Buckman Tavern and Me Mystery

An early tavern 1710-1764 run by Innkeeper John Muzzey, was not opened solely for the convenience of travelers but for the comfort and entertainment of the townsfolk as well. There they could learn the local news and discuss town affairs, and evidence of that was the many notices of town-meetings, elections, auctions, missing slaves, livestock, posted on the taproom walls.

Innkeepers were some of the few subscribers to the current newspapers, and they read them aloud to their assembled patrons. Letters were also left at the tavern to be passed along to the ones addressed to. Consequently the innkeeper was often the best informed and most influential citizen in town and was often elected to public office.

To be continued.

Thank you for traveling with me. See you soon.

In The Valley.

It used to be the safest place on earth to me.

But not today.

Surrounded by tall mountains, secluded from the prying eyes of the curious and nefarious. In the valley homes dotted the steep hills. Strange narrow buildings, built from old box car lumber. The men working for the railroad would stripe an abandoned box car and repurpose the wood. That might be why most of the houses have a rusty-red look.

For now, this was home.

David Beyer stood in the opened door at the back of the mill. Having a smoke and relaxing on his ten minute break. His eyes were riveted on the man. He watched the tall man leave the coffee shop down the street, and was now walking toward the ancient covered bridge. He was in his sixties, with thinning salt-and-pepper hair parted on the side. It looked like a fresh-cut, with a bit of a cowlick standing up in the back. His suit was expensive and fit his frame and looked like a tailored hand created it.

It was late morning and the street was not as crowded as it would have been earlier. Still, there were a lot of pedestrians and this particular street hummed with activity filling the air with the thump and rattle of the boards as a few cars passed in and out of the bridge.

The bridge built-in 1874 with a one hundred and fifty foot span across the wide Juniata river had a sign posted in the top front, Five Dollars Fine For Riding Or Driving Over This Bridge Faster Than A Walk. The ripples of water running under the bridge echoed through the wooden structure.

The tall man picked up his pace a bit, his expensive wingtips striking the stained pavement with purpose. He started to whistle a tune. He seemed not to have a care in the world.

David continued to watch the man now twenty yards from the mouth of bridge. David was six-four and built like a football lineman. He had been on a diet for several months, after his wife hinted he should lose some weight. He was dressed in the standard work clothes the mill provided each worker.

David watched the tall man step around the barricade that had been set up on the sidewalk and stretched partway into the street. It had been set up to slow down cars entering the bridge. A squawking bird flew across in front of David, perched on the top of a lamppost, and looked down at the passersby. The air was chilly and David shivered a bit even in his thick jacket, pulling the collar up around the back of his neck.

The tall man slowed as he approached the front of the bridge. Then he stopped looked in all directions. Moments later he started to run into the bridge, then he vanished. David, dropped his smoke as his mouth gapped open. He rubbed his eyes, blinking, trying to take in what he just witnessed. He jumped down to the ground and ran toward the bridge. At the entrance he stopped and looked in. Then he stepped into the bridge and walked the length of it, turned around and rubbed his head. “Did I just see what I thought I saw.” He said out loud to himself.

To be continued.

Thank You For Traveling With Me.

Hiking Mount Marcy in New York

A rugged hike but he made it. There were a lot of hikers on the two miles to the lake. It was dry, the dam had broken a couple of years ago and it was never repaired. I hiked back to the trail head to wait for my husband. I was getting concerned when it started to get dark, then he walked out of the woods. I breathed a sigh of relief. We spent the night at the Legendary Wentworth Hotel. Our room had a king size bed, a fireplace, a separate sitting room with TV, formal dinning, serving wonderful meals. It was a great week.

Thank you for Traveling With Me.

 

 

Gateway To The City Hidden In Time

In an unknown location is a country where the Gateway exists. The only outsiders to have visited it have sworn to keep its location secret. Many explorers down through the ages have searched sailing from country to country, with the hope of being the one to find this mystical place.

It lies on a great spur of rock above dense jungle, hidden by a high range of mountains. The map will show you the way. The man who lives in the dense jungle has the map, that leads to untold riches. The right person, repeating the right words, will be the one given the map. But what are the right words? Do you have the courage to investigate and find the man, with the map?

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The House Hidden in Time

Somewhere in the northern part of Ireland, a split in time has opened. It has caused every road to turn to the right. One of them is the road leading to the land of Timelessness. If a traveler takes this road they are in danger if they didn’t put on their weighted shoes, for without them they would be sucked into the Land Without Time.

Once there, they would live in the House of Time. A log cabin, where under a board of the uneven floor in the first room to the right, is a red box containing ten thousand dollars in cash. But travelers who are tempted by the large stash should know that inside the thick walls of the cabin is hidden a little office of Police Inspector Harry, a giant of a man who asks silly questions about fried eggs. If you look directly into his eyes you will be turned into a frog, and there you would remain for eternity.

Don’t look in strange places or splits in time, it could be bad for your health.

Thank you for Traveling With Me.

Nut Islands, Have You Been There?

In the Atlantic Ocean, not far from the vegetable sea, so-called because certain trees that grow there produce enormous nuts over fifteen feet long. The inhabitants, the Nutanauts, use them as ships. They sail to and from the Isle of Nothing.

The Isle of Nothing is a large lake dotted with islands, stretching from the Forest of Evilshaw to the Castle of the Quest. Travelers may find it somewhere in the north of England. The Forest of Evilshaw itself is dense and trackless, no one dares to hunt there and no thief will take refuge inside its boundaries. Many legends are attached to the island and the people; some say that fairies walk its paths, others that it conceals the mouth of Anduin, resting on the edge of Helvania, hiding a house of the Grand Fairy who protects all inhabitants from Evil.

Thank you for Traveling With Me.

Ernst Willy?

All the muscles in Ernst’s six-foot five-inch thirty year old body rippled as he socked the post hole digger in for the second time, trying to make head way in the cold, hard February ground. He was thankful it wasn’t snowing. He glanced up at Mr. Harrison, the owner of the two hundred acre farm spread out in the wide valley surrounded by the Allegheny Mountains in Pennsylvania. He was a portly, fifty-five years old with dark slicked back hair who sported a handle bar moustache. He’s been Ernst’s boss for twenty years, a tough old bird who worked as hard as he did.

By five o’clock they had thirty posts put in, then strung the chicken wire on each pole. At six o’clock; “Come on Ernst let’s call it a day.”

“Gladly, I’m hungry for a good supper.”

“Good the Mrs. is making meatloaf tonight.”

He washed up in the wash-house and had supper with the Harrisons. They treated him like family. As they ate the Harrisons talked about going to the neighbors after they finished eating. They would go there often and have Ernst set up with the children. Eight year old Ida, four-year old Emma and Robert (Robbie) Smith a twelve-year-old young man who the Harrisons adopted from the poor farm.

When they finished eating he stood, “thank you again for wonderful meal.” Mrs. Harrison a slim red-head with china doll skin, smiled, “you’re welcome Ernst, glad you liked it.”

“I’ll be going now, good night.”

Ernst walked toward his small house one hundred yards from the Harrison’s big mansion. It was just right for him, not too big too clean and not too small to be cramped.

As he walked he heard a voice; “You must have Harrison’s money. You know he has a good deal of it stashed in that big house. Get it, you deserve to have it.” Ernst Willy shook his head and looked up the road in front of him and behind. “Who’s talking to me? I don’t see anyone.”

Before he realized it, he was back at the home of his employer and friend. After getting into the house he found the Harrisons were not home.

To be continued. Thank you for Traveling With Me.