September 5, 2024 • 49 mins
What happens when history, horror, and the supernatural intertwine? Join me, Jeremy Haig, as we peel back the layers of Loftus Hall's dark past. From its prehistoric origins to its time during the Anglo-Norman invasion and turbulent power struggles, this episode guides you through the captivating transformation of the site. You'll learn how this ancient land, steeped in bloodshed and betrayal, evolved into the enigmatic Loftus Hall we know today.
Ever heard of a card game that turns into a nightmare? Discover the spine-chilling tale of Anne Tottenham and the mysterious stranger who emerged from a storm. Their fateful encounter during a seemingly innocent card game revealed a horrifying truth that left an indelible mark on Anne and forever haunted Loftus Hall. This episode immerses you in the eerie events that unraveled Anne's reality and shrouded the hall in a sinister legacy.
Feeling brave enough to explore Loftus Hall's lingering dark energy? We dive into the supernatural phenomena that continue to captivate and terrify visitors. Through stories of ghostly whispers, unexplained cold spots, and ancient ley lines, we unravel how belief and location interplay to create an atmosphere of dread. As a practicing witch, I even share insights into why some places, like Loftus Hall, remain forever haunted by their tragic histories. Embark on this haunting journey and understand why Loftus Hall's eerie grip endures.
Ever heard of a card game that turns into a nightmare? Discover the spine-chilling tale of Anne Tottenham and the mysterious stranger who emerged from a storm. Their fateful encounter during a seemingly innocent card game revealed a horrifying truth that left an indelible mark on Anne and forever haunted Loftus Hall. This episode immerses you in the eerie events that unraveled Anne's reality and shrouded the hall in a sinister legacy.
Feeling brave enough to explore Loftus Hall's lingering dark energy? We dive into the supernatural phenomena that continue to captivate and terrify visitors. Through stories of ghostly whispers, unexplained cold spots, and ancient ley lines, we unravel how belief and location interplay to create an atmosphere of dread. As a practicing witch, I even share insights into why some places, like Loftus Hall, remain forever haunted by their tragic histories. Embark on this haunting journey and understand why Loftus Hall's eerie grip endures.
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:16):
The wind drifts over Ireland's cliffs like a whisper,
pulling at the edge of timeitself.
There's an ancient rhythm herethe way the mist curls around
the stones, how the seastretches toward infinity,
indifferent to the centuries ithas seen slip away.
This is a land where historyisn't just remembered it's
(00:39):
inscribed into the very bones ofthe earth, waiting to rise
again like a long buried memory.
Some of its stories are soft,like the first light of dawn
dancing on the water.
Others, others creep in withthe fog, thick and impenetrable,
(01:01):
settling into the soul of thelandscape like shadows that
never truly fade.
These stories, the dark ones,they don't just pass through.
They merge with the wind, sinkinto the soil and curl up in the
cracks between the stones,waiting for the right moment to
surface.
And on the edge of the HookPeninsula there stands a house,
(01:24):
loftus Hall.
It doesn't simply exist.
It looms, brooding, heavy,against a sky that always seems
on the verge of breaking.
This place, this house, it'smade of something other than
stone and timber.
If walls could talk, thesewouldn't whisper, they would
(01:48):
howl.
This is a story of love andloss, yes, but more than that,
it's a story of what lingerswhen the darkness brushes
against you, because it nevertruly leaves, does it?
It lingers in the corners, inthe spaces.
No one dares look too deeply.
(02:09):
You can feel it if you're quietenough, if you let yourself
drift into that silence.
The past here, it reaches out,not to be remembered but to
remind, and it's waiting for you.
I'm Jeremy Haig, and this iswhen Walls Can Talk.
(02:32):
Throughout the ages, man hasrepeated the same earnest,
(02:52):
saying more of a question,really, or perhaps even a plea.
If these walls could talk, butwhat if they do, and always have
?
Perhaps their stories, memoriesand messages are all around us.
If only we would take themoment to listen.
(03:12):
On this podcast, wereinvestigate legends and tales
of the past and allow the echoesof their lessons to live on
once again, informing us,educating us and sharing new and
unique insight into the innerworkings of the paranormal and
spiritual world.
Will you dare to listen?
This is when Walls Can Talk thepodcast.
(03:49):
The land surrounding Loftus Hallfeels heavy with memory, as
though it holds a history mucholder than the stones that sit
upon it.
There's a weight in the airthat lingers on the Hook
Peninsula, where the sea crashesagainst the jagged cliffs and
the wind never truly stopshowling.
This land remembers.
(04:09):
It holds stories beneath itssoil, whispers of power,
betrayal and blood.
To look upon it is to feel thepull of something ancient,
something that refuses to beforgotten.
In the distance, standing talllike a watchman at the end of
the world, is Hook Lighthouse.
(04:30):
Its roots stretch back to the5th century, when monks arrived
here building a simple fire toguide lost sailors to safety.
The lighthouse has stood hereever since, an enduring symbol
of light on a land that wouldcome to be shrouded in shadow.
Just two miles beyond, loftusHall crouches on the horizon
(04:54):
like a sleeping beast, a placethat has watched centuries of
history unfold before it.
The land itself is more thanrock and grass.
The land itself is more thanrock and grass.
It's a geological patchwork oflimestone and mud sitting atop
Bronze Age mounds that tell of acivilization far older than the
hall itself.
This ground has seen invadersand settlers, and that story
(05:17):
begins in 1169, with the arrivalof Raymond Legros, strongbow's
most trusted general.
Le Gros wasn't just a soldier,he was a conqueror, part of the
Anglo-Norman invasion of Irelandthat would forever change the
(05:38):
country's landscape.
His name is whispered throughIrish history as one who carved
his legacy onto the land Uponlanding on Hook Peninsula, le
Gros chose this very spot tobuild stronghold.
Though the original castle haslong since crumbled into the
earth, its ghost still lingers,an echo of the violence and
ambition that lived here.
His presence set off a chain ofevents that would shape the
(06:02):
destiny of Loftus Hall and itssurrounding lands.
In 1189, his descendants,through the powerful marriage of
Strongbow's daughter Isabel tothe English knight William
Marshall, would inherit vasttracts of land across Ireland,
including much of what we nowknow as County Wexford.
William and Isabel's union wasnot one of love but of power.
(06:25):
Through their marriage theyunited two powerful dynasties,
and with it came control overthe lands that surrounded Loftus
Hall.
But power rarely comes withoutblood, and the Hall would see
plenty of it.
By the fourteenth century, theRedmond family had taken
(06:45):
possession of the land,constructing the first true hall
on the site in 1350.
This was Redmond Hall.
The Redmonds held their seatfor centuries through wars and
conflicts that would test theirclaim.
Their hall stood like afortress, a bastion of power, on
a rugged, untamable coastline.
(07:06):
But Ireland is a land where thetides of power shift quickly
and the Redmonds would findtheir grip slipping as the storm
of the Irish-Confederate Warsbroke across the land in the
1640s, the hall became astronghold, once more barricaded
against the waves of conflictthat swept through Wexford.
(07:26):
But it wasn't enough.
As Oliver Cromwell's armiesstormed through Ireland in 1649,
the Redmonds were forced torelinquish their hold.
The land, like so much ofIreland during this period, was
seized, stripped from its Irishowners and handed to English
settlers Enter the Loftus family.
(07:51):
In the wake of Cromwell'sconquest, the hall was granted
to the Loftus family, englishplanters who would go on to
occupy the house for generations.
But even under new ownership,the land itself never seemed to
fully surrender.
The soil remembered what hadbeen taken, as though it bore
(08:12):
witness to the violence that hadunfolded upon it Over the
centuries.
The Loftus family reshaped thehall, turning it from a simple
fortress into the grand,imposing mansion that would
become infamous.
They built it taller, grander,its walls filled with tapestries
(08:33):
, its rooms echoing with thesound of wealth and power.
But no matter how manygenerations of the Loftus family
lived within its walls, ashadow seemed to cling to it, as
though it resisted theirattempts to tame it.
Charles Tottenham, a loftist bymarriage, took up residence in
the hall with his second wife,jane, and his daughter Anne from
(08:55):
their first marriage.
But there was somethingdifferent about this place now.
Beneath its polished surface,beneath a grand facade, there
was a tension that seemed tovibrate in the air, and it is
here, with Charles Tottenham andhis daughter, anne, that the
legend truly begins.
Loftus Hall had been a place ofpower, a place where history
(09:19):
and ambition collided, but nowsomething else had taken root,
Something darker, something thatwould stain the name of Loftus
Hall for centuries to come.
The air hung heavy that night,thick, with the kind of damp
chill that settles deep into thebones.
Loftus Hall, standing on theedge of the world, seemed to
(09:43):
absorb the weight of the stormgathering outside its windows
rattling in their frames as thewind howled against the Hook
Peninsula.
For those who lived within itswalls, the house was a fortress,
a place where the outside worldcould be held at bay.
But even the sturdiest wallscan't keep everything out.
(10:06):
The night the stranger arrivedbegan like any other.
Charles Tottenham had seenstorms like this before.
The hall's location, perchedprecariously close to the wild
Irish sea, meant that shipwreckswere not uncommon.
It was a cold courtesy to offershelter to stranded sailors,
and Charles, lord of the manor,was nothing if not hospitable.
(10:29):
That evening, as the wind beganto howl and the waves crashed
against the rocks below, a knockechoed through the halls of
Loftus Hall.
When the door was opened, thestorm seemed to spill inside A
rush of cold air, a spray ofseawater.
And there, standing in thedoorway, was a man unlike any
(10:54):
they had ever seen.
He wasn't wet, his clothes wereuntouched by the storm raging
outside and his dark hair layperfectly in place, as though
he'd walked out of a ballroomrather than a tempest.
There was something about him,something magnetic.
His presence seemed to fill thespace around him, making the
(11:17):
fire flicker and the shadow seemto bend toward him.
But no one questioned it.
The stranger was invited in, aswas custom, and so began the
slow unraveling of everything.
(11:46):
In every story like this,there's always a moment when you
look back and realize thatsomething was wrong from the
start, but at the time you don'tsee it, you only feel it
perhaps, and by the time yourecognize it for what it is,
it's too late.
For Anne, the youngest daughterof Charles Tottenham, the
(12:08):
arrival of this stranger feltlike the opening of a door she
hadn't known was closed.
She had lived nearly her wholelife in Loftus Hall, its long
halls and endless rooms, cloakedin the kind of silence that
wears at you over time.
It wasn't that she was lonely,but there was a certain
emptiness that clung to her, avoid that she had never been
(12:35):
able to name.
This stranger, though, seemedto fill that void.
He was charming, yes, but therewas more to it than that.
He carried himself with a quietconfidence, a sense of ease
that made those around him leanin, made them want to be closer.
For Anne, his arrival wasn'tjust a break in the monotony of
(12:55):
life at the hall, it was a shiftin her very existence.
The way he looked at her,intense as though he saw
something in her that no oneelse had bothered to notice, set
her heart racing in a way shehad never felt before.
The days that followed feltlike a dream.
The storm outside raged on, butwithin the hall, time seemed to
(13:21):
stretch and slow.
The stranger moved through therooms as though he belonged
there, as if he had always beena part of the place, and
wherever he went, anne followed.
She was fascinated by him,drawn to him in a way that was
as confusing as it wasexhilarating.
He spoke of things she hadnever heard, of distant lands
(13:45):
and strange philosophies, ideasthat seemed to unlock something
within her.
His voice was like the lowrumble of thunder, soft yet
commanding, and when he lookedat her it was as if the rest of
the world fell away.
She had never met anyone likehim, and perhaps that was the
(14:06):
point.
There was something about himthat didn't quite fit a flicker
of darkness in his eyes when hesmiled, a slight edge to his
laughter that made the hairs onthe back of her neck stand up.
But Anne, young, impressionableand captivated, didn't notice.
Or maybe she didn't want toLove, or what we think is.
(14:31):
Love has a way of blinding us.
It softens the edges of thingsthat would otherwise be sharp,
makes us overlook the whispersof warning that curl against the
corners of our thoughts.
It invites us to step closer tothe flame, unaware of the burn
that awaits.
Each evening, as the stormbattered the windows, anne and
(14:55):
the stranger would sit togetherby the fire, talking long into
the night.
Her father and stepmother werepolite but distant, perhaps
sensing in a way that Annecouldn't, that there was
something unsettling about theman who had walked out of the
storm.
But for Anne, these eveningswere intoxicating.
(15:15):
She had never felt so alive, soseen.
The more time she spent withhim, the more she felt as though
she had known him her wholelife, as though he had been
waiting for her.
There were moments when shewould catch him staring at her,
his dark eyes filled withsomething she couldn't quite
(15:36):
name.
Desire, yes.
But there was something elsethere too, something that made
her pulse quicken with bothexcitement and fear.
It was a feeling she couldn'tshake, though she tried to push
it away.
There is always a calm beforethe storm breaks, a moment when
(15:57):
everything feels too perfect,too quiet.
That moment for Anne wasfleeting, but it was there, and
she let it pass, unaware thatthe storm outside was nothing
compared to what was brewingwithin.
The stranger was everything shehad ever wanted and more.
He was a mystery, a puzzle shelonged to solve.
(16:21):
But what she didn't realize wasthat some puzzles are better
left unsolved and some mysteries, once revealed, can never be
forgotten.
As the days stretched into weeks, the storm showed no signs of
stopping, and neither did theconnection between Anne and the
stranger.
She found herself fallingdeeper under his spell, ignoring
(16:46):
the small creeping doubts thatclawed at the edges of her mind.
After all, how could somethingthat felt so right be wrong, but
the hall seemed to know.
The wind outside rattled thewindows more fiercely each night
, and the shadows in the cornersseemed to grow darker longer.
(17:07):
The house itself, silent andwatchful, seemed to sense that
something was coming, somethinginevitable, something that had
been waiting just out of sightall along, and on the night of
the card game it would arrive.
The night had come, quietly,settling over Loftus Hall like a
(17:33):
thick velvet curtain muting theworld outside.
The storm, relentless as it hadbeen, seemed to lull for the
first time in days, as if it toowere holding its breath.
Inside, the fire crackled lowin the hearth, its glow casting
(17:57):
long flickering shadows thatdanced against the walls.
It was the kind of night thatfelt too still, as if something
was waiting just beneath thesurface, ready to break.
The card game had startedinnocently enough.
Charles Tottenham, his wifeJane Anne and the stranger sat
around the grand table in theparlor.
The warmth of the fire hadtaken the chill from the room,
(18:19):
but a strange pricklingsensation hung in the air.
Anne sat across from thestranger, her heart quickening
every time their eyes met.
His smile was small, knowing asif they shared some unspoken
secret.
The cards in her hand feltheavy, awkward, as if they
(18:40):
didn't belong to her.
She tried to focus, but hermind kept wandering, drawn back
to the stranger's gaze.
It was as though he was peelingaway layers of her soul with
each glance, seeing parts of herthat no one else had ever dared
to look at.
Then came the moment, the momentwhen the world shifted, though
(19:05):
none of them knew it just yet.
It's strange how pivotalmoments come quietly, without
warning.
There is no thunderclap, nogust of wind to announce their
arrival, Just the subtle slideof a card slipping from
trembling fingers.
Anne's hand faltered.
(19:26):
The card she was holding fellfrom her grip, tumbling in slow
motion to the floor beneath thetable.
She bent down to retrieve it,her movements sluggish, as if
the air around her had thickened.
It was in that moment, as hereyes adjusted to the dim light
(19:52):
under the table, that she saw itwhen the stranger's shoes
should have been Cloven hooves.
At first, her mind refused tocomprehend what her eyes were
showing her.
Her breath caught in her throat, a cold rush of disbelief
washing over her.
The floor seemed to tiltbeneath her.
Her breath caught in her throat, a cold rush of disbelief
washing over her.
The floor seemed to tiltbeneath her, the room swaying as
if it too were reacting to theimpossible sight.
(20:14):
She blinked once, twice, butthe image didn't change.
The hooves were still there,stark and black against the
stone floor, as real as the firecrackling behind her.
Her heart began to race,pounding in her chest like a
drum.
She pulled herself upright, herhands trembling now the card
(20:37):
forgotten.
She looked across the table atthe stranger, her mind
scrambling for an explanation,something rational that would
make sense of the horrorcreeping into her veins.
He was smiling at her, thatsame slow, knowing smile, but
now it felt different, darker,his eyes gleamed with something
(20:58):
she hadn't seen before A flickerof malice, an amusement at her
shock.
He knew, he knew what she hadseen and he didn't care.
No, it was more than that.
He wanted her to see.
It's in moments like this, whenthe ground falls away from
(21:19):
under you, that you realize howfragile your understanding of
the world truly is.
Everything you know, everythingyou believe, can be shattered
in the space of a heartbeat.
Anne tried to speak, to saysomething, anything but her
voice caught in her throat, asif the words had been stolen
(21:40):
from her, pulled from her lipsby the weight of the revelation
crashing down upon her.
She wanted to run to scream,but she couldn't move.
Her body was frozen, paralyzedby the realization of what was
sitting across the table fromher.
The stranger rose, slowly,deliberately, his eyes never
(22:04):
leaving hers.
The room seemed to shrinkaround them, the shadows
twisting and writhing as ifalive.
The fire in the hearth flared,sending sparks into the air, and
the wind outside suddenlyhowled, rattling the windows
with a violent force.
And then he revealed himself.
(22:25):
What does it feel like to stareinto the face of something
you've only ever feared in yourdarkest nightmares?
Anne suddenly knew.
The stranger stood before them,no longer pretending, his form
seemed to grow, stretchingupwards, His features warping
(22:50):
into something grotesque,something monstrous.
His eyes burned with a firethat wasn't of this world, his
smile widening into a grin thatwas too sharp, too wicked.
His voice, when he finallyspoke, was like thunder, low and
rumbling.
Finally spoke was like thunderlow and rumbling reverberating
through the room.
Do you think you could playwith me and not see my hand?
(23:12):
The words struck her like aphysical blow, the air around
her crackling.
She felt the ground shake, thewalls of the hall groaning as if
they too were bowing under theweight of his presence, halls of
the hall groaning as if theytoo were bowing under the weight
of his presence.
Her father, charles, tried torise, his face pale with fear.
But the stranger raised a handand Charles froze in place, his
(23:37):
body rigid as if locked in time.
Anne's mind screamed at her torun, but her legs refused to
move.
All she could do was stare, herheart pounding in her chest, as
the stranger, the devil himself, stood before her With a flick
of his wrist, the room erupted.
The fire in the hearth explodedoutward, engulfing the room in
(24:00):
a blinding flash of light.
The stranger's form twisted,contorting into a swirling mass
of smoke and flame.
He shot upwards with adeafening roar crashing through
the ceiling in a ball of fire,leaving behind nothing but
destruction in his wake.
And when the light faded, therewas silence.
(24:21):
The hall was still, the airheavy with the scent of smoke
and sulfur.
Above them, a gaping hole inthe ceiling, charred and
blackened.
No matter how many times theytried to repair it in the years
that followed, that hole wouldnever stay fixed.
(24:42):
The house itself had beenscarred, marked by the touch of
something that had no place inthis world, and Anne, trembling
and hollow, realized thatnothing would ever be the same
again.
Loftus Hall once filled withwarmth and firelight, and the
(25:05):
hum of conversation had grownjust as cold and hollow as she
was, her mind slipping furtherinto the shadows with each
passing day.
Whatever innocence had livedwithin her was shattered like
glass dropped on cold stone.
But the truth of what hadhappened that night, the full
(25:27):
weight of it, was something theTottenham family could never
allow to leave the walls of thehall.
Anne became withdrawn, her oncelively eyes vacant, her voice
no longer carrying thebrightness it once had.
She barely spoke, save formuttering strange, fragmented
phrases about the stranger,about his eyes, his smile.
(25:49):
She would stare at the placewhere he had once stood, as if
she could still feel hispresence lingering in the air.
The days blended into nights,and the nights grew longer, grew
longer.
Her family tried to reason withher, to coax her back to the
girl she had been, but Anne wasno longer reachable.
(26:16):
The house felt it too, theweight of her despair pulling
everything inward, drawing theshadows closer.
Charles, perhaps out ofdesperation, perhaps out of
shame, made a decision thatwould mark the final chapters of
his daughter's life.
They locked her away in thetapestry room.
It was supposed to be for herown good.
That's what they toldthemselves, but deep down they
(26:39):
knew.
They knew it was fear thatdrove them to bolt the door from
the outside, fear that what hadhappened to her was something
beyond their control, beyondtheir understanding, and the
tapestry room became her prison.
Anne's descent into madness wasslow and methodical, like a slow
(26:59):
rot that crept into her mindand consumed her from the inside
out.
She was left alone with herthoughts, her memories and the
darkness that had taken root inher soul.
The windows in the tapestryroom were narrow, barred by iron
, offering only slivers of lightthat shifted with the hours but
(27:19):
brought no comfort.
The tapestries that lined thewalls, once vibrant depictions
of noble history, closed in onher, their woven figures
watching her with cold,indifferent eyes.
The days stretched into weeks,the weeks into months, and Anne
was slowly forgotten by theoutside world, but not by the
(27:47):
hall.
No, loftus Hall, remembered it,held her madness like a secret,
growing darker with eachwhisper that echoed through its
quarters.
But these whispers never stayburied for long.
They slip through cracks,through the spaces between words
, until they fill every roomlike a thick, cloying mist.
(28:09):
Rumors began to spiral about thehall, dark rumors that reached
beyond the tragic tale of a girllocked away.
It was said that Anne had beendiscovered to be pregnant.
Whether by the stranger orsomeone else, no one could say
for certain, but what they didknow was that there had been a
child, a child that only saw thelight of day for perhaps
(28:32):
moments.
The story grew with eachtelling.
Some claimed the child had diedin birth.
Others whispered that it hadbeen murdered, its life snuffed
out to hide the shame it wouldhave brought upon the family.
Murdered, its life snuffed outto hide the shame it would have
brought upon the family.
And the truth is the child'sbody was never buried in a
(28:59):
graveyard.
The walls know the truth.
Years later, long after Anne'svoice had faded into the walls,
a discovery was made A tinyskeleton, walled up behind the
very stones that held the halltogether, was unearthed by those
seeking to repair the crumblingstructure.
A child's bones, small andbrittle, long forgotten but
never truly gone.
(29:19):
The infant had been buried insecret, hidden away like a dark
stain on the family's history, astain that still today can
never be washed clean.
And so Anne withered.
Her body, becoming as ghostlyas her spirit.
She wandered the tapestry room,pacing back and forth like a
(29:43):
caged animal, her hands ringing,her voice barely more than a
whisper, repeating the samewords over and over again he's
coming back.
She believed it down to hercore.
The stranger, the devil, wasn'tfinished with her.
(30:03):
He would return, she would say,in the dead of night, to take
her back with him.
The others didn't believe her,of course how could they?
But as the years dragged on, itbecame harder to dismiss the
strange occurrences that hauntedthe hall after Anne was locked
away the sounds of crying in thedead of the night.
(30:25):
A child's voice, they said,though no children lived there.
The cold drafts that seemed tosweep through the house, even
when all the windows were closed, the shadow that sometimes
passed by the windows.
It was as if the hall itselfwas mourning, weeping for the
life that had been snuffed outwithin its walls.
(30:48):
Anne eventually died in thatroom.
Her body frail and wasted, hermind long gone.
The Tottenham family buried her, but Loftus held on to her
spirit, trapping her within itscold stone walls, refusing to
let her go, within its coldstone walls, refusing to let her
go.
Even after her death, therumors persisted.
(31:09):
People spoke of seeing Anne'sghost, pale and fragile,
wandering the hall late at nightsearching for something,
someone she could never find.
The tapestry room becameinfamous, its doors sealed shut,
but the truth, as is often thecase, refused to stay hidden.
(31:32):
The discovery of the child'sskeleton decades later confirmed
the darkest suspicions of thosewho had whispered about Loftus.
The child had been real and sohad the horror.
What happened to Ann Tottenhamwas not just the tragic story of
a girl lost to madness.
(31:52):
It was the story of a housethat became a tomb for secrets
far darker than any legend couldtell.
Loftus Hall had claimed herbody and soul, and it wasn't
finished yet.
Not by a long shot, because thetruth about Loftus Hall was
this it was a place where thedarkness came to play, and once
(32:16):
it got inside, it never left.
It's easy to become consumed bythe story of Loftus Hall.
The legends wrap around you,pulling you deeper into their
web of supernatural terror.
But in the center of that webthere was a very real woman,
(32:36):
anne Tottenham.
And no matter how the storieshave twisted and grown over the
centuries, we must remember thather tale at its core is one of
human tragedy.
Anne lived in an era where theexpectations for women were
suffocatingly narrow, and thedeviation from those roles often
(32:56):
led to cruel consequences.
In the eighteenth century,women of her station were
expected to be obedient, properand silent ornaments to their
families, married off inadvantageous matches to further
familial power and status.
But when Anne began to unravelafter the stranger's visit, her
(33:18):
behavior could be seen as adangerous aberration, something
to be controlled rather thanunderstood.
It's tempting to view her storyas one of madness or possession
.
But what if it was neither?
What if Anne's behavior was amanifestation of something far
more human?
In a time when mental healthwas not just misunderstood but
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feared, women like Anne werevulnerable.
Neurological conditions,depression and emotional trauma
would have been viewed asweaknesses or, worse, as a moral
failing.
And in the Tottenham householdthere was no room for weakness.
Anne, like so many women of hertime, was likely isolated,
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suffocated by her circumstances.
Whether her decline was aresult of real trauma or a
neurological condition, it isundeniable.
The societal chains around herthat truly held her captive.
And the world outside moved on.
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But within the hall, Anne'spresence lingered a ghost, both
literal and figurative.
The attempts to rid Loftus Hallof its dark presence were as
much an act of desperation asthey were of faith.
Protestant clergymen werecalled to the hall multiple
times in fact, each oneperforming exorcisms in a futile
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attempt to banish whatever evilthey believed was plaguing the
family.
None of these attemptssucceeded.
The hauntings, the unease, thewhispers all remained.
It wasn't until Father ThomasBrodders, a Catholic priest from
the nearby parish of Hook, wascalled in that something seemed
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to change.
His exorcism, according tolegend, was a success, though
what success means in thiscontext is obviously open to
interpretation.
Did the house just grow quietor did the priest simply ease
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the family's fears, offeringthem an explanation of the
inexplicable?
His headstone in WhartownCemetery makes a bold claim.
Quote here lies the body ofThomas Brodders, who did good
and prayed for all and banishedthe devil from Loftus Hall.
But did he really?
The haunting stories thatfollowed suggest otherwise.
Visitors to Loftus Hall in thecenturies since have described
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palpable unease, a chill thatseems to settle over the house
like a shroud.
Many speak of hearing strangenoises, the unmistakable sound
of horses in the corridors,whispers in the dead of night,
or even glimpses of Anne's ghostwandering the halls, as though
searching for something lostlong ago.
Some claim to have seen orbs oflight floating through the
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rooms, while others speak ofsudden, overwhelming panic
attacks upon entering certainparts of the hall.
If Father Brodder's banishedanything, it seems the darkness
was only waiting for its nextopportunity to rise again.
But even as the legends ofLoftus Hall spiraled into the
supernatural, its walls held onto a far more earthly history.
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In the late 19th century, loftusHall saw a period of grand
transformation under John Henry,wellington Graham Loftus, the
fourth Marquis of Ely.
Guided by his mother, lady JaneHope Ver Loftus,
lady-in-waiting to QueenVictoria, john, set out to
restore the hall to its formerglory.
His renovations were extensive,adding modern luxuries like
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flushing toilets, blown-airheating and an elaborate mosaic
floor, all in preparation for aroyal visit that never came.
Inspired by Osborne House,queen Victoria's summer
residence, the fourth Marquissought to make Loftus Hall a
place of grandeur.
The imposing grand staircase,the intricate parquet flooring
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these were the hallmarks of anestate meant to rival the finest
houses in Ireland.
But for all his efforts, johnHenry's life would be cut
tragically short.
He died young, without issue,leaving behind a financial mess
that would force the family toput the estate on the market.
The grand house, now a symbolof lost potential, passed into
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the hands of strangers ofstrangers.
In 1917, loftus Hall was boughtby the Sisters of Providence and
transformed into a convent andschool for young girls aspiring
to join the Order.
The hall's dark past seemed toretreat into the shadows during
this time as the nuns sought tofill its rooms with light and
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purpose.
But even the devout could noterase the house's reputation.
Its legacy as a haunted placelingered, whispered about in
nearby villages, a shadow overits halls, despite the prayers
said within it.
The hall changed hands again in1983, when Kay and Michael
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Devereaux purchased it andopened it as the Loftus Hall
Hotel.
But the ghosts remained.
Visitors continue to reportstrange phenomena, cold spots,
unexplained noises and thefeeling of being watched.
The hall operated as a hoteluntil the late 1990s, but it
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never shook its hauntedreputation.
In 2011, the Quigley familypurchased Loftus Hall and turned
it into a tourist attraction,capitalizing on its dark history
.
Guided tours of the propertyoffered visitors the chance to
walk through its haunted hallsand, for the brave, to take part
in paranormal investigations.
(39:25):
Its haunted halls and for thebrave to take part in paranormal
investigations.
The house became a magnet forthrill-seekers and ghost hunters
, including the team from GhostAdventures, who left with more
questions than answers aftertheir time inside it.
The hall's gothic allure evendrew filmmakers with the 2016
gothic thriller the Lodgers shoton location the 2016 gothic
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thriller the Lodgers shot onlocation.
But even now, as Loftus Hallstands empty once again, its
future uncertain, the pastremains tethered to it.
One of the most striking andwidely shared paranormal
encounters happened in 2014,when English visitor Thomas
Bovis captured what many believeto be photographic evidence of
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Loftus Hall's haunting.
In the image, a spectral figure, seemingly a young woman
dressed in old-fashionedclothing, stands in a doorway
looking out toward the viewer.
The eerie photograph spreadquickly, fueling the already
chilling reputation of LoftusHall.
Some claim that this apparitionis none other than Anne
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Trottenham, forever trapped inthe house where her tragic fate
unfolded.
Visitors over the years havedescribed intense feelings of
unease upon entering the hall.
Cold spots, areas where thetemperature inexplicably
plummets, are frequentlyreported.
Some describe hearing voices orfootsteps echoing through the
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empty quarters, as though thehall is never truly vacant.
In one particularly chillingaccount, guests have reported
hearing the unmistakable soundsof horses galloping through the
halls, an echo, perhaps, of thenight.
The devil was said to have fledthe house in a blaze of fury.
One of the most unnervingencounters came from a visitor
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staying with a hunting party inthe 1860s.
After retreating to his roomfor the night, the man was
awoken by a strange womanstanding at the foot of his bed.
She was beautiful, dressed inbrocade silk, but something
about her seemed off.
She did not speak.
Instead, she moved slowlyacross the room and passed
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straight through a closet doorwithout opening it.
The following night, thevisitor was once again disturbed
, this time by growling andsnarling noises that seemed to
come from the very walls of hisroom.
His bedclothes were ripped awayfrom him and the curtains torn
from the windows by an unseenforce.
Terrified, the man fled,unwilling to spend another night
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in Loftus Hall.
These stories are only a handfulof the experiences that have
been reported here.
Paranormal investigators,including those from Ghost
Adventures, have spent nightsinside the mansion documenting
the strange occurrences Noises,visual phenomena and sudden
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bursts of electromagneticactivity.
Visitors have spoken of panicattacks, sudden nausea and the
sense that something isfollowing them as they walk
through the halls.
The wind, still today, driftsover Ireland's cliffs like a
secret tugging at the edges oftime itself.
This is where we started,didn't we, with the idea that
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some places hold stories tighterthan others, that some shadows
never fully disappear.
But here's the thing aboutLoftus Hall the darkness
clinging to it isn't just aghost story, and it isn't
something that fades when youturn the lights on.
It's older than that.
Deeper.
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It's what happens when the veilbetween worlds thins and
something slips through.
So what does happen when thedevil comes to call?
The world likes to paint it inobvious strokes fire, brimstone,
the sharp edge of fear.
But evil, real evil, rarelyannounces itself that way.
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It slides in, quietly, wrappingaround you like a fog, until
you don't even realize you'relost in it.
Loftus Hall reminds us of thistruth, an example of how, once
you let something in, it can benearly impossible to send it
back out.
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What happened that night, whenthe stranger arrived and
revealed his true form, wasn'tjust a singular event.
It was an opening, a crack inthe fabric of reality.
Places like Loftus becomestained by such things.
In the world of the occult.
We call this imprint energy.
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The house isn't just haunted byAnne or the devil.
It's haunted by the very energyof that encounter, by the
terror that sank into the walls.
As a witch and medium, I knowthat energy doesn't just
disappear, it clings, it seepsinto the bones, hangs in the air
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and curls around those who dareto step inside, those who
believe.
And that's the key, isn't it?
Belief.
Belief is more powerful than welike to admit.
You see, when we talk abouthaunted places, cursed lands or
dark forces, we're reallytalking about the collective
energy we invest into thosethings.
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Loftus Hall has been shaped asmuch by the stories told about
it as by the events that haveunfolded there.
People expect to feel somethingwhen they enter, and that
expectation feeds the veryenergy lurking in the shadows.
There's a concept in psychologycalled confirmation bias, the
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idea that once we've decidedsomething is true, we
subconsciously seek out evidenceto support it.
In Loftus Hall, visitors feelthe cold spots, hear the
whispers, see the shadows,because they've already accepted
that something is there.
But here's where things getcomplicated.
Just because our minds aresearching for it doesn't mean it
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isn't real.
In fact, the very act ofbelieving can bring it into
being.
Energy responds to intention,and when we step into places
like Loftus Hall, carrying withus generations of belief in its
darkness, we are feeding thevery thing we fear.
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From an occult perspective,loftus Hall sits on what we
might call a thin place, alocation where the veil between
this world and the next isparticularly fragile.
Whether through trauma, ritualor sheer force of will, the
energies at play here have torna hole in that veil.
The land itself is old, ancienteven.
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We can trace it through the leylines, the ancient pathways of
energy that crisscross the earth.
These lines of power convergenear places like Loftus Hall,
amplifying whatever energies arealready present.
And so when the devil came tocall, when that encounter
happened, it wasn't just amoment in time, just a story.
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It was a rupture, and eversince, loftus Hall has been a
beacon for that kind of energy,pulling in those who are
sensitive to it, those who canfeel the echoes of what happened
there.
What happens when the devilcomes to call?
Well, it's not always abouthorns and hooves.
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Sometimes it's quieter thanthat.
Sometimes it's the darkness youfeel in a room when you're
alone but know you're not.
Sometimes it's the weight of astory that never fully fades,
sinking deeper into the cracksof a place until it becomes
indistinguishable from the wallsthemselves.
Loftus Hall is that kind ofplace.
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As a witch, I know that energycan shift.
It can be shaped, moved and, ifnecessary, shaped, moved and,
if necessary banished, but someplaces don't want to let go of
their ghosts.
Some places have absorbed toomuch of what's been poured into
them.
It doesn't just house itsghosts, it itself is one.
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Because the truth is, the devildoesn't need to come knocking.
Sometimes we invite him inwithout realizing it, and when
the devil comes to call, whetherhe walks in the flesh or is in
the shadows of a memory, heleaves a mark that never fades.
The past is here.
It reaches out, not to beremembered but to remind, and
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it's waiting for you.
The wind drifts over Ireland's cliffs like a whisper,
pulling at the edge of timeitself.
There's an ancient rhythm herethe way the mist curls around
the stones, how the seastretches toward infinity,
indifferent to the centuries ithas seen slip away.
This is a land where historyisn't just remembered it's
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inscribed into the very bones ofthe earth, waiting to rise
again like a long buried memory.
Some of its stories are soft,like the first light of dawn
dancing on the water.
Others, others creep in withthe fog, thick and impenetrable,
(01:01):
settling into the soul of thelandscape like shadows that
never truly fade.
These stories, the dark ones,they don't just pass through.
They merge with the wind, sinkinto the soil and curl up in the
cracks between the stones,waiting for the right moment to
surface.
And on the edge of the HookPeninsula there stands a house,
(01:24):
loftus Hall.
It doesn't simply exist.
It looms, brooding, heavy,against a sky that always seems
on the verge of breaking.
This place, this house, it'smade of something other than
stone and timber.
If walls could talk, thesewouldn't whisper, they would
(01:48):
howl.
This is a story of love andloss, yes, but more than that,
it's a story of what lingerswhen the darkness brushes
against you, because it nevertruly leaves, does it?
It lingers in the corners, inthe spaces.
No one dares look too deeply.
(02:09):
You can feel it if you're quietenough, if you let yourself
drift into that silence.
The past here, it reaches out,not to be remembered but to
remind, and it's waiting for you.
I'm Jeremy Haig, and this iswhen Walls Can Talk.
(02:32):
Throughout the ages, man hasrepeated the same earnest,
(02:52):
saying more of a question,really, or perhaps even a plea.
If these walls could talk, butwhat if they do, and always have
?
Perhaps their stories, memoriesand messages are all around us.
If only we would take themoment to listen.
(03:12):
On this podcast, wereinvestigate legends and tales
of the past and allow the echoesof their lessons to live on
once again, informing us,educating us and sharing new and
unique insight into the innerworkings of the paranormal and
spiritual world.
Will you dare to listen?
This is when Walls Can Talk thepodcast.
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The land surrounding Loftus Hallfeels heavy with memory, as
though it holds a history mucholder than the stones that sit
upon it.
There's a weight in the airthat lingers on the Hook
Peninsula, where the sea crashesagainst the jagged cliffs and
the wind never truly stopshowling.
This land remembers.
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It holds stories beneath itssoil, whispers of power,
betrayal and blood.
To look upon it is to feel thepull of something ancient,
something that refuses to beforgotten.
In the distance, standing talllike a watchman at the end of
the world, is Hook Lighthouse.
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Its roots stretch back to the5th century, when monks arrived
here building a simple fire toguide lost sailors to safety.
The lighthouse has stood hereever since, an enduring symbol
of light on a land that wouldcome to be shrouded in shadow.
Just two miles beyond, loftusHall crouches on the horizon
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like a sleeping beast, a placethat has watched centuries of
history unfold before it.
The land itself is more thanrock and grass.
The land itself is more thanrock and grass.
It's a geological patchwork oflimestone and mud sitting atop
Bronze Age mounds that tell of acivilization far older than the
hall itself.
This ground has seen invadersand settlers, and that story
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begins in 1169, with the arrivalof Raymond Legros, strongbow's
most trusted general.
Le Gros wasn't just a soldier,he was a conqueror, part of the
Anglo-Norman invasion of Irelandthat would forever change the
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country's landscape.
His name is whispered throughIrish history as one who carved
his legacy onto the land Uponlanding on Hook Peninsula, le
Gros chose this very spot tobuild stronghold.
Though the original castle haslong since crumbled into the
earth, its ghost still lingers,an echo of the violence and
ambition that lived here.
His presence set off a chain ofevents that would shape the
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destiny of Loftus Hall and itssurrounding lands.
In 1189, his descendants,through the powerful marriage of
Strongbow's daughter Isabel tothe English knight William
Marshall, would inherit vasttracts of land across Ireland,
including much of what we nowknow as County Wexford.
William and Isabel's union wasnot one of love but of power.
(06:25):
Through their marriage theyunited two powerful dynasties,
and with it came control overthe lands that surrounded Loftus
Hall.
But power rarely comes withoutblood, and the Hall would see
plenty of it.
By the fourteenth century, theRedmond family had taken
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possession of the land,constructing the first true hall
on the site in 1350.
This was Redmond Hall.
The Redmonds held their seatfor centuries through wars and
conflicts that would test theirclaim.
Their hall stood like afortress, a bastion of power, on
a rugged, untamable coastline.
(07:06):
But Ireland is a land where thetides of power shift quickly
and the Redmonds would findtheir grip slipping as the storm
of the Irish-Confederate Warsbroke across the land in the
1640s, the hall became astronghold, once more barricaded
against the waves of conflictthat swept through Wexford.
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But it wasn't enough.
As Oliver Cromwell's armiesstormed through Ireland in 1649,
the Redmonds were forced torelinquish their hold.
The land, like so much ofIreland during this period, was
seized, stripped from its Irishowners and handed to English
settlers Enter the Loftus family.
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In the wake of Cromwell'sconquest, the hall was granted
to the Loftus family, englishplanters who would go on to
occupy the house for generations.
But even under new ownership,the land itself never seemed to
fully surrender.
The soil remembered what hadbeen taken, as though it bore
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witness to the violence that hadunfolded upon it Over the
centuries.
The Loftus family reshaped thehall, turning it from a simple
fortress into the grand,imposing mansion that would
become infamous.
They built it taller, grander,its walls filled with tapestries
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, its rooms echoing with thesound of wealth and power.
But no matter how manygenerations of the Loftus family
lived within its walls, ashadow seemed to cling to it, as
though it resisted theirattempts to tame it.
Charles Tottenham, a loftist bymarriage, took up residence in
the hall with his second wife,jane, and his daughter Anne from
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their first marriage.
But there was somethingdifferent about this place now.
Beneath its polished surface,beneath a grand facade, there
was a tension that seemed tovibrate in the air, and it is
here, with Charles Tottenham andhis daughter, anne, that the
legend truly begins.
Loftus Hall had been a place ofpower, a place where history
(09:19):
and ambition collided, but nowsomething else had taken root,
Something darker, something thatwould stain the name of Loftus
Hall for centuries to come.
The air hung heavy that night,thick, with the kind of damp
chill that settles deep into thebones.
Loftus Hall, standing on theedge of the world, seemed to
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absorb the weight of the stormgathering outside its windows
rattling in their frames as thewind howled against the Hook
Peninsula.
For those who lived within itswalls, the house was a fortress,
a place where the outside worldcould be held at bay.
But even the sturdiest wallscan't keep everything out.
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The night the stranger arrivedbegan like any other.
Charles Tottenham had seenstorms like this before.
The hall's location, perchedprecariously close to the wild
Irish sea, meant that shipwreckswere not uncommon.
It was a cold courtesy to offershelter to stranded sailors,
and Charles, lord of the manor,was nothing if not hospitable.
(10:29):
That evening, as the wind beganto howl and the waves crashed
against the rocks below, a knockechoed through the halls of
Loftus Hall.
When the door was opened, thestorm seemed to spill inside A
rush of cold air, a spray ofseawater.
And there, standing in thedoorway, was a man unlike any
(10:54):
they had ever seen.
He wasn't wet, his clothes wereuntouched by the storm raging
outside and his dark hair layperfectly in place, as though
he'd walked out of a ballroomrather than a tempest.
There was something about him,something magnetic.
His presence seemed to fill thespace around him, making the
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fire flicker and the shadow seemto bend toward him.
But no one questioned it.
The stranger was invited in, aswas custom, and so began the
slow unraveling of everything.
(11:46):
In every story like this,there's always a moment when you
look back and realize thatsomething was wrong from the
start, but at the time you don'tsee it, you only feel it
perhaps, and by the time yourecognize it for what it is,
it's too late.
For Anne, the youngest daughterof Charles Tottenham, the
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arrival of this stranger feltlike the opening of a door she
hadn't known was closed.
She had lived nearly her wholelife in Loftus Hall, its long
halls and endless rooms, cloakedin the kind of silence that
wears at you over time.
It wasn't that she was lonely,but there was a certain
emptiness that clung to her, avoid that she had never been
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able to name.
This stranger, though, seemedto fill that void.
He was charming, yes, but therewas more to it than that.
He carried himself with a quietconfidence, a sense of ease
that made those around him leanin, made them want to be closer.
For Anne, his arrival wasn'tjust a break in the monotony of
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life at the hall, it was a shiftin her very existence.
The way he looked at her,intense as though he saw
something in her that no oneelse had bothered to notice, set
her heart racing in a way shehad never felt before.
The days that followed feltlike a dream.
The storm outside raged on, butwithin the hall, time seemed to
(13:21):
stretch and slow.
The stranger moved through therooms as though he belonged
there, as if he had always beena part of the place, and
wherever he went, anne followed.
She was fascinated by him,drawn to him in a way that was
as confusing as it wasexhilarating.
He spoke of things she hadnever heard, of distant lands
(13:45):
and strange philosophies, ideasthat seemed to unlock something
within her.
His voice was like the lowrumble of thunder, soft yet
commanding, and when he lookedat her it was as if the rest of
the world fell away.
She had never met anyone likehim, and perhaps that was the
(14:06):
point.
There was something about himthat didn't quite fit a flicker
of darkness in his eyes when hesmiled, a slight edge to his
laughter that made the hairs onthe back of her neck stand up.
But Anne, young, impressionableand captivated, didn't notice.
Or maybe she didn't want toLove, or what we think is.
(14:31):
Love has a way of blinding us.
It softens the edges of thingsthat would otherwise be sharp,
makes us overlook the whispersof warning that curl against the
corners of our thoughts.
It invites us to step closer tothe flame, unaware of the burn
that awaits.
Each evening, as the stormbattered the windows, anne and
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the stranger would sit togetherby the fire, talking long into
the night.
Her father and stepmother werepolite but distant, perhaps
sensing in a way that Annecouldn't, that there was
something unsettling about theman who had walked out of the
storm.
But for Anne, these eveningswere intoxicating.
(15:15):
She had never felt so alive, soseen.
The more time she spent withhim, the more she felt as though
she had known him her wholelife, as though he had been
waiting for her.
There were moments when shewould catch him staring at her,
his dark eyes filled withsomething she couldn't quite
(15:36):
name.
Desire, yes.
But there was something elsethere too, something that made
her pulse quicken with bothexcitement and fear.
It was a feeling she couldn'tshake, though she tried to push
it away.
There is always a calm beforethe storm breaks, a moment when
(15:57):
everything feels too perfect,too quiet.
That moment for Anne wasfleeting, but it was there, and
she let it pass, unaware thatthe storm outside was nothing
compared to what was brewingwithin.
The stranger was everything shehad ever wanted and more.
He was a mystery, a puzzle shelonged to solve.
(16:21):
But what she didn't realize wasthat some puzzles are better
left unsolved and some mysteries, once revealed, can never be
forgotten.
As the days stretched into weeks, the storm showed no signs of
stopping, and neither did theconnection between Anne and the
stranger.
She found herself fallingdeeper under his spell, ignoring
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the small creeping doubts thatclawed at the edges of her mind.
After all, how could somethingthat felt so right be wrong, but
the hall seemed to know.
The wind outside rattled thewindows more fiercely each night
, and the shadows in the cornersseemed to grow darker longer.
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The house itself, silent andwatchful, seemed to sense that
something was coming, somethinginevitable, something that had
been waiting just out of sightall along, and on the night of
the card game it would arrive.
The night had come, quietly,settling over Loftus Hall like a
(17:33):
thick velvet curtain muting theworld outside.
The storm, relentless as it hadbeen, seemed to lull for the
first time in days, as if it toowere holding its breath.
Inside, the fire crackled lowin the hearth, its glow casting
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long flickering shadows thatdanced against the walls.
It was the kind of night thatfelt too still, as if something
was waiting just beneath thesurface, ready to break.
The card game had startedinnocently enough.
Charles Tottenham, his wifeJane Anne and the stranger sat
around the grand table in theparlor.
The warmth of the fire hadtaken the chill from the room,
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but a strange pricklingsensation hung in the air.
Anne sat across from thestranger, her heart quickening
every time their eyes met.
His smile was small, knowing asif they shared some unspoken
secret.
The cards in her hand feltheavy, awkward, as if they
(18:40):
didn't belong to her.
She tried to focus, but hermind kept wandering, drawn back
to the stranger's gaze.
It was as though he was peelingaway layers of her soul with
each glance, seeing parts of herthat no one else had ever dared
to look at.
Then came the moment, the momentwhen the world shifted, though
(19:05):
none of them knew it just yet.
It's strange how pivotalmoments come quietly, without
warning.
There is no thunderclap, nogust of wind to announce their
arrival, Just the subtle slideof a card slipping from
trembling fingers.
Anne's hand faltered.
(19:26):
The card she was holding fellfrom her grip, tumbling in slow
motion to the floor beneath thetable.
She bent down to retrieve it,her movements sluggish, as if
the air around her had thickened.
It was in that moment, as hereyes adjusted to the dim light
(19:52):
under the table, that she saw itwhen the stranger's shoes
should have been Cloven hooves.
At first, her mind refused tocomprehend what her eyes were
showing her.
Her breath caught in her throat, a cold rush of disbelief
washing over her.
The floor seemed to tiltbeneath her.
Her breath caught in her throat, a cold rush of disbelief
washing over her.
The floor seemed to tiltbeneath her, the room swaying as
if it too were reacting to theimpossible sight.
(20:14):
She blinked once, twice, butthe image didn't change.
The hooves were still there,stark and black against the
stone floor, as real as the firecrackling behind her.
Her heart began to race,pounding in her chest like a
drum.
She pulled herself upright, herhands trembling now the card
(20:37):
forgotten.
She looked across the table atthe stranger, her mind
scrambling for an explanation,something rational that would
make sense of the horrorcreeping into her veins.
He was smiling at her, thatsame slow, knowing smile, but
now it felt different, darker,his eyes gleamed with something
(20:58):
she hadn't seen before A flickerof malice, an amusement at her
shock.
He knew, he knew what she hadseen and he didn't care.
No, it was more than that.
He wanted her to see.
It's in moments like this, whenthe ground falls away from
(21:19):
under you, that you realize howfragile your understanding of
the world truly is.
Everything you know, everythingyou believe, can be shattered
in the space of a heartbeat.
Anne tried to speak, to saysomething, anything but her
voice caught in her throat, asif the words had been stolen
(21:40):
from her, pulled from her lipsby the weight of the revelation
crashing down upon her.
She wanted to run to scream,but she couldn't move.
Her body was frozen, paralyzedby the realization of what was
sitting across the table fromher.
The stranger rose, slowly,deliberately, his eyes never
(22:04):
leaving hers.
The room seemed to shrinkaround them, the shadows
twisting and writhing as ifalive.
The fire in the hearth flared,sending sparks into the air, and
the wind outside suddenlyhowled, rattling the windows
with a violent force.
And then he revealed himself.
(22:25):
What does it feel like to stareinto the face of something
you've only ever feared in yourdarkest nightmares?
Anne suddenly knew.
The stranger stood before them,no longer pretending, his form
seemed to grow, stretchingupwards, His features warping
(22:50):
into something grotesque,something monstrous.
His eyes burned with a firethat wasn't of this world, his
smile widening into a grin thatwas too sharp, too wicked.
His voice, when he finallyspoke, was like thunder, low and
rumbling.
Finally spoke was like thunderlow and rumbling reverberating
through the room.
Do you think you could playwith me and not see my hand?
(23:12):
The words struck her like aphysical blow, the air around
her crackling.
She felt the ground shake, thewalls of the hall groaning as if
they too were bowing under theweight of his presence, halls of
the hall groaning as if theytoo were bowing under the weight
of his presence.
Her father, charles, tried torise, his face pale with fear.
But the stranger raised a handand Charles froze in place, his
(23:37):
body rigid as if locked in time.
Anne's mind screamed at her torun, but her legs refused to
move.
All she could do was stare, herheart pounding in her chest, as
the stranger, the devil himself, stood before her With a flick
of his wrist, the room erupted.
The fire in the hearth explodedoutward, engulfing the room in
(24:00):
a blinding flash of light.
The stranger's form twisted,contorting into a swirling mass
of smoke and flame.
He shot upwards with adeafening roar crashing through
the ceiling in a ball of fire,leaving behind nothing but
destruction in his wake.
And when the light faded, therewas silence.
(24:21):
The hall was still, the airheavy with the scent of smoke
and sulfur.
Above them, a gaping hole inthe ceiling, charred and
blackened.
No matter how many times theytried to repair it in the years
that followed, that hole wouldnever stay fixed.
(24:42):
The house itself had beenscarred, marked by the touch of
something that had no place inthis world, and Anne, trembling
and hollow, realized thatnothing would ever be the same
again.
Loftus Hall once filled withwarmth and firelight, and the
(25:05):
hum of conversation had grownjust as cold and hollow as she
was, her mind slipping furtherinto the shadows with each
passing day.
Whatever innocence had livedwithin her was shattered like
glass dropped on cold stone.
But the truth of what hadhappened that night, the full
(25:27):
weight of it, was something theTottenham family could never
allow to leave the walls of thehall.
Anne became withdrawn, her oncelively eyes vacant, her voice
no longer carrying thebrightness it once had.
She barely spoke, save formuttering strange, fragmented
phrases about the stranger,about his eyes, his smile.
(25:49):
She would stare at the placewhere he had once stood, as if
she could still feel hispresence lingering in the air.
The days blended into nights,and the nights grew longer, grew
longer.
Her family tried to reason withher, to coax her back to the
girl she had been, but Anne wasno longer reachable.
(26:16):
The house felt it too, theweight of her despair pulling
everything inward, drawing theshadows closer.
Charles, perhaps out ofdesperation, perhaps out of
shame, made a decision thatwould mark the final chapters of
his daughter's life.
They locked her away in thetapestry room.
It was supposed to be for herown good.
That's what they toldthemselves, but deep down they
(26:39):
knew.
They knew it was fear thatdrove them to bolt the door from
the outside, fear that what hadhappened to her was something
beyond their control, beyondtheir understanding, and the
tapestry room became her prison.
Anne's descent into madness wasslow and methodical, like a slow
(26:59):
rot that crept into her mindand consumed her from the inside
out.
She was left alone with herthoughts, her memories and the
darkness that had taken root inher soul.
The windows in the tapestryroom were narrow, barred by iron
, offering only slivers of lightthat shifted with the hours but
(27:19):
brought no comfort.
The tapestries that lined thewalls, once vibrant depictions
of noble history, closed in onher, their woven figures
watching her with cold,indifferent eyes.
The days stretched into weeks,the weeks into months, and Anne
was slowly forgotten by theoutside world, but not by the
(27:47):
hall.
No, loftus Hall, remembered it,held her madness like a secret,
growing darker with eachwhisper that echoed through its
quarters.
But these whispers never stayburied for long.
They slip through cracks,through the spaces between words
, until they fill every roomlike a thick, cloying mist.
(28:09):
Rumors began to spiral about thehall, dark rumors that reached
beyond the tragic tale of a girllocked away.
It was said that Anne had beendiscovered to be pregnant.
Whether by the stranger orsomeone else, no one could say
for certain, but what they didknow was that there had been a
child, a child that only saw thelight of day for perhaps
(28:32):
moments.
The story grew with eachtelling.
Some claimed the child had diedin birth.
Others whispered that it hadbeen murdered, its life snuffed
out to hide the shame it wouldhave brought upon the family.
Murdered, its life snuffed outto hide the shame it would have
brought upon the family.
And the truth is the child'sbody was never buried in a
(28:59):
graveyard.
The walls know the truth.
Years later, long after Anne'svoice had faded into the walls,
a discovery was made A tinyskeleton, walled up behind the
very stones that held the halltogether, was unearthed by those
seeking to repair the crumblingstructure.
A child's bones, small andbrittle, long forgotten but
never truly gone.
(29:19):
The infant had been buried insecret, hidden away like a dark
stain on the family's history, astain that still today can
never be washed clean.
And so Anne withered.
Her body, becoming as ghostlyas her spirit.
She wandered the tapestry room,pacing back and forth like a
(29:43):
caged animal, her hands ringing,her voice barely more than a
whisper, repeating the samewords over and over again he's
coming back.
She believed it down to hercore.
The stranger, the devil, wasn'tfinished with her.
(30:03):
He would return, she would say,in the dead of night, to take
her back with him.
The others didn't believe her,of course how could they?
But as the years dragged on, itbecame harder to dismiss the
strange occurrences that hauntedthe hall after Anne was locked
away the sounds of crying in thedead of the night.
(30:25):
A child's voice, they said,though no children lived there.
The cold drafts that seemed tosweep through the house, even
when all the windows were closed, the shadow that sometimes
passed by the windows.
It was as if the hall itselfwas mourning, weeping for the
life that had been snuffed outwithin its walls.
(30:48):
Anne eventually died in thatroom.
Her body frail and wasted, hermind long gone.
The Tottenham family buried her, but Loftus held on to her
spirit, trapping her within itscold stone walls, refusing to
let her go, within its coldstone walls, refusing to let her
go.
Even after her death, therumors persisted.
(31:09):
People spoke of seeing Anne'sghost, pale and fragile,
wandering the hall late at nightsearching for something,
someone she could never find.
The tapestry room becameinfamous, its doors sealed shut,
but the truth, as is often thecase, refused to stay hidden.
(31:32):
The discovery of the child'sskeleton decades later confirmed
the darkest suspicions of thosewho had whispered about Loftus.
The child had been real and sohad the horror.
What happened to Ann Tottenhamwas not just the tragic story of
a girl lost to madness.
(31:52):
It was the story of a housethat became a tomb for secrets
far darker than any legend couldtell.
Loftus Hall had claimed herbody and soul, and it wasn't
finished yet.
Not by a long shot, because thetruth about Loftus Hall was
this it was a place where thedarkness came to play, and once
(32:16):
it got inside, it never left.
It's easy to become consumed bythe story of Loftus Hall.
The legends wrap around you,pulling you deeper into their
web of supernatural terror.
But in the center of that webthere was a very real woman,
(32:36):
anne Tottenham.
And no matter how the storieshave twisted and grown over the
centuries, we must remember thather tale at its core is one of
human tragedy.
Anne lived in an era where theexpectations for women were
suffocatingly narrow, and thedeviation from those roles often
(32:56):
led to cruel consequences.
In the eighteenth century,women of her station were
expected to be obedient, properand silent ornaments to their
families, married off inadvantageous matches to further
familial power and status.
But when Anne began to unravelafter the stranger's visit, her
(33:18):
behavior could be seen as adangerous aberration, something
to be controlled rather thanunderstood.
It's tempting to view her storyas one of madness or possession
.
But what if it was neither?
What if Anne's behavior was amanifestation of something far
more human?
In a time when mental healthwas not just misunderstood but
(33:42):
feared, women like Anne werevulnerable.
Neurological conditions,depression and emotional trauma
would have been viewed asweaknesses or, worse, as a moral
failing.
And in the Tottenham householdthere was no room for weakness.
Anne, like so many women of hertime, was likely isolated,
(34:06):
suffocated by her circumstances.
Whether her decline was aresult of real trauma or a
neurological condition, it isundeniable.
The societal chains around herthat truly held her captive.
And the world outside moved on.
(34:30):
But within the hall, Anne'spresence lingered a ghost, both
literal and figurative.
The attempts to rid Loftus Hallof its dark presence were as
much an act of desperation asthey were of faith.
Protestant clergymen werecalled to the hall multiple
times in fact, each oneperforming exorcisms in a futile
(34:54):
attempt to banish whatever evilthey believed was plaguing the
family.
None of these attemptssucceeded.
The hauntings, the unease, thewhispers all remained.
It wasn't until Father ThomasBrodders, a Catholic priest from
the nearby parish of Hook, wascalled in that something seemed
(35:14):
to change.
His exorcism, according tolegend, was a success, though
what success means in thiscontext is obviously open to
interpretation.
Did the house just grow quietor did the priest simply ease
(35:35):
the family's fears, offeringthem an explanation of the
inexplicable?
His headstone in WhartownCemetery makes a bold claim.
Quote here lies the body ofThomas Brodders, who did good
and prayed for all and banishedthe devil from Loftus Hall.
But did he really?
The haunting stories thatfollowed suggest otherwise.
Visitors to Loftus Hall in thecenturies since have described
(35:58):
palpable unease, a chill thatseems to settle over the house
like a shroud.
Many speak of hearing strangenoises, the unmistakable sound
of horses in the corridors,whispers in the dead of night,
or even glimpses of Anne's ghostwandering the halls, as though
searching for something lostlong ago.
Some claim to have seen orbs oflight floating through the
(36:22):
rooms, while others speak ofsudden, overwhelming panic
attacks upon entering certainparts of the hall.
If Father Brodder's banishedanything, it seems the darkness
was only waiting for its nextopportunity to rise again.
But even as the legends ofLoftus Hall spiraled into the
supernatural, its walls held onto a far more earthly history.
(36:48):
In the late 19th century, loftusHall saw a period of grand
transformation under John Henry,wellington Graham Loftus, the
fourth Marquis of Ely.
Guided by his mother, lady JaneHope Ver Loftus,
lady-in-waiting to QueenVictoria, john, set out to
restore the hall to its formerglory.
His renovations were extensive,adding modern luxuries like
(37:13):
flushing toilets, blown-airheating and an elaborate mosaic
floor, all in preparation for aroyal visit that never came.
Inspired by Osborne House,queen Victoria's summer
residence, the fourth Marquissought to make Loftus Hall a
place of grandeur.
The imposing grand staircase,the intricate parquet flooring
(37:37):
these were the hallmarks of anestate meant to rival the finest
houses in Ireland.
But for all his efforts, johnHenry's life would be cut
tragically short.
He died young, without issue,leaving behind a financial mess
that would force the family toput the estate on the market.
The grand house, now a symbolof lost potential, passed into
(38:01):
the hands of strangers ofstrangers.
In 1917, loftus Hall was boughtby the Sisters of Providence and
transformed into a convent andschool for young girls aspiring
to join the Order.
The hall's dark past seemed toretreat into the shadows during
this time as the nuns sought tofill its rooms with light and
(38:23):
purpose.
But even the devout could noterase the house's reputation.
Its legacy as a haunted placelingered, whispered about in
nearby villages, a shadow overits halls, despite the prayers
said within it.
The hall changed hands again in1983, when Kay and Michael
(38:44):
Devereaux purchased it andopened it as the Loftus Hall
Hotel.
But the ghosts remained.
Visitors continue to reportstrange phenomena, cold spots,
unexplained noises and thefeeling of being watched.
The hall operated as a hoteluntil the late 1990s, but it
(39:05):
never shook its hauntedreputation.
In 2011, the Quigley familypurchased Loftus Hall and turned
it into a tourist attraction,capitalizing on its dark history
.
Guided tours of the propertyoffered visitors the chance to
walk through its haunted hallsand, for the brave, to take part
in paranormal investigations.
(39:25):
Its haunted halls and for thebrave to take part in paranormal
investigations.
The house became a magnet forthrill-seekers and ghost hunters
, including the team from GhostAdventures, who left with more
questions than answers aftertheir time inside it.
The hall's gothic allure evendrew filmmakers with the 2016
gothic thriller the Lodgers shoton location the 2016 gothic
(39:46):
thriller the Lodgers shot onlocation.
But even now, as Loftus Hallstands empty once again, its
future uncertain, the pastremains tethered to it.
One of the most striking andwidely shared paranormal
encounters happened in 2014,when English visitor Thomas
Bovis captured what many believeto be photographic evidence of
(40:09):
Loftus Hall's haunting.
In the image, a spectral figure, seemingly a young woman
dressed in old-fashionedclothing, stands in a doorway
looking out toward the viewer.
The eerie photograph spreadquickly, fueling the already
chilling reputation of LoftusHall.
Some claim that this apparitionis none other than Anne
(40:31):
Trottenham, forever trapped inthe house where her tragic fate
unfolded.
Visitors over the years havedescribed intense feelings of
unease upon entering the hall.
Cold spots, areas where thetemperature inexplicably
plummets, are frequentlyreported.
Some describe hearing voices orfootsteps echoing through the
(40:52):
empty quarters, as though thehall is never truly vacant.
In one particularly chillingaccount, guests have reported
hearing the unmistakable soundsof horses galloping through the
halls, an echo, perhaps, of thenight.
The devil was said to have fledthe house in a blaze of fury.
One of the most unnervingencounters came from a visitor
(41:14):
staying with a hunting party inthe 1860s.
After retreating to his roomfor the night, the man was
awoken by a strange womanstanding at the foot of his bed.
She was beautiful, dressed inbrocade silk, but something
about her seemed off.
She did not speak.
Instead, she moved slowlyacross the room and passed
(41:37):
straight through a closet doorwithout opening it.
The following night, thevisitor was once again disturbed
, this time by growling andsnarling noises that seemed to
come from the very walls of hisroom.
His bedclothes were ripped awayfrom him and the curtains torn
from the windows by an unseenforce.
Terrified, the man fled,unwilling to spend another night
(42:01):
in Loftus Hall.
These stories are only a handfulof the experiences that have
been reported here.
Paranormal investigators,including those from Ghost
Adventures, have spent nightsinside the mansion documenting
the strange occurrences Noises,visual phenomena and sudden
(42:22):
bursts of electromagneticactivity.
Visitors have spoken of panicattacks, sudden nausea and the
sense that something isfollowing them as they walk
through the halls.
The wind, still today, driftsover Ireland's cliffs like a
secret tugging at the edges oftime itself.
This is where we started,didn't we, with the idea that
(42:46):
some places hold stories tighterthan others, that some shadows
never fully disappear.
But here's the thing aboutLoftus Hall the darkness
clinging to it isn't just aghost story, and it isn't
something that fades when youturn the lights on.
It's older than that.
Deeper.
(43:06):
It's what happens when the veilbetween worlds thins and
something slips through.
So what does happen when thedevil comes to call?
The world likes to paint it inobvious strokes fire, brimstone,
the sharp edge of fear.
But evil, real evil, rarelyannounces itself that way.
(43:33):
It slides in, quietly, wrappingaround you like a fog, until
you don't even realize you'relost in it.
Loftus Hall reminds us of thistruth, an example of how, once
you let something in, it can benearly impossible to send it
back out.
(43:53):
What happened that night, whenthe stranger arrived and
revealed his true form, wasn'tjust a singular event.
It was an opening, a crack inthe fabric of reality.
Places like Loftus becomestained by such things.
In the world of the occult.
We call this imprint energy.
(44:13):
The house isn't just haunted byAnne or the devil.
It's haunted by the very energyof that encounter, by the
terror that sank into the walls.
As a witch and medium, I knowthat energy doesn't just
disappear, it clings, it seepsinto the bones, hangs in the air
(44:35):
and curls around those who dareto step inside, those who
believe.
And that's the key, isn't it?
Belief.
Belief is more powerful than welike to admit.
You see, when we talk abouthaunted places, cursed lands or
dark forces, we're reallytalking about the collective
energy we invest into thosethings.
(44:56):
Loftus Hall has been shaped asmuch by the stories told about
it as by the events that haveunfolded there.
People expect to feel somethingwhen they enter, and that
expectation feeds the veryenergy lurking in the shadows.
There's a concept in psychologycalled confirmation bias, the
(45:18):
idea that once we've decidedsomething is true, we
subconsciously seek out evidenceto support it.
In Loftus Hall, visitors feelthe cold spots, hear the
whispers, see the shadows,because they've already accepted
that something is there.
But here's where things getcomplicated.
Just because our minds aresearching for it doesn't mean it
(45:41):
isn't real.
In fact, the very act ofbelieving can bring it into
being.
Energy responds to intention,and when we step into places
like Loftus Hall, carrying withus generations of belief in its
darkness, we are feeding thevery thing we fear.
(46:01):
From an occult perspective,loftus Hall sits on what we
might call a thin place, alocation where the veil between
this world and the next isparticularly fragile.
Whether through trauma, ritualor sheer force of will, the
energies at play here have torna hole in that veil.
The land itself is old, ancienteven.
(46:25):
We can trace it through the leylines, the ancient pathways of
energy that crisscross the earth.
These lines of power convergenear places like Loftus Hall,
amplifying whatever energies arealready present.
And so when the devil came tocall, when that encounter
happened, it wasn't just amoment in time, just a story.
(46:50):
It was a rupture, and eversince, loftus Hall has been a
beacon for that kind of energy,pulling in those who are
sensitive to it, those who canfeel the echoes of what happened
there.
What happens when the devilcomes to call?
Well, it's not always abouthorns and hooves.
(47:12):
Sometimes it's quieter thanthat.
Sometimes it's the darkness youfeel in a room when you're
alone but know you're not.
Sometimes it's the weight of astory that never fully fades,
sinking deeper into the cracksof a place until it becomes
indistinguishable from the wallsthemselves.
Loftus Hall is that kind ofplace.
(47:36):
As a witch, I know that energycan shift.
It can be shaped, moved and, ifnecessary, shaped, moved and,
if necessary banished, but someplaces don't want to let go of
their ghosts.
Some places have absorbed toomuch of what's been poured into
them.
It doesn't just house itsghosts, it itself is one.
(48:05):
Because the truth is, the devildoesn't need to come knocking.
Sometimes we invite him inwithout realizing it, and when
the devil comes to call, whetherhe walks in the flesh or is in
the shadows of a memory, heleaves a mark that never fades.
The past is here.
It reaches out, not to beremembered but to remind, and
(48:28):
it's waiting for you.
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