On the morning of March 17, 1892, a group of townsfolk in rural Rhode Island dug up the graves of three local women. What they did to their bodies was something that we might find shocking, yet it was normal and expected for most of them. What was it in their past that guided their actions? Were they merely a product of their ancestors, or innocent participants in a regional panic?

Over 200 lives were lost during the construction of the Hoosac Tunnel in western Massachusetts. According to countless eye-witnesses across nearly 150 years, many of those deaths left indelible marks. What truly awaits visitors in the darkness of that tunnel? Is it simple echoes of a violent past, or the thing that haunts the deepest fears of every human being?

In 1582, the German town of Bedburg was ravaged by a violent and mysterious creature. After untold bloodshed, the townsfolk took up arms and hunted the monster down. What they found was something out of our deepest nightmares, and entirely too close to home.

Deep in the forest at the northern tip of a small island near Vancouver Island, there is a stone monument standing amidst the trees. How that structure came to be, and what it meant to those who built it, are both interesting stories. But it's the unofficial reports — the sightings and experiences of those who visit it — that truly deserve to be told.

Humans have always loved to build things, but we occasionally have to make adjustments to our plans. City ordinances, building codes, and property disputes all get in the way. Sometimes, though, the reason we change our plans is much more interesting than that.

Settings are often just as important to a story as the tale itself. The Shining had the Overlook. The Legend of Hell House had the Belasco. We fear cabins in the woods and even our own basements. But the mother of all horror settings is the asylum, with a dark pedigree unlike any other.

Stepping into the woods is like stepping through a doorway to another world. A world that hides dark secrets from prying eyes, and holds unknown dangers for unprepared travelers. But some woods are more sinister than others, and Massachusetts just might play host to the worst of them all.

When the authorities entered a building in Chicago’s south side in 1895, they weren’t prepared for what they found. Above and below the neighborhood pharmacy was a seemingly never-ending maze of doors and rooms. What those hallways and staircases led to, however, was beyond disturbing.

Few stories have the endurance to last centuries. Fewer still have a proven track record of documented, authoritative eye witness accounts to back them up. Among those rare myths, one stands above most. For nearly 300 years, something has haunted an area of the country that is known for rare and unusual wildlife. So many people have seen it, in fact, that it’s almost impossible to deny its existence.

The well-worn carpets and imperfect walls of an old hotel can often make guests feel as if they are staying in a little slice of the past. In one grand old hotel, however, that truth has never been more true.

Humans have a history of making up stories to explain the unexplainable. Sometimes we use those stories to teach our children a moral lesson, or entertain our friends. Sometimes, though, those stories get taken seriously, and the results have been unspeakable.

History is full of people who took things too far. Humans are gifted at turning on one another, a skill we’ve honed over the millennia. But when a small town in colonial Massachusetts needed a scapegoat for a dying hero, they discovered a target who refused to go down without a fight.

Life is a careful journey down a pathway that we’ve set our hearts on. But every now and then we get pulled off the trail. Sometimes that’s a good thing, but sometimes it’s the stuff of nightmares.

We don’t like to be alone. We hate it. So we tell stories about others, the things at the edges of society. Things we’re not sure about. But what if those “others” are more real than we first believed?

People can be a bit possessive. We love our things, and we cling tightly to them. But what happens when the things we own refuse to let go of us?

At the heart of every horror film is an iconic weapon. Often times they are nondescript and ordinary, but in the hands of a killer they become something more. Something that has the potential to haunt our nightmares. And sometimes those nightmares become reality.

We leave our loved ones there after they’ve passed. We treat the space with reverence and solemn deference. Cemeteries are meant to be a final resting place. Sometimes, though, the ones who should be gone try to come back.

For as advanced and civilized as we are, humans are still led by very basic desires. We are drive by a need for safety and shelter. We long for a community to belong to. And we hunger. But not every method of sating our desires is good. Upon occasion, those methods have become downright evil.

Seeing isn’t always a prerequisite for belief. In fact, oftentimes the things we believe in the most strongly are invisible to our naked eyes. But when we experience those invisible things through pain and physical attacks, our belief can become deep, paralyzing fear.

Home is where the heart is. It’s where we build our lives and celebrate the things we love. But it can also be the center of tragedy and darkness. On many different levels, there’s no place like home.

Since the dawn of time, humans have pushed themselves to explore. When that adventure took to the seas, however, it was an invitation for tragedy. The ocean, you see, takes much from us. And sometimes it gives it back.

History is full of examples of moments in time when hysteria and fear ruled common sense. While some of these examples were valid reasons to panic and worry, others were less logical. But that didn’t make them any less dangerous.

There are places in the world that we rarely see. Our busy lives never take us there, and as a result, they don’t come to mind when we think of chilling tales and frightening lore. But they exist, and despite their inherent light, they too hold a deep darkness.

Many family traditions and treasured folktales involve strangers who visit us. What would Christmas be without Santa, after all. But strangers in general are a lot less appealing than we might believe.