An old vending machine serves up unpredictable beverages from its seemingly magical insides.

This beloved Baltimore spot features caged dolls, a giant Pez collection, and many, many mannequins.

A 200-year-old bar with a cheeky name claims to have served Edgar Allan Poe his final drink.

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

This free, take-a-book shop seems like a trick but isn't.

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

The trials and tribulations of marking Poe's grave.

It's not hard to see why the historic Peabody Conservatory of Music's library has been described as a "cathedral of books."

The headquarters of the Fraternitas Rosae Crucis, complete with Rosicrucian pyramids, all in the Pennsylvania woods.

A completely round house designed for the Atomic Age.

This little-known collection holds everything from "Dracula" notes, to the manuscript of "Ulysses," to the forged works of Shakespeare.

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

Dr Barnes' $25 billion private collection of art and arboretum.

This restaurant has been a haven for D.C.'s LGBTQ community since the 1950s.

A fantastic array of trays and cables once whisked books over to the Capitol at 600 feet per minute.

Home to a vast and influential collection of Shakespeareana.

A three-story tower of books about Abraham Lincoln is one of the more unusual monuments to the president.

A nostalgic bibliographic gem.

This lonely waterfront memorial to the men of the Titanic was erected by the "Women of America."

The country's oldest continually-operated mini golf course lies hidden in plain sight, eclipsed by one of D.C.'s most popular tourist attractions.

A wondrous old library overlooking the nation's capital.

There's a 12-foot-tall replica of the Washington Monument hidden under a manhole nearby.

A historic neighborhood church is reborn as a psychedelic arts collective.

Enormous piles of historically significant stones, dumped by Congress in a forest, and abandoned for 60 years.