Next month, the restored 1874 Tamaqua train station will celebrate its 150th anniversary.

The Italianate Victorian landmark is well known for a gourmet restaurant, gift shop, visitors center and rich history.

But long before its $1.5 million restoration, there was a time its brick walls were unsteady and some interior rooms fire-charred.

The place was, in a word, spooky.

And for good reason.

On June 21, 1877, 10 alleged Molly Maguires, men accused of violence and crimes in support mineworkers’ rights, were put to death by hanging in two nearby towns.

Called The Day of the Rope, it remains one of the largest official mass executions in American history.

After it happened, some of the corpses were stored on ice overnight inside the Tamaqua depot.

The macabre delivery saw bodies hoisted from the train car and wheeled on luggage carts through the rear door.

Two years later the scene repeated itself when reputed Mollies leader John “Black Jack” Kehoe was hanged, charged with murder.

Once again, the depot received the body for temporary storage.

And again it happened when Charles McAllister and Ellen O’Donnel were savagely shot to death at 3 a.m. on Dec. 10, 1875, the Wiggan’s Patch Massacre.

For years, some folks believed eerie sounds and sensations inside the building came from disembodied spirits of the Mollies.

So no wonder ghost hunters decided to spend the night, eight hours of investigation. They invited me to join.

“Whatever is here, it wants to be recognized by people who have the ability to do it. It wants to be heard,” said Kevin Tersavige, group founder.

I watched as they set up cameras, recorders and other equipment. They scoured each room of the depot while I joined others searching old tunnels beneath the building.

At one point, a flurry of bats flitted past. Yes, scary bats. So appropriate.

Midway through the night, a violent thunderstorm roared into town. Lightning, thunder.

We didn’t worry about losing electricity because there was none to begin with. The place had no power or running water.

Out of the darkness, the team hit pay dirt.

Audio technician Cory Reigel, of Sunbury, captured what sounded like a voice pleading “Can you help me!”

“We’ll put it on the computer to get rid of the distortion,” said investigator Tammie Kelley, Danville.

The raspy, deep, yet whispering, plea was recorded through a process called EVP testing.

“It stands for electronic voice phenomena,” said Reigel.

Kristeen Reynolds of Bloomsburg, self-described “sensitive,” said the building contained a presence. Psychics Janet Wahley and Glenda Wolfe, both of Danville, agreed.

But Wolfe said the spirits are not evil.

“They’re not malevolent,” she said. “They’re not looking to do harm, although they might be angry. Kehoe is still here and the others. They might be too angry to pass.”

To some, the anger makes sense. Many believe the Mollies were treated fairly. Some say their trials were a sham.

In fact, Kehoe even received a posthumous pardon decades after his death. Yet the final chapter hasn’t been written.

Modern day historians argue whether the Mollies were murderers or martyrs.

Meanwhile, ghost investigators want to let the accused men speak for themselves.