Paranormal & True Crime Blog | Mark H. Roe

Deep within the forgotten hills of southeastern Ohio lies the abandoned village of Moonville, a place swallowed by time, tragedy, and legend. Among its many ghost stories, none is more unsettling than the tale of the Crying Baby of Moonville. Visitors walking the old railroad tracks near the famous Moonville Tunnel have reported hearing the faint cries of an infant echoing through the darkness, often when no one else is around. Some believe the sounds are connected to a long-

Some stories refuse to stay on the page. In this personal look at my creative journey, I share why I'm transforming the history, folklore, legends, and mysteries that inspire my books into music. From haunted locations and Appalachian traditions to forgotten stories and local lore, these songs are another way to preserve the past, spark curiosity, and bring the stories of Ohio and Appalachia to life for a new generation.

Some buildings feel quiet. Others seem to hold their breath. The Scioto County old jailhouse belongs to that second kind of place in local imagination. It stands at the crossroads of law, punishment, memory, and rumor, the sort of place where heavy doors, narrow corridors, and barred windows make even daylight feel a little dimmer. For people interested in haunted, historic Scioto County history, folklore, and hauntings, few sites offer a better setting for stories that blur

When I first stumbled upon the stories tucked away in the hills and hollows of Ross County, I felt like I had uncovered a secret garden of tales. These legends, whispered through generations, carry the weight of history and the shimmer of mystery. They invite us to pause, listen, and reflect on the lives and events that shaped this unique corner of the world. As I delved deeper, I realized that these stories are more than just folklore - they are the heartbeat of a community,

Ohio boundary stone folklore comes alive in this quiet legend of land, memory, and the 19th‑century rituals that shaped small‑town Ohio. Discover why families still leave coins at certain stones and how these simple markers became vessels of history, mystery, and community meaning

Ohio wears its history quietly. You don’t always see it at first glance — not when you’re driving past the cornfields, or walking through a small town square, or standing in front of a brick building that’s been repainted so many times the past barely peeks through. But if you linger long enough, if you listen the way I’ve learned to listen, the stories start to rise. Some come as whispers. Some as warnings. Some as memories that refuse to stay buried. For years now, I’ve bee

When I research Ohio local legends, I always start with the stories that linger in the background of a place. There’s a certain feeling you get when you stumble onto a story that’s been sitting quietly in the shadows for a hundred years. Maybe it’s an abandoned building tucked behind a tree line, a name whispered in an old newspaper clipping, or a tale someone’s grandmother swore was true. For me, that feeling is what started everything — the sense that the land remembers, ev