Just about everyone in Pennsylvania knows about the ghost town of Centralia, and most folks who were born and raised in the area, such as myself, have spent many a summer day exploring the post-Apocalyptic terrain, marveling at the smoke billowing from cracks in the abandoned streets, and pondering the fire that has been burning underground for generations. However, very few locals remember Centralia's smaller and lesser-known neighbor-- the once-bustling village of Logan. Like Centralia, Logan also became a casualty of the infamous mine fire.

When one thinks of murder scenes, the mind naturally gravitates towards secluded wilderness spots, dark basements, bar rooms and back alleys. The actors in these grisly crimes, if justice is lucky, are arrested and locked up until such time as they are called upon by the  criminal justice system to face the consequences of their sinister deeds in a courtroom. We tend to view courtrooms as impregnable places where killers go to face the music for their crimes-- not places where a murder is likely to occur. Yet, the Cumberland County Courthouse in Carlisle was the scene of a shootout in 1955 which resulted in the death of an attorney, and the wounding of several others, including a judge.

The story of the rise and fall of Frank Lee Wilson is a remarkable tale; it is the tragic story of a quiet, tiny man tasked with the awesome responsibility of meting out justice to the state's most hardened and repugnant criminals. And it is a cautionary tale about how a mild-mannered individual can turn into a cruel, hardened shell of a human being in just a few short years after being granted the God-like power of revoking human life.

When John Wentzel discovered a human skeleton buried in the basement of his Federal Street home in Lebanon in 1926, it set into motion a bizarre chain of events that whipped the entire city into a frenzy. It is a  story of a chilling nightmare-- following by a gruesome find-- that still puzzles fans of paranormal unsolved mysteries to this day.

Built in 1894, the seven-story Hotel Jermyn has been a Scranton landmark for over a century. Named after coal baron John Jermyn, the 200-room hotel has seen scores of famous and infamous guests alike, from President Eisenhower to mafia hitmen, and has boasted a bevy of locally-famous bars and nightclubs such as the Omar Room, which opened in 1935 and showcased renowned performers of the era like Pauline Gaskins, Frank Fay and Red Nichols.  

Today, the Scranton landmark once known as the Hotel Jermyn now operates as an apartment building for seniors. Perhaps some of the older residents may remember dancing the night away in the hotel's Arabian Ballroom or slaking their thirst in the Manhattan Bar. And perhaps some of them might still recall that strange night in 1947 when a young woman named Ethel White mysteriously jumped to her death from her seventh floor window.

Located about seventy-five miles northeast of Pittsburgh, Reynoldsville is a small, quiet town which hasn't seen much excitement since the 1920s, when a handful of factories and silk mills attracted workers to the tiny borough. In the summer of 1928, Frank Chiffin was employed at the silk mill as a watchman. The close proximity between the mill and his home allowed him to keep tabs on his family. He kept a particularly close watch on his wife, who was fifteen years younger and said to be quite attractive, and before long Frank Chiffin began to suspect that Gertrude was having an affair. What happened next? Listen to this episode and find out.

Located near the center of the Lock Haven University campus, Woolridge Hall is home to over two hundred college students. While scores of students have passed though the doors of this modern building since its construction in 1962, many would be surprised to learn that this spot was once the location of "Hillside"-- the sprawling estate of state senator Samuel Richard Peale and his wife, Harriet. It was also the site of a mysterious suicide in 1884.

The story of Solomon "Bip" Vawn is well known throughout Pennsylvania. It is a classic tale of a runaway slave who, despite unbelievable odds, finds freedom north of the Mason-Dixon Line and lives out the remainder of his days in peace and prosperity. There are many different versions of the story; in some accounts, Bip dies at a ripe old age and is buried on his farm in Mont Alto in Franklin County, while other versions of the story have him retiring to Ohio or Southern California. But what is the truth behind this classic Pennsylvania fable?

One of Montgomery County's most perplexing unsolved mysteries is the 1932 death of Samuel Forti, whose battered body was found hanging in the washroom of the Werner Foundry in Lansdale, where he worked as a night watchman. At various times, authorities believed that Forti's death was the result of suicide, an attack by a burglar, revenge by a jealous lover, and-- perhaps strangest of all-- a shadowy religious cult.

A decade ago, the law enforcement community of Chester County wanted to pay tribute to a sheriff who was killed on his second day on the job in 1887. They chose to memorialize the long-forgotten sheriff, Benjamin Irey, with an 18-by-15-inch bronze plaque at the courthouse in West Chester. Usually, such ceremonies involve descendants of the fallen hero's family. But in the case of Benjamin Irey, county officials were unable to find any of his descendants-- and, for a very peculiar reason: The Irey family bloodline was obliterated by a baffling series of strange deaths.