A failed piece of Orientalism has become the proud symbol of a community.

In which a local geological marvel becomes a quaint roadside attraction.

An indoor miniature village and labor of love for Laurence Geiringer, a model railroad enthusiast.

These tourist trap caverns are said to be the former home of a legendary Pennsylvania Hermit.

The 320-year-old tree that greeted General Lafayette and rerouted an interstate highway.

Eighteen miniature death-scene dioramas.

A model home in the Medical Examiner's Office in which grisly death scenes are staged to train forensic investigators.

This simple convenience store sits on the location where the Ouija board was named—and has a plaque to prove it.

Crammed into a Baltimore row house is an oddities shop that sells everything from skulls to dead insects.

A blank headstone topped with a pile of pennies marks the final resting place of the infamous assassin.

The site where Poe "in great distress, and ... in need of immediate assistance" likely died.

The man who first patented the Ouija board rests in peace beneath a headstone that playfully reflects that achievement.

This Great Depression-era creation was once known as the strangest house in the world.

A completely round house designed for the Atomic Age.

The body of St. John Neumann and his collection of hundreds of relics, on display in a Philly church.

The taxidermied remains of Charles Dickens' pet raven, which helped inspire one of Edgar Allan Poe's most famous poems.

This elaborate towering structure was once famed for its revolutionary height.

This museum boasts a bucket of teeth and tells the tale of a 20th-century dental circus.

A clone-tree in Washington Square Park sprung from seeds that went to the Moon and back.

The origin of this mechanical boy was a mystery until he revealed his maker by writing it in perfect cursive.

World's first "penitentiary," meant to be humane, drove men insane.

This Philly cemetery is the eternal home of many famous area residents, including Rocky Balboa's wife.

Where America's first doomsday cult awaited the end of the world.

One artist's love letter to his city and its citizens plays out across dozens of bright murals painted on the sides of decrepit buildings.