When most people hear Columbia City Haunted Jail, they picture scares, thrills, and chills. But behind the screams and shadows is something much deeper — a youth mentorship program that has transformed the lives of countless at-risk kids in our community.
A Cajun Artist Finds Home in Columbia City
I’m Paul Harrington. I’m 56 years old. I moved here from a little town called Erath, Louisiana. I was raised Cajun, and I just decided to start moving north. Originally, I was an airbrush artist; I paint portraits for a living, motorcycles, murals, all that good stuff. Most of the murals you see around Columbia City? A lot of them are mine. And honestly, I’m kind of happy about that. I hope it inspires other artists to start doing murals and create more art around town. Because the more art there is, the less anger there is. You can’t really be angry when you’re doing art, unless you mess up, and then you’re only angry at yourself.
I’m a big believer in happy accidents. I find there really are no accidents. The so-called “happy accidents” are exactly what God intended. I’m spiritual, I believe in doing good things and I try to live that way.
When I moved here, I met my wife. She’s from Ohio. We have three children. This community in Columbia City felt like home immediately; it reminds me of Erath, Louisiana. The town, the highways, the size, the people — it’s almost copy and paste. The people here adopted me, and that’s how I got rooted.
From Haunted Attraction to Youth Mentorship Program
Now, about the Columbia City Haunted Jail. Most people think it’s just a haunted house, a spooky attraction to get scared at. But it’s so much more than that. It’s a program, a way to help kids in our community, a place for them to grow, learn and find themselves.
I first got involved about thirty years ago. The jail was being run as a fundraiser by Bruce Coyle. He saw some of my work, portraits I’d painted of Bela Lugosi, Lon Chaney Jr., Frankenstein, the Wolfman. We hit it off immediately. We sat and talked for six hours the first time we met. His wife almost called the police, this was before cell phones, because she didn’t know where he was! But from that first meeting, we were like brothers. He invited me to check out the building he was haunting, and I remember driving up and feeling like the building spoke to me. It felt like I was back in New Orleans. I was hooked.
I started volunteering. Over time, Bruce stepped down, and eventually, I bought the corporation running the jail. Now, I own the property and everything in it. The Haunted Jail has grown exponentially, not because of gimmicks or marketing, but because we’ve poured our heart and soul into it.
But here’s the truth: this isn’t just about scary experiences. We are, unofficially, the Haunted Boys and Girls Club.
Skills for Life, Not Just Scares
Kids come here who may not fit into traditional programs or activities. They might not be football stars or track runners, but every kid can learn respect; for themselves, for others, for the community. We don’t tolerate bullying. We don’t tolerate using derogatory terms or judging anyone for their color, religion, or sexual orientation. Respect is non-negotiable. Everyone in my program is required to show it. Sir, ma’am — that’s how I run things. I’m southern. I like manners.
These kids aren’t just learning respect. They’re learning real skills. Upper management here, the “jackets,” if you will, are masters in their craft. Professional artists, builders, welders, whatever skill you can imagine. And the kids? They get to learn from them. All summer long, for free. I feed them, I train them, I mentor them. Sometimes the food bill hits tens of thousands of dollars a season. Some kids come here and it’s the only meal they get that day.
We’ve had kids who’ve lost parents, who’ve been abandoned. One boy lost his father and had no male figure to guide him. He was sad. But here, he found a family. I became like a dad to him. He learned he belonged, he mattered. Another young lady had been abandoned by her father, left feeling worthless. We sit them down, tell them: You’re a gold mine. You’re beautiful, smart, kind, funny. You have everything going for you. YOU MATTER. Some kids need to hear that, especially when life hasn’t been kind.
I teach them lessons in real consequences. I tell them the story of the board and the nails. Every insult is a nail. You pull the nails out later, but the holes stay. The scars remain. That lesson sticks. Kids understand that words and actions have weight. And they carry that into the real world.
Transforming Lives, One Kid at a Time
Our program is rigorous. Entry-level actors are the first step. Then there’s the stalker program, the probies, the zone probies, the multi-zone probies, and finally, the jackets. Each stage teaches responsibility, teamwork, discipline, and leadership — all wrapped in a haunted-house setting. We teach them to fight for their dreams, to keep going when life knocks them down. I tell them: Life’s going to beat you down. It’s not about how hard you get hit, it’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.
I’ve seen kids come into the program broken, lost, angry and leave as leaders. I’ve had plenty of failures, sure. Not every kid accepts the guidance we offer. But those who do? They’ve gone on to become police officers, Army veterans, genius level CAD engineers, and more. They succeed because they’ve learned discipline, respect and purpose.
I tell them, “Put your time, your talent, and your energy into yourself. Make yourself the best human being you can be.” That’s the philosophy behind the program. Show up. Work hard. Respect yourself and others. Grow.
A Historic Haunted House With a Heart
Yes, we are a haunted attraction. We were ranked number five nationally in 2019, number four in 2024, and number five again this year in 2025. That ranking is nice, but it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is the kids, the program and the life lessons they take from here. Every dollar we make goes back into the program: feeding the kids, teaching them, providing opportunities they wouldn’t have otherwise.
The Haunted Jail building itself turned 150 years old this year. It’s a historic site, the location of the first and only hanging in Whitley County. October 10, 1884, Charles Butler was hanged here for murdering his wife. Every year on that date, things get… lively. Lights flicker, apparitions appear, electrical systems fail. It’s real. And it’s part of the haunted experience. But even with all the scares and national recognition, none of that compares to what happens behind the scenes: the mentorship, the lessons, the transformation of kids’ lives.
My hope? That when I’m gone, the characters and the program survive. The Haunted Jail isn’t just Paul Harrington: it’s the kids, the jackets, the family we’ve built and the lessons we’ve taught. My son and two daughters are already full jackets and an integral part of the management program— they’re not taking over someday; they already are. I hope the spirit of the characters we’ve created continues to live on, and that the kids we’ve helped carry these lessons forward in their own lives.
Because the truth is, the Haunted Jail isn’t just about scares. It’s about saving lives, shaping futures and showing kids that they matter.
