4.12 | When the Devil Comes to Call: The Haunting of Loftus Hall

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.

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Chapters

• 1:09 Whispers of Loftus Hall's Past
• 17:06 The Devil's Revelation at Loftus Hall
• 32:52 Echoes of Loftus Hall's Tragic History
• 48:18 Haunting Power of Loftus Hall

Transcript

Speaker 1: 1:09

The wind drifts over Ireland's cliffs like a whisper, pulling at the edge of time itself. There's an ancient rhythm here the way the mist curls around the stones, how the sea stretches toward infinity, indifferent to the centuries it has seen slip away. This is a land where history isn't just remembered it's inscribed into the very bones of the 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 with the fog, thick and impenetrable, settling into the soul of the landscape like shadows that never truly fade. These stories, the dark ones, they don't just pass through. They merge with the wind, sink into the soil and curl up in the cracks between the stones, waiting for the right moment to surface. And on the edge of the Hook Peninsula there stands a house, 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's made of something other than stone and timber. If walls could talk, these wouldn't whisper, they would howl. This is a story of love and loss, yes, but more than that, it's a story of what lingers when the darkness brushes against you, because it never truly leaves, does it? It lingers in the corners, in the spaces. No one dares look too deeply. You can feel it if you're quiet enough, 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 is when Walls Can Talk. Throughout the ages, man has repeated the same earnest, saying more of a question, really, or perhaps even a plea. If these walls could talk, but what if they do, and always have? Perhaps their stories, memories and messages are all around us. If only we would take the moment to listen. On this podcast, we reinvestigate legends and tales of the past and allow the echoes of their lessons to live on once again, informing us, educating us and sharing new and unique insight into the inner workings of the paranormal and spiritual world. Will you dare to listen? This is when Walls Can Talk the podcast.

Speaker 1: 4:43

The land surrounding Loftus Hall feels heavy with memory, as though it holds a history much older than the stones that sit upon it. There's a weight in the air that lingers on the Hook Peninsula, where the sea crashes against the jagged cliffs and the wind never truly stops howling. This land remembers. It holds stories beneath its soil, whispers of power, betrayal and blood. To look upon it is to feel the pull of something ancient, something that refuses to be forgotten. In the distance, standing tall like a watchman at the end of the world, is Hook Lighthouse. Its roots stretch back to the 5th century, when monks arrived here building a simple fire to guide lost sailors to safety. The lighthouse has stood here ever since, an enduring symbol of light on a land that would come to be shrouded in shadow. Just two miles beyond, loftus Hall crouches on the horizon like a sleeping beast, a place that has watched centuries of history unfold before it.

Speaker 1: 5:54

The land itself is more than rock and grass. The land itself is more than rock and grass. It's a geological patchwork of limestone and mud sitting atop Bronze Age mounds that tell of a civilization far older than the hall itself. This ground has seen invaders and settlers, and that story begins in 1169, with the arrival of 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 Ireland that would forever change the country's landscape. His name is whispered through Irish history as one who carved his legacy onto the land Upon landing on Hook Peninsula, le Gros chose this very spot to build stronghold.

Speaker 1: 6:43

Though the original castle has long 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 of events that would shape the destiny of Loftus Hall and its surrounding lands. In 1189, his descendants, through the powerful marriage of Strongbow's daughter Isabel to the English knight William Marshall, would inherit vast tracts of land across Ireland, including much of what we now know as County Wexford. William and Isabel's union was not one of love but of power. Through their marriage they united two powerful dynasties, and with it came control over the lands that surrounded Loftus Hall. But power rarely comes without blood, and the Hall would see plenty of it.

Speaker 1: 7:36

By the fourteenth century, the Redmond family had taken possession of the land, constructing the first true hall on the site in 1350. This was Redmond Hall. The Redmonds held their seat for centuries through wars and conflicts that would test their claim. Their hall stood like a fortress, a bastion of power, on a rugged, untamable coastline. But Ireland is a land where the tides of power shift quickly and the Redmonds would find their grip slipping as the storm of the Irish-Confederate Wars broke across the land in the 1640s, the hall became a stronghold, once more barricaded against the waves of conflict that swept through Wexford. But it wasn't enough. As Oliver Cromwell's armies stormed through Ireland in 1649, the Redmonds were forced to relinquish their hold. The land, like so much of Ireland during this period, was seized, stripped from its Irish owners and handed to English settlers Enter the Loftus family.

Speaker 1: 8:45

In the wake of Cromwell's conquest, the hall was granted to the Loftus family, english planters 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 had been taken, as though it bore witness to the violence that had unfolded upon it Over the centuries. The Loftus family reshaped the hall, 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, its rooms echoing with the sound of wealth and power. But no matter how many generations of the Loftus family lived within its walls, a shadow seemed to cling to it, as though it resisted their attempts to tame it. Charles Tottenham, a loftist by marriage, took up residence in the hall with his second wife, jane, and his daughter Anne from their first marriage.

Speaker 1: 11:12

But there was something different about this place now. Beneath its polished surface, beneath a grand facade, there was a tension that seemed to vibrate in the air, and it is here, with Charles Tottenham and his daughter, anne, that the legend truly begins. Loftus Hall had been a place of power, a place where history and ambition collided, but now something else had taken root, Something darker, something that would 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 the bones. Loftus Hall, standing on the edge of the world, seemed to absorb the weight of the storm gathering outside its windows rattling in their frames as the wind howled against the Hook Peninsula. For those who lived within its walls, the house was a fortress, a place where the outside world could be held at bay. But even the sturdiest walls can't keep everything out.

Speaker 1: 12:21

The night the stranger arrived began like any other. Charles Tottenham had seen storms like this before. The hall's location, perched precariously close to the wild Irish sea, meant that shipwrecks were not uncommon. It was a cold courtesy to offer shelter to stranded sailors, and Charles, lord of the manor, was nothing if not hospitable. That evening, as the wind began to howl and the waves crashed against the rocks below, a knock echoed through the halls of Loftus Hall. When the door was opened, the storm seemed to spill inside A rush of cold air, a spray of seawater. And there, standing in the doorway, was a man unlike any they had ever seen. He wasn't wet, his clothes were untouched by the storm raging outside and his dark hair lay perfectly in place, as though he'd walked out of a ballroom rather than a tempest. There was something about him, something magnetic. His presence seemed to fill the space around him, making the fire flicker and the shadow seem to bend toward him. But no one questioned it. The stranger was invited in, as was custom, and so began the slow unraveling of everything.

Speaker 1: 14:01

In every story like this, there's always a moment when you look back and realize that something was wrong from the start, but at the time you don't see it, you only feel it perhaps, and by the time you recognize it for what it is, it's too late. For Anne, the youngest daughter of Charles Tottenham, the arrival of this stranger felt like the opening of a door she hadn't known was closed. She had lived nearly her whole life in Loftus Hall, its long halls and endless rooms, cloaked in 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, a void that she had never been able to name. This stranger, though, seemed to fill that void. He was charming, yes, but there was more to it than that. He carried himself with a quiet confidence, a sense of ease that made those around him lean in, made them want to be closer.

Speaker 1: 15:07

For Anne, his arrival wasn't just a break in the monotony of life at the hall, it was a shift in her very existence. The way he looked at her, intense as though he saw something in her that no one else had bothered to notice, set her heart racing in a way she had never felt before. The days that followed felt like a dream. The storm outside raged on, but within the hall, time seemed to stretch and slow. The stranger moved through the rooms as though he belonged there, as if he had always been a 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 was exhilarating. He spoke of things she had never heard, of distant lands and strange philosophies, ideas that seemed to unlock something within her. His voice was like the low rumble of thunder, soft yet commanding, and when he looked at her it was as if the rest of the world fell away. She had never met anyone like him, and perhaps that was the point. There was something about him that didn't quite fit a flicker of darkness in his eyes when he smiled, a slight edge to his laughter that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. But Anne, young, impressionable and captivated, didn't notice. Or maybe she didn't want to Love, or what we think is. Love has a way of blinding us. It softens the edges of things that would otherwise be sharp, makes us overlook the whispers of warning that curl against the corners of our thoughts. It invites us to step closer to the flame, unaware of the burn that awaits.

Speaker 1: 17:06

Each evening, as the storm battered the windows, anne and the stranger would sit together by the fire, talking long into the night. Her father and stepmother were polite but distant, perhaps sensing in a way that Anne couldn't, that there was something unsettling about the man who had walked out of the storm. But for Anne, these evenings were intoxicating. She had never felt so alive, so seen. The more time she spent with him, the more she felt as though she had known him her whole life, as though he had been waiting for her. There were moments when she would catch him staring at her, his dark eyes filled with something she couldn't quite name. Desire, yes. But there was something else there too, something that made her pulse quicken with both excitement and fear. It was a feeling she couldn't shake, though she tried to push it away. There is always a calm before the storm breaks, a moment when everything feels too perfect, too quiet. That moment for Anne was fleeting, but it was there, and she let it pass, unaware that the storm outside was nothing compared to what was brewing within. The stranger was everything she had ever wanted and more. He was a mystery, a puzzle she longed to solve. But what she didn't realize was that some puzzles are better left unsolved and some mysteries, once revealed, can never be forgotten.

Speaker 1: 18:48

As the days stretched into weeks, the storm showed no signs of stopping, and neither did the connection between Anne and the stranger. She found herself falling deeper under his spell, ignoring the small creeping doubts that clawed at the edges of her mind. After all, how could something that felt so right be wrong, but the hall seemed to know. The wind outside rattled the windows more fiercely each night, and the shadows in the corners seemed to grow darker longer. The house itself, silent and watchful, seemed to sense that something was coming, something inevitable, something that had been waiting just out of sight all along, and on the night of the card game it would arrive. The night had come, quietly, settling over Loftus Hall like a thick velvet curtain muting the world outside. The storm, relentless as it had been, seemed to lull for the first time in days, as if it too were holding its breath. Inside, the fire crackled low in the hearth, its glow casting long flickering shadows that danced against the walls. It was the kind of night that felt too still, as if something was waiting just beneath the surface, ready to break.

Speaker 1: 20:19

The card game had started innocently enough. Charles Tottenham, his wife Jane Anne and the stranger sat around the grand table in the parlor. The warmth of the fire had taken the chill from the room, but a strange prickling sensation hung in the air. Anne sat across from the stranger, her heart quickening every time their eyes met. His smile was small, knowing as if they shared some unspoken secret. The cards in her hand felt heavy, awkward, as if they didn't belong to her. She tried to focus, but her mind kept wandering, drawn back to the stranger's gaze. It was as though he was peeling away layers of her soul with each glance, seeing parts of her that no one else had ever dared to look at.

Speaker 1: 21:15

Then came the moment, the moment when the world shifted, though none of them knew it just yet. It's strange how pivotal moments come quietly, without warning. There is no thunderclap, no gust of wind to announce their arrival, Just the subtle slide of a card slipping from trembling fingers. Anne's hand faltered. The card she was holding fell from her grip, tumbling in slow motion to the floor beneath the table. She bent down to retrieve it, her movements sluggish, as if the air around her had thickened. It was in that moment, as her eyes adjusted to the dim light under the table, that she saw it when the stranger's shoes should have been Cloven hooves.

Speaker 1: 22:12

At first, her mind refused to comprehend what her eyes were showing her. Her breath caught in her throat, a cold rush of disbelief washing over her. The floor seemed to tilt beneath her. Her breath caught in her throat, a cold rush of disbelief washing over her. The floor seemed to tilt beneath her, the room swaying as if it too were reacting to the impossible sight. She blinked once, twice, but the image didn't change. The hooves were still there, stark and black against the stone floor, as real as the fire crackling behind her. Her heart began to race, pounding in her chest like a drum. She pulled herself upright, her hands trembling now the card forgotten.

Speaker 1: 22:53

She looked across the table at the stranger, her mind scrambling for an explanation, something rational that would make sense of the horror creeping into her veins. He was smiling at her, that same slow, knowing smile, but now it felt different, darker, his eyes gleamed with something she hadn't seen before A flicker of malice, an amusement at her shock. He knew, he knew what she had seen and he didn't care. No, it was more than that. He wanted her to see. It's in moments like this, when the ground falls away from under you, that you realize how fragile your understanding of the world truly is. Everything you know, everything you believe, can be shattered in the space of a heartbeat. Anne tried to speak, to say something, anything but her voice caught in her throat, as if the words had been stolen from her, pulled from her lips by the weight of the revelation crashing down upon her. She wanted to run to scream, but she couldn't move. Her body was frozen, paralyzed by the realization of what was sitting across the table from her.

Speaker 1: 25:13

The stranger rose, slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving hers. The room seemed to shrink around them, the shadows twisting and writhing as if alive. The fire in the hearth flared, sending sparks into the air, and the wind outside suddenly howled, rattling the windows with a violent force. And then he revealed himself. What does it feel like to stare into the face of something you've only ever feared in your darkest nightmares? Anne suddenly knew.

Speaker 1: 25:53

The stranger stood before them, no longer pretending, his form seemed to grow, stretching upwards, His features warping into something grotesque, something monstrous. His eyes burned with a fire that wasn't of this world, his smile widening into a grin that was too sharp, too wicked. His voice, when he finally spoke, was like thunder, low and rumbling. Finally spoke was like thunder low and rumbling reverberating through the room. Do you think you could play with me and not see my hand? The words struck her like a physical blow, the air around her crackling. She felt the ground shake, the walls of the hall groaning as if they too were bowing under the weight of his presence, halls of the hall groaning as if they too were bowing under the weight of his presence.

Speaker 1: 26:41

Her father, charles, tried to rise, his face pale with fear. But the stranger raised a hand and Charles froze in place, his body rigid as if locked in time. Anne's mind screamed at her to run, but her legs refused to move. All she could do was stare, her heart 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 exploded outward, engulfing the room in a blinding flash of light. The stranger's form twisted, contorting into a swirling mass of smoke and flame. He shot upwards with a deafening roar crashing through the ceiling in a ball of fire, leaving behind nothing but destruction in his wake. And when the light faded, there was silence. The hall was still, the air heavy with the scent of smoke and sulfur. Above them, a gaping hole in the ceiling, charred and blackened. No matter how many times they tried to repair it in the years that followed, that hole would never stay fixed. The house itself had been scarred, marked by the touch of something that had no place in this world, and Anne, trembling and hollow, realized that nothing would ever be the same again.

Speaker 1: 28:15

Loftus Hall once filled with warmth and firelight, and the hum of conversation had grown just as cold and hollow as she was, her mind slipping further into the shadows with each passing day. Whatever innocence had lived within her was shattered like glass dropped on cold stone. But the truth of what had happened that night, the full weight of it, was something the Tottenham family could never allow to leave the walls of the hall. Anne became withdrawn, her once lively eyes vacant, her voice no longer carrying the brightness it once had. She barely spoke, save for muttering strange, fragmented phrases about the stranger, about his eyes, his smile. She would stare at the place where he had once stood, as if she could still feel his presence lingering in the air. The days blended into nights, and the nights grew longer, grew longer. Her family tried to reason with her, to coax her back to the girl she had been, but Anne was no longer reachable. The house felt it too, the weight of her despair pulling everything inward, drawing the shadows closer.

Speaker 1: 29:34

Charles, perhaps out of desperation, perhaps out of shame, made a decision that would mark the final chapters of his daughter's life. They locked her away in the tapestry room. It was supposed to be for her own good. That's what they told themselves, but deep down they knew. They knew it was fear that drove them to bolt the door from the outside, fear that what had happened to her was something beyond their control, beyond their understanding, and the tapestry room became her prison.

Speaker 1: 30:08

Anne's descent into madness was slow and methodical, like a slow rot that crept into her mind and consumed her from the inside out. She was left alone with her thoughts, her memories and the darkness that had taken root in her soul. The windows in the tapestry room were narrow, barred by iron, offering only slivers of light that shifted with the hours but brought no comfort. The tapestries that lined the walls, once vibrant depictions of noble history, closed in on her, their woven figures watching her with cold, indifferent eyes. The days stretched into weeks, the weeks into months, and Anne was slowly forgotten by the outside world, but not by the hall. No, loftus Hall, remembered it, held her madness like a secret, growing darker with each whisper that echoed through its quarters. But these whispers never stay buried for long. They slip through cracks, through the spaces between words, until they fill every room like a thick, cloying mist.

Speaker 1: 31:22

Rumors began to spiral about the hall, dark rumors that reached beyond the tragic tale of a girl locked away. It was said that Anne had been discovered to be pregnant. Whether by the stranger or someone else, no one could say for certain, but what they did know was that there had been a child, a child that only saw the light of day for perhaps moments. The story grew with each telling. Some claimed the child had died in birth. Others whispered that it had been murdered, its life snuffed out to hide the shame it would have brought upon the family. Murdered, its life snuffed out to hide the shame it would have brought upon the family. And the truth is the child's body was never buried in a graveyard. The walls know the truth.

Speaker 1: 32:19

Years later, long after Anne's voice had faded into the walls, a discovery was made A tiny skeleton, walled up behind the very stones that held the hall together, was unearthed by those seeking to repair the crumbling structure. A child's bones, small and brittle, long forgotten but never truly gone. The infant had been buried in secret, hidden away like a dark stain on the family's history, a stain that still today can never be washed clean. And so Anne withered. Her body, becoming as ghostly as her spirit.

Speaker 1: 32:53

She wandered the tapestry room, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, her hands ringing, her voice barely more than a whisper, repeating the same words over and over again he's coming back. She believed it down to her core. The stranger, the devil, wasn't finished with her. 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, it became harder to dismiss the strange occurrences that haunted the hall after Anne was locked away the sounds of crying in the dead of the night. A child's voice, they said, though no children lived there. The cold drafts that seemed to sweep through the house, even when all the windows were closed, the shadow that sometimes passed by the windows. It was as if the hall itself was mourning, weeping for the life that had been snuffed out within its walls.

Speaker 1: 34:02

Anne eventually died in that room. Her body frail and wasted, her mind long gone. The Tottenham family buried her, but Loftus held on to her spirit, trapping her within its cold stone walls, refusing to let her go, within its cold stone walls, refusing to let her go. Even after her death, the rumors persisted. People spoke of seeing Anne's ghost, pale and fragile, wandering the hall late at night searching for something, someone she could never find. The tapestry room became infamous, its doors sealed shut, but the truth, as is often the case, refused to stay hidden. The discovery of the child's skeleton decades later confirmed the darkest suspicions of those who had whispered about Loftus. The child had been real and so had the horror.

Speaker 1: 35:01

What happened to Ann Tottenham was not just the tragic story of a girl lost to madness. It was the story of a house that became a tomb for secrets far darker than any legend could tell. Loftus Hall had claimed her body and soul, and it wasn't finished yet. Not by a long shot, because the truth about Loftus Hall was this it was a place where the darkness came to play, and once it got inside, it never left. It's easy to become consumed by the story of Loftus Hall. The legends wrap around you, pulling you deeper into their web of supernatural terror. But in the center of that web there was a very real woman, anne Tottenham. And no matter how the stories have twisted and grown over the centuries, we must remember that her tale at its core is one of human tragedy.

Speaker 1: 36:02

Anne lived in an era where the expectations for women were suffocatingly narrow, and the deviation from those roles often led to cruel consequences. In the eighteenth century, women of her station were expected to be obedient, proper and silent ornaments to their families, married off in advantageous matches to further familial power and status. But when Anne began to unravel after the stranger's visit, her behavior could be seen as a dangerous aberration, something to be controlled rather than understood. It's tempting to view her story as one of madness or possession. But what if it was neither? What if Anne's behavior was a manifestation of something far more human? In a time when mental health was not just misunderstood but feared, women like Anne were vulnerable. Neurological conditions, depression and emotional trauma would have been viewed as weaknesses or, worse, as a moral failing. And in the Tottenham household there was no room for weakness. Anne, like so many women of her time, was likely isolated, suffocated by her circumstances. Whether her decline was a result of real trauma or a neurological condition, it is undeniable. The societal chains around her that truly held her captive. And the world outside moved on. But within the hall, Anne's presence lingered a ghost, both literal and figurative.

Speaker 1: 37:53

The attempts to rid Loftus Hall of its dark presence were as much an act of desperation as they were of faith. Protestant clergymen were called to the hall multiple times in fact, each one performing exorcisms in a futile attempt to banish whatever evil they believed was plaguing the family. None of these attempts succeeded. The hauntings, the unease, the whispers all remained. It wasn't until Father Thomas Brodders, a Catholic priest from the nearby parish of Hook, was called in that something seemed to change. His exorcism, according to legend, was a success, though what success means in this context is obviously open to interpretation. Did the house just grow quiet or did the priest simply ease the family's fears, offering them an explanation of the inexplicable? His headstone in Whartown Cemetery makes a bold claim. Quote here lies the body of Thomas Brodders, who did good and prayed for all and banished the devil from Loftus Hall. But did he really? The haunting stories that followed suggest otherwise.

Speaker 1: 39:08

Visitors to Loftus Hall in the centuries since have described palpable unease, a chill that seems to settle over the house like a shroud. Many speak of hearing strange noises, the unmistakable sound of horses in the corridors, whispers in the dead of night, or even glimpses of Anne's ghost wandering the halls, as though searching for something lost long ago. Some claim to have seen orbs of light floating through the rooms, while others speak of sudden, overwhelming panic attacks upon entering certain parts of the hall. If Father Brodder's banished anything, it seems the darkness was only waiting for its next opportunity to rise again. But even as the legends of Loftus Hall spiraled into the supernatural, its walls held on to a far more earthly history.

Speaker 1: 40:02

In the late 19th century, loftus Hall saw a period of grand transformation under John Henry, wellington Graham Loftus, the fourth Marquis of Ely. Guided by his mother, lady Jane Hope Ver Loftus, lady-in-waiting to Queen Victoria, john, set out to restore the hall to its former glory. His renovations were extensive, adding modern luxuries like flushing toilets, blown-air heating and an elaborate mosaic floor, all in preparation for a royal visit that never came. Inspired by Osborne House, queen Victoria's summer residence, the fourth Marquis sought to make Loftus Hall a place of grandeur. The imposing grand staircase, the intricate parquet flooring these were the hallmarks of an estate meant to rival the finest houses in Ireland. But for all his efforts, john Henry's life would be cut tragically short. He died young, without issue, leaving behind a financial mess that would force the family to put the estate on the market. The grand house, now a symbol of lost potential, passed into the hands of strangers of strangers.

Speaker 1: 41:24

In 1917, loftus Hall was bought by the Sisters of Providence and transformed into a convent and school for young girls aspiring to join the Order. The hall's dark past seemed to retreat into the shadows during this time as the nuns sought to fill its rooms with light and purpose. But even the devout could not erase the house's reputation. Its legacy as a haunted place lingered, whispered about in nearby villages, a shadow over its halls, despite the prayers said within it. The hall changed hands again in 1983, when Kay and Michael Devereaux purchased it and opened it as the Loftus Hall Hotel. But the ghosts remained. Visitors continue to report strange phenomena, cold spots, unexplained noises and the feeling of being watched. The hall operated as a hotel until the late 1990s, but it never shook its haunted reputation.

Speaker 1: 42:22

In 2011, the Quigley family purchased Loftus Hall and turned it into a tourist attraction, capitalizing on its dark history. Guided tours of the property offered visitors the chance to walk through its haunted halls and, for the brave, to take part in paranormal investigations. Its haunted halls and for the brave to take part in paranormal investigations. The house became a magnet for thrill-seekers and ghost hunters, including the team from Ghost Adventures, who left with more questions than answers after their time inside it. The hall's gothic allure even drew filmmakers with the 2016 gothic thriller the Lodgers shot on location the 2016 gothic thriller the Lodgers shot on location. But even now, as Loftus Hall stands empty once again, its future uncertain, the past remains tethered to it.

Speaker 1: 43:13

One of the most striking and widely shared paranormal encounters happened in 2014, when English visitor Thomas Bovis captured what many believe to be photographic evidence of Loftus Hall's haunting. In the image, a spectral figure, seemingly a young woman dressed in old-fashioned clothing, stands in a doorway looking out toward the viewer. The eerie photograph spread quickly, fueling the already chilling reputation of Loftus Hall. Some claim that this apparition is none other than Anne Trottenham, forever trapped in the house where her tragic fate unfolded. Visitors over the years have described intense feelings of unease upon entering the hall. Cold spots, areas where the temperature inexplicably plummets, are frequently reported. Some describe hearing voices or footsteps echoing through the empty quarters, as though the hall is never truly vacant. In one particularly chilling account, guests have reported hearing the unmistakable sounds of horses galloping through the halls, an echo, perhaps, of the night.

Speaker 1: 44:21

The devil was said to have fled the house in a blaze of fury. One of the most unnerving encounters came from a visitor staying with a hunting party in the 1860s. After retreating to his room for the night, the man was awoken by a strange woman standing at the foot of his bed. She was beautiful, dressed in brocade silk, but something about her seemed off. She did not speak. Instead, she moved slowly across the room and passed straight through a closet door without opening it. The following night, the visitor was once again disturbed, this time by growling and snarling noises that seemed to come from the very walls of his room. His bedclothes were ripped away from him and the curtains torn from the windows by an unseen force. Terrified, the man fled, unwilling to spend another night in Loftus Hall.

Speaker 1: 45:18

These stories are only a handful of the experiences that have been reported here. Paranormal investigators, including those from Ghost Adventures, have spent nights inside the mansion documenting the strange occurrences Noises, visual phenomena and sudden bursts of electromagnetic activity. Visitors have spoken of panic attacks, sudden nausea and the sense that something is following them as they walk through the halls. The wind, still today, drifts over Ireland's cliffs like a secret tugging at the edges of time itself. This is where we started, didn't we, with the idea that some places hold stories tighter than others, that some shadows never fully disappear.

Speaker 1: 46:07

But here's the thing about Loftus Hall the darkness clinging to it isn't just a ghost story, and it isn't something that fades when you turn the lights on. It's older than that. Deeper. It's what happens when the veil between worlds thins and something slips through. So what does happen when the devil comes to call? The world likes to paint it in obvious strokes fire, brimstone, the sharp edge of fear. But evil, real evil, rarely announces itself that way. It slides in, quietly, wrapping around you like a fog, until you don't even realize you're lost in it. Loftus Hall reminds us of this truth, an example of how, once you let something in, it can be nearly impossible to send it back out.

Speaker 1: 47:07

What happened that night, when the stranger arrived and revealed his true form, wasn't just a singular event. It was an opening, a crack in the fabric of reality. Places like Loftus become stained by such things. In the world of the occult. We call this imprint energy. The house isn't just haunted by Anne or the devil. It's haunted by the very energy of that encounter, by the terror that sank into the walls.

Speaker 1: 47:38

As a witch and medium, I know that energy doesn't just disappear, it clings, it seeps into the bones, hangs in the air and curls around those who dare to step inside, those who believe. And that's the key, isn't it? Belief. Belief is more powerful than we like to admit. You see, when we talk about haunted places, cursed lands or dark forces, we're really talking about the collective energy we invest into those things. Loftus Hall has been shaped as much by the stories told about it as by the events that have unfolded there.

Speaker 1: 48:19

People expect to feel something when they enter, and that expectation feeds the very energy lurking in the shadows. There's a concept in psychology called confirmation bias, the idea that once we've decided something is true, we subconsciously seek out evidence to support it. In Loftus Hall, visitors feel the cold spots, hear the whispers, see the shadows, because they've already accepted that something is there. But here's where things get complicated. Just because our minds are searching for it doesn't mean it isn't real. In fact, the very act of believing can bring it into being. Energy responds to intention, and when we step into places like Loftus Hall, carrying with us generations of belief in its darkness, we are feeding the very thing we fear.

Speaker 1: 49:15

From an occult perspective, loftus Hall sits on what we might call a thin place, a location where the veil between this world and the next is particularly fragile. Whether through trauma, ritual or sheer force of will, the energies at play here have torn a hole in that veil. The land itself is old, ancient even. We can trace it through the ley lines, the ancient pathways of energy that crisscross the earth. These lines of power converge near places like Loftus Hall, amplifying whatever energies are already present. And so when the devil came to call, when that encounter happened, it wasn't just a moment in time, just a story. It was a rupture, and ever since, loftus Hall has been a beacon for that kind of energy, pulling in those who are sensitive to it, those who can feel the echoes of what happened there.

Speaker 1: 50:18

What happens when the devil comes to call? Well, it's not always about horns and hooves. Sometimes it's quieter than that. Sometimes it's the darkness you feel in a room when you're alone but know you're not. Sometimes it's the weight of a story that never fully fades, sinking deeper into the cracks of a place until it becomes indistinguishable from the walls themselves. Loftus Hall is that kind of place. As a witch, I know that energy can shift. It can be shaped, moved and, if necessary, shaped, moved and, if necessary banished, but some places don't want to let go of their ghosts. Some places have absorbed too much of what's been poured into them. It doesn't just house its ghosts, it itself is one. Because the truth is, the devil doesn't need to come knocking. Sometimes we invite him in without realizing it, and when the devil comes to call, whether he walks in the flesh or is in the shadows of a memory, he leaves a mark that never fades. The past is here. It reaches out, not to be remembered but to remind, and it's waiting for you.