LOBELIA, Maine — In a quest to right the injustices of the past and participate in the venerable tradition of solving a mystery with your closest friends before going off to college, teenagers nationwide have begun swarming their local libraries in an attempt to unbury small town secrets.
“I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen so many teenagers desperate to get into our little microfiche room,” said Nadine Carlton, a librarian at the Challis Community Library. “I just wish I had a better idea of how to help them. They’re mostly asking for newspapers and yearbooks from ‘a long-ass time ago,’ to use their words. A couple have even asked if I know of anything strange that happened here. I suppose there was that one thing… oh, but I was just a girl then… in any case, it’s delightful to see kids taking an interest in local history!”
Many of these teenagers, however, feel as if their research into the sordid secrets of their community has already hit substantial roadblocks.
“Most of these old newspapers are so boring. It’d be so much easier if I could just ctrl+f phrases like ‘ritual sacrifice’ or ‘no survivors,’ but instead I’ve spent days reading nothing but mundane evil political stuff,” said Michelle Quan, 17. “I’m not giving up, though. There’s no way some truly fucked up shit hasn’t happened here. We’re literally in Maine.”
While most members of the community were supportive of this summertime trend, there were a few who were perturbed.
“Don’t these kids have summer homework to do? Why don’t they get jobs if they have so much free time?” said local sheriff Lorn Holston while on his fifth lap around the library in his squad car. “All I’m saying is it’s wrong to muck around in the past like this. My family taught me to have some respect for history. There are just some things that should stay buried.”
At press time, Sheriff Holston was unavailable for comment after a 10th grader uncovered old photographs linking his family to a string of unexplained and supposedly cult-related disappearances in the ’70s and ’80s.
