Airplane Mode

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daydream On Elm Street

"You can tell it's graduation in a college town," said Zach. "I passed three different parties on my way back from lunch. They're all busy getting drunk at...." He looked at his phone. "Three-thirty in the afternoon."
"Hope they don't trash the places too badly," I said. "A lot of the college kids live in historic homes that have been sectioned off for rental. I've done investigations in some of them."
"I could have gotten free drinks on my break if I'd wanted," said Zach.
"Yeah, I could go for that," I said. "I've been looking into one of the old houses up on Fairview Street. Belonged to one of the old bootleggers, and I'm working on a column about it. I'd love to get some more information about it, maybe some photos."
"You could always just ask," Zach suggested. "Most of the college kids are pretty open."
"I suppose," I said. "Most of the college kids don't have any understanding of the history of their places, though. What I'd need to do is get inside somehow, and sneak around."
After work, I stood on the sidewalk on Fairview Street, looking at the house. The kids inside were having a party, and the music was blasting. I put my hands in my pockets for a minute, looking things over.
Five minutes later, I was inside.
"PARTY!" I shouted, holding up a beer. "Hey, what year was this place built, anyway?"

I was standing at the grocery store, buying milk and chocolate sauce. Now that Paul had learned to love chocolate milk, we always needed milk and chocolate sauce.
"Hey, Lou," said Juli, one of the local cashiers. They all knew me. "I just moved into a new place, and I was wondering about it. One of the neighbors told me someone drowned a baby in the tub?"
I frowned. "I doubt it, Juli. I'll look into it, but I think I'd know."
"Well, good. I'm just as happy if nobody murdered a baby."
One of the other cashiers, a newer girl, looked at me. "How would you know?"
I laughed. "It's what I do. I'm a paranormal investigator and a history writer. That's the kind of thing that would have stuck in my memory."
"Oh, really? Cool."
"If your place is haunted, Lou is the one you want to talk to," said Juli.
"I'll check into it for you," I said. "See what I can find out."

It was a rainy morning. I was going to do some writing, make some groundbreaking discoveries, and change history as we know it.
But first, coffee.
"Tell me there's coffee," I said to Barb at the desk.
"Not yet," she said. "I've been busy."
"I'll make some."
I started the coffee, and then took a cup to my desk in my Bigfoot mug. Sitting down, I began to write a column about the Tiadaghton Elm. I went and got one of our history books for reference, paging through, and I noticed a notation that information had come from an article in the Clinton Democrat on July 12, 1918.
It was a slow morning, so my coffee and I went to look at the article. I inserted it into the machine and fast-forwarded it with one hand while I drank coffee with the other. I found the article in about two minutes, because if I wasn't good at this, I'd have to find a real job.
It was on page four. I printed off a copy, and read through it. And then I saw something that made me almost spill the coffee on my Roswell: Green Since 1947 T-shirt.
"Holy...."

"The Tiadaghton Elm," I said. "Everyone knows this story. On July 4, 1776, a group of local men called the Fair Play Men gathered under the Tiadaghton Elm in Pine Creek, to sign a Declaration of Independence. They didn't know that the Founding Fathers were signing one in Philadelphia on the same day. They sent their document out to be delivered, but were told that one had already been sent. So they came back here, and buried their Declaration somewhere on or near the grounds of the fort where they lived."
Kara sat across from me in my office at the Piper Museum. I said,"I've looked into finding the document---It may actually be in a grave. But look at this---In July of 1918, there was a big ceremony under the tree to commemorate the signing. In this article, down here, they mention that a committee figured out that the document was signed under the Tiadaghton Elm----Before 1918, they say, nobody knew the location and it was all word of mouth."
Kara studied the article. "Okay, that's interesting. I never realized that."
"It's about to get a bit more interesting. Turns out, the committee included local man John Chatham, who I know to be a notorious bullshitter. He's the guy who caused the Widow Smith debacle a few months back---Chatham had no problem making up a story, or embellishing it."
Kara was looking at the article. "So you think he did that here?"
"I'm starting to think it's likely. I checked for mentions of the Tiadaghton Elm before 1918. There's nothing. Linn doesn't mention it, Meginness doesn't mention it. No newspapers. Nobody ever brings up the Elm previous to a hundred years ago."
"Where do the others say it happened?"
"They're vague---All they mention is the plains of Pine Creek. Which could be practically anywhere in that neighborhood. But wait...." I flipped through my photocopies and brought one out. "I did find a 1914 article that mentions all the old stories handed down orally, and talks about it happening in a schoolhouse."
"That would make sense," admitted Kara. "Given that they were actually committing treason, they wouldn't have wanted to do it out in the open."
"True. And I checked the 1862 map. I did find a schoolhouse, no longer there, about half a mile west of the elm site. That's most likely the place where the signing took place---The elm had nothing to do with it. I'm meeting with some of my contacts from the Jersey Shore Historical Society on Thursday, and they're gonna see what information they have."
Kara looked at me. Her eyes lit up. "Do you realize what this means?"
I nodded. "It's like twelve years ago, when I discovered the location of Fort Reed wasn't where everyone thought it was. This is groundbreaking. We're changing history here."

Slow day. I was on desk. I did what I always do on desk; I looked into an old mystery. I wonder what it's like to work at the grocery store.
I dug into Juli's house a bit. It appeared on the Sanborn maps as far back as 1901, so I went back and checked on the 1862 map. A smaller variety of the house was there; it had clearly had some work done. I grabbed the city directories.
City directories are awesome; they're like a reverse phone book showing who lived in what house. I checked Juli's. The earliest family I could find were the Van Dykes and Kaufmans, an extended family who'd shared the property. A quick check of the obit indexes showed me that the families were big in the hardware industry in Lock Haven.
I ran through the directories, and found nothing to suggest that the baby story had actually happened. Sometimes rumors just get started; I don't know how. It would make Juli happy.
This may be setting the bar really low. But it's always a good day when you don't discover a dead baby.

"So where was the school?" Tina asked. Tina is one of my contacts with the Jersey Shore Historical Society, and we'd held some good events together in the past. She'd dropped by the library to see what I had, and I'd shown her my articles and photocopies.
"Right....Here." I pointed to the 1862 map, which had the small black mark labelled School. "It's at this intersection. The school no longer stands, but you can still find the spot."
"Is the intersection still there?"
"Oh, yeah, it's the corner of, what, Tiadaghton Avenue and Old River Road. it's about a half mile from the old elm site."
Tina shook her head. "Remarkable. And there's no mention of the elm before 1918?"
"Nothing. I checked everything I could find."
"What does Meginness say?"
I pulled out a copy. "This one's Meginness. He says it was on the plains of Pine Creek, which could have been anywhere in the neighborhood."
"You know, I always wondered why the blue marker for the elm was way out on 220."
"I'd bet that PHMC was a little dubious on the evidence, too. I've seen this before. About twelve years ago, I found out that Fort Reed wasn't where people thought it was, either. I was able to place it a few blocks to the east of where everyone assumed. I got hate mail over that. You'll notice the blue marker for Fort Reed is way the hell on the other end of town, too, for the same reason."
"You're gonna get hate mail over this, too," said Tina. "What's your next step?"
"I'd love to make this into some sort of program for the society," I said. "A speech or something. And I'll be writing it up for the papers. I'll keep you updated."

"Tell me where," said Kara.
"Up ahead is the elm site," I said. "See, where the bridge---"
"I know where the elm site is. You took me there once. Where's the school?"
"Well, where was the school," I said. "There's not even the foundation anymore. This is all farmland, it's been plowed over like a million times. Turn around."
"You spoke to the Jersey Shore Historical Society?"
I nodded. "The Jersey Shore Historical Society has the most to lose here. They hold events, they promote this thing. They're the most heavily invested in the Tiadaghton Elm, and they're okay with it."
Kara slowed down and spun her car around, heading back the way we'd come. We drove back toward the intersection, and I said,"Here's the place."
"On that side?"
"Yep. On this side."
Kara slowed down, and we looked over the field. There was nothing to see there anymore, but based on the map, I knew where the spot was.
"I figure it's within twelve feet or so," I said. "This is where the school house was. This is where they made history."

"Hi, Lou," said Laukeshia, coming in the door to the library. "I'm here for a meeting tonight?"
"Oh, yeah," I said. "Third floor. Go on up."
"By the way," she said,"I forgot to e-mail you. Your article on the Giwoggle was great---We got more hits on that than any other piece on our website. Nice job."
I smiled. "Thanks, Laukeshia. I have a few other things in mind."
"Looking forward to it."
She walked upstairs. I turned and walked back to my office.
I sat down at my desk, and began typing.
Let the hate mail commence.

Truly Madly Creepily

"Daddy? You can sing me a song?"
Bedtime is an ordeal in a lot of households. In mine, it's not any easier---It's like my kid isn't used to sleeping in a haunted house or something.
Three-year-old Paul Matthew, my son, was lying in his bed. I was sitting on the bed beside him, in the dark. Our house is haunted by a 1905 teenaged suicide, but I'm used to that. I'm a ghost-hunter.
"Sure, I can sing to you, little man. But first, tell me what we learned today."
"Never play wif Daddy's fire starters."
"That's right. Now, how about one that I used to sing you when you were a little baby?"
"Okay," agreed Paul.
I took a breath and started to sing.

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word,

Daddy's gonna find you a thunderbird.

And if that thunderbird won't sing,

Daddy's gonna find you Shoemaker's magic ring."

I'm a paranormal investigator, writer, historian, librarian, and curator. When we'd adopted my boy, I'd begun singing him this one, filled with local history and paranormal details. Specifically written for my son.

"And if that magic ring turns brass,

Daddy's gonna find you Jefferis's looking glass.

And if that looking glass gets broke, 

Daddy's gonna find you Nell Burrows's goat.

And if that Burrows goat should dally,

Daddy's gonna find you a dog named Sallie."

All things I've researched and written about in my city. Details upon request.

"And if that Sallie dog won't bark,

Daddy's gonna find you a horse and cart.

And if that horse and cart falls down,

You're still the most famous baby in town.

Hush, little baby, don't you cry,

Daddy's gonna write you a lullaby."

I looked down at my son. His eyes were closed; he was asleep.

I stood in the store, looking over a black vest with a lot of pockets on it. Perfect for ghost hunting. If you can't get adventure wear indestructible, you'd better learn to get it cheap.
"Hi, Lou. I liked your column."
I looked up. It was someone I knew. "Oh, hi, Kim, God, which one? I write so many."
"I read them all. I liked the one about the two guys who captured a bear in 1909, The Bear Facts."
"Oh, yeah, I got one coming up where I bitch for eight hundred words about the Underground Railroad."
Kim laughed. "What inspired that?"
"Someone finally asked me the wrong question one too many times."
"Been asked much about Burger King, since they're rebuilding up there? I've been told it's haunted."
"No kidding?"
"That's what the employees have said. I'm a little surprised nobody's asked you about it."
"Maybe someone has now. I been kind of at loose ends lately; it's been a little slow. I'm kind of intrigued. I'll look into it."

"Okay, I'm here to take the desk."
Barb handed me the key. "Bill turned the heat off. You want me to leave the space heater?"
"I think you'd better," I said. "It's pretty chilly back at my desk, too."
"It's like a tomb in here," said Barb.
"I've explored some tombs way warmer than this."
"Nice shirt," she said. "Study History: Realize people have been this stupid for thousands of years."
"It's new."
Mel was walking by with a cup of coffee. "What the hell book were you discussing in your book club this morning? I could hear you guys shouting at each other through the floor."
"Oh, that. We got into an argument about the location of the old Mann Axe Factory. I said it was near Mill Hall, along present-day Route 64, and some of the members disagreed. So I went to get the 1862 map, and then they said it probably wasn't the right name of the axe factory. So I went and got one of our Mann axes out of the collection in the attic and showed it to them, and we passed it around the table."
"You brought an axe into your book club?" Barb asked.
"Things escalated quickly."
I went back to my desk and sat down. The local newspaper was on the rack by my desk, and I picked it up and skimmed through it, mostly just looking for my name. I drank some coffee out of my Bigfoot coffee mug. and looked at the police news on page two.

"We need to get those J-4 plans sorted and organized," I told Kara.We were in the conference room at the Piper Museum. I had old airplane plans spread out on the table, and Kara was looking through them. I looked at a stack of papers on the table. "Look at this. That asshole Greg left the place a mess again."
"Who?"
"He's a volunteer who comes in sometimes. Some kind of professor. He's never actually had any practical field experience, but thinks he knows better than anyone else. Drives me nuts. We're having a vote about putting him on the board."
"Sorry to hear that," she said.
"Ah, well. I been looking for an arch enemy lately. Every super-hero has one; I've considered putting an ad in the personals. Oh, and maybe the Mad Gasser has struck Lock Haven."
She looked up. "What?"
"I never mentioned the Mad Gasser?"
"Not that I remember."
"Old legend. Weird kind of guy, often mentioned in the same breath as the Jersey Devil, who struck Mattoon, Illinois decades ago. Was said to have a weird silver costume and pumped gas into peoples' homes, giving them headaches. He struck Pennsylvania in the forties, down near Philadelphia."
"Weird," she admitted. "Why do you think he struck here?"
"Noticed it in the newspaper the other day. Not far from here, on Main Street, someone was breaking into a car around two in the morning. He had a silver hoodie on, and the owners of the house woke up with headaches and reported a weird smell. It fits the profile."
Kara smiled. "The Mad Gasser, huh? I dig it."
"Seriously, look it up. I been a little bored lately; maybe I'll look into it."

The house where the possible Mad Gasser sighting had occurred was on the east end, near Piper. I didn't know the actual address, but I took a detour on the way home. It's this sort of attention to detail that sets me above all the other librarian-paranormal-curator-writers.
I didn't see anything obvious. No damaged properties, no aboveground gas lines. Nothing that could immediately explain a funny smell.
You can't always catch a break. Some days would make Reverend Joseph Nesbitt kick a baby.

"Lou," said Zach,"Are you the one who's been filling up my recycling bin with soda cans?"
"Those could be anybody's Yeti brand sodas," I said.
He rolled his eyes. "Very funny."
The library door opened, and Greg came in. Great. He nodded at me, and I tried to look civil.
"Hello, Lou," he said.
"Greg."
"I just came in to grade  a few papers. You know, end of the semester and my class is important. Is it okay if I use the Pennsylvania Room?"
"Sure. It's a public library."
In the best of all possible worlds, I'd be able to prove that this asshole was the Mad Gasser.
"It's been busy," he said. "I've had students e-mailing me and asking for extensions or bonus work." He shook his head. "I can't believe students do that. I never had the guts to ask my professors for a grade I hadn't earned when I was in college."
I nodded, trying to look busy.
"I mean, did you?" he asked.
"I never asked for extra credit," I said,"But I never really gave a crap about my grades, either."
He nodded slowly. Like a professor does. "And why was that?"
"Because I started volunteering as a teen," I said. "I was actually doing the job before I even got to college, which gave me much more experience than my professors. So who the hell are they to tell me how to do the job? They'd never done it, and I had."
I walked back to my desk, opened a Yeti brand soda, and got to work.
First I took the name of the victims, and checked it against the city directory. The address hadn't been in the newspaper, but I was able to look it up in a couple of minutes. I took one of the tourist maps of Lock Haven, unfolded it on top of the shelves with all the marriage certificates, and made a mark on Main Street where the house was. I used a red marker.
Then I got a blue marker, and marked up all the potential spots where a headache-inducing smell could have come from. Gas companies, trash companies, the sewage treatment plant. My map, which already had a yellow line around the historic district, was beginning to look pretty festive, considering the subject matter.
The next part was going to be a little tricky.
I pulled the newspaper from the day in question, which was stacked on a shelf by my desk anyway. The weather listed the speed of the wind, but not the direction, which was what I needed. I sat down at my desk and considered it as I drank some more Yeti soda.
Then I called President John at the museum.
"Hey, John? It's Lou. This is something I figure pilots and people in airlines would know. I need to know if there's anyplace I can get past weather reports that include wind direction."
"Oh, sure, there's a bunch of good websites for that. Just a second, I'll e-mail you a couple."
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
"Okay, sending now."
"Thanks a lot, John. I'll be in on Monday to work on the Tri-Pacer acquisition."
I gave it a minute, drinking more Yeti soda and reading a few pages of the new Batman.  I'm not doing product placement here, it's just that the Yeti soda is really good stuff. Then I logged into my e-mail and tried the first link that John had sent.
On the night in question, the wind had been blowing north-northwest. I checked my map. That put it at exactly the right direction to have been coming from the sewage treatment plant on the southeast end of Lock Haven.
The next part was going to require a few more questions.

About fifty people gathered at the Station Gallery for the big preview of the TV show featuring Lock Haven. I worked my way through the crowd, finding Maria, our city planner.
"Hi, Lou!"
"Hi, Maria. Can you answer a question?"
"Sure."
"No big thing, most curiosity. Was there a problem at the sewer department Monday night?"
"Well, jesus christ, Lou, you know I don't run the whole city government, right? I'm just back in my own little corner."
"Sure, but you're the only friend I got at City Hall."
"The mayor thinks you're great."
"That's mutual, but I've known you longer. I figured you'd know who to ask."
"You want me to find out?"
"Only if it comes up organically."
"Let me make a couple of calls."
Five minutes later, she got off her phone and turned back to me.
"The answer is yes---There was a backup of some sort. I called Water and Sewer. Do you need details?"
"Nah, that's what I needed to know. Thanks, Maria."
"Is this going to be in the newspapers?"
"Probably not....It's not as dramatic as I thought it was."

"So, my Mad Gasser sighting wasn't the actual Mad Gasser after all," I said to Kara. "It was a minor crime that accidentally coordinated with a sewage problem. Just enough to look like the Mad Gasser, at least to me."
"So you solved a mystery that goes back for decades," said Kara. We were upstairs in the Sloan Room, with the Teen Paranormal kids arriving.
"Well, I don't know that I solved the whole thing," I said. "I'm not sure that's the explanation for everything since the 1940s. Only this one incident."
"Close enough," Kara said. "What's next?"
"Well, I did hear a rumor about a haunting at the Burger King."
"Seriously? The one they're renovating?"
"Yeah, in Flemington. Maybe I'll look into it, see what I can find out. I could get a column out of it."
"Yeah? What're you gonna call this one?"
"I don't know. 'Have It Your Wraith'?"
She laughed. "Why not?"
"What's the lesson tonight?" asked Aubrey.
"Spontaneous human combustion," I said. "We're going to learn how to investigate...."
"Like when someone explodes?" she asked.
I nodded. "More or less."
"Cool!"
"I have some chemistry stuff here to show you how to run a test," I said. "Glad to see you guys. Let's get to work."

Regional Treasure

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grave New World

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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."