I had been traveling alone for some time in Western New York, before I came to the small city of Canalway located just south of Buffalo. It was early October when I first glimpsed the steeples of churches in the distance. Saint John’s and First Presbyterian were among the tallest buildings in the city and as noticeable as a warm day in December.

I had been traveling on foot and by boat following the Erie Canal from start to finish pulled onto the road by a lust for adventure and a calling I didn’t quite understand. When I finally turned twenty-one the road had beckoned to me. It was the first time I was no longer accountable to my parents for anything. Not that they had ever been oppressive or abusive; they gave me a fair bit of freedom, but in my small hometown there was never much to do. Entertainment ranged from camping in the woods to meeting at the local pubs to play pool. We didn’t even have a resident haunted house like most cities, regardless of their size. To put it simply my home was in normal in every possible way and that just wasn’t enough for me.

I wanted excitement and adventure. While I had only been alive for twenty-one years it felt as if I had seen all there was to see. I got up in the morning, made breakfast, went to work, and then to bed. Only to do the same thing the next day. Rinse, wash, and repeat. I never could grasp how that could be enough for some people. The sheer monotony of it all would drive me insane given enough time. I was able to break up the grind a bit by reading. I would devour whole books in one sitting and when I finally closed the cover I would still be hungry for more. While reading I could be a hero, or an adventure exploring a dusty crypt. A knight in King Arthur’s court, or a wizard seeking out ancient knowledge. But what I loved most of all were ghost stories. To me, the opposite of l’ennui wasn’t just occupying my mind. It was the idea that we had to be scared. That by growing complacent and keeping ourselves content we would cease to grow as people. If you were scared you were doing something right because you were doing something new. I found that relief from l’ennui while ghost hunting.

I had broken into every abandoned haunted house I came across in my wanderings. I was always searching for that other. The prospect of encountering something supernatural, to prove to myself that we were not only our mortal coils but something more fascinated me.

That was the reason why my hometown the library had always been my favorite place. It was a small wooden building, and always too warm for comfort, but each book was a window to adventure and freedom in a town where I felt trapped. Before I had left I had read that an average human can walk thirty miles a day. Perhaps, I wouldn’t be walking that far everyday but I could give it my best shot and see where the road took me.

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