I was told a very detailed story many years ago about a house in Penn.
A man and his wife lived there in their dream house (1880?) they never had any children, then one day the wife overheard her husband enjoying himself in bed with the hired girl!
For the next several days people would see the wife sitting on their front porch cuddling what looked like a newborn in her arms.
It was actually her husband's head!
She flipped out, killed the two clandestine lovers.
The house was sold to an eccentric scientist sort of guy who blocked up the basement windows so nobody could spy on his doings.
A series of murders happened involving prostitutes.
This scientist guy disappeared one day, eventually, when people got into his house they found large glass bottles with female heads in them, hooked up to electrodes, it seems this guy was trying to maintain life after decapitation.
This mess got cleaned up and the house sat empty for a long time. The neighborhood became industrialized and a big company bought the house to house Italian immigrent workers in.
One day a scream was heard from the kitchen!
The Italian man could not be found,he had just been in the kitchen starting to cook for everyone. The basement door had been nailed shut for years but it was open now!
The man was found in the basement , dead, he had been strangled by an electrical wire as he fell down the steps, he was hanging in mid-air!
A few years passed and I believe it may have been in the early 1950's there was a massive refinery explosion. After the smoke cleared the only house destroyed was this one, the house that had all of these strange, sad, criminal things happen inside of it!
The house in question was completely gone, almost as if it had never even been there.
At some point in time a bum wandering the streets of New York was heard mumbling and confessing to being the scientist who had been conducting the "heads" experiment, but most people didn't really believe him!
The man telling me all of this was a psychologist who was spending the night here in my haunted house. When he told me this story he had all the names, dates, street addresses to go with it, which made it much more impressive than my telling of those same events.
Earlier that night he asked me if I would take him and his wife and sister up to the city graveyard to see my family gravemarker?
It was a slow night at the haunted house so I agreed.
We walked up there, probably about a 600 foot walk, the last part up a very steep hill.
I was wearing my usual spookhouse costume back then, a black cape and cowl, all black knee-length mocassins, carrying a small flashlight to guide us all by, it was a dark night too!
We walk half way back through the graveyard and here is my Great-grandfather's marker, 18 feet tall (my last name on it, "Warfield")
"So, is this your family's marker?" The psychologist asked.
With my back to them, all dressed in black, I said, "Yes, and this is the part of the tour in which I sink down into the ground and you all crap your pants."
I turned off the flashlight, threw my cape up and out into the air , bent my knees and went as low as I could go, under the cape, now almost flat upon the ground at the base of the big monument.
I did hear at least one "Gasp!"
Later, back at the house, he admitted that he had come VERY close to doing the dirty-deed in his pants when I did this little fun prank in the dark graveyard that night!

"My Insanity is well-respected, until they wiggle free and become a stringer for a tabloid"