Slightly Odd Fitchburg

I'm BAAAA-AAACCKKK!!!!! Let me ask you a question: Who is a haunting for? That might seem silly, but just think about it for a second. Is a haunting for the haunter or the haunted? If you were to do die tomorrow, why would you haunt someone? Would it be for your sake or for theirs? Just consider what's going on. You're dead and you're never coming back. Your Earthly coil has been shed. None of it affects you anymore. Time, space, ailments, old age, it's all gone. The length and breadth of the universe is yours. Eternity is yours. What do you do? You're a celestial being now. Does anything that happened in life matter to you? Let's say you were murdered. So what? Why would you care? You can see the endless reality of the stars ahead of you. Why would the transgressions of an evolved ape against your former meat vessel, all those breathless eons ago, matter to you? Well, maybe we can delve into that question with a look at the S.K. Pierce mansi

  I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that the world is full of assholes. I know, it's a tough pill to swallow, but here we are. You get assholes who just can't stand it when someone else does something they don't understand and you get assholes that can't bear someone being happy and keeping to themselves. Luckily, there are occasional heroes who stand up for the God given right to exist without having to answer to these drooling buffoons. One of those heroes was Joseph Palmer, who hailed from an olde timey village just outside of Leominster. He had the courage to live life the way he wanted and he never made a single excuse for it. This was a man who knew the glory of a luxurious full face beard and suffered in its name. That's right; our hero Joseph Palmer was... Gasp! The History Joseph's story began in 1798 when he was born in Massachusetts. He grew up and turned into a farmer living is Notown, MA. Although it's now just a bunch of sweet loo

Nestled deep within Fitchburg, and far away from the consciousness of anyone outside Worcester County, you'll find Dean Hill Cemetery. It's a decently sized open field with far fewer headstones than you're used to seeing in a graveyard. It was established in 1791 as a resting place for the soldiers of the Revolutionary War and their families. Colloquially known  as "The Rev," it's also home to more than its fair share of ghost stories. Join us, if you will, on our search for the... Ghosts of "The Rev!" JUMP SCARE! There's really no way to overstate just how out of the way this place is. To give you an idea, here's the road leading up to it: If you squint, you can find the serial killer. It's on Ashburnham Road and was once close to the Dean Hill Tavern, which was built around 1777. The tavern is no more, but the cemetery still stands and gets all sorts of visitors, however unwelcome they may be. The cemetery i