Nestled in Birdsboro, Pennsylvania, Ridgewood Winery is more than a place for wine tastings. The property is listed on the National Register of Historic Places and carries a history that stretches back to the early 1700s, when it was first built by the Lewis family. In 1806, the farm was purchased by Jacob Dick and his wife Susannah, who expanded the property that later served as part of the Underground Railroad. But in 1857, the home became the site of a shocking death—Jacob Dick was found with his throat slit, dead in the upstairs hallway. Rumors immediately spread, with some even accusing his wife. To this day, bloodstains are said to remain on the floor. After Jacob’s death, the Federal side of the house sat unoccupied for nearly 150 years. Locals knew why. The hauntings were so widely accepted that former owners openly admitted to them. But other spirits may also linger along with Jacob. . .

The Dobbin House is one of Gettysburg's most beautiful and historically dense buildings, sitting just steps from the cemetery. Built in 1776 by Reverend Alexander Dobbin and his wife Isabella, this stone house has lived many lives: a family home, a stop on the Underground Railroad, and later a hospital for wounded Union and Confederate soldiers after the Battle of Gettysburg. History is everywhere here—and according to many, so are the spirits. Employees and visitors alike report hearing children laughing, running, whispering, and the unmistakable sound of marbles rolling across the floor after hours. Some claim to see the silhouette of Abraham Lincoln, who would have passed by the house on his way to deliver the Gettysburg Address. A woman in a blue gown is frequently seen upstairs, silently moving through bedrooms or gazing out windows before vanishing into walls—peaceful, but tinged with sadness. Others speak of a wounded Union soldier haunting the lower levels near the basement stairs, accompanied by cold spots, nausea, and the sound of a man moaning in pain. Is the Dobbin House simply echoing with centuries of human life and loss, or is something truly lingering after dark?

Rising 92 feet over the Monongahela River, the towering remains of Carrie Furnace #6 and #7 loom like iron giants frozen in time. Located in Swissvale just outside Pittsburgh, these massive structures are rare survivors of pre–World War II iron-making technology—and the only non-operative blast furnaces left in the region. The furnaces went offline in 1978, and the plant closed entirely in 1984. What followed were decades of neglect: scrapping, abandonment, and exposure to the elements. But Carrie Furnace isn’t just known for its history—it’s also known for its hauntings. The work here was perilous, and loss of life was a reality of the job. Many believe the spirits of former workers still remain among the rusting towers. Visitors and investigators report unexplained sounds, shadow figures, and even full-body apparitions moving through the site. Are these echoes of workers who died here—or lingering presences of people so tied to the furnaces that they never truly left?