For most of his 63 years on earth, Hugh Smith was a respected resident of Liberty Valley. Hugh owned 380 acres of land in Perry County, and he earned a handsome living renting out his lands to sawmill operators. And for 28 of those years, the respectable Hugh Smith may have carried with him the belief that he had gotten away with the perfect murder-- of a young "half-witted" woman known to locals as Crazy Lindy.

During the Great Depression, there lived in Fayette County a mountain man named Iley Tate who ruled the hill country between Haydentown to the West Virginia line like a feudal lord. Tate, a father of 20, had amassed considerable wealth as a livestock trader, and, because of his influence and steel-cold demeanor, he had a number of local lawmen and politicians in his hip pocket. Like many powerful men in similiar positions, Iley Tate came to think of himself as untouchable; but this was an illusion that came to a shattering end in the fall of 1932.

This is the story of Iley and the Tate family-- a family notorious for feuding, fighting, fornicating... and committing the occasional murder.

On April 7, 1930, two men entered a shallow cave near Shohola to escape a sudden thunderstorm-- and discovered the skeletal remains of a murder victim.

The news of the mystery skeleton caught the attention of a probation officer from New York, who had been told a peculiar story a few years earlier about a mountain man who had lured a stranger to his death near Shohola. Though many pieces of the forgotten story fit together perfectly, authorities were never able to identify the victim, or his killer.

On a February evening in 1944, Dr. Louis Schulman, a prominent 42-year-old physician, was gunned down on the streets of Pittsburgh by a former patient. The killer was Martha Ashear, a Syrian immigrant who claimed that she had taken matters into her own hands after no one believed the shocking accusations she had made against Dr. Schulman.

Was Martha telling the truth? Or did Pittsburgh's medical community attempt to protect the reputation of one of their own by discrediting Dr. Schulman's accuser and having her placed into a mental asylum?

Known as "Philadelphia's First Suburb", the neighborhood of Northern Liberties existed as a unique and independent city until 1854, when an Act of Consolidation passed by the state legislature made it a part of the City of Brotherly Love. By the time of its consolidation, Northern Liberties had earned a reputation as one of the most infamous red-light districts in the country, with streets were thronged with taverns, gambling parlors, cheap hotels and other establishments where patrons could easily procure female companionship for the right price.

At the time of the Civil War, one such house of ill repute could be found on a tiny thoroughfare known at St. John Street. The madam of the establishment was a 24-year-old woman by the name of Mary Ridey, who made headlines in 1864 after brutally murdering two brothers, Joseph and Isaac Sides, in barroom full of witnesses. Mary's murder trial became of a Philadelphia sensation, but, for years afterward, many wondered if justice had truly been served. This is the true story of Mary Ridey, one of Philadelphia's most notorious madams-- and murderers.

In February of 1884, the rural village of Rawlinsville in Martic Township, Lancaster County, experienced the most noteworthy event in its long history-- the mysterious murder of hotelkeeper Barney Short, whose body was found sprawled across the road with a gaping wound in the skull.

Evidence indicated that the killer, or killers, had crouched behind a roadside tree, waiting for Barney to pass by in his horse-drawn sleigh. But considering that nothing was removed from Barney's pockets, it seemed that the vicious crime was committed for one reason only-- to settle a personal score.

No one was ever convicted of the crime, and maybe that's why Barney made his displeasure known from beyond the grave. A neighbor purchased the sleigh Barney had been driving when he was killed, which he gladly loaned to any friend or neighbor in need of winter transportation. But they all returned the sleigh with the same complaint-- it seemed to be haunted.

Were it not for the famous Lizzie Borden murder trial taking place five hundred miles away in Fall River, Massachusetts, the story of the phantom train of Cambria County might have become well-known outside of Carrolltown.

This tiny borough sits twenty miles west of Altoona, and, in 1892, became a stop on the newly-formed Cambria & Clearfied Railroad. The focal point of this rail line was a tunnel constructed through Strittmatter Hill, just south of Carrolltown. And it was near this spot where one of the strangest unexplained events in Pennsylvania history took place.

The village of Dalmatia in Northumberland County is situated along the Susquehanna River, on land once owned by William Dunbar, an early settler who purchased the property from Thomas McKee in 1773. One enduring mystery of Dalmatia is how this inland village came to be named after a coastal region of Croatia, as early records indicate that no one of Croatian descent has ever lived there.

Another mystery involves the strange deaths of three young children in the home of Charles and Ora Matilda Zeigler. After Ora took her own life by setting her home on fire and shooting herself in 1931, it was whispered that she had murdered her grandchildren with poison, for reasons that are just as mysterious as the name of the village where the triple tragedy occurred.