Six Acres Bed & Breakfast

A young Black boy died in the attic of this 1850s Underground Railroad safe house in Cincinnati's College Hill neighborhood, and an African healing circle carved into the attic floorboards marks the spot where someone tried to save him. The most prominent ghost, a formerly enslaved woman who introduces herself as "Grace," watches over guests and reportedly keeps a disruptive elderly white male spirit in check. Owner Kristin Kitchen doesn't allow paranormal investigations; the spirits are treated as ancestors, not entertainment.

There's an African healing circle carved into the attic floorboards. The owners don't do ghost tours up there. They don't let paranormal investigators poke around with EMF readers. It's a sacred space, and they treat it like one. A young Black boy died in that attic after arriving through the Underground Railroad, probably from illness or injury sustained during his escape. His small figure has been seen by guests over the years.

Six Acres Bed and Breakfast sits at 5350 Hamilton Avenue in Cincinnati's College Hill neighborhood (formerly called Pleasant Hill), about fifteen minutes from downtown. The house was built between 1850 and 1860 by Zebulon Strong, a Quaker farmer who originally owned fifty acres on the hill. Strong used a false-bottom wagon to transport freedom seekers who approached his property via Mill Creek. Hamilton Avenue runs along U.S. Route 127, which connects straight through to Michigan and Ontario, Canada. Strong maintained multiple buildings on the street: a wooden house at 5340 Hamilton with hiding spots in the surrounding area, and the brick house at 5350 (now the B&B) with its own concealed spaces. A third building at 5434 served as an additional safe house.

The current owner is Kristin Kitchen, an African American woman who first discovered the condemned house as a high school student attending a graduation party on the property. She looked out at the wooded ravine behind the house and felt something she describes as immediate peace. Years later, after fighting developers who wanted to tear the building down, she purchased and restored it. Her sister Chelli Kitchen works as the resident employee and tour guide. A second building on the property called Seventh Acre also offers guest rooms.

Chelli calls the spirits "the ancestors." There are at least four, according to the accounts she shares with guests.

Grace is the most prominent. She's a formerly enslaved woman who has introduced herself to guests by name. She appears in rooms, a quiet presence who seems to watch over people sleeping in the same spaces where freedom seekers once hid. A second Black woman wearing Quaker-style clothing has been seen as well, possibly a servant who worked in the household.

The young boy in the attic is the most heartbreaking presence. The healing circle carved into the floorboards suggests someone tried to save him using African spiritual practices. It didn't work. But the circle survives, and so does the boy, or at least reports of him.

The fourth spirit is an elderly white man. Chelli describes him as "cantankerous." He's the only disruptive presence in the house, creating poltergeist-type disturbances. But Grace reportedly keeps him in line. Multiple accounts suggest she has some kind of authority over his behavior, which is an unusual dynamic for a haunting.

Staff and guests regularly see dark shapes that slip out of view the moment someone looks directly at them. The feeling in the house, by most accounts, isn't fear. It's heaviness. The building sheltered people who were running for their lives, and at least one of them didn't make it.

Kristin and Chelli have made a deliberate choice about how to handle the haunting. They don't exploit it. They don't host flashlight tours or overnight investigations. They respect the spirits as people with a history, not as entertainment. That approach is rare in the haunted hospitality world, and it makes Six Acres feel fundamentally different from places that lean into the spooky marketing. The ghosts here have names. They have stories. And the people who own the building treat those stories with the same care they'd give a living guest.