10 Ghost Towns in Maine

Not many abandoned ghost towns find themselves on islands in the stream, but that’s the case with Perkins Township, these days referred to as Swan Island. Located on the Kennebec River and originally inhabited by native tribes and early settlers, you can get a glimpse of what’s left of Perkins by popping across by ferry, kayak or canoe.

Peering through the windows you’ll see that the 5 remaining 18th-century homes are still partially furnished. There are various theories about what happened here, including dramatic river pollution forcing people to head elsewhere. There’s plenty of wildlife left behind. For extra spooky feels, there’s also still a cemetery, and you can even pitch a tent if you fancy spending the night.

There’s a real sense of the paranormal in Skowhegan, in particular at the Strand cinema and the nearby Lake George Regional Park West. Skowhegan is more than just your everyday, creepy-but-actually-tame ghost town. The cinema has been running for over 90 years, but it has gained as much notoriety for its ghostly activity as for its movies.

From self-starting unplugged electronics to poltergeist-like levitations and vandalism, Skowhegan’s Strand cinema could bring a horror film to life better than most. And that’s not all; the park has also seen its share of oddities, including the unexplained movement and rearrangement of furniture in the cabins hired out for events that are dotted around it.

Of all Maine's ghost towns, Bucksport might be the scariest. Entire itineraries detail its haunted attractions. To start with, there’s the tombstone of Bucksport’s founder, Jonathan Buck, which eerily features a print of a leg resembling that of his former lover, rescued and buried by her son when Buck labelled her a witch and had her burned at the stake.

Then there’s the eerie Maine Seaboard Paper Company building, built on a former burial ground of the native Red Paint People, and plagued by a string of fires and other incidents. Or the deceptively beautiful Silver Lake, also built on the site of a former graveyard; some believe a number of bodies still lay at the bottom of the water.

A typical abandoned ghost town with an especially spooky ambience, Freeman came into being after the Maine city of Portland was burned to the ground during the American Revolution.

In 1797 Freeman was created to resettle those left destitute in the incident’s wake and, at its height, the vibrant town had train stations, schools, churches and a raft of businesses. It began to fall into decline towards the end of the 19th century, though, and was disincorporated as a town in 1973. These days, a creepy-feeling cemetery and a few other architectural remnants are the only clues to Freeman’s previous life.

While it’s not clear whether Maine’s Madrid was named after the Spanish capital, farming and a growth in timber harvesting spurred on the town’s emergence in the late 18th century. A nearby gold rush later helped cement its popularity as a place to settle, and as a result there were schools, railway connections, churches, a local newspaper, a hotel and all manner of other businesses here.

But the inevitable decline started at the beginning of the 20th century. Although Madrid wasn’t officially disincorporated as a town until the year 2000, the last of its schools had already closed as far back as 1959. What remains are a few buildings you can wander between

Evergreen Ski Resort in Stoneham is a near-ghost-town with a more recent demise. Popular until the 1970s, it served as a winter ski resort and a summer lakeside festival spot on the Maine-New Hampshire border.

Despite its versatility, the resort closed in the early '80s, and attempts to revive it failed. Now even the tell-tale ski lifts have been removed, and all that remains is an empty swimming pool and an abandoned lodge that are testament to both commercial failure and an otherworldly creepy vibe. Previously considered public land, the resort was sold in early 2018 and is now private property.

Flagstaff, a town in Maine’s Somerset County, was named after a flagstaff erected by American military officer Benedict Arnold during his expedition to Quebec. It had also served as a campsite for British soldiers before the American Revolution.

The opening of mills in the area drew in a greater population and Flagstaff eventually became the largest town in the Dead River Valley. Its success lasted until the 1940s, when Flagstaff was deliberately flooded to create a power-generating dam as an extension of Flagstaff Lake. What was Flagstaff now sits at the bottom of the lake. If you’re curious and want to explore it, you will need scuba gear.

A plentiful supply of game and fish was what led to the birth of Askwith, a small town between Greenville and Rockwood in Piscataquis County, Maine’s least populous area. There was also enough timber in the area to fuel the town’s initial construction, and Askwith became a significant enough settlement to warrant the building of a post office and a railway.

None of that lasted long, though. The post office closed by 1895, and the railway was eventually converted into an ATV trail, while the town’s train station itself has been left to decay. By the 1930s, only 56 residents remained. Askwith is not even marked on modern maps, as it was ultimately renamed Tarratine.

Few traces remain of Ligonia Village, a South Portland mid-19th-century settlement. Ligonia is said to have run from the area known as Cash Corner down to the waterfront on the Fore River, but now the site has been overtaken by the expanding Calvary Cemetery (which adds fright points) and oil company bases.

Ligonia was once home to many Irish families, who worked for the Portland Rolling Mills company and turned it into a kind of campus town, complete with shops, a school and a railway connection to Portland. Car ownership led to the demise of local businesses, and industrial decline caused the population to plummet, but police dispatchers in the area apparently still refer to it as Ligonia today.

You won’t find much evidence of East Hancock’s never-incorporated Riceville in the woods between Milford and Township 39. The town that’s also variously known as Hancock Tannery and 39 Tannery became a miniature hub for buffalo leather shoe sole manufacturing, thanks to a factory that changed hands several times.

By the late 19th century, the neighbourhood was in decline, and gradually amenities like the school and post office closed. Stories vary about Riceville’s demise: some say the tannery burned down in 1905, while others believe a plague or cholera outbreak wiped out the entire population. Either way, what’s certain is that by 1910 there wasn’t a soul left here.