A monumental statue of RCA's mascot now sits atop a historical society roof after a life of moving around.

A faded sign from the 1920s remembers Baltimore's resistance toward banning alcohol.

Once part of a dam servicing an early 19th century grist mill, the tucked-way falls are a tricky-to-find urban oasis.

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

An eerie, abandoned military base engulfed by nature and graffiti is now home to a local park.

Ship skeletons haunt Baltimore's waterways.

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

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

A hidden alley in urban Baltimore is a haven for graffiti artists.

A museum dedicated to exhibiting remarkable outsider art.

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

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

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

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."

Eighteen miniature death-scene dioramas.