Picture driving through Indiana farmland and suddenly realizing you're standing where 1,200 people once lived, loved, and ultimately fled in terror from a deadly epidemic. These aren't just dots on old maps or names in dusty archives—Indiana's ghost towns offer real places where you can touch history, explore abandoned cemeteries, and maybe even hunt for buried treasure (though your odds aren't great).
The disease that destroyed Indiana's most promising town
Hindostan Falls had everything going for it in 1820, which makes its story particularly tragic. This wasn't some tiny crossroads settlement that slowly faded away.
Indiana's lost metropolis
Founded between 1816 and 1818 by Frederick Schultz from New York, Hindostan Falls grew faster than anyone expected. By 1820, it boasted 1,200 residents and served as Martin County's first county seat. The town spread across 355 lots along what remains Indiana's widest waterfall. Captain Caleb Fellows, a British East India Company veteran who had served in India, gave the settlement its exotic name. Maybe he thought naming it after a distant, prosperous land would bring good fortune. He thought wrong.
The summer of 1820 changed everything. A combined outbreak of cholera and yellow fever swept through the settlement like wildfire through dry timber. In just three months, 138 people died. Contemporary witness Thomas M. Clarke described how the epidemic "caught the settlers in their log cabins and shanties, and the forest unbroken around them. They were unacclimated."
By 1824, only 600 people remained. Those who could leave did, and those who couldn't eventually found a way. The post office closed on December 29, 1830, the bureaucratic death certificate for a town that disease had already killed.
What you'll find today
Today, Hindostan Falls exists as a 134-acre Indiana State Fishing and Wildlife Area. You'll find it at coordinates 38.6650526°N, -86.6044376°W, about four miles northeast of Loogootee via SR 550. Fair warning: your GPS might get confused, and once you arrive, your phone becomes a expensive paperweight. There's absolutely no cell service, which honestly adds to the experience.
The most striking remnants are 128 square holes, each measuring 18 by 18 inches, carved into flat rock where mills once operated. These aren't natural formations. Someone chiseled each one with purpose, back when this ghost town was very much alive. The waterfall itself remains Indiana's widest, carrying the highest water volume of any falls in the state. Standing there, listening to the water rush over the same rocks that witnessed the town's rise and fall, hits differently than reading about it in a book.
Local legends persist about buried treasure, because of course they do. The county tax collector allegedly died during the epidemic before revealing where he'd hidden several thousand dollars in gold and silver coins in an iron pot. Another tale claims the town treasurer concealed funds earmarked for courthouse and library construction in a well that was never found. People still occasionally show up with metal detectors, though nobody's reported finding anything more valuable than old horseshoes and rusty nails.
Every year on the last Saturday of September, the community celebrates Hindostan Days, keeping alive the memory of Indiana's lost frontier metropolis. It's worth attending if you want to hear locals share stories passed down through generations.
When Indiana tried to out-Chicago Chicago
Here's a fun fact that'll win you trivia night: In 1836, a group of investors looked at Chicago's measly 200 residents and thought, "We can beat that." Their attempt created City West, possibly Indiana's most ambitious failure.
The grand plan that almost worked
Jacob Bigelow, president of the Michigan City and Kankakee Railroad Company, partnered with William Morse, Jacob Hobart, and Leverett Bradley to create Chicago's rival on Indiana's Lake Michigan shoreline. They platted 90 blocks with hundreds of lots near the mouth of Fort Creek, naming streets after trees (Elm, Oak, Pine) and presidents (Washington, Adams, Jefferson). Because nothing says "future metropolis" like presidential street names.
The crown jewel was The Exchange, a 22-room hotel described as the largest building between Chicago and Detroit. On July 4, 1837, U.S. Senator Daniel Webster himself addressed Whig party members at the settlement, wishing success to the "grand city on the lake." The town quickly grew to 25 blocks with approximately 40 homes housing 200 residents. For a brief moment, it looked like the gamble might pay off.
Then came the Panic of 1837, a economic depression so severe it makes modern recessions look like minor inconveniences. Banks failed, businesses collapsed, and investors fled. By September 1839, City West stood completely abandoned. Timothy Ball, visiting in 1840, found "the houses were there but the place was solitude."
Nature's dramatic reclamation
What happened next sounds like something from a disaster movie. A forest fire during a wild thunderstorm in 1853 consumed the remaining structures, likely sparked by lightning or debris from passing trains. The pier hung on until the 1870s before crumbling into Lake Michigan. But here's the really wild part: shifting sand dunes literally swallowed many structures. Sarah Stonex, daughter of pioneer Jacob Beck, recalled exploring the ghost town around 1840 and discovering the abandoned 22-room Exchange hotel among the encroaching dunes.
Today, visitors to Indiana Dunes State Park can walk across the former townsite at Waverly Beach. A large parking lot and a 1930s bathhouse represent the only structures. The original town plat from July 12, 1837, signed by Jacob Bigelow himself, survives in the Porter County Surveyor's Office in Valparaiso. It's the sole official record that this Chicago rival ever existed.
The railroad town named for a daughter
Some ghost towns have dramatic origin stories. Anita's begins with a father's love for his daughter.
A personal connection to history
In 1906, civil engineer Ray S. Blinn helped the Indianapolis Southern Railway locate an ideal station site west of Trafalgar. He named the new community after his young daughter, Anita Blinn. Decades later, Anita Blinn Wenger wrote: "When I was a little girl in Ohio, my father told me he had been locating a railroad in Indiana and that he had named a station stop after me. I grew up knowing that a town was named for me. I was very proud of it."
The thriving farm community shipped milk containers and grain to Indianapolis markets via two daily trains departing at 7:25 AM and 10:22 AM. Summer nights brought street dances with live music and community pitch-in dinners. Contemporary accounts describe how "the village was never quiet" during its peak years. Picture small-town America at its finest, complete with the sounds of train whistles and fiddle music drifting through warm evening air.
Fighting for survival
The Illinois Central Railroad acquired the Indianapolis Southern Railway in 1911 after foreclosing on unpaid bonds. When railroad executives visited in glass-enclosed luxury cars during the late 1920s, worried residents knew what was coming. They collected 40 to 50 signatures petitioning against closure. The executives responded they had "no plans on shutting down the station," which turned out to be corporate speak for "we're definitely shutting down the station." The station became a flag stop before final abandonment in 1936.
The station building itself was moved to Trafalgar and converted into a private residence, probably the only ghost town structure that got a second life in the suburbs. In the 1980s, when county cartographer John Jackson threatened to remove Anita from maps, the community rallied. Governor Evan Bayh proclaimed May 12 as "Village of Anita Day." State Representative Woody Burton introduced a resolution keeping Anita on state maps indefinitely.
Today, you can find the location at 39°25'32.9"N, 86°11'29.0"W, where Indiana Rail Road tracks still run. The historical marker was stolen (because apparently some people collect those?), but the name persists on Google Maps. Sometimes that's victory enough.
Lesser-known but equally fascinating abandonments
Not every ghost town gets a dramatic death scene or touching origin story, but these sites offer their own unique windows into Indiana's past.
Yorktown: The only town that legally died
Yorktown represents something unique among Indiana ghost towns. It officially ceased to exist through legal action. Daniel G. Corkins platted the town in 1841, with five Caulkins brothers from New York State providing its name. The 1870s brought Swedish Methodist immigrants, including Nicholas Bredberg and Gustave Swanson, who built their church in 1873.
On March 4, 1969, Tippecanoe County Commissioners approved a declaration vacating the 13 plats comprising Yorktown. Property owners John and Aubrey Hoist, along with Rosellen H. Shoaf, had requested the lots be returned to farmland to reduce their tax burden. After 128 years, Yorktown legally vanished with the stroke of a pen.
The cemetery remains accessible at 40.2604447°N, -86.7719215°W on Stockwell Road, just north of Indiana 28. The earliest documented burial dates to 1839, and someone still maintains the grounds despite the town's complete abandonment.
Granville's canal dreams and cultural complexity
Thomas W. Treckett and Thomas Concannon platted Granville in 1834 with 153 lots, a public square, and streets named Lafayette, Cherry, Wabash, Washington, and Mulberry. Their timing seemed perfect, with the Wabash & Erie Canal reaching Lafayette by 1841.
The town occupied historically significant ground near where French traders had built Fort Ouiatenon in 1717. The Treaty of St. Mary's in 1818 had forced the Wea people from these lands. In 1850, residents renamed their town "Weaton" to honor the displaced Wea Indians, though this gesture came decades after their forced removal.
Railroad companies chose different routes in the 1850s, bypassing canal towns entirely. By 1878, Granville had virtually ceased to exist. The cemetery east of the former townsite contains over 130 documented burials at 40.40640°N, 87.02580°W. A historical marker erected in 1975 stands at the intersection of County Road S 700 W and County Road W 75 S.
Quick stops for the curious
Elizabethtown in Delaware County failed when it lost county seat battles to both Hartford City and Muncie. Only the cemetery remains at 40.374091°N, -85.461258°W. Paranormal investigators claim to have recorded unexplained phenomena here, though your mileage may vary on believing those reports.
Sloan in Warren County represents Indiana's newest ghost town, abandoned in the 1990s after nearly a century of existence. Several deteriorating houses remain visible from County Road 825 W and County Road 100 S. It's oddly fascinating to see a town in the actual process of becoming a ghost town.
Planning your ghost town adventure
Before you load up the car and channel your inner Indiana Jones, here's what you need to know about visiting these sites.
Public access locations
These sites welcome respectful visitors:
- Hindostan Falls State Fishing Area
- City West site at Indiana Dunes
- Yorktown Cemetery on Stockwell Road
- Granville Cemetery and historical marker
- Elizabethtown Cemetery
Sites requiring extra caution
Some locations need special consideration:
- Anita has active railroad tracks
- Sloan buildings visible from road only
- Private property surrounds most cemeteries
- Unstable structures present real dangers
- Metal detecting requires proper permits
Essential preparation tips
Plan your visits with these considerations in mind. Tell someone where you're going, especially for remote sites like Hindostan Falls where you'll lose cell service. Bring printed maps or download offline GPS maps beforehand. Pack water, snacks, and basic first aid supplies. Wear sturdy shoes suitable for uneven terrain.
Respect private property boundaries and never enter buildings without permission. Many structures are genuinely dangerous, with rotting floors, unstable walls, and hidden hazards. The Archaeological Resources Preservation Act protects artifacts over 100 years old on federal land. Taking them isn't just unethical; it's illegal.
Why these places matter
Indiana's ghost towns embody the state's dramatic transformations from frontier territory to canal prosperity, railroad dominance to automotive age. Disease, economic collapse, transportation revolutions, and political failures each claimed thriving communities. Yet through historical markers, annual celebrations, and preservation efforts by groups like Indiana Landmarks, these vanished settlements continue telling their stories.
Standing in these abandoned places, you feel the weight of vanished ambitions and lost dreams. Someone once looked at each empty field and envisioned a thriving city. Children played in streets that no longer exist. Families built homes, started businesses, and made plans for futures that never came. These sites remind us that nothing is permanent, not even the towns we take for granted.
Visit one of these sites soon. Support your local historical society. Document what you find (responsibly) and share it with others who appreciate exploring Indiana history. Join preservation efforts before more of these tangible connections to our past disappear entirely. Because while these towns may be ghosts, their stories deserve to live on.
