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Thank you. From the blackest corners of your mind, they call, pulling you deep into shadow, twisting your senses, keeping you from sleep.

It's time to face your darkest fears.

This is Tales to Terrify. Good evening, children of the night, and welcome.

The Pennsylvania Highway we're traveling this week is a little more treacherous than most,

but not for the reasons you're probably used to on this show.

There aren't any ghostly hitchhikers, no ravenous beasts, malevolent spirits, or alien abduction points.

The earth beneath our wheels holds enough danger of its own.

Coming up the highway, it's not immediately apparent where the town limits are.

The name has been removed from virtually all signage in the area, including on the nearby municipal

building. Other than a small scattering of houses left along the roadside, you'd almost never know

that, as recently as the 80s, the town was home to over a thousand people. But the second you roll down the window, or step out of the

car, a pungent scent hits your nostrils. A scent not unlike what you imagine fire and

brimstone would smell like. The scent of hellfire. The kind of scent you can't help but associate with the end of days.

And unless your senses are playing tricks on you, you can't shake the feeling there's something

seriously wrong with the town of Centralia, Pennsylvania.

Up until the early 1960s,

Centralia was a successful mining town,

with an abundant seam of coal running deep beneath the streets,

...