wilkes-barre-history

[wilkes-barre-history]

161 Blackman Street

Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania

Now a modest two-bedroom apartment, 161 Blackman Street was once home to Wilkes-Barre’s most infamous royal couple. The Higgenbottoms were long rulers of a vast land — until a terrible twist of fate and passion destroyed them both.

Construction on 161 Blackman Street ended in 1862. The Higgenbottoms — Zeb and Patricia — were the king and queen of Wilkes-Barre. A then-booming land of industry, Zeb and Patricia sought to live in a home as grandiose as the city over which they ruled; now its history known by only a few local anthropologists, it was once a towering castle that claimed its place in the Wilkes-Barre skyline.

Life in this 19th-century chateau was idyllic. Zeb spent his time in the courtyards, tending to his many impressive root vegetable patches. Patricia oversaw local government organizations, acted as fiduciary of the Wilkes-Barre money chests, and led charity work for the city’s youth born without fingers.

Although their relationship seemed perfect, Patricia grew more jealous of Zeb’s power as time pressed on. She longed to be the one true ruler of Wilkes-Barre, and in 1869, fate shone a light on her darkest desire.

Zeb had become increasingly ill in their time at 161 Blackman Street. Every morning his hands would swell to the size of gourds, and every evening his feet would shrivel like dirty old raisins. Within a few months he became bound to his second floor chambers, laying in bed from sun up to sun down. His spirits began to fade as the grounds of the estate deteriorated.

Patricia watched as her husband grew weak and weary; while Zeb was trapped in their bedroom, she began her plot to become the only Royal of Wilkes-Barre. It didn’t take long for her to hatch a truly devious plan: leave him to perish in his own bed, wrap him in the mattress between the chambermaids’ linens and send him off to port with the other town dross.

In the early summer days of June 1869, Patricia made the decision to pursue her husband’s demise. At the bottom of the spiral staircase leading to Zeb’s bedprison, Patricia ordered the Royal Metal Men (Illuminati) of Wilkes-Barre to remove all steps and access to the second floor. Though Zeb heard this order and cried out for help, it was bee season in Wilkes-Barre — hoards of Wilkes-Barre bees surrounded the second floor windows and their buzzing drowned out the pleas coming from his bed. The staircase was removed from the castle; now all that Patricia needed to do was wait.

It wasn’t long before Patricia noticed the smell of her husband’s remains. After all, his shrunken feet and oversized hands turned him into a human anchor in his own bed. While the official cause of death has been sealed off by the Wilkes-Barre Towne Sheriff for the last century, some in the town say he died from exposure, others say consumption. Sentimentalists say he died from a broken heart. As historians, we may never know the truth.

When the scent became too much to bear, Patricia ordered the town forklift to come into 161 Blackman Street to assist her to the second floor. Once she ascended the upper level, she cautiously looked around for Zeb’s corpse — to her surprise, she found nothing. Patricia carefully navigated the floor, looking all around the Royal Bed for the Zeb bones she’d been waiting to discover.

As Patricia fumbled through the linens on the mattress searching for any signs of her late husband, she found a cavernous hole in the center of the sheets. She nervously pulled back the fabric covering the hole and heard a low buzzing sound. The noise grew louder, but Patricia was frozen with fear. She stood over the mattress and the buzzing moved towards her — out of the bed hole came a swarm of Wilkes-Barre bees. Hundreds of thousands of bees surrounded Patricia as she screamed for help, though no one on the lower level could her hear cries, much like those of Zeb just a few days earlier.

The bees chased Patricia across the upper floor into the bedroom closet, and the door slammed behind her. Over 150 years later, no one has seen or heard from Patricia or Zeb Higgenbottom ever again.

A replica staircase has since been installed in the building, and the historical landmark has now been converted into apartment space. Many are unaware of the history behind 161 Blackman Street, but some say if you’re on the street at night and the police sirens are quiet, you can still hear the buzzing of the Wilkes-Barre bees trapped in the upstairs closet.

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