September 23, 2025 • 17 mins
St. Louis, Missouri. Once a mansion of chandeliers, marble, and fortune — now one of the most haunted houses in America.
The Lemp family built their empire on beer, but inside their 33-room mansion, sorrow took root. Five suicides. A legacy of grief. And a house that refuses to let go of its past.
Today, the Lemp Mansion is famous for more than history. Guests report footsteps in empty hallways. Staff hear boots crossing the ballroom after midnight. Paranormal investigators capture whispers - even the laughter of a child long gone.
Join host Robert Barber as we step inside the haunted Lemp Mansion - to explore its history, its ghosts, and the lingering question: is it the family that haunts these halls, or the grief itself?
This is State of the Unknown.
State of the Unknown is a documentary-style podcast tracing the haunted highways, forgotten folklore, and unexplained phenomena across America’s 50 states.
👁️🗨️ New episodes every Tuesday — with full-length stories every other week, and shorter mini tales in between.
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Before we begin tonight's story, a quick note.
The following account includesthemes of suicide and death.
Listener, discretion is advised.
Footsteps cross the hallwayabove you, slow and heavy, but
(00:23):
the rooms are empty.
A door slams, the air dropscold and out of the corner of
your eye a shadow slips past.
You tell yourself it's just thehouse settling Old wood drafts
imagination Until you hear it.
(00:44):
Drafts Imagination Until youhear it.
A child's laugh.
But no child lives here.
This is the Lemp Mansion, ahouse where death came often and
never quite left.
The mansion stands in St Louis,missouri, built in the 1860s by
(01:06):
the Lemp family brewers whosebeer empire once dominated the
city 33 rooms, marble fireplaces, chandeliers, a monument to
wealth and permanence.
But the fortune collapsed andwithin these walls, one by one,
(01:31):
the lamps turned their despairinward Five suicides, each
leaving another scar on thehouse.
Today it's remembered less as amansion and more as one of the
most haunted places in America,a place where footsteps echo,
where doors slam without causeand where visitors say the Lemp
(01:54):
family never really left.
I'm your host, robert Barber,and tonight we're headed to St
(02:17):
Louis, to a mansion built onbeer and fortune that became a
monument to sorrow.
This is the story of the LimpMansion, a house built on wealth
and broken by grief, a housewhere footsteps still echo and
(02:39):
shadows never rest.
This is State of the Unknown,his State of the Unknown.
The story of the Lemp Mansionbegins in the mid-1800s.
Johann Adam Lemp left Germanyand came to St Louis with almost
nothing.
What he did have was a talentfor brewing beer.
(03:04):
He started small, a littlegrocery, some barrels of lager,
but in a city of Germanimmigrants the taste caught on
fast.
By the time he died in 1862,the Lemp Brewery was one of the
most successful in the region.
His son, william, inheritedeverything, and he wasn't just a
brewer, inherited everything.
And he wasn't just a brewer, hewas an empire builder.
(03:26):
He expanded the company,modernized it and turned it into
one of the largest breweries inAmerica.
And with that success came thehouse.
(03:48):
The Lem Mansion rose just ashort distance from the brewery
itself 33 rooms, high ceilings,carved wood, marble fireplaces,
a chandelier in almost everyroom.
It wasn't just a home, it was astatement.
The Lamps weren't just wealthy,they were untouchable, or so it
seemed.
They were untouchable, or so itseemed.
In 1901, william's favorite son,frederick, died suddenly.
(04:11):
He was just 28 years oldDoctors said it was heart
trouble, but for William it mayas well have been the end of the
world.
He never recovered.
Three years later, another blow.
William's best friend, a fellowbrewer named Frederick Pabst,
(04:32):
died.
The grief stacked on top ofgrief and William, once the most
powerful man in St Louisbrewing, began to crumble.
On the morning of February 13th1904, he went into his office
at the mansion, closed the doorbehind him and a gunshot rang
(04:53):
out.
It was the first suicide insidethe mansion, but not the last.
Over the next several decades,tragedy would stalk the family.
His son, william Jr, wouldeventually take his own life in
the house.
So would his daughter Elsa, andlater his son Charles.
(05:16):
Five suicides, each one behindthese same walls, each one
leaving the house a littleheavier, a little darker.
And it's because of that,because of the grief soaked into
this house, that so many peoplebelieve the Lemp family never
(05:37):
really left.
When you step into the Lempmansion, people say the first
thing you notice isn't what yousee, it's what you feel.
The air feels heavier, like thehouse is holding its breath,
(05:58):
waiting.
And then the sounds begin.
Visitors hear footsteps pacingthe hallways, slow, deliberate
upstairs down the long secondfloor corridors always when the
house is quiet.
But when someone opens theirdoor to look, the hallway is
(06:20):
empty.
One guest swore she followedthe sounds step for step up the
main staircase, but halfway upshe realized the footsteps were
copying her, always just a beatbehind.
When she stopped they stopped,and when she turned around there
was nothing there.
(06:42):
Doors open and close on theirown, not creaking shut, not
drifting slamming In oneupstairs bedroom.
Staff say it happened so oftenthey started propping the door
open with a chair, but when theycome back the chair is knocked
over and the door is shut tight.
And then there are the coldspots Rooms that drop to
(07:07):
freezing in seconds, not just achill Air so sharp your breath
fogs in front of you, even inthe middle of a St Louis summer.
Some guests say the cold isstrongest in rooms where
suicides happened and that itisn't just temperature, it's a
pressure, a force that pushesthem out into the hallway, like
(07:31):
the room itself doesn't wantthem inside.
But the most unsettling storiesthey're about what people see A
man in a suit staring from asecond floor window, his face
pale, unreadable.
But when anyone climbs thestairs to check, the room is
empty.
Others describe a woman's voice, soft, melancholy, always just
(07:58):
far enough away you can't quitemake out the words.
And then there's the basement.
That's where the laughter comesfrom the sound of a child.
That story goes back to ZekeWilliam Lemp's youngest son.
He was born with a physicaldeformity.
Family stories say he washidden away in the attic, rarely
(08:20):
seen by anyone outside thefamily.
He died young and ever sincevisitors have reported the sound
of small footsteps or bursts oflaughter that echo through the
basement.
Paranormal investigators claimthey've even recorded his voice,
a boy whispering I'm here, andthen there are the shadows.
(08:42):
I'm here, and then there arethe shadows, figures that don't
belong to the living, darkshapes that glide across walls.
Guests say they've woken in thenight to find one standing at
the foot of the bed, silent,just watching.
Gone the second, the lightswitches on.
(09:03):
Even the staff have stories.
Servers say they've felt handsbrush against their shoulders
when no one's near.
A manager once heard bootscrossing the ballroom long after
closing.
The steps were so loud hethought someone had broken in.
But when security checked theroom was empty.
(09:24):
And this happens again andagain and again To staff, to
guests, to investigators.
The house doesn't care who youare.
It shows itself when it wantsto and when it does.
The experience is hard to shake.
(09:48):
Today, the Lemp Mansion isn'tabandoned.
It isn't sealed up like so manyother haunted houses.
It's alive again, at least inits own way, because now it's a
restaurant and an inn.
You can sit down to dinner inthe dining room where the family
once gathered, or book a roomfor the night in the same spaces
(10:12):
where the Lamps lived and died.
But not everyone leaves withjust a full stomach or a good
night's sleep.
Guests report silverware movingon its own Chairs, shifting
slightly across the floor.
At dinner people have watcheddark figures slip through
doorways, figures inold-fashioned clothes, gone
(10:35):
before anyone has time to standup and follow.
The staff have their own storiestoo.
One server described balancinga tray of drinks when she felt a
shove against her arm.
The glasses spilled to thefloor, but when she turned, no
one was there.
Others talk about lightsflickering, about cold spots
(10:56):
that rise out of nowhere, aboutthe sensation of being watched
as they lock up for the night.
And then there are theinvestigators.
Ghost hunters travel from allover the country to spend the
night here.
They bring cameras, thermalscanners and recorders.
Some leave with voices on tape,men's voices, women's voices,
(11:20):
sometimes even a child.
One group swore they capturedthe words get out.
Others walk away with video ofstrange mists or shadows darting
across a room.
Not hard proof, but enough tokeep the legend alive.
Because what makes the LempMansion powerful isn't just its
(11:41):
history, it's the way thathistory refuses to stay buried.
Every visitor adds something tothe story, every staff member,
every ghost hunter, each accountpiling on top of the last,
making the house darker, heavier, more alive.
And the more people talk aboutit, the stronger the legend
(12:05):
becomes.
It's easy to look at the LimpMansion as two stories.
The first the history, a familywho rose to power only to
collapse under the weight ofgrief, and the second the
hauntings, the footsteps, theshadows, the voices.
(12:29):
But maybe they're not twostories after all.
Maybe they're the same, becausewhen you think about it, the
house was never just brick andwood.
It was a container.
And what it held wasn't justpeople.
It held sorrow Five suicides,generations of despair.
Five suicides, generations ofdespair, tragedies that piled up
(12:53):
inside the same walls over andover.
If places really do carryechoes of what happens inside
them, then the Lemp Mansion hasmore than enough grief to last
forever.
Of course, skeptics will tellyou it's nothing but suggestion,
that the footsteps are just oldfloorboards, the voices, drafts
(13:15):
, the cold spots, quirks of adrafty 19th century house.
And maybe, maybe they're right.
All right, let me step out ofthe story here for a second,
because this is where theskeptic in me and the
storyteller in me startwrestling.
On one hand, sure, it's an oldhouse, drafts, creaks,
(13:37):
suggestion.
But on the other hand, I can'tignore the sheer number of
people who say they'veexperienced something here
Guests, staff, investigators,over and over again.
And even if you strip away theidea of ghosts, you're still
left with the question why do somany people walk away unsettled
(14:01):
?
But what about the people whodidn't know, the guests who
booked a room without anyknowledge of the limp name, only
to wake in the night to thesound of boots pacing the floor?
Or the diners who saw a shadowpass through the hall, only to
learn later that funerals wereonce held in that very room?
(14:22):
There's another theory that thehouse isn't haunted by the dead
at all.
It's haunted by grief itself.
That sorrow, when it builds upenough, becomes its own kind of
energy, not memory, not spirit,something heavier, something
(14:45):
that lingers.
And here's the part that reallygets under my skin.
Because if it's true, if griefitself can linger, then what
does that mean for the places welive in?
Are we walking through morethan wood and plaster?
Are we walking through emotionsthat never died?
And maybe that's what peoplefeel when they walk into the
(15:07):
Lemp Mansion Not a ghost at thefoot of their bed, not a whisper
in the ear, but the weight ofdespair, thick as the air, cold
as stone, waiting to be felt allover again.
Even now, the house keeps itsdoors open.
It invites anyone, the curious,the hungry, the thrill-seekers
(15:31):
to step inside, and many do.
Some walk away with nothingmore than a meal, but others
leave with something they can'texplain A sound, a shadow, a
voice in the dark.
And the question is if you wentinside, what would you find?
Would you feel the grief thatlives in the walls, or would you
(15:55):
see something darker, somethingthat doesn't belong to memory
at all?
Some say the Lemp's never left.
Others believe the house itselfis alive and feeding.
Either way, the next timeyou're in St Louis and you pass
the tall windows and the heavydoors of the Lemp Mansion,
(16:17):
remember this.
Some who go inside walk backout.
With a story.
Some don't walk out alone.
This has been State of theUnknown.
The story of the Lemp Mansionis one that lingers, not just
because of its history, butbecause of the way the house
(16:37):
refuses to let go of it.
Whether you believe inhauntings or not, the fact
remains.
Countless people have walkedthrough those doors and felt
something they couldn't explain,and maybe that's the real
reason we return to stories likethis, not for answers, but for
the shadows they leave behind.
(16:59):
If you've been enjoying theshow, thank you.
It means more than you know toknow that you're listening.
And if you'd like to help Stateof the Unknown grow, the
simplest way is with a quickrating.
On Spotify, it's just two taps,and on Apple, you can even
leave a review.
(17:19):
I read every one and I'mgrateful for them all.
Until next time, keep watchingthe shadows, because some of
them are watching back.
Before we begin tonight's story, a quick note.
The following account includesthemes of suicide and death.
Listener, discretion is advised.
Footsteps cross the hallwayabove you, slow and heavy, but
(00:23):
the rooms are empty.
A door slams, the air dropscold and out of the corner of
your eye a shadow slips past.
You tell yourself it's just thehouse settling Old wood drafts
imagination Until you hear it.
(00:44):
Drafts Imagination Until youhear it.
A child's laugh.
But no child lives here.
This is the Lemp Mansion, ahouse where death came often and
never quite left.
The mansion stands in St Louis,missouri, built in the 1860s by
(01:06):
the Lemp family brewers whosebeer empire once dominated the
city 33 rooms, marble fireplaces, chandeliers, a monument to
wealth and permanence.
But the fortune collapsed andwithin these walls, one by one,
(01:31):
the lamps turned their despairinward Five suicides, each
leaving another scar on thehouse.
Today it's remembered less as amansion and more as one of the
most haunted places in America,a place where footsteps echo,
where doors slam without causeand where visitors say the Lemp
(01:54):
family never really left.
I'm your host, robert Barber,and tonight we're headed to St
(02:17):
Louis, to a mansion built onbeer and fortune that became a
monument to sorrow.
This is the story of the LimpMansion, a house built on wealth
and broken by grief, a housewhere footsteps still echo and
(02:39):
shadows never rest.
This is State of the Unknown,his State of the Unknown.
The story of the Lemp Mansionbegins in the mid-1800s.
Johann Adam Lemp left Germanyand came to St Louis with almost
nothing.
What he did have was a talentfor brewing beer.
(03:04):
He started small, a littlegrocery, some barrels of lager,
but in a city of Germanimmigrants the taste caught on
fast.
By the time he died in 1862,the Lemp Brewery was one of the
most successful in the region.
His son, william, inheritedeverything, and he wasn't just a
brewer, inherited everything.
And he wasn't just a brewer, hewas an empire builder.
(03:26):
He expanded the company,modernized it and turned it into
one of the largest breweries inAmerica.
And with that success came thehouse.
(03:48):
The Lem Mansion rose just ashort distance from the brewery
itself 33 rooms, high ceilings,carved wood, marble fireplaces,
a chandelier in almost everyroom.
It wasn't just a home, it was astatement.
The Lamps weren't just wealthy,they were untouchable, or so it
seemed.
They were untouchable, or so itseemed.
In 1901, william's favorite son,frederick, died suddenly.
(04:11):
He was just 28 years oldDoctors said it was heart
trouble, but for William it mayas well have been the end of the
world.
He never recovered.
Three years later, another blow.
William's best friend, a fellowbrewer named Frederick Pabst,
(04:32):
died.
The grief stacked on top ofgrief and William, once the most
powerful man in St Louisbrewing, began to crumble.
On the morning of February 13th1904, he went into his office
at the mansion, closed the doorbehind him and a gunshot rang
(04:53):
out.
It was the first suicide insidethe mansion, but not the last.
Over the next several decades,tragedy would stalk the family.
His son, william Jr, wouldeventually take his own life in
the house.
So would his daughter Elsa, andlater his son Charles.
(05:16):
Five suicides, each one behindthese same walls, each one
leaving the house a littleheavier, a little darker.
And it's because of that,because of the grief soaked into
this house, that so many peoplebelieve the Lemp family never
(05:37):
really left.
When you step into the Lempmansion, people say the first
thing you notice isn't what yousee, it's what you feel.
The air feels heavier, like thehouse is holding its breath,
(05:58):
waiting.
And then the sounds begin.
Visitors hear footsteps pacingthe hallways, slow, deliberate
upstairs down the long secondfloor corridors always when the
house is quiet.
But when someone opens theirdoor to look, the hallway is
(06:20):
empty.
One guest swore she followedthe sounds step for step up the
main staircase, but halfway upshe realized the footsteps were
copying her, always just a beatbehind.
When she stopped they stopped,and when she turned around there
was nothing there.
(06:42):
Doors open and close on theirown, not creaking shut, not
drifting slamming In oneupstairs bedroom.
Staff say it happened so oftenthey started propping the door
open with a chair, but when theycome back the chair is knocked
over and the door is shut tight.
And then there are the coldspots Rooms that drop to
(07:07):
freezing in seconds, not just achill Air so sharp your breath
fogs in front of you, even inthe middle of a St Louis summer.
Some guests say the cold isstrongest in rooms where
suicides happened and that itisn't just temperature, it's a
pressure, a force that pushesthem out into the hallway, like
(07:31):
the room itself doesn't wantthem inside.
But the most unsettling storiesthey're about what people see A
man in a suit staring from asecond floor window, his face
pale, unreadable.
But when anyone climbs thestairs to check, the room is
empty.
Others describe a woman's voice, soft, melancholy, always just
(07:58):
far enough away you can't quitemake out the words.
And then there's the basement.
That's where the laughter comesfrom the sound of a child.
That story goes back to ZekeWilliam Lemp's youngest son.
He was born with a physicaldeformity.
Family stories say he washidden away in the attic, rarely
(08:20):
seen by anyone outside thefamily.
He died young and ever sincevisitors have reported the sound
of small footsteps or bursts oflaughter that echo through the
basement.
Paranormal investigators claimthey've even recorded his voice,
a boy whispering I'm here, andthen there are the shadows.
(08:42):
I'm here, and then there arethe shadows, figures that don't
belong to the living, darkshapes that glide across walls.
Guests say they've woken in thenight to find one standing at
the foot of the bed, silent,just watching.
Gone the second, the lightswitches on.
(09:03):
Even the staff have stories.
Servers say they've felt handsbrush against their shoulders
when no one's near.
A manager once heard bootscrossing the ballroom long after
closing.
The steps were so loud hethought someone had broken in.
But when security checked theroom was empty.
(09:24):
And this happens again andagain and again To staff, to
guests, to investigators.
The house doesn't care who youare.
It shows itself when it wantsto and when it does.
The experience is hard to shake.
(09:48):
Today, the Lemp Mansion isn'tabandoned.
It isn't sealed up like so manyother haunted houses.
It's alive again, at least inits own way, because now it's a
restaurant and an inn.
You can sit down to dinner inthe dining room where the family
once gathered, or book a roomfor the night in the same spaces
(10:12):
where the Lamps lived and died.
But not everyone leaves withjust a full stomach or a good
night's sleep.
Guests report silverware movingon its own Chairs, shifting
slightly across the floor.
At dinner people have watcheddark figures slip through
doorways, figures inold-fashioned clothes, gone
(10:35):
before anyone has time to standup and follow.
The staff have their own storiestoo.
One server described balancinga tray of drinks when she felt a
shove against her arm.
The glasses spilled to thefloor, but when she turned, no
one was there.
Others talk about lightsflickering, about cold spots
(10:56):
that rise out of nowhere, aboutthe sensation of being watched
as they lock up for the night.
And then there are theinvestigators.
Ghost hunters travel from allover the country to spend the
night here.
They bring cameras, thermalscanners and recorders.
Some leave with voices on tape,men's voices, women's voices,
(11:20):
sometimes even a child.
One group swore they capturedthe words get out.
Others walk away with video ofstrange mists or shadows darting
across a room.
Not hard proof, but enough tokeep the legend alive.
Because what makes the LempMansion powerful isn't just its
(11:41):
history, it's the way thathistory refuses to stay buried.
Every visitor adds something tothe story, every staff member,
every ghost hunter, each accountpiling on top of the last,
making the house darker, heavier, more alive.
And the more people talk aboutit, the stronger the legend
(12:05):
becomes.
It's easy to look at the LimpMansion as two stories.
The first the history, a familywho rose to power only to
collapse under the weight ofgrief, and the second the
hauntings, the footsteps, theshadows, the voices.
(12:29):
But maybe they're not twostories after all.
Maybe they're the same, becausewhen you think about it, the
house was never just brick andwood.
It was a container.
And what it held wasn't justpeople.
It held sorrow Five suicides,generations of despair.
Five suicides, generations ofdespair, tragedies that piled up
(12:53):
inside the same walls over andover.
If places really do carryechoes of what happens inside
them, then the Lemp Mansion hasmore than enough grief to last
forever.
Of course, skeptics will tellyou it's nothing but suggestion,
that the footsteps are just oldfloorboards, the voices, drafts
(13:15):
, the cold spots, quirks of adrafty 19th century house.
And maybe, maybe they're right.
All right, let me step out ofthe story here for a second,
because this is where theskeptic in me and the
storyteller in me startwrestling.
On one hand, sure, it's an oldhouse, drafts, creaks,
(13:37):
suggestion.
But on the other hand, I can'tignore the sheer number of
people who say they'veexperienced something here
Guests, staff, investigators,over and over again.
And even if you strip away theidea of ghosts, you're still
left with the question why do somany people walk away unsettled
(14:01):
?
But what about the people whodidn't know, the guests who
booked a room without anyknowledge of the limp name, only
to wake in the night to thesound of boots pacing the floor?
Or the diners who saw a shadowpass through the hall, only to
learn later that funerals wereonce held in that very room?
(14:22):
There's another theory that thehouse isn't haunted by the dead
at all.
It's haunted by grief itself.
That sorrow, when it builds upenough, becomes its own kind of
energy, not memory, not spirit,something heavier, something
(14:45):
that lingers.
And here's the part that reallygets under my skin.
Because if it's true, if griefitself can linger, then what
does that mean for the places welive in?
Are we walking through morethan wood and plaster?
Are we walking through emotionsthat never died?
And maybe that's what peoplefeel when they walk into the
(15:07):
Lemp Mansion Not a ghost at thefoot of their bed, not a whisper
in the ear, but the weight ofdespair, thick as the air, cold
as stone, waiting to be felt allover again.
Even now, the house keeps itsdoors open.
It invites anyone, the curious,the hungry, the thrill-seekers
(15:31):
to step inside, and many do.
Some walk away with nothingmore than a meal, but others
leave with something they can'texplain A sound, a shadow, a
voice in the dark.
And the question is if you wentinside, what would you find?
Would you feel the grief thatlives in the walls, or would you
(15:55):
see something darker, somethingthat doesn't belong to memory
at all?
Some say the Lemp's never left.
Others believe the house itselfis alive and feeding.
Either way, the next timeyou're in St Louis and you pass
the tall windows and the heavydoors of the Lemp Mansion,
(16:17):
remember this.
Some who go inside walk backout.
With a story.
Some don't walk out alone.
This has been State of theUnknown.
The story of the Lemp Mansionis one that lingers, not just
because of its history, butbecause of the way the house
(16:37):
refuses to let go of it.
Whether you believe inhauntings or not, the fact
remains.
Countless people have walkedthrough those doors and felt
something they couldn't explain,and maybe that's the real
reason we return to stories likethis, not for answers, but for
the shadows they leave behind.
(16:59):
If you've been enjoying theshow, thank you.
It means more than you know toknow that you're listening.
And if you'd like to help Stateof the Unknown grow, the
simplest way is with a quickrating.
On Spotify, it's just two taps,and on Apple, you can even
leave a review.
(17:19):
I read every one and I'mgrateful for them all.
Until next time, keep watchingthe shadows, because some of
them are watching back.
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