Cryptid Summer: The Yurt Locker

I put the cover on the rice, the gave the chicken a stir. Tif sat at the kitchen table, watching me cook.

"What's for dinner?" she asked.

"Pre-assembled chicken and vegetable bowls," I said. "Tracey got a book in with all sorts of bowl recipes, and it inspired me."

"Smells good. What's that sauce?"

"That's just garlic salt and oil. Did I tell you I'm getting a new editor with the Pennsylvania Wilds?"

"No. LaKeshia get tired of dealing with you?"

"She got a promotion. The new editor is named Hannah. She never responds to my e-mails, and barely communicates with me at all. I love her. She's great."

Tif laughed. "You'd rather be unsupervised."

"I tend to work best with minimal feedback."

"So when's dinner?"

"Hey, I'm working on a piece about UFOs in Jefferson County. My article on Bigfoot sightings in Bald Eagle State Park got over two hundred shares. Did I tell you about the newsletter I got with the Bigfoot tracks in Michaux State Park?"

"You get Bigfoot newsletters?"

"Also UFOs. Have to stay current."

"So there were tracks....?"

"Judging by the photos included, obvious fakes."

"How can you tell?" Tif asked.

"Bipedal creatures roll their feet as they walk. The toes and heels are deeper, and the middle is all mushy. These are too deep and clear. Let me show you." I picked up my work tablet. I hate tablets, but during COVID, I've gotten used to the one the library assigned me. I signed in and brought up the e-mail.

"I want to see," said Paul. I sat down and put him on my lap.

"Here. See how all the prints are very clear, and uniform depth? It's exactly what you'd get with a fake foot on a stick pressed into the ground. It's a fake, and not even a good one. Come on, hoaxers. Take a little pride in your work." I got up and stirred the vegetables. "Speaking of Bald Eagle State Park, your mother booked us a yurt for June."

"A yurt?...."

"It's a little like a wikiup, only bigger----"

"I know what a goddamn yurt is. You guys are going camping?"

"All of us. It's handicap accessible."

Tif looked the park up on her tablet. "Huh. That does look accessible. It's paved, so I can bring my wheelchair."

"Also there have been Bigfoot sightings. So, you know, there's my weekend."

"Stop at the main office, hon," I told my wife from the backseat. "Who wants a map?"

"Why would we need a map?" Michelle asked.

"Why would you not? Does nobody want to know how to get around?"

"I can't read a map," said Tif.

"I'll teach you."

"I can't, either," admitted Biz.

"You served in the military!"

"Military maps are different."

"I'll take a map, Daddy," said Paul.

I went into the main office and got five maps.

We drove to the yurt. I unlocked it, and we went in. It was a big, round thing with a partition in the middle. The kids fanned out a bit to explore.

"This place is bigger than my apartment," said Biz.

We let Rosie off the leash, and she ran around, sniffing everything. I walked into one of the bedrooms and dropped my pack on the top bunk. Paul said,"When we're unpacked, I want to go swimming!"

"Thought I might walk around some," I said. "I'll take Rosie and look for Bigfoot."

"I'll go along," said Biz.

"I might come, too," said Tif. "I have a fitbit, and I'm trying to get more exercise."

"I'll start a fire later," I said. "I got hot dogs for dinner. Let me bring all the stuff in."

I slung the khaki green pouch over my shoulder as we left the yurt. "Got my cryptozoology kit on me. Let's go walking."

"You have a cryptozoology kit?" Tif asked with some amusement.

"Got a kit for everything. I have different equipment in different rigs, depending on what I'm going to be investigating. UFOs, buried treasure...."

Halfway down the loop path, Tif paused on her crutches and breathed. "Gotta stop, guys. I'll wait here at the picnic table and meet up with you on the way back. You guys go on ahead."

"You sure?" I asked. "We're not in any big hurry." Aside from Rosie, who pulls hard on the leash anywhere she goes.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I can meditate while I wait."

"Okay. Catch you on the way back."

Biz and I walked down the path to the trailhead. I said,"Here we go, the footbridge path."

"How far to the footbridge?" asked Biz.

"I think we can practically see it from here. Did I tell you I got a new rifle microphone?"

"I don't think so. What's a rifle microphone?"

"It looks kind or like a ray gun with a radar dish on the front. You can use it to listen for things at a distance. I plan to use it for Bigfoot."

"Still not hunting ghosts?"

"Not at the moment." Rosie was sniffing everything she walked past; a lot of this was new to her.

"Hey! Guys!" It was Tif, calling from the trailhead. "Stay where you are! I'm coming down!"

Biz and I paused on the path and waited for Tif to come down on her crutches. "Oh," she said, looking at the path. "It's gravel."

"You made it down," I commented.

"I decided palsy could kiss my fat ass," said Tif. "I want to see the footbridge."

"Well, it's right around the corner."

We walked down the trail and turned, and there it was---The footbridge. It was made of a hundred feet of wood, stretching across the lake. 

"It looks like it's going to fall down any minute," said Tif.

"It looks like something from Middle Earth!" said Biz. "I could picture Hobbits living here."

"It's solid," I said. "Come on, let's walk out on it."

It was about one-thirty in the morning when I heard the yurt door open and close. A moment later, I heard it again. When I'd gone to sleep, Tif and Biz were still up talking, and Paul had changed his mind about his sleeping location maybe twenty times. He'd wanted the top bunk, but Rosie didn't like it. She'd actually jumped off, because the puppy has no sense of survival. Paul had bounced around for a while, finally passing out in the main room with the girls, with Rosie sleeping on the floor.

I decided I'd better get up and check what was going on. I love my daughters, and they're competent, independent women. And then every once in a while one of them forgets to not shower with a cell phone or something. Wearing my Lake Erie Monster pajamas, I climbed off the bunk.

I found Biz outside with Rosie. She said,"Tif went down to the bathrooms. I thought I'd better bring Rosie out."

I nodded. "What time did Paul pass out?"
"Maybe eleven or so. Rosie's been up and down."

"They're both all excited as hell."

"I should go check on Tif. Hold Rosie?"

I took Rosie's leash and waited as Biz walked down the path. It was a nice night; it had cooled down and things were pleasant. I could see Tif coming up the path, Biz going down to meet her. Something made a sound in the woods nearby, and I saw Biz turn with her light.

"Yeah," I called out to her. "I heard it, too."

"Bigfoot, Daddy," Tif commented as she approached.

"Sounded awfully small for Bigfoot."

"A child Bigfoot."

"Probably a raccoon or a possum." I looked up at the sky. "Can you guys see the Big Dipper? Who can tell me which way north is?"

Both of them turned and pointed in opposite directions, both wrong. I said,"It's that way. You follow the two stars at the end of the cup, and they point to the North Star."

"Oh," said Tif. "I thought it was the handle."
"I'll see you two in the morning."

Breakfast was scrambled eggs and hash, all of which Biz slept through. Rosie got all the leftovers, the spoiled little thing. As we finished up, Michelle said,"I just have to make two calls for work, and then we can make a run for supplies."

"Think I'll take a walk while you do that," I said. "There's an overpass I want to check out."

"Is Bigfoot by the overpass?" Tif asked.

"It's possible. Cryptids love overpasses. The Virginia Bunnyman does nothing all day but hang around overpasses."

"Take your map," Michelle said.

Leaving the yurt, I walked west. (I know which way west is.) I found the Shrike Trail, which looked about right. Checking the map as I went, I walked up and over the hill, and in about twenty minutes, I found the overpass. I walked down and headed under.

As I went under, there was a very strong, distinct smell. I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. The closest I can come to describing it is the beach, when there's a lot of dead stuff washed up in the sun. I was intrigued; Bigfoot has been described as having a smell. Though I'd never heard it described as a bucket of dead clams.

I walked under the overpass and a little further up, then turned around and came back. As I passed through on the return trip, the scent was gone.

I noticed it again a short way back up the Shrike Trail. I stopped and glanced around---The smell was right where a line of damaged grass led into the thick woods, as if a large animal had pushed its way in and stomped all the grass flat on the way. I looked for prints, but didn't find any---Too much grass. It could have been an especially unhygienic deer, but I took some photos anyway. You never know.

"Daddy? I'm bored."
Paul had been running around with Rosie ever since dinner, and I was a little amazed that either of them was still standing in the heat. I said,"Well, what would you like to do?"
"I want to hang out in the yurt with my sisters, but they want to stay outside."

"Well, it's pretty hot in here," I admitted. "Tell you what....I know what we can do. You want to take a walk with me?"

He shook his head. "I don't feel like it."

"Then how about this?" I got out a solid briefcase, and opened it up. Inside was the rifle microphone, my night-vision binoculars, and two comlinks. I turned them both on and handed one to Paul.

"You press this button to talk. Hold it in. Now, I'm gonna go on my walk, but we can stay in touch. Sound good?"

"Yeah!" He pressed the button, and his voice came from across the room, ten feet away. "I love you, Daddy."

"Love you too, buddy. I'll be back soon."

I left the yurt. This time, I went down and around the loop until I saw the small amphitheater---The trailhead was behind it. Paul's voice came across. "How's it going, Daddy?"

"So far, so good. I found the trailhead. It's behind a little amphitheater---That's a small stage out here in the woods."
"Cool, cool."

I walked down the Swamp Oak Trail. It wasn't long before I stumbled on the reason for the name. I hit the button. "Still with me, kid?"

"Ten-four, good buddy."

Clearly he'd gone out to sit with Tif and Biz, and was now being coached. "I just found a giant tree. It's a really, really big oak tree. I mean, it's huge."

"Cool!"

"Ask Sissy if she wants a crow feather."

"Sissy says yes."

I picked up a black feather and put it in the crypto kit. The trail moved through the swamp, and then rose up the hill. I followed it up.

I heard something, not too far off, making noise in the woods. I couldn't see it, but I could hear it clearly, rustling off the path.

"There's something else out here with me," I said. "I can hear some sort of animal."

"A Bigfoot?"

"Maybe."

"Sissy says don't get eaten."

The trail went up and turned, moving northeast across the hill. I walked it, casually, still hearing the sounds from the forest.

"Whatever it is, it's still with me."

"Roger!"

After a while, the trail turned northwest and went downhill. It was coming back to the footbridge. I hit the button.

"Inbound on the footbridge, kid. I'm not too far from home now; I'll be arriving in a few minutes."

"Okay. I love you, Daddy."

"I love you, too, buddy."

"You can run ahead, if you like," Tif said as we walked up the path.

"Nah, I got nowhere to be." We were walking back up toward the yurt. The sun had gone down. "Great trip."

"Yeah, it was a fun one," said Tif. "I can't believe I did seven thousand steps yesterday."
"You basically went hiking. You're doing really well, for you."

There was a sound---A thump, almost like a drum beat, from off in the woods. I glanced at Tif. "Did you hear that?"

"It sounds like a turkey," she said.

"Turkeys play the drums?"

"The male ones make noises like that. We had them at my grandmother's house when I was little."
We walked back to the yurt. Michelle was reading a book. Paul was eating some cheese curls, and Rosie was keeping a close eye on both him and Biz, who had the graham crackers. "Sit," said Paul. Rosie sat, and got a cheese curl.

Tif sat down. I sat at the kitchen table and got a glass of water. The heat had dropped, but I was still sweating some. I said,"Tomorrow I figure I'll make the rest of the eggs and hash for breakfast. Everyone eat all the groceries. I don't want to repack them in the morning."

From outside, there was the gobbling sound a turkey makes, in the distance. Tif said,"You hear that, Dad?"
I nodded. "It's wild turkeys, allright. That's from roughly the direction of the overpass I saw earlier."

"They're angry," Tif said. "Something's attacking them. A lone coyote?"
"Maybe Bigfoot," suggested Biz.

"Why the hell am I just sitting here?" I got up and opened the briefcase.

"The rifle microphone," Tif said.

I snapped the pieces together. "Let's see what I can hear out there."

Paul picked up the might-vision binoculars. "I'm going with you."

We left the yurt and stood in front of it, looking west. I put the headphones on and aimed the microphone, picking up sounds in the distance. Beside me, I saw Paul press the button that turned the green laser night vision on the binoculars.

"I don't see anything," he said. "Just trees."

"I can hear the turkeys, but nothing else. Can't tell what's hunting them."
"Maybe Bigfoot."

"Maybe," I said.

I felt his little hand slip into mine. "Wait until I tell my friends back home, Daddy," he said. "I'm having fun."
I held his hand.

"Me, too," I said.

Cryptid Summer: Release The Hound

Jeremiah Church founded Lock Haven. He also founded two other towns, plus Clinton County, traveled the country, and raised a daughter. He accomplished all this because he was smart enough to avoid staff meetings.

"We're reopening in June," said the Boss. "Now that the mask mandate has been lifted and staff is almost fully vaccinated, the board is discussing a full reopening."

I was sitting at the table between Tracey and Barb, my folder in front of me with the UFO stickers on it. I'd been scribbling notes, but they were mostly about Bigfoot, so I almost missed it when the Boss said,"Lou, do you have anything?"

"Well, scavenger hunt upcoming," I said. "And I'm bringing back the tours this summer. I'm excited about that. With the summer reading theme being animals, I have some good stuff coming up, but I'll get to that later."

"Oh, come on," said Mel. "Don't leave us hanging! Give us a few details."

"Yeah, Lou, don't be a tease," said Jim.

I laughed. "Okay, fair enough. I have a couple of animal photo shows, and a class on how to investigate cryptids. I asked the Boss if, for our purposes, cryptids count as animals, and she agreed. I assume she actually listened to the question. So I'll be teaching how to investigate monsters. A summer of cryptids."

"Oh, that's cool," said Mel.

"I'm also planning some bird watching, and I'm working on an event involving the water creature in the Susquehanna," I said. "But I'm not quite there yet."

I did what I always do after a staff meeting. I walked down the main stairs one floor, and then disappeared into the old section of the building. Once an old house, it was full of winding halls and odd staircases. One of these deposited me in my office, right behind my desk.

Which had a stack of yearbooks on it, old ones from Lock Haven High. They hadn't been there when I'd arrived an hour ago, so I followed procedure and shouted,"Okay, who put the yearbooks on my desk?"
"That was me," said Jayne, who was shelving over in large print. "Someone came in and donated them. I thought you might need them."

"I'll check and see what we already have," I said.

I walked back to the circulation area, where Tracey was hard at work doing something. I don't pretend to understand what it is Tracey does. I checked the yearbook shelves, and I was pleasantly surprised to find out that we were missing a couple of the ones that had been donated. I filed them on the shelf.

Taking the other two, I walked back out to Jayne. "Good news. We needed two of those; we didn't have Forty-Nine and Fifty-Two. I'm taking the others to the attic as spares."

"Have fun."

I love the library's attic. It's a hundred and thirty-four years old, and looks about that old. It's got all the unused and spare stuff we have stored in there someplace, including a ton of books and files that don't work in the Pennsylvania Room. I added the remaining yearbooks to the stack.

The shelf of Keystone Folklore Quarterly magazines caught my eye, and I pulled a couple down to look at. What the hell, I wasn't all that busy today.

I paged through. Keystone Folklore Quarterly is an old magazine dedicated to old legends; I'd gotten some good stuff out of there before. I found an entire issue devoted to stories from an African-American family descended from escaped slaves. They had some good ghost stuff in there, some interesting old mythical stuff. I read one where a man named Thomas Wood had been buried in a cemetery, and his spirit had turned into a dog to roam the place.

That actually sounded local. Some of the details seemed to match up. I took the magazine downstairs.

I checked the index card for for a Thomas Wood. There was one who had died in the late 1800s, buried in Drury's Run. I pulled the Chapman Township cemetery index and found him---Section Five.

Huh. A graveyard dog.

I've always wanted one of those.

I went downstairs and checked my cell phone. There was a sixty-second message I listened to. Zach was on desk.

"You'll never guess who I just got a message from," I said.

"Who?"

"You remember a couple of years ago, this insane drunk woman came in with a bunch of photos of ghosts and UFOs she wanted me to---"

"Oh god. How did she get your cell number?"

"It's generally printed with my columns. At the time, she claimed that she had photos of the paranormal, but you had to have the same eyeglass prescription to view them."

Zach laughed. "I don't remember that part."

"Yeah, that may have happened after you ran out of the room. Not that I blame you. I will admit, though, that it's nice of the Annual Summer Nutcase to call first."

I went upstairs. I didn't want to be around people for this next part. Every summer, we get at least one lunatic who comes in and causes a scene. They tend to return all summer, say and do all sorts of crazy things, and because I'm a paranormal investigator, they cling to me. A couple of years ago, we'd had a weird guy in white robes come in venting about the government. Last year, we'd had a homeless guy trying to sleep on the picnic tables who'd swear at you when you told him he wasn't allowed. They never went away on their own, so I had to get this next part over with.

I called back. The phone picked up, went immediately to hold, and then came up with a TV blasting in the background. "Yeah?"

"Hi, this is Lou....You left a---"

"Oh, yeah! Thanks for calling me back!" At least she sounded somewhat sober this time. "You remember me? It was, what, two or three years ago when I came in and showed you some pictures. You said you couldn't see it unless you wore my glasses."

"That's not actually how I remember the conversation going."

"I just got off the phone with NASA. They told me to find a local paranormal investigator to look at my pictures. Do you know anyone?"

"Uh....."

"I mean, I guess I could call the newspapers....."

"They'd just refer you to me. I tend to be the big name around here for the paranormal; everyone you talk to will tell you to contact me. I'll tell you what. If you'd like to bring the photos back in, I'll take a look and get a statement from you."

"Oh, that'd be great! I'll come in as soon as I can," she said. "Thanks so much for returning my call. Everyone else tells me I'm nuts."

"Your children," Michelle said as I sat down to dinner,"Used your sound-thingie in the yard today."

'The rifle microphone?" I asked.

Paul nodded. "Yeah."

"What were you using that for?"

"To listen for the ice cream truck."

"Well," I admitted,"That is an appropriate use of the rifle microphone." I turned to Biz, sitting next to me. "You know anything about graveyard dogs?"

"The legend, you mean? Or the band?"

"There's a band?"

"I don't know. Probably. I know a little about graveyard dogs. They're usually ghost dogs that stand guard over a cemetery, also called grims. They come from a dog---Or maybe a person whose ghost took the form of a dog---The first burial in the cemetery, usually on the north side."

"Why are you asking about graveyard dogs?" Tif asked me.

"Think I found one in Renovo."

The phone rang. I walked into the other room---I still have a phone in the other room---And picked it up. It was Chris.

"Hey, Lou," he said. "You know that article you wrote for the Express on the mine accident in Bitumen in 1888?"

"Yeah, it ran last Saturday."

"There's been some talk online about it. Some people in a Bitumen group are criticizing it; they want to know where you got the photo of the mine that ran with it."

"Hell, that was a stock photo the art director chose to fill space."

"A lot of people in the Bitumen group are debating whether it's a real photo of a Bitumen mine. They're kind of upset that you didn't reach out to them and use a historic photo."

"Hell, I don't do photos. I write a hundred articles a year; I let the editor handle the graphics."

"You want me to add you to the group so you can respond?"

"Hell no. I avoid online groups as a way of handling my own blood pressure. I'll let them work it out; they don't need any comment from me."

Chris laughed. "Okay, then. You in the library tomorrow? I need to come in and do some research."

"I should be, yeah."

It was a Tuesday when we fully opened the library for the first time in a year. I was wearing my cryptids mask and the shirt with nine different monsters on it.

"I'm going out for my break," said Zach. "Back in half an hour."

"Have fun. That leaves me remarkably unsupervised."

Zach grinned. "Don't burn the place down, that's all we ask."

"No promises."

With Zach gone, I was the only person in the library at the moment. But the doors were open. Anyone could come in.

Finally.

I walked through the building, looking at the place. Somehow, it looked brighter, more cheerful. It seemed like such a long time ago when we'd shut down for COVID---March of 2020. Well over a year ago, I'd helped shut down the library and went home to teach survival skills to my son. Concentrated on what I could do from home, or by myself. A year of ghosts at home, UFOs within a block, lonely cemeteries.

My cell phone was ringing, inside of my backpack. I answered it.

It was, of course, the Annual Summer Nut.

"Hi, Lou. I'm not going to be able to come in today. I got too spiritual, and it just wore me out."
I'm never exactly sure how to respond to statements like that. Probably I should plan something in advance.

"That's fine; you can come in whenever."

"The same thing happens when I give psychic readings. I just need to rest for a few days."

"No problem. I'm at the library all the time anyway; you don't really need an appointment to come and talk to me."

"I was arranging my photos last night, and on TV, a news show about UFOs came on. I was like, whoa! Isn't that weird?"

The government had recently declassified some UFO files, so it would be a bit weird if this wasn't all over the news. I chose to skip the question and said,"I'll be back in on Tuesday. Feel free to come in after that."

"Okay, I will."

I hung up before the conversation could continue.

I went to the microfilm and pulled Thomas Wood's obit. He'd been an Irish immigrant, and a soldier in the Civil War before getting employed by the railroad, like most of the people in Renovo in those days. I was looking at the cemetery records when Chris walked in.

"Hey Lou. Anything new on the Bitumen thing?"

"Yeah, one guy finally e-mailed me to ask about the photo. I explained that it was a stock picture selected by my editor, and he said that he didn't realize the press had the right to deceive people like that. I left it at that; there's not gonna be any convincing that guy."

"Of course," Chris said. "Anything else interesting?"

"Looking into a graveyard dog."

"A graveyard dog? You've wanted one of those for a while."

"Discovered a mention in an old folklore magazine. I've found the grave it's connected to, a Thomas Wood up in Renovo. Now, the interesting thing here is that the story seems to have adapted to the grave itself."

"How's that?"

"Graveyard dogs are said to be at the first grave in the cemetery, usually to the north. It's an English legend---Thomas Wood was Irish, but I'd have to think the folklore would spread over there. Now, get this---Wood was buried on the north end of the cemetery in 1894."

"In that area, he couldn't have been the first grave there, though. Could he?"

"No way; the cemetery was around long before that. But here's the thing---It was founded by the local Catholic church. They built a new church in 1892 in downtown Renovo. This grave wasn't the first in the cemetery, but it was the first for the new church. It checks all the boxes---That's where the story of the graveyard dog came from."

On Memorial Day, I did what I always do and fired up the grill. The whole family loves it when I grill; Tif usually starts begging for it around mid-March. Paul helped me with some of the recipes, and we wound up with chicken, hot dogs, peppers, corn on the cob, carrots, and asparagus. We sat around a folding table in the back yard, with Duke and Rosie tied up in the grass.

"So this summer, we have camping trips and some cool stuff," I said. "With the summer reading theme being animals, I'm going to be giving a couple of tours and classes on monster hunting. Got some good stuff planned. And with the vaccines, we'll be able to do more. Some camping and a few trips, maybe go visit some relatives for the first time in a while."

"A summer of cryptids," said Tif.

I nodded. "A summer of cryptids."

"You may experience some side effects," said the pharmacist. "You might get some pain in this arm, maybe some flu-like symptoms. Chills, a headache. It should all go away in a day or two. Left arm okay?"

I nodded. "Let's do this."

He stuck the needle in my arm, just under where I had my "Bigfoot: Social Distancing Champion" shirt rolled up. It only took a second, and then he was applying the band-aid.

"You're bleeding a little."

"I'm gonna tell people I got in a fight."

"Stick around for fifteen minutes, and then you can head out. That would be two-nineteen."

"I brought a paperback. I'll be fine."

A little while later, I was home. Paul and Rosie were asleep on the couch. I went up to my office. I had the first mask I'd worn the one my wife had made for me over a year ago, when I was doing an archaeological dig in the back yard. Little Christmas trees and an alien patch on it. At the time, I'd been expecting to retire it in two weeks or so.

Now, I had a collection of masks with ghosts, Bigfoot, and aliens on them.

I hung it up on the trophy shelf. The symbol of this whole terrible, traumatic year....Now coming, finally, to an end.

For the first time in almost two years, I stood in front of a crowd for a summer history tour. Seven people and a dog, all turned out for my event. I smiled as I looked around at everyone.

"Thanks for coming, everyone," I said. "It's good to be back at this again. This is the first summer tour I've done since 2019, so bear with me if I seem a little uneasy. Also forgive the hair; I been cutting it myself for a year and a half."

Laughter. I continued,"Tonight's tour is Water Street. So, if you'd like to follow me, let's go on out to the sidewalk. It's a nice night. Let's learn some history."

Rock On

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

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

"How far?" asked Nate.

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

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

"There's the cairns," I said.

"Wow," said Nate. 

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

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

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

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

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

I stopped and looked at the dome cairn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes you get lucky.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am. Left, then."

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

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

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

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

He put away the needle. "Done."

"That wasn't too bad, actually."

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

"I brought a comic book."

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

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

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

"That'd be me," I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"There's the trail," said Nate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Another one over there," Nate observed.

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

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

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

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

"Yeah!" Paul said. "Cool!"

Sucks To Be UFO

My wife was working on the kitchen when I walked in carrying a PA Wilds atlas, a toy Bigfoot, and a camera.

She watched as I set the atlas up, propped to a page that showed a map of Allegheny National Forest. I stood the Bigfoot up in front of it, focused, and snapped a photo. Then I gathered it all up again.

"I just got paid for that," I said, and left.

Break time. I grabbed two slices of pizza and a bottle of Coke, and took the elevator to the third floor of the library. I was wearing my green Area 51 shirt.

On my way into the Gross Room, I opened the little drawer in a table, and pulled out a black pouch. Inside was a pair of binoculars. I took it into the room, spun a chair around to face the big windows, sat down and started looking out at the sky.

Plenty of cloud cover, and no visible UFOs. But you never know.

My name is Lou. I work at the local library in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania. I'm also a writer, historian, explorer, and paranormal investigator, mostly. At the moment, I look into cryptids, UFOs, buried treasures, and all sorts of stuff.

But no ghosts. Not right now.

A year of COVID deaths, followed by the death of my little pug dog, had depressed the hell out of me. Not long ago, I'd realized that I couldn't handle any more ghosts for a while. So I'd dropped any upcoming ghosts and haunted houses, which had been damn near all I'd had available anyway during a year of social distancing. 

I ate one slice of pizza while I looked to the west. Then I walked into the lobby with the other slice, checking the northeast, and finished it up while I walked down to the southern window. Then back to the Gross Room, where I finished the Coke.

I put away the binoculars and went back downstairs.

Slow day.

I sat and ate a hamburger overlooking the city of Williamsport. Across the picnic table, Michelle and Paul were eating, too.

"I think I see Bigfoot, Daddy," said Paul. "Wait a minute, no. That was just a rabbit I think."

We were sitting at the Route 15 overlook, having a picnic. Michelle asked me,"Have there really been Bigfoot sightings up here?"

"Oh, sure. A young couple reported Bigfoot attacked their car while they were parked up here."

"What were they doing?"

"Guess."

"Well, it's a nice place for a picnic, anyway."

"Ah, hell. I"m just bored. I mean, I'm glad to be out with the family. But I've had very little to do lately. COVID is keeping people in, I'm not doing ghosts right now, I haven't had many monster reports. It's been slow. If we can spot Bigfoot up here, I'll share my hamburger with him."

"Well, maybe something will happen soon."

"I hope. I'll take anything. A UFO sighting, a buried treasure. Hell, I'd take a gravity hill at the moment."

"You really are bored."

"Told you. Hey, Paul, they have the quarter-operated viewers by the path. You want to check them out?"

I was sitting at my desk, staring out the window. It was raining, just a little, which it had been lately---The weather had been a tease, going back and forth between nice and raining just enough to make things miserable. I pulled out a folder labelled Illegal Aliens and flicked through it.

I tended to save clippings about the paranormal when I found them. You never knew when you might need one. I flipped past a 1952 sighting that had turned out to be a Piper project, and the details of the airing of War of the Worlds in 1938. Then I found some old notes from an article I'd written a few years ago.

Zach came by, straightening the magazines. "What are you up to today?" he asked.

"I'm getting bored," I said. "I'm going to reopen QR-67."

He sighed.

"Oh, god," he said. "Every time things get a little slow around here, you dig into one of your old cases. Out come the maps, you start running around looking for old articles. What's this one about?"

"I need to refresh on the details, but some locals saw UFOs around Queen's Run. Hey, it's been slow lately What the hell else am I gonna do?"

"I mean....Your job?"

"That doesn't sound like me." I rolled my chair over to the card file, and flipped to "Unidentified Flying Objects," which someone in the past had considerately thought to include. There it was, just like I remembered---The Queen's Run sighting in April of 1967.

I got the microfilm and threaded it onto the viewer. After a little fast-forwarding, and some backing up (Missing your correct date and reversing is an important part of the process) I found the article I remembered.

Four friends had gathered at a home in Queen's Run. One lived along the Renovo Road, and the others lived across the river. They'd reported seeing UFOs, which to the best of my knowledge, had never been figured out. The article was really light on details, mostly quoting these four guys.

I read it a couple of times, and then printed off two copies. One went into the file for next time, and the other one I set on my desk, where I would later forget to take it home.

I got out of the car at Queen's Run, and looked around. I walked up the road, jumping over the guardrail, and stopped in the street in front of the two visible houses. It was just Queen's Run, hell, there wasn't going to be any traffic.

I turned, examined the scenery, and then went back to the car. Michelle asked,"You find anything?"

"Almost had to have been spotted over there," I said. "Across the river, above the Renovo Road. The article didn't specify a lot, and as it was sixty years ago, there's nobody I can ask now. They said they saw a UFO 'over the mountain', which could be a lot of places, but on a practical level, pretty much had to be across the river looking south."

"And they saw aliens?" 

"Well, aliens would be stretching it. They saw what was described as a white light with green around the edges. They watched for a while as these things moved around, and then vanished, leaving smoke that stayed for about an hour."

"White light with green edges...." Paul mused in the back, thinking it over.

"The thing is, this one doesn't really lend itself to any obvious guesses," I said. "Sometimes you can think of some possible explanations---Aircraft, military testing, weather patterns. But this one....I'm hard pressed to come up with anything that really explains much of it."

"White light with green edges," Paul said again.

"White light with green edges," I agreed.

"Bigfoot patrol," the woman read from the patch on my jacket. "Aren't you on the wrong side of the country for that?"

I was sitting at the picnic table in Riverview Park, petting her dogs; she was with a guy walking the path. Tif sat next to me, with Rosie tethered to the bench; Michelle was walking the path, too, and Paul was running around on the playground.

"We've had a few sightings here, too," I said. "Admittedly, the real Bigfoot country is out in Washington, Oregon, but we get a few out here. I was just looking into Bigfoot at Bald Eagle State Park."

"Really?" the guy said. "We moved here from Idaho. You get some monsters around here?"

"Oh, sure. We have the Susquehanna Seal, a water monster, and the Giwoggle up to the northwest. I give tours, do some writing about local history."

"I read an article about Jimmy Carter visiting," he said.

"Yeah," I said. "That was one of mine."

As they walked away, Tif said,"The new outfit's doing wonders for promotion."

"I still miss the tactical vest, though."

"So tell me about this new UFO case you're working on."

"QR-67 happened sixty years ago just up the river. Witnesses saw a white light with green edges over the Renovo Road, then disappeared and left smoke that lasted for like an hour. I'm not sure that lends itself to any easy explanations."

"Military testing?"

"Over the Renovo Road? Why the hell would the military be testing in that location?"

"Didn't they once try to bomb Renovo?"

"Well, it wasn't downtown Renovo. It was halfway up the road. It took me a while to figure out the locations; the witnesses lived almost across the river from each other. Military testing doesn't make sense."

"Why would aliens from another planet come to Renovo?"

"A lot of them already live there. Have you seen some of those people?"

Tif laughed. "Is this something new you just found out?"

"Nah, I've seen the article before. I decided to crack this one open again because I'm bored. Things have been a little slow lately; I haven't had any good cryptid sightings. I dug this one out to keep myself busy."

"Is it working?" 

"Well enough. For now. This one has always kind of bugged me, though."

"How so?"

"Like I said, this one doesn't lend itself easily to explanation. It may not have a solution, and I hate that. I mean, I could wind up writing it off as 'aliens, maybe,' but I'd rather know for sure. And I may not end up with an answer this time."

"I'm going out to lunch, and I won't be back for the day," New Boss told me. "I'm covering at Beech Creek."

"Gotcha. Have fun," I said. An entire afternoon unsupervised.

I actually did some stuff that passed for work, and then went to dig into QR-67. I started by scrolling through the microfilm, beginning with the original article and working my way a week forward, checking one day at a time to see if there had been any follow-up. Or any sudden discoveries that could have explained the sighting----"Meteor Falls In Bucktail Area," maybe.

There was nothing. I mean, there was plenty of news going on, but nothing that I could imagine tying into the UFO thing. I rewound the film and put it away. Time to check into the witnesses.

The spokesperson for the whole bunch seemed to have been the guy who lived on the Renovo Road; his name was Larry. He'd been the one to contact the papers and given all the quotes. The other three were relatives or friends---His brother-in-law, his nephew, and a friend. They'd all gotten together at the home of Larry's mother, in Queen's Run.

As most of them had been adults at the time, half a century ago, it was a fair bet that they'd since died. I checked the file; no obits on any of them. Dammit. I pulled the 1967 city directory in the hopes that these guys might be listed in there, and to my surprise, they were.

Larry lived up along the Renovo Road, and worked for Hammermill, the paper company. Same place the Jersey Devil had been seen in 1909, not that there was any connection here. The brother-in-law, James, lived in Queen's Run, and worked for American Aniline.

Now, that was interesting.

American Aniline was a chemical and dye company that had existed in Lock Haven---My neighborhood, specifically.

I walked back to Tracey in the back room.

"I just found a connection between a UFO sighting and American Aniline," I said. "The company made dyes and chemicals, and manufactured smoke bombs for the military during World War II."

"Hmm," said Tracey, almost as if she had better things to do than listen.

"So, worth looking into. The guy who worked at a place that made bright exploding stuff saw bright lights in the sky? Pretty big coincidence."

This time, she laughed. 

"So how do you proceed now?"

"I guess I need to look into American Aniline."

The sun was going down as I biked up the hill on Park Street. A woman watched from her driveway as I rode up. She called,"You need a motor on that!"

"I've considered it," I said, which was actually a lie. 

I pulled up in front of the gates to the former American Aniline building---Closed and locked. Someone was taking care of the place, mowing and cleaning up, but otherwise it appeared out of business. There had been a big Superfund cleanup here around twenty-five years ago, clearing out all the chemicals that had been dumped into the ground. I wasn't sure when it had closed.

I looked it over. The gates were closed to prevent trespassers, though there was a big gap underneath them that could easily be crawled under. Two buildings, one clearly offices, and one obviously factory. The factory one had a side door that let out directly into a parking area.

It wouldn't have been too hard to slip some chemicals out back in 1967, when people were more trusting. Hell, even now I could break in there easy enough if I wanted. How much magnesium would it take to make that kind of flare? Not more than a pocketful.

I took off my pack and hung it on my handlebars. Then I walked cautiously over to the fence. I didn't see any security cameras. which wasn't entirely surprising---American Aniline even in its prime hadn't been on the busiest end of town. I saw a lot of Trump flags on this street; I was more concerned about getting shot than arrested.

I crouched down and slipped under the gate. In ten seconds I was on the other side, hoping people would assume I was there legally. I walked into the tree line beside the factory building, trying to stay concealed.

Trespassing in a chemical plant to study a UFO. Well, at least things have livened up a little.

I walked to the door of the office building. I could see in through the windows. There was no security booth, nothing to suggest workers had been checked. It would have been easy to slip out some magnesium or something while leaving work.

Which might make a white light with green edges.

It was raining outside Tif's window as Paul watched TV. I said,"I think I figured out that UFO sighting."

"Well, that was fast."
"I pulled the city directory and checked on the witnesses. Turns out one of them lived right across the river from where the UFO was sighted, and one worked at American Aniline."
"American Aniline....Chemicals?"
"You got it."

Tif grinned. "Burning chemicals. You solved a UFO sighting with a city directory."

I nodded. "American Aniline manufactured flares and smoke bombs during World War II. It would have been nothing for one guy to slip out with a pocket full of magnesium or something, and if he was experienced, he could set it up as a flare on a timer on the other guy's property. Then, at the right moment....All four witness the UFO and contact the newspapers."

"Now, that makes sense."

"Does, doesn't it?" I looked out the window at the rain, then turned and gave Paul a hug. "Well, I gotta get to work. You two have a fun day."

Gwen

"Hey, Lou, I almost forgot to tell you," said Jim. "That ghost detector you put out? It moved."
I looked up from the table in the library's lobby, where I was doing my shift. "The trigger object I stuck there in July? I forgot all about that."

"Well, I was at my desk, and it moved. Startled the hell out of me."

 "When did this happen?"

"You got here, what? Noon? About one."

I grinned. "I'll stop down and check it out, take a couple of readings. Keep me posted."

"I don't want to keep you posted," said Jim.

It had been a year since the first COVID lockdowns, back when we'd thought this would only last a couple of weeks. At the time, I'd investigated the library a bit. I'd checked out more of the history of my own home, and concentrated on finding little mysteries within a few blocks. A year of wearing masks. A year of not really having the adventures I wanted to, because it was a risk to my loved ones.

I glanced out the window. The snow from last month had turned to rain, and was coming down. My bike was parked on the porch, just out of the rainfall---I'd added a couple of alien decals to it, and a survival kit and a drink holder. I looked at the rain tracking down the windows for a moment.

You know. March. In like a Chupacabra, out like a Squonk.

She walked across the parking lot toward me, hair blowing in the wind. "I've been vaccinated," she said. "That means I'm safe." SaraLee held out her arms, and gave me a hug.

I was glad to see her, this sweet psychic who'd become one of my closest friends. I handed her a small package. "Got you a present."

SaraLee grinned. "An LHPS mask. Can't wait to wear it to work. I have the LHPS badge you gave me on my vest."

"I've seen it in the Facebook photos."

We sat down at the picnic tables outside the library. I was wearing my LHPS hoodie and my black ghost T-shirt.

"How you holding up?" she asked.

I shrugged. "As well as anyone, I guess. Paul's lonely and anxious. We got him a puppy, and that helps."

"That's cute."

"How are you doing?"

"You know, about the same. We're vaccinated now, so that's good."

"I'm glad. I'm gonna be last on the list. Never has it sucked so much to be a healthy middle-aged guy."

"Well, I'm looking forward to getting back into action," said SaraLee. "We need to start up meetings again."

"I'm hoping we can do that once everyone's vaccinated. Maybe over the summer."

"That'd be good. You see anyone?"

"Haven't seen Millie in a year. Paul and I bumped into Ashlin at McDonald's a while ago."

"We can investigate my place, if you like," SaraLee offered. "That might be a good way to start getting back into it."

"That's a really good idea, actually," I said.

We talked for a while, sitting on the bench. It felt good to sit and talk with my psychic friend, discussing haunted houses. Made me almost feel as if things could go back to normal.

"You okay?" SaraLee asked.

"No," I said. "But I will be."

It was four days later.

I was outside with Rosie when Tif showed up to babysit. "Paul's in the backyard," I said. "He's playing in the sand pit."

"How's he doing?" Tif asked.

"Probably better than I am."
She nodded. "I'm sorry to hear about Gwen dying, Daddy," she said.

"It was awful," I said. "This morning, the little pug fell off the bed, and I realized she wasn't moving. We ran her to the vet, but she died in my arms on the way. The vet said it was probably a heart attack."

"She was, what, fourteen?"

"Yeah, but still," I said. "I loved that dog. I'm still not over Kasper, and now Gwen. My heart is breaking."

"How's Paul?"

"He goes back and forth," I said. "He'll be okay for a while, and then he'll cry. He made a wish on a dandelion earlier, and his wish was that I'd never die."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him I've discovered four different healing springs, and tried them all," I said. "He told me he hoped I could live a million billion years."

"That your plan?"

"Well. I'm trying."

"Hey, Boss." I looked in the door to her new office, right across from my desk. "Welcome to the neighborhood."

She grinned, sitting behind her desk. "Thanks. We wanted to get this done a year ago, but then....COVID."

"Yeah, that screwed up a lot of stuff. As my desk is right outside your door now, I guess that makes me your receptionist."

"I guess so."

"Hypothetically, if I'd seen typos in the newsletter, would it make you happier if I pointed them out, or kept quiet and hoped nobody noticed?"
"The second one."

"Done."

"Okay."

"So, hey....This summer's Summer Reading theme is animals. For our purposes, does the Loch Next Monster count as an animal?"

The Boss thought it over. "Why not? Sure, let's go with that."

"Great. My summer just got a lot more interesting. Has anyone checked your new office for ghosts yet? I can check for ghosts."

"No. If there are ghosts in my office, I don't want to know."
"Everyone's always saying that to me. You know your old office was Annie Halenbake Ross's bedroom?"

"Well, if she's still here, she can have it."

I went back to my desk and sat down. I had two e-mails. One was from a woman who claimed to have demons in her house, and the other was wondering how to get rid of a ghost. I stared at them both for a moment, and then closed them out.

I just....Couldn't.

Not anymore.

Friday night. Family dinner. I looked up at my family across the table and said,"I'm going to get away from ghost hunting for a while."

They all looked up at me as if I'd announced I had cancer. Biz said,"Well, great. We broke Dad."

"Why?" asked Tif.

"Right now, I just can't. There's been too much death. We've been dealing with it for a year, and now Gwen, and....I can't right now. I just can't study death the way I usually do."

"How about those new shadow people you discovered?" Tif asked.

"The shadow people will be fine without me for a while. I'm still going to do aliens and cryptids, buried treasures, and fun stuff like that. But ghosts....No. Not right now."

"Are you quitting LHPS?" Tif asked.

"Well, that's convenient, because right now LHPS is suspended due to COVID. I'll ask SaraLee to field any incoming questions. But at the moment, we're not taking any new investigations anyway."

"You go looking for ghosts at work when you get bored," said Biz.

"I'll have to find something else for a while," I said. "Maybe I'll learn there's a Chupacabra in an upstairs closet. We've discovered weirder."

"I'm sorry, Daddy," said Tif.

"This isn't forever, and I'm not going to pretend it is," I said. "I'll get back to it eventually. But for now, I'm going to have to concentrate on other stuff. I'm just not up for ghosts."

We walked down the path to the garden area. I said,"We're going to be quiet, okay? Your school assignment was to listen for nighttime animals." I was wearing my black jacket, with the buttons and patches on it, and my wooly mammoth shirt.

"Okay," said Paul. We were in the nature park in Wayne Township.

"Maybe we'll hear the cicadas," I said. "Maybe a raccoon, too. Bigfoot."

"A Squonk?" asked Paul hopefully.

"Sure, maybe a Squonk."

"If we find a Squonk, I want to hug it and cheer it up. Squonks cry all the time because their feelings are hurt."
"True enough." I was feeling a little like a Squonk myself.

We threw a blanket down on the ground, and sat down. Michelle said,"I'll walk Rosie around. You guys can listen for animals."

"I brought some Play-Doh," said Paul. "If we get lost, we can make a SOS out of it."

My son and I sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. I said,"You hear some animals?"

"I hear bugs."

"Crickets. Couple of birds," I said. "You never know. Bigfoot's been seen over that way, near the pond."

"Bigfoot? The real one?" said Paul. "Not the statue on this trail?"

"No, the real one," I said. "Someone told me last summer. So we might hear him, if we're careful."

"I'd like to see Bigfoot."

"I'd like to see Bigfoot, too. I'm working on that."

We sat and listened for a little while.

"Did Gwen have a spirit?" Paul asked.

"They all do, buddy."

"Are you never going to go ghost hunting again?" Paul asked me.

"No, I will again sometime. I don't know when. I just don't want to for a while."
"We can still do alien patrol?"

"Yeah, we can still go on alien patrol."

"I think I see a Squonk!" Paul said excitedly, looking out into the dark. I couldn't see a damn thing. For all I knew, there really was a Squonk there.

"Cheer it up," I said. "Tell it we love it."

Paul called out,"We love you, Squonks!"

A few days later, we got Gwen's ashes back from the vet. They came in a little wooden box, with a metal name tag included. I sat down to fasten it to the box, the fifth time I'd done this.

Paul watched as I peeled the backing off the tag, and carefully put it on. The tears came to my eyes; I couldn't help it. Paul hugged me. I wrapped my arms around him, and held him in silence for a while.

When I got into work, there was a card on my desk. It was a nice condolence card from Jayne, my new co-worker, and said she was sorry for Gwen. I tucked it into my card file.

I hung up my pack, then pulled out a black packet. I checked inside---It contained a flashlight, binoculars, and a small notebook. I went up to the third floor. I was wearing my T-shirt with nine different cryptids on it.

Walking around up there, I stopped and looked out each large window. One in the lobby area looked northeast, in the Gross Room one looked due west, and just down the hall, one pointed southwest, which gave me almost a 360-degree view of the skyline of Lock Haven.

Which made it perfect for UFO hunting, if I got bored.

Sorry, ghosts. I'll see you later. Paying attention to the aliens for a while.

I slipped the packet into a drawer in the table. Nobody ever looked in there; I could easily ditch a time capsule there and nobody would ever stumble on it. It would hide my UFO stuff.

I turned and looked out the window, looking out over the river at the sky.

A small ray of sunshine was beginning to shine through the clouds.

Dead Of Winter

"Cold out there," said Tif, coming in the house.

"We're going to get some bad days," I said. "It's gonna drop into the twenties the next couple of days."

"Bundle up going to work," she said, dropping onto the couch.

I pulled my new coat on. It was very dark grey, with an alien patch, and several pins displaying Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster. "Don't worry. Just got this new coat for winter. Remember last summer, when I changed my ghost-hunting outfit to avoid looking too paramilitary? I'm really glad I did that."

"Yeah?"

"Well, those assholes who raided the capitol on Trump's encouragement," I said. "My god. The guy with the zip ties dressed almost exactly like I used to for an investigation. Tactical vest, pants with all the pockets....That's why the new coat with all the buttons. I don't want to look like a terrorist. I'll go back to the original look eventually, but it's gonna be a while. Right now I want to look as hippie-dip as I possibly can. Plus it's getting cold. Maybe I'll find the Minnesota Iceman."

"The Minnesota---"

"A sort of Bigfoot, dead and frozen in a block of ice. I'm hoping to stumble on him in the shed."

Tif laughed. "So aside from speculative cryptozoology, what's the plan at work today?"

"The boss asked me to review two genealogy sites. We already have HeritageQuest, but Ancestry has a library service and they sent us a free trail. She wants to know which is better. Personally I'd say we should just get rid of both of them, because real research isn't done on a screen, but that's not the question she asked. So I need to test-drive them both."

"Well. Have fun."

"Oh, yeah, it's gonna be a ball testing out websites I disapprove of," I said. "Have fun with the kid today, hon. See you later."

I sat down at my desk and opened my e-mail. The Boss had sent me the links to Ancestry and HeritageQuest, and I opened them both. I was wearing my mask with a little alien on it, and my sweatshirt that said "Yeti For Action."

I checked through the services offered on each. Both seemed heavy on the census, but by playing around with it, I discovered I could get obits, newspaper articles, cemetery records, and a few other things. I decided to run a few searches and see how each stacked up.

I started with the founder of Lock Haven, Jerry Church. At first, I got a whole slew of people with that name, but by narrowing down the parameters, I found the right one. The information looked accurate enough, but Jerry had been prominent. I wanted to see how this thing worked for average people, too.

I ran a few records on both of my grandfathers. Some good information came up, though I might have to double-check with my father to see how accurate it was. I don't memorize the stats on my own family---Get back to me when we're talking about Henry Shoemaker. Then I decided to check an average person from the past. I chose Lydia Yost, the mother of Ida, the ghost who haunts my house.

I ran the name, and then filled in some of the dates, and let it search. Bored, I got up and walked to the back of the room, gathering up old newspaper articles and opening a large scrapbook. Tracey came in.

"You mind if I join you for a bit?" she asked. "I have to look up something on the microfilm, but if it bothers you to have me this close...."

"No, you're fine," I said. "Go ahead." If there's anyone I work with who's safe to be around, it's Tracey.

She started looking through the microfilm drawers. "What's that you're working on?" she asked.

"This? I found this old scrapbook on a shelf. It's about the dike. Someone started compiling it back in the eighties, and never finished. I don't know if they got fired, or died, or what. So I'm finding old articles about the dike, and the controversy beforehand, and finishing this up."
"Oh, that's interesting," she said. "Where's it going when you're done?"
"On the shelf under the card file, I think, with the other scrapbooks. I also recently compiled a book of all the Labor Day Regattas since it started in 1971."

"I'll make a note in the catalogue."

I went back to my desk to check on how the search for Lydia had gone. I had a stack of information on her. I pulled up one of the obits.

"Hunh," I said.

"You find something interesting?" asked Tracey.

"Yeah, I did. Turns out, the anniversary of a death is coming up."

"My room is haunted," said my six-year-old son.

"The whole house is haunted," I said matter-of-factly.

"Well, yeah," said Paul,"But Ida threw my clothes all over my bedroom floor."

Sitting on his bed, I looked around the room. I was pretty sure Ida wasn't the one who'd done that, but I let it slide. He used to blame this stuff on his rocking horse.

"Over the next week, kid, you and me are gonna do two ghost hunts in here," I said.

"Oh, yeah? How come?"

"For one thing, I need a little practice with my new digital recorder. But we have some anniversaries coming up. I just discovered that next Wednesday is the day Ida's mom died---Lydia Yost died in the house a hundred and twenty years ago. And February first is Ida's birthday, so we're gonna check around a little."

"Sounds good," said Paul.

I'd barely done any real ghost hunting in the past year. Aside from one small investigation with SaraLee in the fall, the team hadn't met, I hadn't really been out. But it's good to keep in practice. Paul and I had been investigating our own home, which was at least verifiably haunted.

"You ready to do some ghost hunting, little man?" I asked.

Paul jumped off the couch. "Yeah! Let's go!"

We went upstairs. I got some of my stuff---I keep my outfits and equipment hanging on a rack on the back of the office door. You wouldn't notice it if you walked in; you'd have to close the door and check. I got my laser thermometer, EMF detector, camera, and the new digital recorder.

Paul emerged from his bedroom carrying a flashlight, his compass, and his Nerf gun.

"You gotta be prepared," he said.

We went into my bedroom. "I've learned that Ida's mom definitely died in the house, and it was probably in here," I said. "So this is a good place to start."

"I'll check around," said Paul, walking around shining his flashlight in the room with the lights on.

I thumbed the switch on my new recorder. My old one had gone to hell---Most of them aren't made for the kind of abuse I put them through---And this one was cheap, and I'd liked the fact that it was rechargeable. It came on, and I started figuring out how to record a file.

We decided to stick with HeritageQuest.

I heard the phone ringing as I entered the Pennsylvania Room, but it wasn't my problem. Someone else was picking up. I headed for the west wall.

The Roos Library's Pennsylvania Room is the most useful place in Clinton County for historic and genealogical information. One entire wall was covered with shelves of genealogies, including the one for Ida's family.

I picked it up. I'd known about it for years now, and looked up Ida so many times the book tended to fall open to that page automatically. I walked back out to my desk and slipped it into my pack. Mel looked over from the desk.

"The phone call should be you, Lou," she said. "Something about a painting?"

"I'll take it," I said.

I picked up the phone. "Lou. May I help you?"
"Hi, yes. I'm doing a catalogue on the works on Marianna Sloan, John Sloan's sister. You have one of her paintings?"

"....We do?"

"Well, your library is listed as the owner of one. But it's an old listing."

"Could be we owned it once. I know we had a bunch of Sloan paintings, and sold them years ago."

"Would there be a record of that?"

"Ehhh. Maybe. Take some digging, though. I know a lot of them went to Lock Haven University; have you checked there?"

"No, but I'll give them a call."

"I'll check on my end, and see if maybe it's in storage someplace. I'll get back to you."

"Thank you."

Any excuse to take a walk through the building. I went up to the Sloan Museum Room on the second floor and looked through it. There were Sloan's paintings and sketches, but nothing from his sister that I could see. I walked down the twisty hall, and upstairs to the Gross Room. Zach was cleaning up there.

"What're you looking for?" he asked.

"Painting by John Sloan's sister. You never know...." I stopped and focused on a painting on the wall---In shades of dark browns and tans, it showed trees hanging over a river. I squinted at the signature. "That's it."

Zach is uses to this kind of thing from me. "That's from John Sloan's sister?"

The signature clearly read Marianna Sloan. I said,"All these years, I've been looking at this thing and never realized. I always thought it was a Paul Welch! Now I gotta call the client back."

And I sprinted from the room.

On February 1---Ida's birthday---The weather dumped about a foot of snow on us. Paul and I went out and cleared off our sidewalk, shoveled for a couple of our elderly neighbors, and walked around the block and cleared the fire hydrants. Somebody's gotta be a good citizen.

That evening, Paul and I were wresting, as we did. We'd been doing it for a couple of years---Every night around seven, we went upstairs and roughhoused on the bed. Worked off some extra energy---More his issue than mine these days.

"Do I have to do schoolwork tomorrow, Daddy?" Paul asked as we lay on our backs.

"Gotta get some done, yeah. We'll work on some math in the morning."

Paul began to cry. "I miss my friends. I miss school. I don't get to go to first grade! It's not fair!"

I hugged him. "You're right," I said. "It's not. You should have been going to first grade right now, but it's not safe. We're hoping to be able to send you back next fall for second grade."

"I don't want you to die!"

"Hey, hey, hey." I hugged him, rocking him. "I'm not going to die. Where did you get that idea?"
"I'm scared!"

"What would make you feel better, little man?"

He sniffed. "If I wasn't alone all night. I want some company."

"It's gonna be allright," I said. "Things are scary right now, but they'll get better. It's not always like this. I'm not going anywhere. I've stopped curses and discovered at least four healing springs. I'm basically indestructible. I'll be fine."

Slowly, he stopped crying. "Okay."
"Feeling any better?"

He nodded. "You want to ghost hunt now, Daddy?"

"Yeah. Let's get my stuff."

"And I'll get my stuff."

In the kitchen, I gathered a camera, my new digital recorder, and a laser thermometer. I picked up the book I'd borrowed from the library---It normally was unavailable for circulation, but I'd authorized it. You can get away with that when you're staff. It was a genealogy of the Yost family, including Ida and her mother.

Michelle was knitting a hat in the living room. I said,"You able to finish the patches on my new coat?"

"I'm going to try," she said.

Paul walked in with an armload of dolls. "We'll put these around," he announced. "Ida and her sisters liked dolls."

Michelle looked up at me. "They did?"

"I'm sure they did. In the only known photo of them, all the sisters are holding dolls. Ida isn't, mainly because she's holding her sister." I flipped the book open to the group picture of Ida and her siblings, sitting in a cluster. Michelle looked it over---Three of the girls were indeed holding dolls. Ida had her little sister on her lap.

"Which one's Ida? This one?"

"This one. The photo had to have been taken in late 1900 or early 1901---Most likely, just after Lydia died. Her older sister Blanch is in it, and she left the house within two weeks of her mother's death. It was probably taken right here in this room."

"Let's get started, Daddy!" said Paul.

"You remember back in August, the day Ida died? We went out on the porch. Well, you fell asleep, but we tried out there where she died."

"Yeah."

"I think our best shot is upstairs, in my office. I'm pretty sure that was Ida's bedroom."

Carrying all our stuff, we trooped upstairs.

I snapped a couple of photos of my office. I said,"I'm going to get some temperature readings, see if anything stands out."
"Do we have Ida's favorite book?" Paul asked.

I picked up a copy of Black Beauty from my shelf. "Yeah, someone found this in a book sale years ago and sent it to me. It has Ida's signature in it. Be careful with it; it's really old."

"I'll put it in my room so she sees it. Then if I see it move, I'll throw a blanket over her."

"For chrissake, Paul, we're not trying to trap her. We just want a little evidence."

He took the book and headed for his room. I used my laser thermometer until he got back.

"I think I had her," he said,"But it turned out to my one of my stuffed animals."

"How about an EVP session?"
"Okay."

I turned on the recorder---I was getting more used to it. It was a slick little shiny black thing, and I was really beginning to like it. "February 1, 7:11 PM. North room of the house; we believe this to be the room where Ida lived. Daddy."

"And Paul! Is anyone here?"

We ran the recorder a few minutes, and then I clicked it off. I said,"Okay, little man. Almost bedtime. We'll review the tapes and photos later, see if we got anything."

"Okay," said Paul. "I love you, Daddy."
"Love you, too, little guy," I said. I hugged him.

He said,"Happy birthday, Ida!"

I suspect that very few people have a home office dedicated entirely to paranormal investigation, but you drop my my house and there's one of the second floor. A couple of weeks after Ida's birthday,  I unscrewed the plain white light switch pate that had come with the house, and replaced it with a black one showing a ghost. It had never occurred to me to replace a light switch plate before, but I was feeling the urge to redecorate.

I closed my Swiss Army knife and put it back in my pocket, then walked across the room. I picked up one of my black tactical vests.

I held it and looked it over. I'd ordered this one before COVID, and hadn't even had the chance to wear it on an investigation yet. I liked the new look, but I missed the vests. I missed LHPS, and being invited into homes to investigate. I missed giving tours, and going out to explore just because I felt like it.

Paul was right. It wasn't fair.

Paul came into the room. "Do you want to do some ghost-hunting tonight, Daddy?" he asked. "I'm wearing my ghost-hunting outfit."

He had gotten a new outfit of a dark gray sweatshirt and black jeans. They both had sequins on them, but it was a start.

"Sure," I said. "What did you have in mind?"

"I want to walk up to where Ida had her funeral."

"The old church? Sure. The weather's warming up tonight. We can take some readings from outside."

"Can we bring Rosie?"

"Sure. Rosie!" I called, and whistled. A tiny black Lab puppy cam bounding into the room, wagging her tail. Paul scooped her up.

"I love Rosie," he said. "I'm glad we got her for me to sleep with."

"Me, too," I said. I pulled on my jacket with all the badges and patches. "Let's get the equipment, kid, and we'll find some ghosts."

A Socially Distanced Christmas: The 2020 Christmas Special

"Thank you for helping me find that obituary," the woman said. "He was killed in a car accident twenty years ago, and I never knew the details before."

"It's a Christmas miracle," I said.

"What do I owe for the copies?" she asked.

"Nothing," I said. "During COVID, copies are free. Our way of giving back to the community."

As she left, I walked over to my graphic novel section for the purpose of staring blankly at Black Panther. Zach was at the desk. He said,"Did you check your e-mail?"

"Not in the last hour. What's up?"

"So much for Christmas decorations," said Zach. "We've got a meeting scheduled Wednesday. We're going back into lockdown mode as of December."

It was cold outside, but my family and I were in the house. We were gathered in the living room, gathered around and decorating the Christmas ladder. You know, typical holiday stuff.

"So why a ladder?" Biz asked.

"It's the first time in almost thirty years I can't go back to the Christmas tree farm where I grew up," I said. "I could buy a tree locally, but that seems wrong, somehow. So Michelle looked up some ideas online, probably Pinterest...."

"It wasn't Pinterest," said Michelle.

"She came up with the idea of using a ladder. Paul and I took the old ladder that came with the house and painted it green. It'll do, for this year."

"Yeah, 2020 sucks," said Tif.

"Dinner's almost done," I said. "We have turkey corn chowder, mostly with stuff left over from Thanksgiving."

"After dinner can we go on alien patrol?" asked Paul.

"Maybe just a little bit," I said. "It's pretty cold out. Maybe just down to the paper company."

""You know, I was in a book about the paper company," mused Biz.

"Hmm?" Suddenly, she had my attention. "Which book?"

"I don't remember, my old parents told me about it. It was some sort of anniversary book for the paper company."

"I probably have a copy around here someplace," I said.

"I'd love to see it," said Biz. "I was little at the time. I was in some sort of group photo or something. If you can find that, I'd love to take a look."

"I'll look around," I said. "Meanwhile, we have chowder to eat."

The book I thought Biz was referring to was the centennial anniversary book. It was a huge thing stored not far from my desk. I took it with me and paged through it while I worked my lobby shift---With the library locking down again, we needed a door dragon. I didn't see any photos that could have matched in the book; it was all black and white older stuff.

Zach took over the lobby after an hour. I went back to my desk and reshelved the book. There was another paper company book shelved right behind my desk. I like the feeling that I'm right in the middle of all the history. But this one didn't have any photos at all.

I did what I usually do when I can't find something, and went to Tracey.

"Hey, Tracey," I said,"I'm looking for a book on the paper company. I don't know which book; I'm looking for a specific picture."

"Did you try the anniversary---"

"Yeah, I tried that one."

"There was another one behind----"

"Yeah, tried that too."

Tracey considered it. "I can't recall, offhand, if there are more, but check around the Piper stuff. If there's anything much on Lock Haven's industry, it'll be there."

"That's a good idea. Thanks."

The Piper books were shelved in a corner of the old part of the library. I looked past them---I had most of them memorized anyway---And then I found it, another, newer book on the paper company. I took it off the shelf. 

Published in 2002. That was plausible. Biz would have been about fourteen in 2002, just before I'd taken her in. I pulled it off the shelf and looked through it. There were some modern photos, color ones taken not, comparatively, that long ago. I carried it back to my desk; it was probably the right book.

I sat and paged through it, looking at the photos one at a time. There were several that might have been Biz as a little girl. I realized that I'd never seen a picture of her before I'd met her. I marked the pages.

It was cold and cloudy on Main Street as I walked down on my lunch break. I was wearing my sweatshirt with Santa and aliens that said I want to believe Santa is out there. I looked up at the window as I passed the thrift store, and I saw them: Blue pajamas with Yetis on them, hanging in the window.

I hadn't been in a thrift store in months. I put my mask on and walked in,

"Hi, Lou," said the cashier. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"Been pretty busy," I said. "How much are the Yeti pajamas in the window? I can't see a price."

"Ten ninety-nine," she said. 

"Deal," I said.

Two minutes later, I left with a bag under my arm. My new Yeti pajamas. Merry Christmas to me.

"Got new Yeti pajamas," I said to Tif as we sat in the living room. Paul was on the floor, playing with Gwen the pug. I was paging through the newspaper, looking over the obits.

"Are those the ones I saw hanging in the window downtown?" she asked.

"Those are the ones. I had to have them."

"Of course."

'Of course. Have you ever seen a childhood photo of Biz?"

Tif thought it over. "Now that you mention it, no. The oldest photos I can remember are her as a teenager. I've given you some photos from when I was a little girl...."

"Yeah, I know what you looked like. I have them in a frame on my desk."

"You know what I looked like," commented Paul.

"Yes, you were fourteen hours old when we met. But I don't think I've ever seen a very old photo of Biz."

"It's like she just popped into existence as a teenager one day," mused Tif.

"That would explain a lot, actually," I agreed. "I may have tracked down the book she was in."

"Oh, that's nice."

"The library has it. Now I need to see if I can find her a copy for Christmas."

When I got in to work, the annual round of holiday exchanges was beginning. There were cards and gifts in my mailbox---A small decoration from the Boss, a mask with the Ross Library logo from Barb. I said,"I love this! You have them made up?"

"I did," said Barb. "I thought it would be pretty cool."

"You thought right," I said, and headed back to my desk to look through the paper mill book.

The book was a limited-edition thing. I couldn't just order it on Amazon. I had to find someone who'd had a copy, and was willing to part with it. Part of the book was a collection of photos of employees---I began paging through.

I saw one guy whose name sounded familiar. Matthew Horn. Where had I seen that recently? Zach came around to pick up the garbage.

"Doing some research on the paper mill, Lou?" he asked.

"You could say that," I said. "Did you know it was founded by the family of a cult leader? Peter Armstrong founded a town called Celestia in Sullivan County because he thought Jesus was coming back and needed a place to stay. His son and grandson moved here and created the paper mill."

"I think you told me that once."

"They don't mention that part in most of the promotional materials," I said. Matthew Horn. Where the hell had I encountered that name?

It occurred to me after a moment.

"Zach, did yesterday's paper come in? Would it still be in quarantine?"

"It should be. You need it?"

"Well, I need a look."

I pulled on rubber gloves and walked back to the gallery. In the Before Times, we'd held art shows there. Now, it was the roped-off quarantine area for anything coming into the library. I looked at the bins---The newspapers were sitting right on top.

I picked up the Express from yesterday, and flipped to the obits. There he was, the paper mill employee I'd noticed in the book. Matthew Horn had just died, and I'd spotted his obit in the paper.

And there it was, down at the bottom of the obit.

Donations may be made to the Ross Library.

I found Barb back in the back office, at her desk. 

"Hey, Barb."

"What's wrong with the schedule?" she asked.

"What? No. What? Not that. I have a question about donations. Have we gotten anything from the Matthew Horn estate?"

"Let me check." Barb flipped through one of her files, and said,"Yes. We got a box of books."

"What happened to it?"

"We sent it into the garage for next year's book sale."

"That's what I needed. Thanks."

"Did you get that request for the obit I left on your desk?"

"Yeah, got that. An inquiry into an old photo of East Main Street, too."

I walked out to the garage. Books were boxed up, piled along the walls. The library van was parked in there, too, which made it a tight fit for me to move around. I looked at the boxes, checking for any labels that might help.

None of them were labeled. I dug through a few, and didn't see anything that looked right. Mostly romance paperbacks. I found a Dave Barry book I didn't have already. There was a wooden ladder attached to one wall, and it led up to a small loft. I'd noticed it years ago, and never really thought much about it after that. I climbed to the top.

Ladders. My goddamn holiday was revolving around ladders for some reason.

There were a few more boxes in the loft. I lifted the lid from one, and saw one of the other paper company books. That looked promising. With one hand, still dangling from the ladder, I reached over and began shoving things out of the way. 

I spotted them almost immediately---Two copies of the book I needed.

I smiled.

Merry Christmas, Biz.

We pulled up outside her place, and Biz got in the car. Michelle pulled out, and we drove through Lock Haven.

"Where are we looking at Christmas lights?" Michelle asked.

"I thought we'd go to Woolrich and McElhattan," I said. "I'm told they've got some good ones out there. We can drive on out and see."

"Nice," said Biz. "Look, guys, this year I won't be able to spend much on presents, but I can bring groceries to Christmas. What do you need?"

"Biz, don't worry about it," I said. "Bring a side dish or something if you like, but you don't have to get us anything. We're just glad to have you come for Christmas."

"Well, I wanted  to bring something."

"Bring soda," said Michelle.

"Speaking of Christmas gifts," I said. I dug into my packet. "I got you one, Biz."

I pulled out the book and passed it to her in the back seat. "I'm about eighty percent sure this is the book you're in. There are a couple of photos in there that fit the description. You can keep that."

"Thanks!" Biz took it and paged through. "I'm gonna have to give that a look later, and see if I can find it."

"Merry Christmas, hon," I said.