Place names that go bump in the night
Now's the time when those unlikely spots on the map take root in our imaginations
By Christine Champ for MSN City Guides

The cemetery at Sleepy Hollow, N.Y.: A rare conjunction of fiction and reality, just in time for Halloween
Tis the season to be spooky. When pumpkins become glowing goblins, ghouls and fairy tales wander the streets, and the unnerving names of some places awaken from their forgotten corners of the map of the United States and haunt our imaginations...
Kill Devil Hills, N.C.

There are evil spirits in these hills, but not the kind you might think...
A seasonal scene from Kill Devil Hills, N.C. The town is famous for its role in the Wright Brothers first powered flight. On Halloween, though, the town's devilish side shines.
According to local lore, pirates on shore leave sat amongst the sand dunes swigging moonshine "strong enough to kill the devil." Other stories say the area earned its appellation from an old brand of rum that washed up from a nameless shipwreck. Either way, the devil's in the rum.
But there's much more to this town than a liquor legend. Big Kill Devil Hill is the site where the Wright Brothers achieved the first heavier-than-air powered flight in December 1903. A granite marker marks the occasion.
The entire Outer Banks region brims with history (spooky and not-so-spooky) including that of the English colony of Roanoke Island, a community that vanished in 1587. The Lost Colony outdoor drama retells the chilling tale. On Halloween, the community's devilish side truly shines with the First Flight Village neighborhood's ghoulishly extravagant outdoor displays, and the Nags Head Church's "Trunk or Treat" event, which sounds more sinister than it is. (It's a time to trick out your car trunk and your wheels and hand out treats from the back of your car, not a ruse to lure candy-crazed kids into the trunk.)
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Sidebar Story:
A town makes a Hell of a name for itself.
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Transylvania, La.

If you're on Louisiana Route 65 and feel summoned by a giant Transylvania bat on a white water tower, drive to the Transylvania General Store, gaze into the hypnotic eyes of Count Dracula (painted on storefront) and read the words, "We're always glad to have new blood in town." So prepared, you might, instinctively raise a hand to your throat. It's only natural.
The water tower in Transylvania, La.
The town is full of bats.
The sort you'd see on magnets, mugs and t-shirts at the general store, and the kind that screech as they fly through the night. Thankfully, the real bats feed on the area's other airborne inhabitants, mosquitoes. Other than that, the community's much smaller than its Romanian cousin, with only a service station, general store, post office and fire department.
The origin of its batty name? Not as bloodcurdling as it sounds. In the early 1800s an alum of Kentucky's Transylvania University bought acreage and named the town after his beloved alma mater. Things that might curdle your nerves include the road signs warning motorists that hitchhikers might have escaped from nearby prison farms. There's also talk of supernatural beasts (half human, half buffalo) surprising drivers.
Snag a bottle of Vampfire and Bat's Brew hot sauce at the general store. A spicy splash in a suspicious hitchhiker's eye might ward off danger (if not vampires).
Frankenstein, Mo.
Speaking of monsters...
This town of 30 people is named not for the monster, but for Gottfried Franken, who donated land to build a church in the Osage County town back in 1890. Frankenstein has few landmarks to speak of save a highway sign, a baseball field and the Our Lady of Help church. It had its moment of Franken-fame around Halloween in 1999 when 25 Peter Boyle-inspired Frankensteins parachuted into the ball field in honor the 25th anniversary of Mel Brooks' "Young Frankenstein." As they jumped, they were said to yell "Puttin' on the Ritz"!

A cemetery in Tombstone, Ariz., where poetry achieves a permanent place with the dear departed.
Tombstone, Ariz.
In 1877, when prospector Ed Schieffelin joined a camp of soldiers scouting for Apaches, he often went into the wild "looking for rocks" despite warnings that the only stone he'd find would be his own "tombstone". Fortunately, he found silver instead, and named his first mine "The Tombstone". The town grew around the mine, and Tombstone lived up to its deadly label as Doc Holliday, Wyatt Earp and a host of Wild West legends waged six-shooter war in its dusty streets. (The fabled gunfight at the O.K. Corral occurred in a vacant lot on Freemont Street.) In October, Helldorado Days, the lively ghost town's oldest and biggest yearly celebration, is a cowboy carnival of music, parades, pistol raffles, yee-haw competitions and -- hold on to your whiskers -- a beard contest. Plus, troupes of gunslingers stage old-fashioned shootouts all day, and all year long, for those in a make-believe mood.
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Hell Hollow, Ill.
Some whisper that Hell Hollow, now an overgrown valley in Decatur, was the location of a secluded 19th-century outpost. Villagers ventured near it only to bury their dead. An Indian burial ground (now Greenwood Cemetery) rested on the hills above. During one especially bitter, snowy winter the tiny collection of cabins was cut off from the rest of the settlers. Food became so scarce inhabitants boiled tree bark into soup and gnawed on shoe leather. When that didn't sate their hunger, they tapped their last remaining food supply -- each other. When winter ended and their terrible secret was known, the folks of Hell Hollow fled.
Between the 1800s and the 1930s, the gossip of thieves and murderous gangs continued to circulate. Today, the only road through the hollow is closed. Still, the shiver-inducing rumors haven't stopped; there have been reports of ghostly handprints on car hoods, nooses swaying from trees and inhuman screams. If you dare visit Decatur and its purported patch of evil but need help ghost hunting, consider the Haunted Decatur Tour (based on the books of supernatural storyteller and researcher Troy Taylor).

A sculpture in Sleepy Hollow, N.Y., pays tribute to the "headless horseman," Ichabod Crane.
Sleepy Hollow, N.Y.
A mere 25 miles outside of Manhattan lays another hollow whose name wouldn't sound scary at all, if not for the hair-raising shadow cast by Washington Irving's imagination. It's a name and status that the town, and the Hudson Valley community does its best to live up to -- especially during October, when Sleepy Hollow wears its ghoulish reputation on its storefronts, streets and elsewhere.
When night falls, the headless horseman Ichabod Crane rides again -- by the spectral light of candle lanterns and bonfires on the grounds of the 18th-century Philipsburg manor that inspired the Legend of Sleepy Hollow's locale. Cortland Manor gives off an unearthly orange blaze with its 4,000 individually, hand-carved, jack o' lanterns display set in a riverside wood populated by marvelous pumpkin-made creatures -- ghosts, flowers, fish and more. Less frightful Halloween fun for the little ones can be found at Sunnyside, Irving's romantic riverside home. With the Rockefeller estate and more historic attractions, a pumpkin-headed phantom is merely one teeth-chattering treasure in Sleepy Hollow's trove of stories and legends.
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I See Satan...(and Mummies)
Ever seen an odd-looking boulder, perilous peak or perhaps a piece of burnt toast and swear you saw the face, or the work of, the Devil -- or some other apparition? You wouldn't be the first. The Devil's Golf Course in Death Valley, Calif. is an expanse of jagged salt hummocks on which only the Prince of Darkness could putt. Connecticut has a worrisome wealth of devilish footprints, dens and more Lucifer-likened spots including the Devil's Hopyard, a gorge of deep potholes and waterfalls said to be footprints left by the Evil One's fiery hooves as he hopped from ledge to ledge to avoid getting wet. Also in Connecticut, Satan's Kingdom, a recreation area named in 1780 for its reputation as an asylum for evildoers. Satan has additional real estate ("kingdoms") in Vermont and Rhode Island.
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Sidebar Story:
A town makes a Hell of a name for itself.
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Not Satanic but still scary, Colorado's Mummy Mountain earned its moniker from a resemblance to a reclining Egyptian mummy. In the case of Deathball Rock, Ore., however, the title sounds worse than the truth. Its namesake refers to a survey party's badly baked biscuits.
When it comes to place names, these are merely the tip of the Spooky Mountain (also in Colorado). The origins of that peak's name, along with the unsettling labels given many other spots on the U.S. map, remain a mystery (to me, at least). One that may or may not be spookier than the truth...
Christine Champ is a frequent MSN contributor.