Places rebekahlight Wants to Go

A small storefront museum explores the history and myth of West Virginia's famous urban legend.

This little museum has an exhibit devoted to the elusive forest denizens.

Experience the hysteria of a 17th century witch hunt through goofy reenactments and wax dummies that should probably be burned at the stake.

A collection of full-size movie monsters opened to the public.

The headquarters in Salem doubles as an occult art gallery.

The only structure left with direct ties to the Salem witchcraft trials of 1692.

The remains of this visionary community can still be found much as it was a century ago.

Home of an evil witch famous within southern folklore.

Clean, cold drinking water flows from a nondescript pipe in a roadside rock face.

Monument on the spot where in 1778, Bathsheba Spooner had her husband Joshua killed and dumped down his own well.

One of America's first dinosaur parks gives a window into Depression-era paleontology.

Thanks to a loophole in property ownership, this alleyway has become a cacophonous street gallery.

San Francisco's oldest operating hotel, with a Victorian atmosphere and a "haunted" fourth floor.

Graffiti, cars, and religion combine to create this jungle of scrap in the Nevada desert.

This once bustling boomtown hotel is now the hottest spot in Nevada for ghost hunters.

Get a taste of the Wild West and a glimpse into the gold rush in Goldfield's oldest continually-running business.

Eulogizing an unknown man's unusual demise.

An errant donkey ushered in a new era of mining in Nevada.

The world's first ice hotel is still one of the most elaborate and beautiful.

This historic train station has been converted to a locomotive themed hotel.

A floating underwater hotel, created by a Swedish artist.

Featuring a casually threatening atmosphere along with dessert and coffee to die for.

There's nothing creepier than a cemetery next to a clown motel.

One of the oldest reform schools in the United States, home to wayward boys such as Merle Haggard, now abandoned.