Deadwood Farms

Deadwood Farms is no place for the weak of heart. Whispers, passed down through generations of trembling property owners, reveal a tale of unimaginable horror. They speak of a man named Sammy, though “monster” might be more fitting—a cannibal who prowled these very grounds. It is said that within these rotting walls, he butchered his "meat," transforming this barn into a grotesque charnel house, where the blood of innocents soaked the very earth.

The true number of his victims remains unknown, swallowed by the darkness of time. Yet the word "over 40" drips from fearful lips, hinting at a mass of mutilated bodies—dismissed as mere "animals"—whose lives were violently snuffed out here in the 1800s. Samuel, the fiend behind it all, ruled this empire of death, owning not just this cursed barn, but 13 others nearby. His blood-soaked reign extended across 200 acres of land, where six other houses stood, serving as the breeding grounds for his twisted, unholy practices.

As the 1900s loomed, the land was torn from its grisly past by the Department of Energy for the ominous Manhattan Project, yet the shadow of dread lingered. Before that, Union soldiers practiced their deadly arts on these grounds, and an airplane manufacturer used it for testing—testing of what, one can only imagine. The woods conceal ancient burial sites, where the restless bones of Native Americans lie in uneasy slumber. Two medicine wheels and long-forgotten native homesites lie buried, discovered only by the most daring—or the most foolish—using dowsing rods to probe the tainted earth.

But the dead do not rest easily here. Past and present owners speak of ghostly apparitions—specters that bring a bone-chilling cold, steal objects, and move them in ways that defy reason. Sometimes, if you listen with dread filling your heart, you’ll hear them—an eerie, breathless whisper, a tormented plea: “Hey!” or “Help me!” Their voices are trapped in these cursed walls, begging for release from their endless torment.

As if these hauntings were not horrifying enough, while repairing the horse stalls, we unearthed a nightmarish secret—piles of bones, twisted and broken, buried just beneath the floors. Animal bones, or so they appear at first glance—until you notice the eerily human-like fragments among them.

Deadwood Farms is not just a haunted attraction; it is a festering wound on the earth, a place where the dead and the damned writhe in eternal agony. Explore these cursed grounds if you dare, but be warned—you may encounter horrors far worse than mere ghosts. The true terror is not in what you see, but in what you feel—the oppressive presence of the malevolent forces that lurk in the shadows, waiting for their next victim.

Come, if you have the stomach for it, and face the grisly truths yourself. But beware—those who enter these grounds may find themselves lost forever in the blood-soaked history of Deadwood Farms. You have been warned.