makes sense, man."
"Even better---You remember the Sesto murder?"
"I've heard you mention it...."
"Yeah, I've written about it and used it on tours. Vincent James Sesto, killed in 1905, was said to have appeared as a ghost at his own funeral to point the finger at his killer. Given the time frame, Maucher had to have been there. He was the priest performing that funeral. It might even have been what started him on the paranormal. Connect the dots."
"Pretty cool, man."
"Yeah." I smiled. "I can make a good case that the local priest was interested in the paranormal, and even have an idea of how he got that way."
I walked back to my desk. A moment later, I was back, looking at Adam at the reference desk.
"Adam, somebody left something on my desk....It looks like a Japanese scroll in a wooden box....?"
"Oh, yeah, that. A guy came in, left it for you. He wanted to know if you could use it somehow."
"Well, I know nothing about it, but I'll find a way."
Adam grinned. "Every time you get a delivery, man, it's a new adventure around here."

I walked through the grass, looking at the headstones. Saint Agnes Cemetery was on a slight hill, and I watched my footing as I moved. Falling and killing myself in a cemetery might save someone a trip, but I'd rather not.
I found the stone, in Section 1. Reverend Maucher and his sister were buried together under a small stone with crosses carved in it. Wearing the ring, I looked at the stone.
I could see Sesto's grave, just up the hill a bit. I'd hunted it down a couple of months before, and knew exactly where to look. Maucher had not only insisted his body be returned to Lock Haven for burial---He'd had it buried very near the haunted grave.
So Maucher trains as a doctor, then a priest. He wants to help people. He comes to Lock Haven, one seriously haunted city, and presides over a funeral where a ghost appeared. In response, he gets the ring, and seeks out Henry Shoemaker, the expert on local hauntings at the time. And Maucher tries to protect against evil spirits until he's transferred out in 1914. But after his death, he had his body returned, so he could continue to watch over the place he cared about.
Good guy.
I looked at the ring. I still didn't know who sent it to me---Sometimes, mysteries stay mysteries. I investigate the paranormal on a scientific level, looking for provable evidence. I'm not a big believer in exorcisms and demons.
But I could use the ring to maybe help people, as long as they believed.
Clearly, someone did.

"Daddy!" Paul raced into the kitchen to greet me as soon as I walked in, like he does every night. I knelt down and gave him a hug.
"How you doing, little man?"
"Good! I played wif Sissy today."
"Hey. God you something."
"What?"
"Do you remember what you asked for this morning?"
"Yes."
"What was it?"
"I don't know."
I dug into my pocket and handed him a ring, a little one with an alien head on it. "You remember when you said you wanted a ring? Here's one in just your size."
"A alien! Take me to your leader!"
"That's right, little guy. Don't lose it, okay?"
Paul beamed. "I just like Daddy!"
"You got it, little guy. You're just like Daddy."

The Jersey Devil You Know

After all this time, my co-workers know to keep an eye out for paranormal stuff for me. They bring me ghost stories, articles about the Yeti, and reports of UFOs. It's one of the reasons my shift was weirder than yours yesterday. (No matter when you are reading this, my shift was weirder than yours yesterday.)
"Before I process these, would you like to look at them?" Tracey asked me while I was on desk.
She was holding two books about the paranormal in Pennsylvania. That's another perk of my job; if you work at the public library, you get to see all the good books as they come in. I'd highly recommend being the paranormal investigator of the local library, except I think I'm the only one of those.
"Oh, sure, thanks!" I said. "These look good." I sat down and began paging through them.
Five minutes later, I was back by her desk, showing her a photo of the Van Sant covered bridge in New Hope. "This was my honeymoon."
I went back to the desk, and read some more. In one of the books, I found a few paragraphs about Jersey Devil sightings in 1909, which was something I was familiar with. I walked back to Tracey's desk.
"This book has some stuff about the Jersey Devil sightings of 1909."
"Didn't we used to be a library?"
"I was asked to look into the history of the Texas Restaurant, but I haven't been making any progress. It was started by two Greek guys in 1918, and originally called 'Texas Hot Wieners,' but I can't find the opening date. There's nothing in the newspapers that I can see. Sometimes when I get desperate I search online, but there's no way in hell I'm going to do a Google search for Texas Hot Wieners."
Tracey nodded, and made a gesture. Go on.
"The Jersey Devil has been around for like three hundred years, a flying creature from New Jersey. In 1909, there were some sightings, and this monster panic was everywhere. The thing was sighted in Lock Haven---I wrote a column on it a while ago. It was around this time of year; first a night watchman at the paper factory up in my neighborhood claimed to have seen the Jersey Devil. Then a few days later, a guy on Grove Street reported seeing the Jersey Devil on his roof. He propped a ladder up and let people look at the hoofprints in the snow. The house still stands; I've pointed it out on tours."
"So now you're looking after the Jersey Devil."
"I am."
"Well, good luck."
"This thing visited Lock Haven. This proves that even the Jersey Devil prefers Lock Haven to New Jersey every once in a while."

The next afternoon, I worked for a while on programs, just so I could say I'd been productive. Then I started in on the Jersey Devil.
I got on the microfilm and found the 1909 articles. I was printing them out as Sue walked by.
"Working on an article, Lou?"
"Chasing the Jersey Devil."
"Oh. You able to make a run to the post office for me later?"
"Sure."
On January 30, 1909, a night watchman at the paper mill named E.W. Rogers saw the Jersey Devil flying over the building. Two days later, Charles Poorman, a resident of the second floor of a Grove Street house, heard something on his roof and found hoof prints in the snow.
I took another look at the book Tracey had loaned me. It said that a man named Norman Jefferies confessed in 1929 to having faked some of the 1909 Jersey Devil sightings with a costume to build up interest in his museum.
Jefferies, huh?
There was a Jefferies family who'd been early settlers of Lock Haven. James Jefferies III was a retired pirate from Chester County who'd built a house that still stood Bald Eagle Street. His son had grown up to become the mayor. I pulled the 1909 city directory and looked up the name.
Former mayor James Jefferies IV had still been living in the house with his wife Elizabeth in 1909. There was no mention of a Norman.
But if he was just visiting....
I got out the 1906 Sanborn map, the closest I could get to 1909. Laying it out on the table in the PA Room, I traced the Jefferies house to the Grove Street House. They weren't too far apart, and in 1909, Henderson Street had run all the way through. It would have been a reasonably short walk from one to the other.
"It wouldn't have taken much time at all," I told Tracey at her desk. "Norman Jefferies could have walked to the house pretty quickly. Now, the other sighting was a night watchman who claimed to have seen it flying, but he bought his own business just two years later, so maybe there was a payoff there."
"Oh, really? That's interesting."
"Yeah, I really should probably get a hobby or something."
Tracey laughed. "No, it's kind of neat."
"Well, I wouldn't mind capturing the Jersey Devil, either. But I like figuring things out even if they turn out not to be paranormal."
Sue came out of her office. "Do you have time to go to the post office?"
"Get me the packages. I'm on it."

I got on my bike outside the post office, and rode east into Jordan's Alley. I wanted to take a little side trip and go look at the Grove Street House---The one where the Jersey Devil had been spotted on the roof.
I stood in the alley, looking at the house from behind. There was a wooden porch in the back that had pretty visibly been added on in recent years, and I could see the portion of the house that it was covering up. There had been a short, one-story storage space in the back, and a two-story wing attached to it. It wouldn't have taken much to get up on the roof in 1909; I could have climbed up in about a minute and a half. Except I wouldn't have been born for about another sixty years.

"You're that ghost hunter guy, aren't you?" The old guy with the gray hair looked me over at the desk.
I nodded. "I'm a paranormal investigator, yes."
"I thought so! I thought I recognized you from the newspapers! Hey, you mind if I ask you a question?"
"Sure, I'll answer if I can."
"Okay. This is something that happened to me, twenty, thirty years ago. I was living 'round here at the time, and I was married....Not married anymore, but...."
This happens occasionally. I'm very familiar with the process. Some people say "question," but they mean "tell their life story." It's happened enough that I know all the signs. He's not going to ask a question, just take the next half hour telling me a ghost story.
"....So then I got up....I was always waking up in those days....And...."
I get these people who assume I'm basically a captive audience---They can stand there and talk to me endlessly, and I have to stand and listen. I have a tendency to fade in and out of these monologues, as it doesn't matter to them if I'm actually listening, just as long as I smile and nod.
So I wind up having an experience like this:
"...So I says to the guy, I says, don't you include the power-wash for free? And he says...."
I drift off here. This is nothing I need to know. And when I come back, mentally, to the real world:
"....So the chemo was fine, but it made blood come out of his...."
Wait, WHAT? How did we get here? Guess I'd better fade out again. I was better off that way. Smile and nod.
Everything was quiet when I got off the desk half an hour later. Thursday nights tend to be slow, unless I'm meeting with Teen Paranormal. I pulled the microfilm from 1909, and put it in the reader.
To prove the Jersey Devil sightings were a hoax, I needed to place Norman Jefferies in Lock Haven during the time. Many of the old newspapers used to run entire columns dedicated to who was visiting who from out of town: Mister and Mrs. Abraham Lipez got a visit from their daughter on Thursday last. She was traveling from New York.... The Clinton County Times would have been best for this sort of thing, but we didn't have it from 1909. So I settled for the Clinton Democrat, also a decent paper. I started scrolling.
I didn't find any mention of the Jefferies family. But things got really interesting almost immediately. In that era, there were a lot of mentions of the Jersey Devil---More than I'd realized. I printed them all off, one at a time.
On January 28, 1909, it had been spotted in Williamsport. January 30, in Lock Haven over the paper mill. February 1 had been the night Charles Poorman saw it on his roof on Grove Street.
On February 4, a young man named Harry Bey had been walking to work and seen the thing on a roof on Vesper Street. I checked the old Sanborn map and located the building---It was an eyewear place now. The part that fascinated me was that he'd thought it was a Giwoggle.
The Giwoggle was an old legend from northern Clinton County. It was a sort of artificial werewolf conjured up by a witch. It had the body of a wolf, the feet of a horse, and the hands of a bird. In 2011, the Giwoggle had been declared Clinton County's official monster---I'd made sure of that.
The same night, a party in Dunnstown had been interrupted by a possible Giwoggle sighting, but that had been an old widow playing a prank.
The final sighting had been on February 11, when a train conductor had again seen the Jersey Devil over the paper mill, flying east. After that, everything had become quiet.
So this involved the Giwoggle, too.
This had just gotten a lot more interesting.

My Friday radio program ended ten minutes early the next morning, so I walked around the corner to the eyewear place. It's right by Willard's Alley, on Vesper Street. I walked around it a bit, looking it over, and then stepped inside.
"May I help you?" the receptionist asked. Two old ladies were talking in the waiting area.
"Maybe. This is going to sound weird," I said. "I'm a local newspaper columnist who writes about local history. There was an incident with this building in 1909. How long have there been rentals up above?"
"I actually don't know," she said. "I don't even know how old this building is."
"At least 1906. I saw it on a map." Was a time, I'd felt pretty stupid just walking in and asking questions like this, but I've long since gotten over that. "Is there any rooftop access from the inside?"
"I don't believe so. You'd have to get a ladder."
Another woman came out, I think a doctor. "What are you researching?"
"This is the weird part," I said. "In 1909 you had a monster spotted on your roof."
She laughed. I said,"Have you ever heard of the Jersey Devil?"
She shook her head.
I continued,"It's a monster from New Jersey, a legend going back about three hundred years. Back in 1909, a Jersey museum owner got publicity by faking sightings, and this thing wound up spotted all over three or four states. People were calling off work because of the Jersey Devil."
"This is all real?" the doctor asked. The old ladies had ceased talking completely, and were now just staring at me.
"Well, it's definitely real that it happened," I said. "Whether the monster exists or not is something else."
"Yeah, I noticed your shirt," she said.
"Oh, right. My sister gave me this for Christmas." I was wearing the shirt that said Jersey Devil Hunter. "This is what it looked like. But in 1909, there was a man walking to work in the morning, and he claimed to have seen it on your rooftop."
"Well, that's pretty interesting. No, I don't think anyone could have climbed up on our roof at the time."
"That's what I needed to know," I said. "Thanks."

So, you stop by the grocery store after work, and you wind up talking about cryptozoological monsters. You know how it is.
I was in line, buying some stuff for dinner, when Tracey appeared behind me. "Hello," she said.
"Oh, hi, Tracey," I said. "How you doing?"
"Pretty good, you?"
"Not bad. Been busy. Thanks for loaning me that book on the Jersey Devil---I've been making some progress there."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah. From what I can figure out, it probably wasn't a hoax, or at least not a hoax perpetuated by Jefferies. Maybe not at all; some of those sightings would have been hard to fake. But while I was researching it, I found out that there's a lot more to the story than I realized. There were a lot of sightings about that time, all reported by the Clinton Democrat."
"Well, that's pretty interesting."
"The really neat part is that they mistook this thing for a Giwoggle. You remember the Giwoggle? I've written about it a couple of times."
"If I remember right, the headline was Here Today, Gone Giwoggle."
"That was one of them, yes. Clinton County's official monster. So there was a lot of discussion about whether it was the Jersey Devil, or a Giwoggle had come into town for a while."
Tracey smiled. "So you don't know for sure."
"No. It's gonna make a great column, but no. I don't know, and I don't have to. Some things are just as much fun if they stay a mystery."

"Hi, Adam," I said, walking into work. "How's things?"
"Doing good, man, doing good," said Adam at the desk. "How about you?"
"Good. You have a good weekend?"
"Yeah. You?'
"I did, but it's good to get back to work. I've got an article to write, and it's a good one."
"Cool, man."
I went back to my desk, threw my coat over my chair, and hung up my backpack on its hook. Then I sat down at my desk and started typing my column.
I wrote the headline. HERE THERE BE MONSTERS.
Tracey stopped by my desk. "I just got another book in. It's about ghosts in the Susquehanna Valley. Are you interested in taking a look?"
I smiled. Then I held out my hand, and took the book.
"Bring it on."

Ghost of Christmas Presents: The 2017 Christmas Special

Santa Claus was in Wayne Township.
"I want a Leah doll," said Paul. "And I want LOL dolls, and I want new tools. And I want candy!"
Santa smiled. "Is that all?"
"Ummm....Yeah!"
The Wayne Township Nature Park was hosting a nice Christmas walk. They had the path decorated, a representations of Christmas stories all along it. Santa was at the very end, taking requests from children. He gave my son a candy cane, and Paul immediately began eating it.
As we walked to the car, I said,"While we're out here, let's stop by Linnwood Cemetery."
"I have no idea which one that is," said my wife.
"It's by the railroad tracks. The one with the Capitol column in it," I said. "We had a photo donated to the library recently, and it's a soldier named Milford Krape. He's buried out there, but the cemetery record lists him as 'Millard Krape.' This is in contrast to his marriage record and his obit, and I told the director I'd get a look at what's on the actual gravestone."
"You'll have to tell me where it is."
"It's on Linnwood Drive, by the....Never mind. I'll direct you."
She pulled the Prius up by the church, and I got out and walked across the cemetery. I unfolded my map as I walked---I'd learned the hard way to always bring the paperwork along. I found the grave in the corner on the far side of the cemetery.
I pushed down the plants concealing the name.
Milford.
Okay, so it went down in the cemetery index wrong. Easy enough to correct, and this was a simple one to handle. 
Merry Christmas to me.

I've always loved Christmas. I grew up on a Christmas tree farm, which of course helped---Christmas put me through college. To this day, we get a free tree from the farm when we go visit.
I always put up our family nativity scene. A few years ago, we'd been given a used nativity scene that was missing some of the pieces, and I'm not real religious, so I'd filled in with stuff I had around the house. This had become a tradition, and these days, the yearly nativity scene consisted of Mary and Joseph, one shepherd, Captain America, Bigfoot, a sheep, two small dogs, Green Lantern, and Yoda.
When I was a kid, my parents had this beautiful wooden nativity scene that had been hand-carved in Germany or something. It had a small compartment above the manger where they'd put the baby Jesus until Christmas morning, leaving Mary and Joseph essentially staring at the floor. When they put the presents out overnight, they'd move Jesus down below, the significance being that he'd been born. So that was what Christmas meant to me, as a child: It was the day when Santa came, and let Baby Jesus out of the attic.

We had a tendency to meet in haunted places. After all, we are ghost hunters.
This time, it was Millie's house. I sat around the table with the rest of the Lock Haven Paranormal Seekers, holding our annual Christmas meeting. Theresa, Millie, Charlie, Ashlin, and Kara....And me. We had our snacks, and we had the table piled full of presents.
"Before we start, I brought something for everyone," said Theresa. She handed out window stickers, each one saying Paranormal Investigator. "I thought these would look good on our cars."
"I'm gonna have to find an alternate solution," I said.
"You need to get a windshield on your bike."
"I brought something for everyone, too," I said. I handed out little survival tools, each one about an inch long and containing a fire starter, whistle, blade, and compass. "I thought we could use these. Some of the situations we get into....These things give us a little survival kit. They can be clipped on a keychain, a zipper, carried in a pocket, whatever."
Kara looked hers over. "Hey, these are really nice. Where'd you get them?"
"Amazon. It's like having a magical genie. I shouldn't be allowed to have both a credit card and an Amazon account."
"I've got something to announce," said Charlie. "I haven't been as available lately, because I've been taking some classes and working to be an LPN. Over the next couple of years, I may have to miss some meetings and investigations, because of my class schedule. You guys can decide to drop me from the team, if you want."
"I think we'll make some allowances there," said Theresa.
"We can afford to cut you some slack, Charlie," I said. "Hell, if anyone on this team is likely to need a nurse, it's gonna be me."

There was an alien sitting on my desk when I got to work.
This was only sightly more odd than usual. My son had been enjoying a local program called "Haven Rockz," in which people hid brightly-painted rocks around town for other people to find. He'd been so visibly enjoying the rocks that library patrons had begun bringing me painted rocks for him specifically. Someone had left a big rock, painted to look like an alien, waiting on my desk when I got back from the radio show.
My name is Lou. My office is at the public library. As for what I do there....It's a little hard to explain, but the aliens do have something to do with it.
I was wearing my shirt that showed Bigfoot riding on the Loch Ness Monster, which helps sum things up. I investigate the paranormal and local history, write about it, and promote the library. It's a living, and I'm actually kind of surprised I'm the first one to have thought of this career.
I left a note for the director, detailing what I'd found in Linnwood Cemetery, and then got to work. I sat down and lost myself writing an article about Henry Wharton Shoemaker and his legend of the magic serpent in Sugar Valley, an exploration that was on my list to get to sooner or later.
My phone line beeped. "It's for you," Barb said.
"Okay, thanks." I switched to line one. "Hello, can I help you?"
"Dad, it's me." My daughter Tif, currently at home with Paul. "What's mom's number at work?"
"Should be on the fridge. Why?"
"Paul dropped Shimmer in the street, and she got run over before we could get her back."
"Oh, no." Shimmer is one of my son's favorite dolls, a cartoon genie with pink hair. The cartoon seems to mostly consist of Shimmer and Shine, the genies, spending the second half of the show trying to fix the stuff they screwed up during the first half.
"He's brokenhearted," said Tif. "He's been crying. I was hoping Mom could bring home another Shimmer, and we'll tell him Shimmer went to the hospital."
"Let me see what I can do," I said. "I'll call you back."

I walked through the Dollar Store, looking at the shelves. I wasn't finding a Shimmer doll, though they had a lot of toys on the shelves. One of the employees asked,"Are you finding everything you need? Can I help you with anything?"
"My son's Shimmer doll got destroyed, and he's really upset about it," I said. "I think he got it here originally. Do you have any more?"
"I'll check in the back," said another employee.
I turned to the manager. "Weird question....Have you or the other employees experienced anything....unusual....in here?"
"Oh, sure," she said. "There's ghosts. You see things out of the corner of your eye, the carts roll around on their own. There's noises. We have stuff happen all the time."
It continually amazes me how casually people take this stuff. I always feel a little hesitant to ask, and then people act like it's just giving directions.
"Have you ever looked into it?"
"I think it's my grandfather....He used to run this place back when the building was a Woolworth's. You remember that?"
"I wasn't living in Lock Haven then. But I've done some learning about it."
"I'd heard the place is haunted," I said. "Here." I got out an article I'd found before leaving the library, and handed it to her. "I got this out of the Express. Have you ever seen this one?"
"No! I didn't realize we'd made the paper."
"Well, it was around ten years ago. But I thought you'd like that."
The other employee came out of the back. "I called over to Dunnstown, and they're running a Shimmer over. "
"Thank you so much," I said. "If you guys would ever like a discreet investigation, feel free to ask."

When I walked in the door of my own haunted house after work, Paul immediately said,"Daddy! You get Shimmer at the hospital?"
"I did," I said. "I stopped by the hospital and picked her up." I pulled the new Shimmer out of my jacket pocket, wrapped in a white cloth, and handed it to him. "She's all better."
"Shimmer!" Paul grabbed the doll and hugged her. "You all better now! Daddy, I am so glad you bringed Shimmer home!"
"I think we'll get you a backpack, like mine," I said. "That way, you can put your toys in it, and you won't drop them anymore."
"Okay, Daddy," said Paul. "Shimmer! I so glad you okay! I love you!"
I smiled.
"Merry Christmas, Little Man," I said. "I love you, too."

Pilgrims And Aliens

"Da park is dat way," my son announced as we passed.
"I know," I said. "We're going to turn around and go back. We're having a little adventure first."
With Paul in the back carrier attached to one of my bikes, we pulled up at the ruins of an old railroad building just south of Church Street.
My wife was working long hours this week, and my daughter hadn't been available today. This left me with three-year-old Paul Matthew all day, and lots of quality time. Depending on what day it is, or sometimes my location, I'm a librarian, writer, historian, paranormal investigator, museum curator, or urban explorer. Paul thinks this is all perfectly normal.
On our way to the radio station that morning, we'd passed the remains of the old railroad shop, and I'd noticed that some of the railroad employees were doing some work on the spot. So on our way to the park, we were doing a little exploring together.
"We're going to look for some treasures, Paul," I said as I unbuckled him. "This is a really old place. This was for trains, a hundred years ago."
"Wow, Daddy," said Paul.
We walked together into the grass and along the railroad tracks. It was sort of like Indiana Jones, if he'd lived in Pennsylvania and had a son who wasn't Shia Lebouf. I found where they'd pulled up two metal girders and a huge concrete pillar, and knelt down beside them. We looked them over.
"Look at these big things," I said. "These were part of the building. No way we're getting these out of here; I'm amazed they were able to dig them out."
"Yeah," said Paul.
"This one used to be right over there."
"Right over dere."
"Let's look around."
We walked together along the tracks. The workers had, during the process, dug out several bricks and left them. Old ones, with the stamp of the Lock Haven Brick and Tile Company on them. Not just cast-off crap---Historic artifacts.
"Here, Paul," I said. "Treasure!"
"Here one! And here one!"
In less than a minute, we had a small pile of similar bricks. I picked up the best-looking one.
"We're not getting all of these out of here on the bike," I said. "We're going to take this one, and hide the rest under that tree."
"Okay."
I piled the extra bricks under a pine tree and placed the nicest one in the carrier. I said,"Okay, Paul. You're gonna ride with it. You guard our treasure we found."
"Okay," said Paul. "We go to da park now?"
"Yes," I said. "Let's go to the park."

Work is usually the Ross Library, though it's not really a job that you'd have an easy time describing on a resume. There just isn't a word for historian-writer-paranormal investigator-curator, and mostly I've given up trying to describe it. People know where to find me when they need me.
"Got any Thanksgiving plans?" I asked my co-worker Tracey in the back room.
"Probably mom and I will visit my sister. How about you?"
"We're taking Paul out to Dad's farm," I said. "We're having a dinner out there. He'll get to see his cousins, It's been a while."
"That sounds fun," she said. "Have you got something to investigate yet in case you need to get out of the house?"
"How did you know that?"
"You always do."
"Yeah, Dad's place has a lot of stuff. There's probably some ghosts, and Bigfoot's been sighted out there recently. There have been UFO sightings---Not too far off, people have seen some unexplained flashing lights in the sky. And there's some old Native American stuff to look into out there. I got plenty of stuff to do."
"Well, have fun with your aliens."
"I always do."

I grew up on Green Valley Farm, just outside of Slatington, Pennsylvania. It's a Christmas tree farm in a deep valley; my father bought the place decades ago. Since my mother died, by younger brother had moved back home, and was largely running the place these days. He'd added chickens and rabbits, various berries, and all sorts of stuff, turning the place into a profitable tourist farm.
It was on the property that  I'd first gotten interested in paranormal investigation. I'd spent hours outside hunting for lost temples. When I was six, I'd formed my cousins into a group we called the Ghost Gang, and investigated our houses, which was about all we had access to at the time. Around age eleven, I'd built a water monster trap out of cans and wire, and promptly lost it in the pond---It's probably still down there somewhere. At one point, in an effort to keep me from sneaking out at night, my father had invented a story of a green furry biped he called the Great Christmas Tree Goblin, thus insuring I would repeatedly sneak out and look for it.
Some things never change.

"We're almost there, Paul," my wife said to our son, sitting in the back of the Prius. "We'll be at Grandpa's house in five minutes."
"No. Ten hours," said Paul. Paul doesn't know how to tell time.
"So what makes you think your Dad's farm is some sort of Indian territory?" my wife asked me.
"Well, there have been all sorts of arrowheads found," I said. "Few years ago, when my brother built a new barn, he dug up a ton of them. And then there's the Harp Tree. Did I tell you about the Harp Tree?"
"Isn't that where you and your brothers saw this tree in the woods....?"
"It was near the stream, sort of shaped like a harp, with one branch leaning way out and other branches coming up from that, like strings. It's a little hard to describe. I think the tree is mostly gone now, but I've learned some stuff. Some of the tribes used to use bent trees to mark special places, cities and meeting places. I think the Harp Tree was one of those."
"And you're sure there were Indians around there?"
"Some of it's documented. There was supposed to be some sort of stopping point in the Lehigh Valley somewhere, a place known as Pochapuchkug---"
"Known as what?!?"
"It was kind of English-ized to sound like 'Pohopoco'. It's a spring in a valley, not near any of the main trails. There's documentation of one guy being taken to the place, around 1737, but not a whole lot else. I know it existed, but nobody's sure where."
Michelle nodded. She wasn't paying attention; I was lucky to have avoided the Look for this long. "When we get to your father's place, can you bring in my luggage? I can carry something of yours."
"I can get my pack."
"I can carry your pack, Daddy," volunteered Paul from the backseat.
"Okay, Little Man," I said. "But be careful of the hidden knives and the exploding gas balls."
"Why did you bring that stuff?" my wife asked.
"My cousin may show up."
"Your child might get into it. It's not like you're really going to have to bomb Bigfoot."
"Or a UFO. There have been UFOs."
"Just another minute, Paul," said Michelle.
"Fifteen hours," said Paul.

"You want to go for a walk with me and Paul, Uncle Lou?" my niece Bonnie asked. "We can go explore the woods someplace where I never went before."
I nodded. "Get your coat." I'd been looking for an excuse.
Everyone was preparing dinner, and the kids were running around the house. Brothers David and Jon and sister Jen were there, with their families. Bonnie is Paul's favorite cousin. He adores her.
I got my coat, and pulled it on over my shirt showing Bigfoot being abducted by a UFO. The coat was my most versatile one, a light green thing with lots of pockets, with an inner liner that could be removed to make the coat a light windbreaker. The liner itself could be independently worn as a fleece jacket. It was the coat I most often traveled with in the winter because of the versatility.
We left the farmhouse and walked east into the woods. I'd grown up out here. exploring every square inch as a kid. For Bonnie and Paul, it's different; it's a fun trip to Grandpa's. I remember how I felt, going to my own grandfather's place in Montgomery County, the chance to explore all that forest I didn't always have access to.
We crossed the creek and stopped for a moment. The Harp Tree had deteriorated a lot; it was barely even recognizable as a tree anymore. I looked at the one remaining limb and the ugly stump, working from old memories and figuring out where it had been pointing.
"What're you doing, Uncle Lou?" asked Bonnie.
"Trying to remember where this tree pointed to when I was your age. It kind of went this way, up the creek toward the pond."
"What's down here?" asked Bonnie.
"More trees mostly. You want to see?"
"Yeah! Come on, Paul!"
Paul trotted after Bonnie. "Daddy looking for aliens."
"Are you?" Bonnie asked me.
"If any show up. You never know. What do aliens say, Paul?"
"Take me your leader."
"That's right. What does the Loch Ness Monster say?"
"Tree-fitty."
"Right. You guys ready to go back up to the house? Dinner's probably about ready."
"Yes," said Bonnie,"But I want to come out again later."

After dinner, I went out by myself and walked around the woods for a while. I scanned the trees, looking for another bent one, or some other sign.
Anything the Indians left would be along the creek. They had a tendency to build their civilizations around the water sources. And if there's another sign, a tree or a cairn, it'll be way downstream---There's no point in putting the directional signals too close together. If any remaining signals still exist; almost two centuries of farming this land might have wiped them out.
So let's see. This stream comes from the pond, fed by the spring up in the yard. And it runs down until it hits the Lehigh River. The only Indian path in the area cut around here, skipping this part of the Lehigh and going overland for a while.
I tried to imagine the property as it would have been, centuries before. No farm, no house, no yard. The road wouldn't have existed. For that matter, neither would the pond. It was carved out later, by the earliest settlers.
So this would have been just dense woods, nothing but a spring deep in the valley. The only steady water source until you got down to the river.
I heard voices. The rest of the family was coming down through the field, calling to me. Michelle and Paul walked with my brother, Bonnie, and her family, carrying a saw to cut down a tree.
I joined them as they walked.
"Hi, Daddy!" said Paul. 'We walkin in the woods!"
"I see that," I said.
"What're you looking for, Uncle Lou?" asked Bonnie.
"Just checking around for old stuff, things maybe left behind by the Indians."
"There were Indians here?"
"There were Indians practically everywhere, but yeah, they used to come up this way. They stuck near water usually. Water was very important to them. You need it to drink, you need it to have food. So the water....."
We'd gotten back to what was left of the Harp Tree. I paused, looking over the tree and the stream.
"Uncle Lou?" said Bonnie.
I knelt down and began digging through the loose, muddy dirt at the base of the tree. Bonnie watched, fascinated. After a couple of minutes, I found it: An arrowhead.
"Wow," said Bonnie.
"It's not local to this area," I said. "This looks more like it came from the west. It means there was a different tribe through here at some point."
A stream in a valley, between two mountains. Remote but important.
It was here, the whole time.
We're Pochapuchkug.
"There were really Indians here," said Bonnie.
"There were," I said. "They came this way because there was water. This was a small village named Pochapuchkug."

The sun had gone down, and it was darker and colder outside. Not that this made any different to the kids, who were racing around the house playing and screaming. It's what kids are good at. The rest of us sat in the living room, socializing.
Outside, above the hill, there was a bang, followed by a few more. My brother looked at his watch.
"Well, if you go outside, you can get a firework show," he said.
"Fireworks on Thanksgiving?" asked Jen.
"There's a new Korean Church up the hill," said Jon. "They light off fireworks for practically any occasion."
"Ahhh," I said. "How long's it been there?"
"A couple of years."
"Which coordinates with the time frame I was wondering about," I said. "That explains the UFO sightings."
I walked out onto the porch and looked up the hill. I could see them, bright colored lights, flashing unexpectedly in the sky.

I finished tying the Christmas tree to the roof of the Prius and headed back to the barn. Paul was hugging my brother and his wife.
"Bye, Uncle Jon," he said. "Bye, Aunt Amy."
"Bye, Paul," Amy said. "We'll see you at Christmas."
"Yeah! Christmas!"
"Thanks for everything, Jon," I said to my brother. "See you in a month, man."
"Hey. We'll be there."
I got into the car, and my wife pulled out of the driveway and started up the hill.
"So," she said,"Did you find what you were looking for?"
"Yeah," I said. "I think I did."
We got to the top of the hill, heading west.
"Didn't catch Bigfoot, though," she said.
I shrugged.
"Well," I said. "There's always next time."

Four Little Aliens

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel Of Death

I woke up with the air conditioner on and Lucy Lawless lying beside me.
Typical morning.
After a moment of digging around, I found my son curled up in the covers. My wife was away, and he'd been waking up in the night and coming to bed with me. He'd done it about three in the morning last night. And he'd brought along my limited-edition Lucy Lawless action figure, as she'd appeared on the Simpsons, which he'd been playing with the night before.
I let him sleep and headed for the shower. It wasn't the weirdest morning I'd ever had.
The coffee started while I was in the shower. We have one of those automatic timers, which may be the most useful technological advance of my lifetime. I pulled on my "I'd Rather Be Ghost Hunting" T-shirt, and I was on my third cup of coffee by the time my daughter arrived to watch the little guy. So I got my jacket, climbed on my bike, and went to work.

"Work" is generally the local public library, but as for what I do there, it's a little hard to describe.
I have no idea how to describe my career. When people ask what I do for a living, I usually stammer a little. I'm a librarian, tour guide, paranormal investigator, curator, writer, and historian. There's no term that sums all that up. "Ghost writer" is already taken.
I suppose I got lucky.
I grew up to get paid for all the stuff I dreamed of doing as a kid.

"I just read an article where people believe that America's leading UFO experts are being systematically murdered," I said to Tracey at the desk.
She frowned. "Oh, no."
"So if I don't come into work for a couple of days," I said,"Maybe just check on that."
Tracey smiled. I said,"Actually I don't think it's gonna happen, but just in case."
"I'll leave a note on the bulletin board. So what're you working on now?"
"I was asked to check into the angel statue up at Highland Cemetery. There's this huge angel sculpture up there, at the top, looking over it all. The Cemetery Association has no record of it being made or paid for, and yet, there it is. I'm looking into who might have created the thing."
The phone rang, and I picked it up. "Ross Library."
"I'm looking for Lou," said the voice on the other end.
"That would be me."
"You recently wrote about the Held shooting," said the voice. "This is his niece."

"You okay?" asked Zach as I stood by the shelf in the back room.
I nodded. "Thanks, man." Pretty clearly I looked upset. "I just got my first reaming over the Held piece."
Zach winced. "Oh, man. I'm sorry."
"Yeah. The guy who committed a mass shooting at the paper mill in 1967; I wrote about him in my column Saturday. Some of the relatives are upset about it. I tried to be as sensitive as possible, but the call I just got was mad." I shook my head. "Thing is, it was the fiftieth anniversary of the shooting. The Express was going to have someone write about it; there was no avoiding that. I figured better me than someone who wouldn't be gentle about it. But they're not happy."
"Sorry, Lou."
I shrugged. "It hurts some, it's disturbing, but it happens. It's not the first time I've gotten these calls, it won't be the last."

It was after eleven, and I was sitting in my haunted house watching BoJack Horseman. Don't judge me. It was the episode where BoJack goes hunting for his daughter's birth certificate, and gets all tangled up in paperwork at the county courthouse.
That's wrong. They can't make you fill out a million forms for this stuff; it's public information. They can't prevent you from getting it. and birth certificates aren't kept at the county level anyway; they're state documents. This whole episode is wrong.
I should check before making any claims, though. The show is set in California, and though courthouses tend to be uniform, maybe there was some discrepancy. I was halfway to my computer before I re-thought that.
You're really going to call California to debate an episode of BoJack Horseman?! Seriously, like you have nothing better to do?
What's really bothering you?
Instead, I walked back downstairs. I pulled on my jacket, and went out for a walk.

South Summit met Peach Street at a bend right by the parking lot. Currently, it was the lot of First Quality, but before about 2001, it had been Hammermill Paper. The site of the shooting. I was standing, late at night, looking out at the lot where it had all begun fifty years ago.
I looked through the fence at the lot. That was where it had all happened, before I'd even been born. Where one man had spent one morning changing peoples' lives, causing pain that would last half a century.
I was just doing my job, goddammit.
I sighed and walked back to the house.

"I got an angry call from the Held family," I said to my daughter in the kitchen.
"I'm not surprised," Tif said. "I still think you shouldn't have written that one."
"Someone had to."
"No, they didn't."
Tif was unpacking the groceries she'd brought up. My little boy, Paul, was darting from room to room and carrying his toys.
"It was the fiftieth anniversary," I said. "Someone was going to write about it."
"It didn't have to be you."
"I figured the Express would get someone else if I didn't do it," I said. "The Sun-Gazette and the CDT had people write about the incident, and that had nothing to do with me. And they were brutal; I figured at least I could be sensitive. I tried."
"But the family doesn't see it that way."
"No. They want it to just go away, which isn't going to happen. It's news, but I wanted to handle it right."

When I got to work, I started working on the angel statue. It was on the Kintzing plot, so clearly the request for it had come from someone in the Kintzing family. In the Pennsylvania Room, I pulled the cemetery index, and looked up the Kintzings.
They were actually buried all over the cemetery, but there were only about a dozen of them in that one plot. The first to be buried there had been Reese Kintzing, in 1940. He was a likely candidate to have ordered the thing, but I needed proof.
I looked up his obit, in June of 1940. I scanned through the microfilm---Of course it would be the last issue on the roll, at the very end of the film. I was hoping for something like "A fine angel sculpture was placed at the grave of Reese Kintzing, created by...." but that wasn't happening. The obit was barely anything at all, odd for such a prominent family.
I paced for a while.
"Looking for something, Lou?" Adam asked at the desk.
"Yeah, I'm trying to track down an angel statue, and I can't figure it out. How'd you know?"
"You always pace like that."
"Well, I'm stuck trying to figure out who made the thing. If I could find out exactly who paid for it...." I stopped and thought for a moment. "I need to look at wills."
I spent some time changing out October's displays, and putting up November. This meant I had to get all the ghost books and ghost-hunting equipment out of the display cases, put it away, and put out all the Indian weapons and artifacts. I have to stress that this was all work-related.
A pleasant-looking woman with glasses spotted me by the desk.
"You must be Lou," she said.
I nodded. "You're the new boss."
We shook hands. The Director was retiring, and this was the first day I'd gotten to meet New Boss, who would be taking over fully in January.
"You're the ghost hunter," she said.
I grinned. "That's me."
"Well, I'm looking forward to hearing more about that."
"You'll get your chance," I said. "If there's anything you need from me, let me know."

"How much you guys want for copies?" I asked the Register and Recorder in the courthouse.
She waved her hand dismissively. "For you? Nothing. Take them."
"You realize you're just driving up everyone's taxes."
She grinned. "We're pretty self-sufficient."
"Well, that would make one government office that is."
 "I liked that piece you wrote about Pat Tyson, and her investigations. She spent a lot of time searching for things in here." I'd recently written about Pat; earlier in the month I'd found a file Pat had left behind, with pages of handwritten information on local paranormal legends. I'd looked into a local witch story, and gotten a pretty good column out of it.
"Oh, thanks," I said. "Yeah, that was a fun one. I loved Pat."
"We all loved her."
I went back to the records room, lined with deeds and other documents. A moment later I came out. "If I ask about Will Book M, am I gonna get some story about how it perished in the seventy-two flood?"
"It's in the back room, on the microfilm."
I went back, got the film, and put it into the machine. I found the will and all the estate documents of Reese Kintzing, the first member of the family buried in the plot with the angel.

"Still need to investigate a little more," I told Tif. "But I can make a pretty good case that Reese Kintzing was responsible for having the angel built."
We were upstairs, in my home office. Tif was on my computer, and Paul was running around playing with his toys. I said,"I pulled his will at the courthouse. Now, Reese was the head of the household, and it's logical he'd have been the guy who ordered up the angel sculpture. Now, it would make sense that they'd have used some company that they're already familiar with, that they have some sort of in with. Right?"
"That would make sense," said Tif.
"Reese Kintzing owned four shares in the Lock Haven Mausoleum Company."
"Ah," said Tif. "That sounds logical."
"It's circumstantial," I said. "But Lock Haven Mausoleum sounds like a good possibility."
"More than that," said Tif. "It sounds like a fair bet."

"Call on line one for you," said Sue. "At least, I assume it's you. The guys wanted to talk to the paranormal investigator."
"Thanks, Sue," I said. I picked up on the line.
A few minutes later, she came back to my desk. "Felt like messing with you. Anything good?"
"Not so much my thing," I said. "He felt there was something paranormal going on because there is a higher than usual number of rabbits in his yard. I don't see anything paranormal in that."
"No....I don't know much about animals, but I don't think that's due to ghosts."
"I've checked on the angel up at Highland Cemetery," I said. "Looks like it was created by the Lock Haven Mausoleum Company, and probably in the 1920s. That was when Reese Kintzing's son George died, and it's a safe bet that the angel was created then. The Mausoleum Company was at 313 Vesper Street, and it's a reasonable theory that they're the ones who made the angel."
"Well, awesome."
"I even found an article form 1926 where they'd had an especially hard winter. The ground was all frozen, and to do burials in March, they actually had to use dynamite."
"No way!"
"Seriously. Now I get to report back to the Highland Cemetery Association on where the angel came from. And I'm gonna ask for some dynamite."
I sat down at my desk and checked my e-mail. I had coffee in my Bigfoot mug. I signed into my e-mail account and looked it over.
There was a note from the daughter of Pat Tyson.
I read the e-mail.

Dear Lou - Thank you so very much for the article in today's Express. Once again you outdid yourself; reading it brought a tear to my eye. My mom was always very proud of you, and I can't tell you how many times she would ask "Did you read Lou's story today?"  Thank you for remembering her, it means a great deal to think that others still hold happy memories, not to mention that she would be trilled to be on the front page again after all these years. Thank you again.

I smiled.

It made me feel a little better.