The Most Disturbing Haunting House In West Pittston, PA – Fact Or Fiction?

The House on Chase Street – A Haunted Investment

The duplex on Chase Street didn’t look like much—red brick, symmetrical windows, a yard wide enough for kids to play but small enough to mow in twenty minutes.

In August 1973, Jack and Janet Smurl bought their half of the property, a straightforward real estate deal.

The other half belonged to Jack’s parents, making the home a shared space, the kind of setup that kept families close but didn’t leave much room for privacy.

West Pittston wasn’t the kind of place that made headlines. A steady, working-class town in Pennsylvania’s Wyoming Valley, known for its quiet streets and blue-collar families.

The Smurls had lived in Wilkes-Barre before, but Hurricane Agnes hit in 1972, turning streets into rivers and homes into debris.

Chase Street felt like a fresh start—affordable, practical, nothing to be afraid of.

At first, the problems were easy to ignore—a distant knocking, an occasional flicker of the lights.

The air smelled odd sometimes, thick with something sour, but old houses held onto strange scents.

Then came the sounds—heavy steps moving between rooms, the shuffle of furniture sliding across the floor, and voices murmuring in empty spaces.

The dog growled at corners where nothing stood.

By 1974, the disturbances escalated. A television burst into flames without warning. Water stains appeared on freshly painted walls, spreading like ink through paper.

The nights became unbearable. Something unseen pulled the sheets from their bed, whispered too close to their ears, let out low, guttural growls from the dark.

They tried to push through it. This was their home. The mortgage was paid, the address permanent.

But no matter how many times they told themselves the house was fine, the house seemed determined to prove otherwise.

For anyone searching for things to do in West Pittston, Pennsylvania, Chase Street wouldn’t have made the list.

But for the Smurls, every night turned into something unplanned—waiting, listening, bracing for whatever came next.

When the Walls Start to Breathe – A House Losing Value

By 1974, Chase Street had become a house of shifting shadows. The disturbances didn’t follow a schedule, but they had a pattern—growing bolder as the months passed.

First came the smells. Thick, sour, the kind that clung to fabric and made the air feel heavy. Then came the noise.

A scraping sound like furniture dragging across the floor, but nothing moved. Knocks from inside the walls.

Footsteps above when the attic sat empty.

At night, the house became something else. The mattress trembled, jolting Janet awake.

A pressure on her chest—like someone leaning in too close. The whispers stayed low, just below the edge of understanding.

Jack would wake, heart pounding, to see a shape at the foot of the bed—tall, dark, shifting like smoke.

Their daughters started sleeping with the lights on. Their dog, normally playful, refused to enter certain rooms.

Neighbors asked if they were remodeling—the noises carried through the walls, but the Smurls never lifted a hammer.

One evening, as Jack sat watching the news, the television burst into flames. No sparks, no warning. Just fire, crawling across the screen.

He yanked the cord from the wall, but the flames didn’t stop until the set collapsed into itself, charred and useless.

The Demonologists Arrive – A Desperate Call for Help

In 1986, after more than a decade of fear, the Smurls broke their silence. They had spent years trying to explain the noises, the shadows, the way the house seemed to push back against them.

The church had blessed the home. They had prayed. Nothing stopped it.

That’s when Ed and Lorraine Warren entered the picture. The Warrens weren’t just ghost hunters—they were a brand.

Famous for their role in the Amityville case, they built their reputation investigating homes where things moved in the dark.

They arrived with tape recorders, notebooks, and the belief that Chase Street held something beyond a restless spirit.

According to Ed, the entity inside wasn’t just haunting the house. It was controlling it.

They documented knocking sounds—loud, deliberate, as if something wanted to be heard.

The temperature would plummet in certain rooms. A thick, suffocating presence filled the space whenever they prayed.

At one point, Lorraine claimed to see a shadow stretch across the ceiling—something non-human, watching.

The Smurls hoped for answers. What they got were warnings. The Warrens described multiple spirits, but one stood apart—a force they claimed was demonic.

It had no name, no history, nothing tying it to the house. It just was. And it wasn’t leaving.

The first exorcism came weeks later. A priest blessed every room, recited prayers, commanded the entity to leave. The house held its breath. For a moment, everything felt still.

Then, the knocking started again.

The Public Eye and the Skeptics – Media, Money, and Doubt

By mid-1986, the Smurl house was no longer just a family’s nightmare—it was news.

Reporters from Pennsylvania papers picked up the story first, then national outlets followed.

Soon, the quiet duplex on Chase Street became the center of a storm.

Television crews lined the street. Newspapers ran headlines about a “West Pittston Demon.” Talk radio hosts debated whether the Smurls were victims or storytellers.

Some people stopped by to pray. Others drove past just to catch a glimpse.

The book deal came quickly. The Haunted, co-written by the Smurls, the Warrens, and reporter Robert Curran, hit shelves that same year.

Published by St. Martin’s Press, it laid out every terrifying detail—the smells, the voices, the attacks.

It painted a picture of a family trapped by something unseen. Skeptics weren’t convinced.

Paul Kurtz, a professor at the State University of New York at Buffalo and chairman of the Committee for the Scientific Investigation of Claims of the Paranormal, dismissed the case as a hoax.

He argued that fear and suggestion could explain everything. Psychologists echoed the sentiment, pointing to stress, exhaustion, and the power of belief.

Then there was the money question. The Smurls denied seeking profit, but critics noted the timing—public claims of terror followed by a book release.

Even the Wilkes-Barre Times Leader ran a review questioning the credibility of the account.

The Diocese of Scranton, when asked for an official stance, remained cautious. A local priest stayed in the house for two nights. He heard nothing. He saw nothing. Officially, the Church took no side.

West Pittston residents had mixed reactions. Some believed the Smurls, swearing they had heard the noises, too. Others just wished the cameras would leave.

Leaving, But Never Escaping – The Real Estate Shadow

By 1987, the Smurls had had enough. They packed up and moved to Wilkes-Barre, hoping distance would bring peace. The house on Chase Street remained—unsold, its story lingering in the air.

The new owner, Debra Owens, moved in by 1988. Reporters found her months later, asking if she had heard the whispers, seen the shadows, felt the weight of whatever the Smurls described.

She hadn’t. To her, it was just a house.

But for the Smurls, the haunting wasn’t over. In their new home, the knocking continued. Shapes still moved in the dark. Janet swore she felt something watching her, waiting.

Then came Hollywood. In 1991, 20th Century Fox released The Haunted, a made-for-TV movie starring Jeffrey DeMunn and Sally Kirkland as Jack and Janet.

The film pulled audiences back into the Smurls’ world—dim lighting, unseen forces, the fear that never quite faded.

West Pittston changed over the years. The duplex still stands, blending into the row of homes around it. If something was there, it’s quiet now.

But real estate carries history, whether buyers want it or not. Chase Street’s past lingers in old headlines, in late-night YouTube documentaries, in the occasional ghost hunter stopping by to take a look.

The market moves forward, but some houses never shake their past.