Inside eerie Pennsylvania ghost town that is still on fire SIXTY YEARS after huge underground coal mine blaze with toxic fumes triggered mass exodus - as one former resident reveals how the disaster unfolded...

A once wealthy bustling Pennsylvania town is now one of the nation's most famous ghost towns - with an underground fire that started more than 60 years ago still burning today.

Founded in 1866 in Centralia, Pennsylvania, was known for its local coal mines. The town reached its peak population in the 1890s, with 2,800 residents, two theatres, multiple hotels, and 14 active coal mines.

By the 1960s there were still over 1,000 residents who called Centralia home - that was until a fire ravaged the entire town. 

The blaze began on May 27, 1962 when the town was conducting its yearly controlled-burn of the local landfill before Memorial Day weekend.

But the controlled fire in an out-of-commission coal mining pit was not properly extinguished and flames crept through an unsealed opening - spreading rapidly through the labyrinth of abandoned mines beneath Centralia. 

Soon the subterranean blaze was impossible to contain and continues to be fueled by the abundant supply of natural coal in Columbia County to this day. 

In an exclusive interview, a former resident of the now ghost town told DailyMail.com how the disaster unfolded.  

Founded in 1866 in Centralia, Pennsylvania, was known for its local coal mines. The town reached its peak population in the 1890s, with 2,800 residents, two theatres, multiple hotels, and 14 active coal mines.

Colleen Dzwonczyk (pictured), 63, was born and raised in Centralia, and is one of the last surviving former residents of the town

Her father, John Coddington (pictured), was the former mayor of the town and owned a local gas station that was attached to their home.

Colleen Dzwonczyk, 63, was born and raised in Centralia, and is one of the last surviving former residents of the town.

She was not yet one year old when the mine fire occurred but has since carried out a mountain of research into the disaster - and even taught a class on it at Penn State. 

She explained that their family's house was one of the few houses located in what is known as the 'impact zone,' or the houses in closest proximity to where the fire started.

Her father, John Coddington, was the former mayor of the town and owned a local gas station that was attached to their home.

She recalled that in 1979, he noticed he wasn't making the profit margins he once was and knew something was wrong.

Colleen's brother, Joseph, went down to the basement to check on the gas tanks, only to discover the walls were scorching.  

He called for his father, who took the temperature of the gas in his underground containers. The gas measured to be more than 120-130 degrees above what was normal. 

That year, the Coddington's closed the gas station, emptying the gas tanks and filling them up with sand.

'The whole top of the hill could have exploded,' Colleen said.

Fast forward to 1981, John and the other families in the impact zone were told that the mine fire situation was under control, but that they had to keep their windows open to allow for the flow of oxygen.

The Coddington's house was one of the few houses located in what is known as the 'impact zone,' or the houses in closest proximity to where the fire started.

In 1979, Colleen's brother, Joseph, went down to the basement to check on the gas tanks, only to discover that the walls were scorching.

Colleen said: 'I don't have a hometown anymore. There isn't a place to go back to and relive old memories'

In reality, the situation was far from contained. 

Snow couldn't stick to the ground around their homes, water ran hot from cold-water taps, pipes were installed in the ground to vent the mine fire gases, and steam from heated asphalt obscured the road.

One night, Joseph and his mother were watching television in the living room when they heard a loud thump from upstairs. They found John passed out on the floor, unresponsive.

First responders saved his life by pumping oxygen into his lungs, and determined the cause to be carbon monoxide inhalation. 

That same year, toxic sinkholes started to appear throughout the town, allowing for carbon monoxide and other gases to fill the residents' homes. 

Notably, 12-year-old Todd Dombowski fell down a 150 foot sinkhole but was rescued by his neighbors. While the boy survived, this was the last straw for the vast majority of remaining residents, prompting a mass exodus over the next few years.

The government eventually condemned the entire Columbia County town and claimed all the real-estate through eminent domain. They even revoked the town's zip code, 17927, and today it shares one with the nearby town of Ashland. 

Colleen said: 'The bottom line is it was cheaper to move everybody out then to continue attempting to put out the fire, so they went with what costed less.'

Toxic sinkholes started to eventually appear throughout the town, allowing for carbon monoxide and other gases to fill the resident's homes. Picture: 1981

The government eventually condemned the entire Columbia County town and claimed all the real-estate through eminent domain.

But despite the government spending $42 million buying residents' homes and offering relocation packages, a handful of the town's residents refused to leave. 

In 1993, there were still 63 residents in Centralia.

Colleen said she believed the government handled the entire situation poorly, explaining how the houses outside the impact zone didn't have to be torn down.

'The people who moved out who weren't in the impact zone, I've seen some of them talking, and they're like, 'you know, we really didn't have to move, because when we look back at it, we weren't affected by this.''

Despite all the money being spent on trying to put out the fire and monitor the town, Colleen said no real progress was being made. 

'Nothing was happening, and people could have died. There was no help for us,' she said.

She said she believes the struggle was due to 'a constant battle between the State and the Federal Government as to who was gonna pay up'.

She continued: 'I think it boils down to the fact that we were such a small town. There weren't enough votes to really matter to these people'.

Had the government continued efforts to put out the fire, Colleen said she believes it could have been extinguished.

'Every time they had to relocate something or look for more money because they ran out of money, the fire got ahead of them,' she said.

'Its frustrating when you think of how our government treated us,' she said. 'It really burned me up.'

Lamar Mervine (pictured), the former mayor of Centralia after Coddington, lived in his childhood house in the town until his final days

Despite all the money being spent on trying to put out the fire and monitor the town, Colleen said no real progress was being made

But despite the government spending $42 million buying residents' homes and offering relocation packages, a handful of the town's residents refused to leave.

In 1993, there were still 63 residents in Centralia.

Lamar Mervine, the former mayor of Centralia, lived in his childhood house in the town until his final days. 

Recalling when the state approached him and his wife about relocating in 2006, he said: 'I remember when the state came and said they wanted our house. She took one look at that man and said 'They're not getting' it. This is the only home I've ever owned, and I want to keep it.'

In 2013, the remaining ten residents filed a federal lawsuit, claiming the part of the town they inhabited was safe, and that the government was after the town's coal.

After a decades-long battle with the government, they were eventually allowed to stay. The settlement gave the residents ownership of their properties until they died as well as a $349,500 payout.

It's now believed fewer than five people still live in Centralia - but that's not to say it doesn't get more than its fair share of visitors.

In recent years the town has become a huge tourist attraction for conspiracy theorists and creatives alike - inspiring the 2006 horror film 'Silent Hill,' which has since become a cult classic.

The branch of Route 61 that runs through the town was permanently closed in 1993 when it became too expensive to repair. 

But the abandoned roadway later became known as Graffiti Highway as tourists turned the blank asphalt canvas into an artistic commons.

However, in 2020, Graffiti Highway saw a massive spike of visitors and trespassers, forcing Pagnotti Enterprises, the owners of the highway, to close the attraction and cover the colorful strip of road with dirt.

A before and after picture taken in 1983 (left) and 2000 (right) shows the drastic changes done to Centralia's main street, Locust Avenue that was reclaimed by the government through imminent domain after an underground coal fire has been raging throughout the town since an accident in 1962

In 2013, the remaining ten residents filed a federal lawsuit, claiming the part of the town they inhabited was safe, and that the government was after the town's coal.

It is believed that 5 residents remain in Centralia today

Smoke rises from a large crack in Pennsylvania Highway 61, caused by the underground coal fire which has been burning for almost 60 years: Picture taken 2010 

A dump truck unloads a pile of dirt onto 'Graffiti Highway' outside the ghost town of Centralia, Pennsylvania in an effort to curb the spike in people visiting the local landmark during the coronavirus pandemic

The old section of Route 61 was purchased from Pennsylvania's Department of Transportation in 2018 by Pagnotti Enterprises. Despite being on private property with no trespassing allowed, illegal visitors have come out in droves to visit the local landmark's smoldering, cracked painted asphalt amid the corona virus pandemic

In the meantime the fire that burns beneath the surface of the town shows no signs of letting up. In fact, experts estimate that there is enough coal down there to fuel the fire for another 250 years.

When looking back at her time in Centralia, Colleen said she is filled with a mix of emotions.

'Its an overwhelming sadness,' said Colleen. 'I don't have a hometown anymore. There isn't a place to go back to and relive old memories.'

She sighed: 'It didn't have to be like this.'