Thin Ice: Cold Comfort

Two degrees.

Overnight, the temperature had dropped to two degrees outside. Across town, car batteries were going dead. Ice was forming on the Constitution Bridge. The Susquehanna River was frozen solid.

"Put on a damn coat!" I shouted at Paul as he got ready for school.

"Oh. Yeah." He set down his backpack and put his white coat on. "Will you be home when I get home today?"

"I'll be at work, but your mother will be home. But before I get to work, I'm going to try to write an article."

"Oh yeah? About what?"

"Don't know yet I'll dig through my files and find something." I handed him his pack. "Shoes. You need shoes. Have a good day, kiddo. Love you."

"Love you, too," said Paul, pulling on his shoes as he walked out the door.

I poured a cup of coffee---Tim had given me a Swartz Paranormal coffee mug---And sat down at my laptop. I played around a while---Much freelance writing work can easily be mistaken for playing around---And then took my mug and walked upstairs to my office. I pulled out a random file on ghosts, and flipped through. 

And I rediscovered the frozen ghost of the Pine-Loganton Road.

When I got to work, there was a sign job waiting for me. This required me to spray adhesive on a piece of foamboard and stick a poster to it. Normally I'd just go out in the alley and do it, but it was too cold for any kind of spray adhesive. So I took it down to the basement.

The basement of the Hecht Building is a long, dark, stretchy thing that runs the length of the building. I'd been building a secret headquarters in one of the alcoves. I'd always done that sort of thing as a kid, and had never really outgrown the tendency. I changed a couple of light bulbs to give myself more illumination, then laid the foamboard down on a shelf and sprayed it.

When I brought it back upstairs, Emily was bringing back a printed job of fourteen hundred flyers to be cut and folded.

"Morning, Emily," I said.

Emily smiled. "Good morning. Got a huge stack of flyers for the Catholic school for you."

"You know that place is built on an old burial ground? I mention it on a lot of tours."

"How do you even remember all this stuff? I'd forget it immediately."

"I don't make much of an effort; I don't study it or anything. If it's something interesting to me, it just sinks in and sticks. But I can't balance my own checkbook, so don't get too impressed."

"Find out anything new lately?"

"I stumbled on one I've checked out before. There's a ghost down along the Pine-Loganton Road, which is Clinton County's most haunted road. He was a guy named Harry who froze to death in December of 1894 trying to walk down to visit his girlfriend. His body was found frozen under a tree. The story is that if you listen in a cold winter, you can still hear him calling for help."

Emily shivered. "That's another creepy one."

"I may get out there and check. This would be the perfect winter for it. I might take my rifle microphone and check if I can hear anything."
"How do you plan to get out there?"

"I don't know, maybe make a friend who can drive. I'll figure that out later. It's too cold to go out, so I think I need to do a little digging in the archives first."

The boss came through. "I'll be out for a while," he said. "I need to make a delivery down to Loganton."

"Drive careful," I said. "And keep your eyes open. There's supposed to be a ghost down there who froze to death in 1894."

He smiled, amused. Amusement seems to be his default position to my paranormal investigations. "I'll look for that."

He walked out the back door, and Emily said,"I can't believe I get to hear you say things like that."

Every now and again, Chris and I tried to get together for coffee, almost as if we were normal people. We sat at the same table in the local coffee shop and hung out, sometimes working on projects, sometimes just talking.

"I heard the Piper Museum is hiring for a general manager," I said. 

Chris looked at me, interested. "You going to apply?"

"Not gonna lie, I was thinking about it," I said. "I mean, nobody can say I'm not qualified. I was the curator over there for three years. I'm considering it. But I'm not sure how much I want to go back to working for a board of directors again."

"It would require working weekends," said Chris. "I know you've been enjoying spending time with your family on evenings and weekends."

"Yeah, that's another thing," I admitted. "I love the Piper Museum, I always have. But I do like working at the print shop, too. Everyone treats me good, and the place is haunted as hell."

Chris grinned. "Investigating it while it's too cold to go out?"

"Actually I'm currently working on the guy who froze to death on the Pine-Loganton Road while attempting to get to his girlfriend."

"This sounds like a Shoemaker."

"It is, in fact, a Shoemaker. It's from one of his articles in the 1950s."

"Shoemaker never lets you down."

It was morning, and Paul was off to school. I sat down at the table with my laptop. Coffee and a ghost; that classic way to start the day.

I began by checking the newspaper archives from December of 1894. I got on the website and checked every issue, one at a time. I learned that it had been a very bad winter that year, and people did in fact freeze to death while going out. I found a couple of cases of that actually happening, which was encouraging.

Then I took my coffee up to my office and pulled the cemetery records, Rosie and Butters trailing after me in case I had some available food up there. I began with Sugar Valley, because Harry had been from there and died on that end of the Pine-Loganton Road. I went through the records, one name at a time, and found it almost immediately.

There was a man named Harry who'd died "near Loganton" and been buried in very early 1895. He'd been about nineteen years old at the time. Bingo. That was my guy.

Okay, so I knew who he was now, and that it had actually happened. That was a good start. I'd backed it up historically; now I had to check into the paranormal side of things. That was a little harder.

"Right up here," I said as Michelle pulled the jeep up alongside the Pine-Loganton Road. 

"Should I pull in, or just anyplace?"

"We're in the right vicinity. Just anywhere along the road should be fine."

We'd gone around the long way, as opposed to starting in McElhattan and traveling the entire road. With the temperatures consistently below freezing, I hadn't wanted to chance any patches of ice, which were pretty likely. Michelle stopped the vehicle.

"You coming with me, or waiting here?" I asked Paul.

"It's twelve degrees," he said. "I'll wait here."

"Be right back."

I got out and walked along the road. It was cold as hell, and the wind was blowing. I got out my rifle microphone and slipped the headphones on, which actually helped warm my ears. I turned it on and raised it, moving at carefully around in an arc.

Howling. Oh my god, the entire forest was howling. I could hear it clearly through the headphones. The wind was drowning out everything else around for a mile. Probably happened every time winter hit.

Which would explain, to an extent, how the legend got started. Someone freezing to death along this road, which already had a reputation for being haunted, and the wind making noises that could be mistaken for human....Yeah, it made sense.

I walked back to the jeep and climbed in. Michelle said,"Anywhere else you need to go?"

"While we're in the neighborhood, one more stop."

I stood over the gravestone, looking down at the name "Harry." Paul roamed the cemetery somewhere behind me.

"Here he is, kiddo. The ghost who froze to death on the Pine-Loganton Road."

"Cool," said Paul. He was leaning over a couple of stones a few rows over. "This one just says 'Mother.'"

"Her name is on the big monument beside it. They did that sometimes, just labeled them like that."

Paul walked a little bit down the row. "These guys weren't very old. This one was only twelve."

"That happened, too. You see how these two died within a year? You see that sometimes, and it tells you something. In the future, people are going to be seeing a lot of graves from 2020 and 2021. What killed a lot of people in those years?"

Paul thought it over. "COVID?"
"Very good. Yes, COVID. When you see a lot of similar dates, it probably means there was an epidemic of some sort. Most cemeteries have them. Later on, if you like, we can check to see how these two died, and if there was some epidemic that year. I'll show you how to do that."

Paul nodded. "Did you get what you needed?"

"Yeah, I found the ghost grave," I said. "Let's get back where it's warm."

Monday morning, and sixteen degrees. When I got to work, as always, Emily was there.

"How was your weekend?" I asked.

"It was good. We took my sister back to college."

"Bloomsburg, right? Only town in Pennsylvania."
"That's right. How was your weekend?"

"It was good. Checked into that ghost who froze to death on the Pine-Loganton Road. Turns out, that actually happened to a guy. I found a guy with the right name who died about that time, and then when I checked the area, the wind was making a lot of noise through the trees."

"That would be hard to hear with the headphones."

"It kinda was. But I figure the noise, plus the death in a place already known for being haunted....That added up to the legend. I didn't get a whole lot of readings, but that's an investigation for another day. A warmer day."

'That makes a lot of sense." Emily grinned. "Don't know what I'd do without you here to tell me about this stuff."

I smiled.

"You won't have to find out," I said. "I'll be here."

Thin Ice: Wendigoing Gets Tough

The forest was deep, and dark. I was walking through it, having an adventure. I had my black vest on, and my Mothman shirt. 

Through the trees, someone came. A woman. A woman that I knew.

"I need help," she said. "I need a friend."

And I sat up, breathing, in bed. I was wearing my Yeti pajamas, and it was about two in the morning.

"We need to go to Wal-Mart," Paul said. "I want to buy my valentines early, so I can get something that nobody else has."

"You want unique valentines this year, huh?" I asked.

Paul nodded. "I want something that nobody else in my class is going to get."

Something occurred to me. "Wait a minute....Paul. I work in a print shop."

Paul looked up at me with some anticipation.

I said,"I can get you valentines that we create ourselves."

"Yeah!" said Paul. "I have the coolest dad ever!"

"Missed you the other day," I said to Emily. "You feeling better?"

She nodded. "I'm up and around more. Things are okay. I just wasn't too great earlier."

"Have a favor to ask you. Would you be willing to design Paul's valentines for this year? He wants something that nobody else has. Preferably incorporating his picture. He drew this design for you to work off." I handed Emily a page with hearts sketched on it in marker.

She grinned. "Love to. I'll design something for you."

"You can steal his photo from the school dance off my Facebook."

"Sounds good," she said. "So you guys were designing valentines last night, then? Slow night for you both?"

"Well, I'm looking into a Wendigo," I said.

"I miss one day of work...."

Another day at the print shop. I was working on envelopes, and wearing my rainbow alien sweatshirt. Speaking of cold weather, it was sixteen degrees out, with no end in sight.

"So the thing about Wendigos," I explained,"Is how they reflect the culture. The legend involves a monster that lives in the deep cold, and eat people. This comes from valid fears of the time---The legends always reflect the mindset of the culture. Wendigos are from northern Native American tribes, and they lived in very cold areas. The legend sprung up in an area and time when the fear of having to eat dead relatives so you could survive was very real."

Emily nodded. "I always learn something from you, Lou," she said.

"One of the Swartz Paranormal guys shared a podcast about Wendigos the other day," I said. "A guy was talking about an old book about Pennsylvania, written by a reverend. It mentioned a woman from Clearfield area who was traveling to Great Island back in the 1700s. He said that she was trapped in the snow and had to eat one of her children before she was rescued, and she became a Wendigo. So, you never know, we may have a Wendigo running around down on Great Island. Right across from there is Memorial Park, which was once a burial ground, so we may have her buried around there."

"That's really neat," she said.

Nineteen degrees out. Paul and I stood on the corner among a cluster of kids, waiting for the school bus. I was wearing my cold-weather vest, heavy coat, hood, and gloves. Paul was wearing a sweatshirt, and, at my insistence, the puffy vest I'd given him for Christmas.

"Don't forget, Dad, I have dance practice this weekend," Paul reminded me.

"I think your mother has it on the calendar," I said. "I forgot to tell you, I have a report of a wendigo down on Great Island. Want to run down and investigate it with me sometime soon?"

"Sure," said Paul.

One of his classmates, Willy or something, looked up. "I could go," he said. "I'd look for a wendigo. My mom knows who you are, she'd let me."

"Would she, now?" I said. 

"Yeah! That would be fun!"

"Well, we'll see," I said. "It's going to be cold out. We'll see."

Paul was in school. I wasn't going anywhere. I had the house to myself for a while, so I wrote an article. I checked the food supply---With the weather getting bad, I'd stocked up on canned and frozen foods; I now had enough to last for a month. If ancient people had had access to freezers and canned food, we'd have a lot fewer wendigo legends.

Then I got my cell phone out of my pack and dialed a number I'd had stored for a couple of years now. She picked up immediately.

"Hello, buddy," she said.

"Hi, SaraLee," I said. "How are you doing?"
SaraLee had been in LHPS for a while. I have a low tolerance for the psychic types, but I'd known her a long time, and she was a very good friend.

"Been a bit busy," she said. "How about you?"
"Doing okay. New job. I wanted to check in with you, see if you were okay. I had a dream about you that kind of made me wonder."

"Now, I'd be very interested in hearing about this dream." She was graceful enough to not try to claim she'd sent me a telepathic message, though the thought had crossed my mind.

"I was out in the forest on an adventure," I said. "Exploring around. You kept coming to me, saying you needed a friend."

"And that's about it?"
"That's about it."

She was quiet for a moment. "That's very interesting," she said. "I'm glad you called. I have had some difficulties lately with work and personal life."

"You need to talk?"

"A little. You and me don't talk enough lately."

"Yeah, we really should get together next time you're in Lock Haven. I have a wendigo sighting here."

"Now, that's cool," she said. "Tell me more."

It had dropped to sixteen degrees out, and Paul, unable to go outside and play, had taken to hitting a tennis ball around the house with a racket we'd found on the porch. I had some sympathy for the kid being stuck in the house for days, so I'd just cautioned him to not break anything too important.

"Mom's taking me to dance class, Dad," he said. "What are you doing?"

"Checking into the wendigo sighting. I'm sending an e-mail to my editor, who lives in Clearfield, and may have heard the story. I'm also going to see if I can find a copy of the book that this came from, and study it to see what else I can learn."

He set down the racket. Rosie immediately grabbed the tennis ball and ran from the room with it. He said,"Well, it's time for me to get to dance."

"Wear your coat," I said. "This cold is nothing to mess with."

He rolled his eyes. "Dad, I know."

Paul and Michelle left for dance class. I had the house to myself for a while. I checked on the oil supply downstairs. It was starting to snow out. Twenty-two degrees and dropping.

I was having essentially the same problem I'd had during COVID. There were adventures to be had, things to be explored, but I was basically stuck in the house. It's not easy being a stay-at-home adventurer.

I had a little time. Part of this had to be running down and checking out Great Island and Memorial Park, and I had nothing better to do for the next couple of hours. I looked at my watch.

I was tired of hanging around the house. What the hell.

In the snow, it took about twenty minutes to bike to Memorial Park on the east end. I left my bike in the empty lot, and walked around, taking a few readings. 

Great Island had been a big place for the Native American tribes along the Susquehanna River. What is now Memorial Park had been a burial ground; when they'd built the dike in the nineties, they'd found bodies and had to stop and do an archaeological dig. If the woman in the story had been buried locally, it was likely here.

I walked around a bit. The thermal imager showed nothing but blues and greens---I was the only source of heat in the park. Highs of  nineteen, lows of twelve. The Susquehanna was partially frozen.

I wanted to poke around and do some digging, but there was no way in hell that was going to happen with the ground frozen. So I made a mental note to come back when it was warmer, and walked back to my bike.

And I found that the chain was frozen. The bike was going nowhere.

I could call Michelle to pick me up. No, wait, I couldn't. She was off with Paul at dance. Chris was out of town. Tif didn't drive. I was on my own.

Okay. I was stuck in the snowstorm for a while. Don't panic. I'd been in bad situations before. I'd been trapped by a flood in a cursed park. Lost and almost dehydrated in a haunted forest. I'd even survived a pandemic. I could get through this, too, with minimum risk of hypothermia. It was going to come down to what I knew....And what I'd brought along with me.

I was wearing my heavy coat and my puffy vest, and underneath that, the Yeti sweatshirt. My heavy gloves and black hood. Okay. I'd dressed warmly enough. Now I had to see if I'd prepared my backpack for situations like this.

I had a small survival kit in there, which was a help. It had a foil emergency blanket. No, wait....I had two. I'd worked one into my coat pocket. I unfolded that one and slipped it into my coat, wrapping it around myself to trap in body heat.

There was a picnic pavilion in the park. I went underneath it and sat down at one of the picnic tables. Two rocks anchored the other emergency blanket on top of the picnic table, where it hung down and could form a bit of a windblock. I wheeled my bike underneath the pavilion. So far, so good.

Some searching around the edge of the park turned up a lot of loose sticks and brushy stuff, which I gathered into a pile. I found a beer can thrown away in the brush, and I gathered that up, too. Littering was about to save my life.

I got out my Swiss army knife and used the can opener to cut off the top of the can, leaving it open. I set down the beer can near the picnic table, underneath the cylinder of my bike. One pocket of my coat had a firestarting kit of my own devising---A pill bottle, probably from Rosie, with matches, lint, and a striker inside it. If I were going to quit society and go be a hermit, the one concession I'd make to civilization is a lighter or matches. I put the lint way down in the bottom of the can, and then started placing small sticks and twigs on top of that.

It took me four or five matches before I was able to get it to stay lit, but I got the sticks burning. As it burned, I added progressively bigger sticks until I had a small fire burning in the can. It worked---The heat rose, warming up the bicycle chain. and reflected off the emergency blanket, keeping me from freezing to death.

And then I waited for an hour. You'd think a survival situation would be more thrilling. I warmed myself as best I could with my small, can-contained fire, and waited while the heat hopefully thawed out my bike. I kept feeding sticks to the fire. I wished I'd brought a book to read.

If this didn't work, I was going to have to either walk back, or try to wait it out until morning. In which case I stood a reasonable chance of being in Highland Cemetery within the week. Lou, local paranormal investigator, died on January 19, 2025, pointlessly chasing a wendigo during a snowstorm....

Sixteen degrees. I fed some more sticks in the fire. The sun had gone down entirely, and I was basically sitting in the dark. The snow reflected what light there was, illuminating the park and relieving me of having to turn on a flashlight.

I reached out and touched the bike pedal, giving it a spin. It felt looser. I tried again, and it spun freely. The fire had heated up the chain enough that it could move now, and should get me most of the way home.

I piled a bunch of snow into the can, extinguishing the fire. Then I rolled my bike out to the road---I had to make this as quick as possible, before the thing could re-freeze. I got on and tried it.

The bike worked! I rode down the hill to Water Street. If I just kept it going, I should be okay. I headed down Water Street and got the hell out of there.

"...So I spent the rest of the night wrapped up in a blanket, researching on my laptop and drinking hot chocolate and ordering more emergency blankets," I said.

"God," Emily said. "I'd never know what to do in a situation like that. Probably call my dad."

"Well, that's an option," I agreed. "Actually I thought of calling Michelle, but she was out at Paul's dance class."

"So did you find your wendigo?"

"Kind of," I said. "I found a copy of the book online and studied it. There's a fair amount of racism to some of these books; this one is about Native American tribes and published in 1881. So the writer pretty much wrote it to make them sound uncivilized; he inserted this story in a chapter about food."

Emily made a face. "Oh my god."

"So the whole wendigo thing was a legend, but it came about mainly because the writer, a white missionary, was trying to cast the tribe in a bad light. Of course, that didn't stop me from nearly getting myself killed down at Memorial Park."
"Well, I'm glad you made it," said Emily. "I wouldn't even know how to start researching something like that."

"I can teach you sometime, if you'd like," I said. "Sometimes I'm not sure, either, so I just check everything."

"By the way," she said,"I have something for you."

I walked into the house and dropped my pack on the chair. Rosie and Butters came running into the kitchen, and a moment later, and marginally more calmly, Paul showed up.

"Hi, buddy," I said. "How was your day?"
"Good."

"By the way---Got something for you."

I handed him a stack of valentines, based on his own design, with his photo on them.

Paul grinned and giggled. "This is great! How many are there?"
"About a hundred. And now, you have valentines that nobody else is going to have."

"Yay!" said Paul.

Thin Ice: Cold Open

LOCK HAVEN — Following a severe winter storm that paralyzed central Pennsylvania on Friday, forecasters say residents should prepare for up to three inches of snow Sunday night into Monday, which could make Monday morning travel hazardous.
AccuWeather’s latest projections indicate that the Lock Haven area should anticipate one to two inches of snow accumulating primarily between 4 a.m. and 6 p.m. on Jan. 6.
Fortunately, the storm is not expected to be accompanied by serious ice, sleet or freezing rain. However, the ongoing Arctic cold front is expected to keep temperatures below freezing throughout the week, with lows potentially dropping into the teens and wind chills pushing “real feel” temperatures into the single digits.

"Good morning, guys," I said as I walked in the door to work. "Twenty-four degrees out right now."

Kelli nodded. "We've been keeping an eye on it. We can see the temperature at the bank across the street. You have any trouble getting in on your bike?"

"The brakes froze again, but overall it was okay. I've learned to bundle up a lot."

"Damn, Lou," said Emily. "I'm impressed you can bike in this."

"Well, I gotta get to work," I said. "And much like yourself, the weather will be in the twenties for a while."

"Your Christmas present came," Emily said with a smile. "I hope you like it."

She handed me a package, and I opened it. It was a T-shirt, with four cryptids crossing the street like that Beatles album cover. Bigfoot, Mothman, a Wendigo, and Chupacabra. I grinned. 

"I love it! This is perfect!"

"We had trouble guessing your size," said Kelli. "We were waiting for you to take a break so we could run back and check your coat, but you've been busy lately."

I laughed. "I noticed you guys asking about my break a lot. I love this, Emily, and I'll be wearing it a lot as soon as it warms up again."

The phone rang, and Kelli picked up. She handed it to me. "It's your daughter."

I have two, but only one is likely to be calling me at work. I took the phone. "Hi, honey. What's up?"

"Hi, Daddy. Can you meet me after work and walk me home? I'm a little worried about the snow and ice with my wheelchair."

"Sure I can."

"What time do you leave work?"

"Four today. Will that work?"

"Yeah, that's fine. Meet you in Triangle Park?"

"I'll see you there."

"Tickets to cut." Emily brought a stack of brightly-colored theater tickets and set them on the cart behind me. "No rush, though."

"I'll get them done," I said. "Don't worry about that; I have the time."

"Okay, good. Thanks."

"With it so cold out, and not able to get out much, I thought I might start researching the Minnesota Iceman."

"Oh, that sounds interesting." Emily is generally appreciative of these things. Or maybe humoring me.

"The Minnesota Iceman is a bipedal hairy cryptid that is frozen in a block of ice, possibly a hoax," I said. "It was making the carnival rounds in 1967. The owner gave several different stories as to how he got it, and it may have been a real creature, a fake, or several fakes. Apparently it went up on Ebay in 2013, and was bought by a Texas museum."

"Oh my god, really? That's so cool! It would be neat to see that."

"I first learned all this in The Field Guide To North American Monsters, which I swear is a real thing. I figure since I can't go out much because of the cold, I might as well do some studying on the Iceman."

"That's really neat, Lou. You'll have to let me know what you find out."

"You'll be the first."

I got the tickets cut and boxed. Then I logged into the computer, and printed out a box of five hundred envelopes for an insurance agency. I packaged them up, too, and walked both to the front office, where I found Emily at her desk, doing a google search for "Minnesota Iceman."

"Ah, got you interested."

"Well, this stuff is pretty fascinating. Did you know there were some researchers who went to look at it?"

"Oh sure. One of them, Ivan Sanderson, actually visited Clinton County on another cryptid hunt."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he visited Hiram Cranmer up in Leidy Township. There's an old thunderbird photo that was said to be in Sanderson's possession, and he may have lost it here. Cranmer died in a house fire, and the thunderbird photo may have gone with him. So, in a way, the Minnesota Iceman has a tenuous Clinton County connection."

"That's so cool. How do you plan to research this?"
"Might give the museum a call, see what I can find out. It helps that I have no life."

The temperature was about nineteen and dropping. I was bundled up, walking along with Tif up Bellefonte Avenue. I was glad I'd worn my cold-weather outfit---Plus, appropriately, the Yeti sweatshirt.

"Gonna look into the Minnesota Iceman," I commented.

"Check under overpasses?" Tif asked. "Does he hang out under them all day like the Virginia Rabbitman?"
"It's....What? No, it's the Virginia Bunnyman, and the Minnesota Iceman doesn't spend time under overpasses. He doesn't do much of anything, having been frozen in a block of ice since 1967."

"Well, at least he's easy to catch."

"Well, the mystery is basically what his story is. If he's real or a hoax. The original owner claimed to have found this thing, essentially a Bigfoot frozen in a block of ice, and ran it around the carnival circuit. It's in a museum in Texas now, and I'm curious as to how real it might be."

"You know, some dads just sit in an office all day."

"Some dads are boring as hell."

We walked a little while, and I said,"Paul has his school dance Friday night. He's been excited about it for weeks."

"Oh my god. He's ten. Does he have a date?"

"He says he's going with two people. Apparently the rules on dating have changed since I was young, not that I ever got a lot of dates. He's getting all dressed up; he's been planning his outfit for a month now."

We hit Jones Street, and Tif said,"This looks okay. I can make it myself from here. Gonna have a cup of coffee."

"You have a good night, honey. See you Friday for family dinner."

"Spent last night staring at photos of the Minnesota Iceman," I said to Emily. "You know, there's remarkably few of them online, considering it's been around since 1967. I've seen more photos of Raystown Ray, and he's not even real."

Emily grinned. "I was wondering how that was going."

"You busy?" We were each standing at one of the big printers. "I don't want to interrupt...."

"Waiting for my file to convert. I got all day."
"Great, then I'll entertain you while my job prints."

"I noticed that there don't seem to be many photos of the Iceman."

"No, you can only find a couple of them. Which is weird. Normally cryptid photos are blurry but plentiful. So I found a couple of the good ones and compared them. I know some of this has to be a hoax, some sort of dummy---The position of the Iceman changes. He's a little different in different photos. Which means at least some of them are a hoax. The question is whether there was a real Iceman and a couple of fakes, or all fakes."

"That would make sense," admitted Emily.

"So I'm going to keep checking into this until I figure it out, and then hope it warms up enough I can get back to haunted cemeteries."

"There's a cemetery near my place," Emily commented. "I've always wondered about it. It's very small, and I wondered what the story is."

"I can find out for you in about five minutes," I said. "The genealogical society published books of every known grave in the county a few years ago. I'll pull the book and look it up, let you know."

"That'd be cool. Hey. Got something for you. Wait here." Emily ran to her desk, and reappeared with a jar of hard candies.

"Thanks, Emily! You brought me some of your mom's homemade candies!"

"Well, you liked them so much when you were picking them off my desk, I thought I'd bring you some. I told my mom you didn't need the big jar, but...." Emily shrugged.

"No, it's great. I love these. Thank your mom for me. I'll be eating these tonight while Paul is at his school desk and I'm looking up cemeteries."

I was thrilled when the genealogical society published books of the local cemeteries. They'd documented every known grave, and it eliminated the need for me to go racing around checking every single gravestone. That was in 2008. Since then I'd acquired all ten volumes.

I found the one Emily had asked about, and marked the page. Then I sent my friend Kevin a message; he's a Thunderbird expert from New Jersey. He had a lot of good Sanderson information, and sometimes it pays to consult.

Paul came into the room. The kid was looking good. He'd dressed in jeans and a black shirt, combed his hair, and probably taken a shower. I said,"You look good, buddy. Nice job."

"The doors open at seven," he said. "I'll need a little money for snacks."

"I'll give you money."

"Don't flirt with too many girls," said Michelle, coming into the room.

"Mom," Paul said. "They flirt with me."

On the weekend, I woke up to find that it had snowed overnight. I went out and shoveled the front walk, and helped my neighbor shovel. Then I went inside and had some coffee, looked up the number for the Austin Museum of the Weird, and called it.

Then I hung up and waited another hour, because I always forget about the time zones.

It's nice being a freelance writer---I can use that as an excuse to ask all sorts of insane questions, and nobody ever thinks twice about it.

"Hi, my name is Lou," I said. "I'm a freelance writer from Pennsylvania. I was hoping you could tell me about the Minnesota Iceman." I've reached a point in my career where I no longer feel stupid when I have to say things like that.

The girl laughed. "Oh, this is cool. We have had the Minnesota Iceman for quite a few years now. The owner of this museum saw it as a kid, and when he grew up, contacted the family who owned it."

"Do you have any kind of a provenance?"

"A what?"

"A provable chain of ownership, showing who owned it down the line."

"Oh, yes. He has all the papers from when he bought it from the family."

Which was not exactly the story I'd seen online; stories about the Minnesota Iceman seem to keep changing about monthly. "And he's been kept on ice ever since?"
"Yes, we have him in a specially frozen booth where people can view him."

"And he's been frozen ever since?"

"Oh, yes."

"Okay, thanks. If I have any other questions, I'll call back."

Flurries were coming down as I walked into work in the morning. I brushed the snow out of my hair before I leaned over Emily's desk and set the CCGS cemetery book down.

"Busy day already," said Emily. 

"Yeah, well, I got something that might excite you to start off," I said. I flipped the book to page forty. "Here's your cemetery. Garman Lutheran Cemetery. I looked it up a couple of nights ago. It was founded about 1846...."

"Wow," said Emily.

"Oh, this gets better. They didn't keep a lot of paperwork in the old days, so there weren't any maps or records. So the gravedigger would sometimes dig a grave, and find someone already there. This resulted in some double burials."

"Oh my god," said Emily. Across at the other desk, Kelli was listening to this with interest.

"And, in addition, Ida's great-grandfather is buried there. You've got a connection to the ghost in my house."

"That's so cool," said Emily. She looked at the photo of the cemetery, and pointed at a structure in the background. "Hey, this is our barn!"

I grinned. "You can hang onto the book and photocopy that part, if you like."

I walked to the back room and hung up my coat and pack. I started adjusting the printer, getting ready to print envelopes. A few minutes later, Emily came back with the book.

"I'm done. Thanks."

"Anytime. Researched the Minnesota Iceman over the weekend, too."

"Oh? Anything good?"

"I think it's probably a hoax, and has been from the start."

"So that's your conclusion, huh?" Emily grinned. "That makes sense, actually. What makes you think that?"

"Well, the story keeps changing, for one," I said. "I cannot pin down a consistent story about this thing, including the current owners. Because of that, and the fact that it made the carnival rounds from the start....I mean, the thing was traveling through state fairs and stuff for decades, and it's been consistently frozen for the past sixty years?"

"Yeah, I kind of wondered about that."

"Sanderson said it was real, but Sanderson was like me---A writer who got into cryptozoology. When the Smithsonian inspected it, they said it was a fake. If it ever comes down to a dispute between me and the Smithsonian, go with them unless I can make a really good case. They have more training and resources than I do."

Emily laughed. "I always learn something good from you, Lou."

"Well, I hope so. If it doesn't warm up, I'm gonna start looking into thunderbird sightings up toward Renovo. My friend Kevin e-mailed me about them when I checked things with him, so that gives me something new to do."

Temperatures dropped overnight, which led to Paul and I sitting up late on the couch, watching TV. The kid was wrapped in a quilt, and I was wearing one of my heavy fleeces.

"I hope it warms up," said Paul. "I want to have outside recess again."

"Well, we'll see," I said. "In the meantime, you can help me do some paranormal investigations. A few thunderbirds, maybe. What do you think?"

"Sure," said Paul. "Can I have a piece of candy?"

Drone For The Holidays: The 2024 Christmas Special

It's interesting to party with Human Resources. They don't care about any of the rules. My wife's company Christmas party was an annual event, and I was sitting at a table with the HR staff, on my fourth beer.

"What do I do with these?" her boss asked, holding up a string of tickets he'd been given.

"They're raffle tickets," said Michelle. "You put your name on them and drop them in the boxes over there. I'm hoping to win a deep fryer."
"Anyone have a pen?" he asked.

I handed mine over. "I'm a writer. Of course I have a pen."

"Are you really a writer?" asked the accounting person.

I nodded. "I really am. Freelance. I write for the Clinton County Record, PA Wilds, NCPA, a couple of other places."

"I stumbled on one of your articles a while ago," said Michelle's friend April. "I was like,'Hey, I know that guy!'"

"What do you write?" the accountant asked.

"Local history and paranormal stuff," I said. "It's about the only honest way you can make money as a paranormal investigator."

"Oh, that has to be interesting."

I thought back. Over the past couple of months, I'd already investigated my family's farm, my workplace, a hotel in the next county, and looked for Bigfoot in a forest.

"Sometimes," I said.

The weather outside was frightful. But inside, we had a team of people who weren't going to be scared off by anything---Me, Tim, Ashlin, and Millie sat around the table at our monthly meeting of the Lock Haven Paranormal Seekers.

We had snacks on the table, and drinks. Gifts from one another. After the chaotic year I'd had, this was everything a holiday should be about.

"Tim, I got you something special," I said. I handed him a historic 1894 book about the railroads. "Bound it myself at work."

He grinned. "Thank you! I actually wanted this. I had plans to go and buy it. Got you something, too."

He passed over a little bag, and inside was a coffee mug from his team, Swartz Paranormal. I said,"Thank you! I can always use a mug."

"I considered ordering pizza," said Millie,"But I wanted to wait and make sure everyone was going to make it."

"This is fine, Millie," I assured her. "I love the snacks. But I wasn't going to miss out on this."

"I didn't care if I had to drive through the storm," agreed Ashlin. "I was going to make this meeting."

"I got you all something else," I said. I got in my bag and pulled out a shrink-wrapped pack of LHPS calendars, and handed them out. They had our little ghost symbol on top, with the year 2025 waiting underneath.

"I'm going to hang mine in my office at work," said Ashlin.

"I was debating what to get everyone, and then I remembered I work in a print shop," I said. "I had my friend Emily, who is brilliant and doesn't realize it, come up with the design for me."

"This is great," said Millie.

I smiled. "Happy holidays, you guys."

Paul and Tif made it a point to get together for dinner about once a week. This week, I'd been invited along, and we sat at McDonald's eating our food. I said,"You see the newspaper reported on the national drone sightings?"

"I've seen a little of that, but I haven't been following it much," said Tif. "What's going on with that?"

"People have been reporting drones, huge clusters of them. They've been spotted in New Jersey, New York, Virginia, and Pennsylvania. All the conspiracy theorists have been going nuts over it."

Tif nodded. "And what's your theory? Assuming you have an interest in this; it's a little outside your usual line."

"Well, drones get reported as UFOs a lot, so I pay attention. All sorts of things get reported as UFOs. Including, once, a goddamn gender reveal party. You remember back in 2016 when everyone was reporting clowns attacking them?"

Tif nodded. "Yeah, I remember."

"I think it's going to be like that. When you really dig into it, only the first clown sighting was actually real, and that probably was a couple of drunks screwing around. Everything after that was third-hand information, or people claiming they heard a noise and it was probably a clown, or something. There were no real hard sightings after the first one. Hell, the Bermuda Triangle pretty much is the same concept---No actual documented disappearances there, either."

"And these drones haven't been photographed?"

"One politician posted a photo. Republican, of course. He had a photo of lights in the sky, and demanded the government do something about them. But they were clearly the constellation Orion, so he was demanding that the government do something about the stars."

Tif  laughed. "Yeah, Republican, allright."

It was cold, but not snowing anymore. Paul and I walked along our street on the way home, singing choruses of "Silver Bells" together.

I stopped and frowned, looking at the sky to the northeast. "What the hell is that?"

Paul stopped and looked. "That bright light?"

"Yeah."

"Looks weird."

"It does," I agreed. "Too bright to be a star."

"No, that's not a star."

It was a very bright light, hanging in the sky. I said,"Helicopter?"

"That doesn't look like a helicopter. Is it a tower on the mountain?"

"Too high up."

"Santa?"

"Too early."

"I think it's a drone," commented Paul.

The light moved, rising and coming toward us, flying in roughly a southwest direction. As it came overhead, I could see a little better.

"It's triangle-shaped," I said. "We have an actual triangle-shaped UFO."
It disappeared over the horizon, and we reached our house and came in. Rosie and Butters, as they always do, ran to greet me at the door.

I sat down at the table and turned on my laptop. I scrolled through Facebook for a moment.

"Hey, kiddo," I said.

Paul looked up.

"My friend Charlie, from LHPS. She saw a whole bunch of drones over her place."

Paul grinned.

"We have a mystery," I said.

"Lawyer business cards," I announced, bringing the finished box out and setting it on the shelf. Emily pulled that post-it off her bulletin board and threw it away. I'd been at the new job for three months, and little by little, I was getting much better at it.

"By the way, Lou," said Emily,"I got you something for Christmas, but I'm not sure it'll be delivered by the actual day. But just so you know, you have a present coming."

I smiled. I'd come to like all my new co-workers, but Emily was fast becoming a contender for Best Work Pal.

"Thank you, Emily," I said. "That's sweet of you. I'm not picky about when my presents arrive---If I get it after the holiday, that's okay, too."

She smiled. "I'm the same way."

"Hey. You'll like this. Paul and I saw a UFO last night."

"You did?"

"Yeah. Probably a drone, but I'm going to look into it. It was behaving a little weirdly, and it may have been illegally modified. So I'm going to investigate. I'm designating this one LH-24."

"Lock Haven...."

'Right, we saw it in Lock Haven in 2024. It's my own system, but it's an easy way to keep track of them. The one I investigated a couple of years ago, in Renovo borough in 1975, was RB-75."

"So how do you investigate this one?"

"Think I'll start with a stakeout."

I started going out and checking at night. Hell, it was right down the street. In my black puffy vest, I walked down and checked at about seven PM every night, looking to see if the UFO made a reappearance. Except for one night when it was pouring rain, or one night when Paul had dance class all night. Hell, aliens rarely invade during dance class anyway.

I took my night vision binoculars. They shined a green laser light that illuminated everything I looked at, so I could see clear across town and into the mountains. No drones or UFOs, though. But at least it was down the street from my house.

During the day, I made a few phone calls. I checked with the airport and local drone clubs to see if there had been anything flying that night. I called the hospital and the military base to ask---Neither one will tell you anything, but you have to cover your bases. 

On the winter solstice, temperatures dropped down into the teens. 

"Okay, you know how to use this?" I asked Paul, handing him the comlink.

He looked it over. "Yes. No. Um....You better show me."

"You press the button on the side to talk."

"Big one or little one?"

"Big one. Hold it in while you talk. Let it go to let me talk. If you need to signal me, hit the call button." I pressed mine, and his comlink bleeped and vibrated in his hand. He grinned. "I'll only be a block or two away, so the reception should hold out fine. And it's freezing out, so I won't be long."

"Okay."

I pulled on my puffy vest, my coat, and my fleece hood, and slipped the night vision binoculars in my pocket. I told Paul,"Heading out now."
"Okay," said Paul.

I walked outside---It was eighteen degrees out. I walked down the sidewalk to the clear area by our neighbor's house. From the sidewalk, you can see clear down to the courthouse. I hit the button.

"Paul, I'm down at Bonnie's place. You read me?"

"Yeah. See anything?"

"No, nothing yet."

I pulled out the binoculars and scanned the horizon. Everything was dark. Then I spotted the blinking light, just hovering there.

"I see it, kid. Just like the other night; it's just hovering there."

"Yay!"
"I'm going down to the corner to get a better view."
I moved down to the corner at Linden. I could see the light there in the distance, hovering still.

"Yeah....It's a drone allright. Just hanging there....Wait. It's on the move."

"Like the other night?"
"Yeah, getting closer. I'm going to try to distract it; be going silent for a few minutes."

I pocketed the comlink and aimed the binoculars at the drone. I'd been studying drones a little---I didn't have the equipment or knowledge to set up a jammer, but I'd learned that I could interfere to some extent with a laser. And I had access to lasers.

I clicked on the green laser light, shining it at the drone. I kept it aimed as the drone bobbed a bit, hitting the camera on the drone dead center as much as I could.

The laser can block the view that the camera is getting. And even the best drone pilot....Has to see to fly it.

I watched as the drone tried to weave away from the laser, but I kept the laser on the camera lens.

There we go. Having some fun now.

It tried to drop out of the way, but I kept on it. The drone slewed wildly to the side, and I saw it crash into a tree and drop, somewhere in the vicinity of Hoberman Park.

My garage was down the alley. I shoved the binoculars in my pocket, ran and got my bike, and rode down in the direction I'd seen the drone fall.

I got down to Hoberman Park, and waited. I couldn't find the drone in the dark, but I didn't need to. A minute or two later, a car pulled up, and a young woman got out with a flashlight.
"Oh, now I get it," I said. "It's you. CT-19."

She looked up at me. She was young, with long brown hair. She said,"Oh god. You."
"Mmmhm. I remember you. About five years ago, you faked a UFO sighting in Castanea Township with a drone to get my attention. You wanted to partner with me."

"You turned me down for some reason."

"Because you faked a UFO sighting."

"So what are you doing out here now?" she asked.

"Following up on the drone sightings," I said. "I assume you saw the news reports, and decided to get involved."
She nodded. "Drones have been attacking places all over the east coast. I thought I'd stir up some excitement here, too."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," I said.

"Don't suppose you've reconsidered?"
"No, I'm still not working with you," I said. "But when you find your drone, go ahead and have your fun. I won't interfere; I just wanted to figure out what was going on. Merry Christmas."

Six AM. I saw the crack of light as Paul opened the door and came in. "It's Christmas! Can we wake up now?"

"Why the hell can't you do this on school days?" I said. "How about you lay down here with us for a while?"

He shook his head. "I think there's presents downstairs!"

"Okay, give me a minute."

I dragged myself out of bed and we want downstairs. I started the coffee and Michelle sat down on the couch as Paul started pulling presents out from under the tree.

"A pizza blanket! A Melanie Martinez coloring book! A Bigfoot backpack! A puffy vest just like Dad's! This is the best Christmas ever!"

Black Saturday

In one morning, two things made the front page of the Allentown Morning Call: Me, and a horrible fire.

Chris sent me both. I opened my messages, and he'd sent me an interview that someone had done with me a couple of weeks ago---Questions about how to do the research on a haunted house. I hadn't realized it had been picked up by my hometown newspaper, though I had seen it on NCPA.

There was also a report of a huge fire starting on Blue Mountain. I read through that one on my laptop until Michelle came into the room.

"Big fire out near Dad's farm," I said. "Trees on Blue Mountain caught fire."

"How did it happen?"

"They don't seem to know yet. There was a fire like this when I was about fourteen. Just before I moved to Lock Haven, I hiked the mountain with some friends. There was still a couple of feet of ash all over that mountain."

"Is the farm okay?"

"Yeah, the fire would have to burn all the way across Slatington to hit Dad's farm. Amy says she can see the smoke from the valley, though."

"Well, I have to get off to work," she said. 

"Have a good day, honey."
Michelle left. I got Paul out of bed and sent him off to school, then drank coffee until it was time for work. I went in to the print shop, and was printing off envelopes when something occurred to me.

I brought up a map of Slatington on the computer, and looked it over. Then I went out to the main office and said,"I just had a wild thought."

Kelli and Emily looked up. "This ought to be good," said Kelli.

"There's a fire near my dad's farm. Forest fires drive wild animals out of the forest; they tend to run from the flames. This would include a Sasquatch."

Emily grinned. "So you'll have to tell your dad to keep an eye out."

"Better yet," I said. "We always go to get our Christmas tree after Thanksgiving. I'll actually get a chance soon to go out there and check."

"Can you see it?" Michelle asked as we rode past Palmerton. I was peering out the side window at Blue Mountain, and I shook my head.

"No sign of it. I wonder if I'm looking in the right place. Look, guys, there's the Marshall House, that haunted house on top of the hill."

Paul and Rylan looked briefly up from their screens at the Marshall House, which, to be fair, they'd seen before.

We always stop at the Hundred Steps when we go to Slatington. The Hundred Steps is a big concrete staircase that used to lead up to a factory. But that was torn down, so now they lead from one street to another street.

"When you count them, you never get the same number twice," I said as we walked over. "According to the legend, if you ever reach a hundred, you disappear. Let's try it."

We walked down the steps, Paul and Rylan counting aloud and being silly, me counting silently. It takes a minute; there's a lot of steps. When we got to the bottom, I glanced at the kids.

"Ninety-nine," said Paul.

"A hundred and six," said Rylan.

I grinned. "Ninety-three. Somehow, it always works that way."

We drove through Slatington and to the farm. Half an hour after arriving, I dragged a tree up and dropped it at the corner of the barn.

"You want it drilled?" my brother asked.

I nodded. "Shaken, drilled, baled. The works. Where was the fire on the mountain recently? I was looking for the spot, but...."

"Yeah, you just can't see it," said Jon. "It didn't leave much of a mark."

"It was all underbrush," said his assistant Scott. "It looked really bad, but it only burned the stuff underfoot. Unless you're right up there, you can't tell."

"Wow," I said. "I saw the pictures, and it looked terrible. You remember that one about 1985? That one left ash on the side of the mountain for years."

"I remember that one," commented my brother.

They put the tree through the baler, and then dropped it off over by the jeep. I spent half an hour tying it securely on top of the vehicle, because tying things on top always falls to the dad, an my masculinity was at stake.

I went an paid for the tree, and picked up some jars of jam to bring home for my new co-workers.

Another car pulled in. My other brother, David, got out with his family. I called over,"Hey, Paul! Looks who's here!"

"Nicholas!" Paul came running over to hug his younger cousin. My nephew Nicholas looks almost exactly like my brother had at that same age. Paul had been asking about seeing his cousins recently---It had been since COVID.

After a few minutes, they developed a baseball game, with my sister-in-law Victoria pitching. Michelle asked me,"You going to get in on this?"

"Think I'll walk around a little, actually," I said. I figured Paul could run around the farm unsupervised for a while. It hadn't killed me as a kid, and I'd really been trying.

"Where to?"

"Down in the woods."

I stopped back at the jeep to grab the cryptid kit. The cryptid kit is a green pouch that hangs over my shoulder, and contains everything I need to investigate the various kinds of cryptids. This can be a challenge, as there are various kinds, but I've tried to make it as thorough as possible while still wearable. I slung the thing over my shoulder and headed down to the forest.

I was wearing my new heavy-duty black coat, specifically for the cold weather. I had a removable hood on. Under the coat, I had my black puffy vest for winter investigations. Under that, I had my "Bigfoot Saw Me But Nobody Believes Him" sweatshirt.

I walked down the path between the springhouse and the barn, into the deeper forest. If anything had come from the north, it would have had to bypass the road and the house, which meant it would have had to come overland on the mountain and down into the deeper woods, where it was less likely to be seen. At the end of the path, I turned right and walked down the muddy dirt road to the creek.

There was a muddy spot along the creek, with a lot of deer tracks, but no Bigfoot that I could see. I was pleased to know that animals were coming in to drink from the creek, though---That was a good sign.

I continued down further into the woods. I stopped and considered where would be a good place to check, and then the spring occurred to me.

When I was a kid, we used to stop and drink from a small spring by the road. It was down along the shoulder, in a reasonably hidden spot. Worth checking. I walked up to the far end of the field and followed it down along the side until I found the old spring, then followed the water stream back down to where it met the creek, looking along the way for any sort of sign.

I kind of missed Resurrection Casey.

I stopped at the creek. Across, I could see something---Several white, round balls on the ground. What the hell? Worth checking out. I could either walk all the way back up to the path, or try to get across the creek. I looked it over, and there was a fallen tree spanning from one side to the other.

I stepped on it, and it flexed a bit. I was not a hundred percent comfortable trying to just walk over it. Maybe if it had been warmer than twenty-seven degrees out, I would have tried, but I really, really didn't want to fall into the creek right now. I looked around for other options.

I found a long branch up the way and retrieved it. This was the kind of stunt I'd have tried as a kid, and just like back then, it was either going to work, or get me badly hurt. 

I stepped onto the fallen tree. I place one end of the branch against the ground, using it as a walking stick to balance on the tree. I took a couple of steps forward, then moved the branch, bracing it against the ground. It worked---I stayed on the tree.

I moved forward, over the creek. I moved the branch a few feet, placing it in the creek. I was at the delicate part of this thing now. I pushed myself along, every few steps pulling the branch forward with me. With the branch bracing me, I made it across, finally letting go of it and jumping the last few feet to land, dry and unhurt and rather pleased with myself.

The round things were puffballs, a kind of edible fungus. I'd thought they might be. I'd seen a lot of them growing up, and even tried eating one once, but hadn't liked it much.  I knelt down and examined them.

A couple had small holes in them, or dents. One of them had what appeared to be deep claw marks. I tried to think of some sort of animal that would leave claw marks like that, and failed. Deer? No claws. Coyotes? No---meat eaters. Raccoons? Too small.

Something had been eating the puffball. I fished my camera out of the cryptid kit and snapped a photo of it. Then I pulled out my survival knife and sliced into it.

I was immediately treated to what looked like green smoke billowing out from the puffball. Spores. I drew back a bit; those could be poisonous. This thing was way past its prime; anything eating it would have had to have been here a couple of weeks ago.

Actually, around the time of the fire.

I took a few more photos, and then stood up and walked back up toward the house.

Tree tied to the car. All of our stuff gathered up. I went to find my brother, who was up in the pavilion.

I gave him a hug. "We're headed out. Got to make it home in time to put up the tree."

"Hey. You've been out here more often lately. Let's keep that up, okay?"

I grinned. "Yeah, I need to visit more. I'll find some more excuses to come back."

Out on the driveway, Paul was giving Nicholas a hug and saying goodbye. I stopped by Victoria and gave her a hug.

"Do you guys have any apps or anything, any way to keep Paul and Nicholas in touch? Paul would love that."

"We try to keep him away from screens," said Victoria. "How about just good old pen-pals?"

"That sounds great," I agreed. "Send me your address. I'll have Paul write some letters."

I walked up to the jeep, where everyone else was waiting. I climbed in.

"That was a pretty good trip," I said to Paul. "You got to go visit the farm, and play with your cousin for the first time in a while. He seemed to be having a good time with you, too."

"Yeah," he said. "Tomorrow can we decorate the tree?"

"I'd pretty much planned on that," I said. "How about Taco Bell for dinner tonight?"

Paul grinned.

"Yeah," he said.

"Sounds good," I said. "Let's get on the road."

Potter County: Odds Country

With an EMF detector in one hand and a laser thermometer in the other, I walked across the long, dusty basement. I got at EMF reading to my right, and focused in on it---Just an outlet that looked like it had been installed in 1955. A drop in temperature to the left turned out to be a small vent that ran to the sidewalk outside.

I moved forward. I passed a door to an alcove containing paper products and old equipment on the left. On my right, there was a crumbling alcove with old decorations inside it. Then I passed another door on the right that led to a storage alcove, and the EMF detector lit up. This time, there was no easy explanation, and I switched the thermometer for a camera.

I clicked several photos, then moved forward. Got a reading up ahead, on the left, and shot photos of that, too, as I reached the end of the basement.

Up above, I could hear my co-workers talking through the floor. The basement of the print shop ran the whole length of the building, and I'd discovered that, as two people had been murdered down here in 1962, I could use the place as a sort of haunted Hogan's Alley if I felt I needed a warm-up.

I walked up the steps to the main floor, where I found Emily waiting. She said,"What were you doing in the basement?"

"I was....Looking for more...."

She grinned. "You were checking for ghosts, weren't you?"

"Well. I gotta keep in practice. Tim and his family invited me to go to lunch in a haunted hotel with them this weekend."

"Weren't you guys going to go check a cemetery for a banshee a couple of weeks ago?"

"Yeah, the banshee had to be cancelled due to weather."

"I hate it when that happens."

"So we're going to the Germania Hotel in Potter County. This place was built in 1856, and is said to be haunted by at least three ghosts. I figure we're going to sneak in for lunch and use it as an excuse to do some investigating."

Emily laughed. 

I said,"Been known to sneak some investigations before. One time at my wife's holiday party in Northumberland County, I snuck out to investigate a water monster. When I got back, a drunk guy drank my water sample and I had to go back for more."

She laughed again. "You never told me you went looking for water monsters."

I like having new co-workers.

"Yeah, it was called the Susquehanna Mystery Thing."

"You do tend to attract the crazies, don't you?"

"It's kind of a professional hazard. You get that a lot when you're known for paranormal investigation."

We started toward the front office. Emily glanced at my sweatshirt.

"Loch Ness Monster's the Hide and Seek Champion, huh?"

I grinned. "I gotta be me."

It's gotten so I get mildly annoyed on my days off. I usually check my messages and drink coffee while I send Paul off to school, do a little writing, and then figure out what I want to do with the rest of my day. I'm easily bored.

I was sitting on the couch with the dogs when there was a knock at the door. When I went to answer it, sort of expecting someone to try and sell me new windows or something, I was pleased to see it was Tim and his family member Devaughn.

I smiled. "Guys! Hi!"

"We brought you something," said Tim. He handed me a bag. When I looked in, it contained T-shirts, hats, notebooks, and business cards for his team, Schwartz Paranormal Investigations.

"Oh my god! Thanks!" I said. 

"There's one for you, and one for Paul. Will he be coming with us Saturday?"

"Unfortunately, his little bestie has a birthday party. He'll come along next time."

"Haven't gotten to meet Paul yet," commented Devaughn.

"That's right, you haven't have you? We'll bring him on an adventure soon. Hey, Tim, I got a copy of Linn's History and the Jerry Church journal for you. I'll run and get them."

"Thanks," he said. "Looking forward to Saturday."

The sign at the county line said,"Welcome To Potter County: God's Country." We blew past it in the SUV as we left Clinton County.

I was up front with Vince, Tim's husband. Behind me was Millie and Petey, Tim's adopted kid, and in the back, Tim and Devaughn. Vince said,"Did we pass it?"

"No, I think we're on the right track," I said. "The hotel is supposed to be just past a turnoff up here somewhere."

We came to a crossroads, and he turned left. "There it is!"

We pulled into the parking lot. It was chilly, and still wet from the rain the night before. I was wearing my black ghost sweatshirt, black jeans, my warm puffy vest, and my leg rig. The hotel was  a small place in a small community, but it looked busy. We walked in to the tune of "Friends In Low Places" on the jukebox.

A bunch of guys were lined up at the bar, drinking beers and whiskeys. They turned to look at us as we walked in, looking us over. Then one of them lit up. "Hey! Paranormal investigators! Come on in!"

We walked into the dining room area as a bunch of them gathered around. "Find anything yet?" someone asked.

"Well, we just got here," I said. "We're hoping to find something."

"We wanted to ask the owner about scheduling an investigation," said Tim.

The bartender waved her hand. "Sure, go on upstairs."

"Really?"

"Sure. We have a little girl haunting room thirteen."

Well. That was easier than expected.

We walked to the stairs. I said,"Look at this, Tim. These steps, these doors....My dad's house has doors like this. They're clearly from the eighteen hundreds. These locks....They haven't made locks like this in well over a century."

"This place definitely has the potential for ghosts," he said.

I walked into Room Thirteen with my EMF detector. The entire upstairs was old, and badly in need of repair. There was a bed and a small shelf in the room, and water stains on the ceiling. As I walked around the side of the bed, my detector went up to orange.

"Got a reading in here," I said.

Tim and Millie came in. Millie had her EMF detector and Tim was carrying his cell phone with a FLIR detector attached. Millie said,"I'm getting a few readings."

"Heat signature in that corner," said Tim. 

I checked around the empty socket dangling from the ceiling on a chain. "No reason to think this has electricity running in it. I think the power's shut off to most of the second floor."

"We got something in here," said Tim.

I walked out to the hallway and looked around. There was a stairway at the far end, curling upward to a boarded-off attic. Down at the other end, there was a door. I looked out the window; it opened out to a sloped metal roof.

Devaughn joined me at the end of the hall. I said,"This place seems to have been built in stages. Look, there had to have been a balcony here once. No way this door originally led to that roof."

He looked out. "I can see that. You think that part wasn't there originally?"
"There's no way this door was meant to do that," I said. "The place was built in 1856; it's likely there have been a few additions and changes over the years."

Tim came down the hall and walked into Room Nineteen at the end. We followed him in. He was clicking photos with his FLIR.

"Bit of a reading in here, too," I said. "Funny how we're getting all the activity on the north side of the building, in the odd rooms."

"That is odd," he said.

"I see what you did there."

Tim got a photo, and said,"Oh my god. Look at this."

I looked over his shoulder. I could see the window on his FLIR photo, and clearly see a humanoid set of legs walking beside it.

"Checking," I said, and did a search with my EMF detector in one hand and my thermometer in the other. "Getting a bit of an EMF rise in that corner. That photo couldn't be either of us, we were standing behind you."

"No," he said. "There was nothing there."

'We can all vouch for that," said Devaughn.

"Send that to me when you get a chance," I said. "That's one of the best pieces of evidence I've seen yet."

We sat around the table downstairs, all of us, eating our food. The food at the Germania Hotel was really good, and I could see why they had a crowd in there. I'd ordered the horseradish burger, which had a slice of cheese on it the size of Linn's History.

"Next time we're here, we'll hit Ole Bull State Park and the local cemetery," Tim said. "It's getting dark now."

"Hey, we got a good investigation in," I said. "I'm not gonna throw a fit over the state park. I know you wanted to talk things over with the management and set a time, but considering how open they are about us investigating, we'd have been idiots not to."

"I'm thinking an overnight sometime," he said. "What do you think?"

I grinned. "Why not? I'm in."

Ghosts In Print

"Okay, guys," I said to my co-workers. "I'm planning my haunted tours. Quick poll---Which sounds better to you: A reporter haunting her workplace, or a headless ghost up in Leidy Township?"
I have new co-workers. Mainly because I have a new job. I'm working at the downtown print shop now, helping to create books, brochures, business cards, and all sorts of new stuff. I'm in the Hecht Building now---You don't know where the Hecht Building is, so it doesn't matter. And of course, I'm still a paranormal investigator, writer, and tour guide---I'm going to die doing that stuff.

"Oooh, I like the headless ghost," said Emily, at her desk.

Kelli, nearby, nodded. "I like that one, too."
"Headless ghost? Headless ghost? Okay, that's the one I'm going with, then."

"I told a friend we're working together now," Emily commented. "He's heard of you and your investigations."

"I get that a lot," I said. "I've been doing this for years."
As if deciding, she scribbled on a piece of paper. "Okay. Here's my address. My parents say they see a woman in white walking in the house sometimes, often in my room. Can you find out about the house for me?"

"Oh, sure, I can do that. I usually go and pull the deeds, and then line them up against the obits to see who died traumatically."

Paul came in. In the fifth grade now, he's been coming to visit me at work after school. I gave him a hug. "Guess what, kid? Emily here has a ghost in her house. I'm gonna go to the courthouse and check it out, figure out who might be haunting the place."

Paul grinned. "Cool. Are you done work yet?"

"Another few minutes."

"While I wait, can I run down the street and get a boba tea?"

I handed him a twenty. "Bring me change."

I turned over the blue chair in my office and began hacking at it with a crowbar. "So, we're gonna have to demolish the sofa downstairs to get it outside," I said.

"Already started," declared Paul.

"Yeah. you began destroying it when you were three." I pried off a piece of wood. "When your mom gets the new sofa, we can move the recliner over where my grandfather's chair is, and move that up here. I can get rid of this one."

Paul looked around my office. "You've been doing some work up here."

"It was getting pretty cluttered. I wanted to make it look more like a workspace, and not so much a storage shed." I took a survival knife and cut through some of the fading upholstery. "I hope we find some sort of ghost story soon. I could use a good haunted investigation."

"We already live in a haunted house."
"Yeah, but I already know everything about this one. Hey. Got a question for you, kid."

"Okay."

"When you started investigating with me, I gave you one of my tac vests. Your outfit is basically just a smaller version of mine. Do you like that?"

"Sure. Why?"

"I was wondering if you maybe wanted something different, something that was more your own style."

Paul looked over his vest, hanging on our rack. It had a ghost patch, a unicorn patch, and an alien eating ramen noodles. "This is fine. I might add one more patch with Melanie Martinez."

"Okay, if that's all you want, I'll see what I can find."

My next day off, I got Paul out the door and to the bus stop. It was easier than it used to be; once I had him awake, he pretty much walked down by himself. That made me a little sad.

Coffee. Wrote an article. Then I got on my bike and headed down to the courthouse. Second floor was the register and recorder's office.

Deeds aren't that hard to research. Most of the problem people have with deed research is simply not knowing it's available. I had the assessment record in two minutes, the earliest deed in five. And I began to work my way backward.

"Merab McCoy," I told Emily at her desk. "Your place was probably built about 1897, by a man named Orrin Randall. One of his daughters, Merab McCoy, died in 1931. You said you guys have seen an older woman, right?"

Emily nodded. "That's right."

"She died at age sixty-one, from complications from a car accident. She's the most likely to be haunting your house, the obvious candidate. She's buried over in Wildwood Cemetery, which is itself said to be haunted."

Emily smiled. "That's cool. How much is an investigation?"

"Oh hell, we don't charge."

She raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

"I'm very suspicious of any investigator who does. It gives them a reason to claim they found something, even if they didn't, so they can charge a fee. We won't turn down dinner if offered, but even that isn't mandatory."

Emily grinned. "I'm sure we can do pizza or something."

"I was looking into this place this morning. Did you know that our section of the building was a women's clothing store?"

"Apparently the walls were saturated with perfume for a long time," commented Kelli.

"Our building may be haunted," added Emily. "One of the customers told me that there was a murder here a long time ago."

I frowned. "I have a vague memory of hearing about that, but I don't recall the details."

She got online and printed out an article for me. "Here we go."

I skimmed it. "Two murders committed during the commission of a robbery. I have a memory of my friend Matt writing about this years ago."

"I thought murders could cause a haunting," Emily said,"Because they're so traumatic."

"You thought right," I said. "In my experience, you get that sort of thing. You don't get reliable sightings from a ninety year old lady who outlived three husbands. It's always the murders, the suicides, the tragic accidents. You know, if it turns out this place is haunted, I can always bring in some of my equipment. In fact, I usually have a few pieces on me."

"Really?" Emily asked, sounding impressed.

"Sure. We can set a couple of pieces up on your desks, and keep an eye on them. It's the time of year for it, isn't it?"

In the afternoons I'd fallen into the habit of running across the street for a soda and some chips or something. The Hecht Building was us, but we shared it with a furniture store, and on my way out, I dropped in over there. A woman was sitting at the counter.

"Hello," she said. "Can I help you?"

I've gotten far enough in my career that I no longer feel stupid saying things like this.

"One question," I said. "I was wondering if you had any reason to think the place was haunted."

"Oh, sure," she said instantly. "You mean because of the murders."

That took me by surprise a little.

"Well.....Yeah."

"Sure, the place is haunted. Nothing moves around or anything, but we've heard noises in here. Could be just an old building, but you can tell, you know?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean. That answers what I wanted to know. Thanks."

"Good morning, Emily." I walked into the front office and opened my pack. "Got a few pieces of equipment to play with today."

"You do?"

"Sure." I got out my laser thermometer and my EMF detector. "This lights up around electricity. If we see it spike to red, and there's no reason for it, we may have a ghost around. This measures the temperature." I aimed the thermometer at the wall as Kelli was coming through the door, and she jumped back, thinking it was some kind of weapon---It does look like that.

"Whoa!"

"It's a thermometer. It's a thermometer."

She came back in. "Ghost hunting stuff?"

"Yeah, I got the EMF detector here."

"Electromagnetic fields?"

'You got it. Now, I did a little checking----Did you see the newspaper articles I sent you? The murders made the front page for about a week."

Emily nodded. "Been reading them on and off all morning."

"Did you see the one with a diagram about where the bodies were found? It looks like this used to be one big basement with the business next door. They were lying about five feet away from our basement. I'm gonna go down and check on that. In the meantime, I'll leave these on your desk so you can keep an eye on them."

Kelli grinned. "This will be fun."

I walked back through the workshop and down the stairs to the basement. It was a big, long basement, fairly dark, especially at the far end. As I walked through, I looked over the walls.

The eastern wall was made differently than the other one. Definitely newer. It had been built at some point since the murders had happened---At the time, this had all been one basement.

Along one wall was a long room-ish thing built out of plywood mostly. As I passed it, I realized that two of the shelves were covered with oil, which was dripping from the ceiling. I touched it with my fingers; it was oil, allright.

I walked back upstairs and found the boss.

"Don't want to ruin your day," I said,"But we have some sort of bad oil leak in the basement."

"Let's take a look," he said. He takes everything pretty calmly.

We walked downstairs, and he looked over the shelf. 

"Where's that dripping from?"

"Up there someplace," I said. Another drip fell from the ceiling.

He glanced at it. "Are we under the cutter?"

"I think we are."

"Thing's leaking oil again. Let me go and take a look at it. We can't even run  the shop without the cutter. How did you find this?"

"I....was down here looking for ghosts."

He grinned. "Well, you may have saved us some trouble. Keep it up."

We walked back upstairs. He knelt down by the cutter, and with my Swiss Army Knife, we pried open the front panel. He said,"I'll see about getting this fixed."

"I'd hate to not be able to use it," I said. "I like working the cutter." I had put a magnetic photo of Paul on it my second week at work.

I walked back out to the front office, where Kelli and Emily were still watching the EMF detector.

"I've been talking to them," said Kelli.

Emily grinned. "And it's lighting up. Look."

She pointed at the EMF detector on her desk, and Kelli said,"Is anyone there? Is there anything you'd like to say to us?"

The EMF detector spiked to red as she spoke, and then went down again.

"It does that every time," said Emily.

I smiled.

"Well, guys, we might have somebody here."

I shoved the old chair into the corner of my office, and put the cushions back on it. Paul came in and looked everything over.

"The new couch comes on Wednesday," he said. "I'm excited."

"I know. We'll have to keep an eye out for Ida; sometimes things like that can rile up a ghost."

He looked at the chair. "That's where it's going to go, huh?"

I nodded. "This was my grandfather's chair. I inherited it after my grandmother died. He used to sit and read books in it when I was a kid."

Paul nodded. 

"It looks right there."

I smiled.

"Yeah," I said. "It does."

Long Way Home

NO PARANORMAL INVESTIGATIONS, the sign said.

"So," the woman asked me,"Are you a paranormal investigator? Or some kind of writer?"

"Both, actually," I admitted. "How did you know?"

"Well, you have an alien on your shirt. And your belt. And skulls on your sneakers."

"It's maybe possible that I overdo it."

My name is Lou. I'm a writer, historian, tour guide, volunteer, and explorer, but mostly I'm a paranormal investigator. I've been doing it for a while now, and I've pretty much reached the point in my career where I can ask someone if they've recently seen the Mothman with a straight face.

I was waiting to go on a tour of the old haunted jail in Jim Thorpe. My wife, my son, and his little friend were whitewater rafting the Lehigh River. I'm not much for the water, so I'd agreed to hang out in Jim Thorpe for a few hours before they picked me up and we headed off to my family's farm in Slatington.

The jail was known to be haunted, but they were a little touchy about photos an investigations. My plan was to essentially sneak an investigation in during the tour. I'd done dumber stuff.

The tour guide was maybe fourteen, and his name was Alex. 

Jim Thorpe jail is known for a handprint in one of the cells. According to the story, a prisoner put it there before he was hanged, and it's never come off. Now, I am cynical enough to picture a staff member with a sharpie putting the handprint back after hours, but I figured it was worth checking.

"The handprint is in cell seventeen," Alex announced. "Please feel free to look around, but no photographs or investigations."

Everyone in the group---I was with about twenty people---Wandered around the first floor of the jail. I slid my all-in-one out of my jacket pocket and flipped it on.

The device is an EMF detector and a thermometer, which saves me from carrying around a lot of equipment, but it looks like just about nay nondescript electronic. It could be anything, which is convenient. I walked around, checking for EMFs.

Nothing. I switched it over to the thermometer setting, and immediately got a cold spot. I grinned.

There we go. And the employees never had to know.

"So you're a tour guide," the guy said.

I nodded. "Tour guide, writer, investigator."

I was sitting in a bar in Jim Thorpe, having a beer to kill some time until the family arrived. I'd been joined by a nice enough guy who'd struck up a conversation, and we'd been chatting for a few minutes.

"My wife would love that," he said. "She goes out with some of her friends, and they do all sorts of haunted stuff. You have a website or something?"
I handed him my card. "Have her e-mail me. We'll set up a tour."

"Hey, that's great!"

My cell phone rang. It was Michelle.

"We're on our way."
"I'll be in position," I said.

I walked down to Hazard Square, where ten minutes later, the Jeep pulled up and I climbed in. "Everyone have a good time?"

"Yeah!" said Paul, my son, in the back.

"How about you, honey?" Michelle asked. "How was your day?"

"Not bad. Toured a haunted jail." I turned to Paul and his friend Rylan in the back seat. "You guys want to help me look into aliens tonight? There have been some UFO sightings out there. They had a CE-3-D on the Hynek Scale. Someone reported seeing a little black creature they thought was an alien running around after a UFO sighting."

"How did they know it was an alien?" Paul asked. "It could have been a raccoon."

"That's what we'll try to find out. Uncle Jon wants to know if you'd like to learn how to drive the gator while you're there."

Paul lit up. "Yeah!"
"He says he might teach you how to use a chainsaw, too."
"I've seen chainsaws," Paul said,"But only in videogames. I've never seen one in real life."

"Well, Uncle Jon may show you how it works."

I pulled the tent from the Jeep and got it set up. My brother watched with some amusement. I said,"We've had this tent since before we were married. Best tent I've ever owned. It's getting old, but I keep trying to get one more summer out of it."

"Looks like a good one," Jon said. "It goes up nice and easy. You gonna do some ghost-hunting while you're here?"

"Thought I'd look into UFOs, actually. There's been a sighting. Someone saw a small black creature."

"Could have been a fisher."

"Coulda been. I'll look into that."

"You should check out the springhouse while you're here. I was wondering if it was haunted."

"Might be. Got something happening down there?"

"Well, a really bad feeling. A few noises. But it's old, you know that."

"I'll check into it while I'm here."

"Don't go too far in, though. I don't trust that floor, and I don't want anyone getting hurt."

"Been getting bad for years. Want to see some of my equipment?"

"Sure."

Paul was in the grass, playing with Miles, the family beagle. We were near the line of maple trees by the driveway. A leaf came fluttering down, and he reached out and grabbed, almost catching it. It bounced off his hand and fell to the grass.

"Amy says there's magic in falling leaves," he told me. "If you can catch one, it brings that magic to you and means good fortune."

I got out my hard briefcase and opened it up. "Here's my rifle microphone. Michelle caught the kids out in the backyard with it a while back, listening for the ice cream truck. Which is a legitimate use of the rifle microphone. Here's the night vision binoculars."

Jon tried them. "Not bad."
"They're not true night vision---It operates on a green laser light. But good enough for my purposes. Here's the thermal imager. You can see heat signatures with this."

"Hey, that'd be good to test on the beehives."

"Maybe later we can, if you'd like. You want to join me and the kids when we look for UFOs?"

"If I'm taking the dogs out and I see you guys out there, I'll catch up."

"That works." I pulled on my vest. "Usually I have the big bulletproof tac vest, but this is the travel model. Easier to pack."

"Vest light."

I walked out the back door and across the yard in the dark. It brought back memories---All the times I'd snuck out of the house at night as a teenager. I'd done it a million times, slipping out to have some adventure in the middle of the night.

I walked up the road. I had a flashlight, but I didn't really need it---The moon was almost full, and I was guided by a childhood of memories. I knew every step, and it didn't take much before it all came back to me.

I'd done this the night I'd tried to commit suicide. January 13, 1986. I'd wanted to kill myself, but then decided to live, for the people I'd cared about. And I'd slipped out of the house, gone looking for a ghost, and managed to help an abused girl.

At the top of the hill, I looked around. I got out the binoculars and turned on the night vision, scouting the area. Trees, mostly. I saw the Big Dipper, bright in the sky. I'd gotten used to the lights of Lock Haven---It was darker out here, making the stars more visible. I saw a plane.

There was a bright light to the north, moving across the sky. I couldn't identify it offhand. I watched it for a while, moving east. Then I heard something behind me.

It was in the woods across the road, something moving back there. I turned on my flashlight, but couldn't see it. I moved toward it, but it crept away, disappearing into the woods.

Paul and Rylan were in the living room. Rylan was already asleep on one couch, and Paul was watching TV on the other.

"Find anything?" he asked me.

"Maybe an animal in the woods. I think the alien someone saw was probably an animal---There's certainly enough of them out there."

"Maybe in the morning I'll go with you."

"We can check the springhouse for ghosts. Uncle Jon thinks it might be haunted."

"Cool. Will you watch Harry Potter with me before bed?"

"Sure." I sat down with him, and he threw his legs over me. One of the Harry Potter movies was on; he'd loved those as a little kid, but it had been a while.

We sat comfortably together and watched for a while. He went to sleep sometime around ten; I heard his breathing change and he was out.

I gave him a few minutes, then went out to the tent and went to sleep myself.

I woke up around seven in the morning. I shrugged myself out of my purple sleeping bag and went into the house, still wearing my Chupacabra pajamas. I poured myself a cup of coffee and found Dad out of the porch.

"How's everything?" he asked.

I sat down beside him on the porch swing. "Doing okay. Slept fine, for in a tent. Michelle's still out."

"I saw Paul on the couch."
"We won't be seeing him for a while. Once he's out, he's near impossible to wake up. I gotta make like six tries every single morning for school."

I took a sip of my coffee. Dad asked,"So how's everything with your heart? Any news there?"

"Still no idea. I've had follow-up appointments and all sorts of crap, and nothing. It was really just that one day, and then it was over."

"Did the doctors give you any directions?"

"I barely even saw doctors. They told me to drink more water, and that was the most helpful thing I heard. I'm not feeling too hot on the medical profession right now."

"Yeah, I can understand that."

"But I'm okay. Lost some weight for some reason, but no further heart problems. I was on the heart monitor for thirty days, and it recorded nothing. So I'm doing okay."

Breakfast was blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs, cooked by Jon's wife Amy and begged for by Miles and Peggy.

"Find any ghosts last night?" Amy asked me.

"Last night I was sort of concentrating on UFOs," I said. "But didn't find much. We're going to check the springhouse for ghosts this morning."

I was actually surprised at how much Paul and Rylan ate. They barely eat breakfast at home. Afterward, I put on the vest and took some of my equipment out of the travel case, stocking my pockets.

"You guys going with me to the springhouse?" I asked the kids.

"Yeah," said Rylan.

"Which one is the springhouse?" Paul asked.

"The building with the pink shingles out back, by the path," I said. "We used to camp there. I learned first aid in that house, learned Morse code. We had a million adventures in that old springhouse when I was a kid." I picked up the box of equipment. "Who wants what?"

Rylan took the laser thermometer, and Paul took the little EMF detector. We walked down to the springhouse, on the path behind the house.

The springhouse is a big old house with pink shingles. We'd played in it and camped in it constantly as kids. Now, my brother was right---It wasn't in the best condition.

I stopped and looked at it, remembering.

I got out the all-in-one and turned it on. I said,"Check the outside first."

We walked around outside the springhouse for a moment, checking the readings. Then I tried the door, which was jammed---It had pretty much always been like that. I did what I'd always done as a kid, and kicked the lower corner.

It popped open. I stepped inside. The floor was covered with walnut shells; clearly squirrels were using the place. Dust and junk was throughout the room, and the floor sagged badly. It had buckled up in the middle, and I could see a clearly rotted spot that I wouldn't dare to go near.

"Can we come in?" asked Rylan.

"Yes, but not far. Stay behind me," I said.

Paul and Rylan stepped inside, looking around. 

"Wow," commented Paul.

I said,"We shouldn't get any EMFs from electricity in here---Dad shut off the power to this place years ago, when they built the new barn."

Rylan moved the laser thermometer around the room. "Got a cold spot over there," she said.

"I'm showing that, too," I said. "Going to the thermal imager."

I got the imager out of my pocket and turned it on. I could see the shades of red and orange, and for no reason, a blue blob in the middle.

"Yep, we have activity," I said. "Got a cold spot right there. Let's get out of here, before the floor collapses."

We moved back out the door---We'd only gone about four feet into the building. My brother had come down the path and was working on the tractor,

"Find anything?" he asked.

"Couple of cold spots," I said. "Place may actually be haunted. You know all the people who built this farm are up in the old cemetery by 873?"
"I remember that," he said. "The Newhards."

"German immigrants. Did the research on them years ago."

Paul tapped me on the shoulder and whispered in my ear. I grinned.

"Paul wants to know what the chances are of him getting a lesson on the gator."

Paul and his Uncle Jon sat in the front seat of the gator, a big green cart that Jon used on the farm. 

"Okay, I'm gonna keep my hand on the emergency brake. You steer, and work the gas. Just a little at a time, to start."
Paul was grinning. I watched as he started driving, slowly and jerkily at first, then smoothing out. Clearly, he was having a good time. With Jon in the seat beside him, he steered the gator across the lawn. My brother and my son.

A leaf was falling from the maple tree.

Without thinking, I reached out and caught it.