Episode 68: The Tainted Well

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This is the story of the one.

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When you see the body, the first thing that strikes you is just how much detail you can see.

The hair standing up on an arm.

The dirty fingernails.

The pull of the skin over the knuckles.

It has a way of making the body seem permanent and real.

And it is real, don't get me wrong.

It's just that most bodies don't look this good after death, even when they're relatively fresh, which is what makes this particular body all the more amazing.

Yes, he was a man from County Leash in Ireland.

And yes, there's no doubt he was dead.

It's just, well, he looks really good for his age.

The Cashel man, as they call him, is roughly 4,000 years old.

He's older than the Egyptian pharaoh Tutankhamun by six centuries, and yet here he is, making eye contact and showing off the pores of his skin, all thanks to the preserving power of an Irish peat bog.

These bog bodies, as they're called, tend to be easy books to read, telling a clear story to archaeologists.

Age, social status, even their occupation.

But the most important detail is how they died.

And nearly all Irish bog bodies share one common cause of death.

Human sacrifice.

Some were run through with the sword.

Others were clubbed over the head.

Some were even strangled with a length of rope.

All of it, though, was to send a message to the gods.

Life was precious, so to willingly give up one of their own was a powerful way of making a point.

It was a primitive email to the deities, typed in bold, underlined, all-capped words.

Ireland is a beautiful country with a dark past.

Long before the troubles of the last century, before the country was divided, even before British rule itself, Ireland was already a land full of dark tales and frightening lore.

And like the Casual Man,

many of those stories have refused to stay buried.

I'm Aaron Mankey, and this is lore.

Ireland is a country that lives up to its reputation.

The Emerald Isle is just as overwhelmingly green and lush as you might expect.

In the countryside, rolling hills seem to go go on for as far as the eye can see.

In places like Dublin, ancient buildings play host to laughter and song.

But there's a deep history that swirls around those green hills and dark halls, like a cold wind.

And while many of them have drifted beyond the boundaries of Ireland to influence global folklore, those are just a few samples from a much deeper and much darker well.

Of course, we all know of the Banshee, the female spirit that's said to enter our world through one of the many ancient stone mounds, the she, that dot the Irish landscape.

They come to announce impending death, and the legend says that if you can hear her cries and wailing, you or someone you love is not long for this world.

We've covered puka and leprechauns before, but Irish folklore has a plethora of other little creatures skittering about.

The Grogok is described as a small old man, covered in thick hair that's matted and tangled with sticks and leaves.

Most legends say that the Grogak is half fairy, half human, but unlike the tales of the puka, these are friendly creatures that help humans with daily life.

Then of course there is the human stealing fairy known as the Changeling, yet another of Ireland's popular folklore exports.

But they aren't the only fairy creature to be afraid of.

Irish legends speak of the Daragdua, the red bloodsucker, which may have had a bit of influence on Brom Stoker, who was born and raised in Ireland.

The Daragdua is described as a pale young woman who lures men into a graveyard, where she then drains them of their blood.

To stop her, Folklore says that all you really need to do is find her grave and pile stones on top of it.

That's an episode of Supernatural right there, just waiting to be written.

Throw in some pie, and it's perfect.

But Ireland is more than just spooky mythology, however entertaining it might be.

For every wailing woman and tiny old man cobbling shoes in the night, there seems to be two or three local spots with their own unique stories to tell.

One such tale comes to us from the coastline north of Belfast in the small village of Balagali.

It was there in 1625 that a castle was constructed by a man named James Shaw.

They say the castle was immaculate, that it was beautiful and well designed, and that Shaw obsessed over every detail.

And naturally, he wanted to pass his beloved home down to his heir someday.

But when his wife Isabel finally gave birth to their first child, Shaw was enraged to discover it was a daughter and not a son.

Of course, this is the sort of frustration you're guaranteed to experience when you base your entire system of inheritance and power on the biological roll of the dice.

But I doubt anyone could have convinced Shaw of the folly of it all.

His response, they say, was brutal.

He locked Isabel away in one of the towers and had the infant girl removed from the castle entirely.

Shortly after, his wife fell to her death from the window of the tower.

Some say it was suicide, driven by her grief over the loss of her daughter.

Others, though, say it was an accident, that her desire to see her child again drove her to climb out and try to escape.

Ever since, People outside the castle claim to have seen a pale woman in the window of the tower.

Today, Today, the castle is a hotel, but the tower prison cell, now known as the Ghost Room, is off-limits to guests.

Still, those who've managed to spend time in it claim to have felt a dark presence.

Laughter has been heard in the castle hallways, and some have even seen the ghostly figure of a woman disappearing around corners.

For another legend full of mystery and death, we need to travel to County Clare, home to the ancient McMahon Castle.

It's nothing more than an abandoned shell today, absent of life and the comforts of home.

But according to the legend, there is something there, hidden inside the castle's walls.

A secret chamber.

No one is sure what the chamber was used for, but the story tells of how a great evil was locked inside and hidden away from the rest of the world.

Locked away, that is.

until the 1920s when a local priest was brought in to cleanse the space.

They say that the exorcist opened the room and stepped inside, but never walked back out again.

The following morning, someone found the priest's dead body lying just outside the chamber door.

Most assumed the man had died of a heart attack, which wouldn't be entirely unusual.

What was unusual, though, was the expression on the dead man's face.

Complete and utter horror.

as if he'd been frightened to death.

The list could go on and on, buildings and bridges and public spaces that are filled with the ominous echoes of another time.

But there's one place in Ireland that seems to hold more darkness, more bloodshed, and more treachery than all the others combined.

From its ancient roots in bloody conflict to Victorian tales of spiritualism, there isn't much that hasn't taken place within its walls.

If you're looking for frightening tales, dark history, and unsolved mysteries, there's no better place in Ireland than Lep Castle.

The earliest mention we have on record in Ireland of the O'Carroll clan is a soldier named Kjarl who fought alongside King Brian Baru at the the Battle of Clontarf in 1014.

And I want to point out right away that the name Kjar literally means to hack.

It's both appropriate given the man's occupation and more than a little bit of foreshadowing.

The O'Carols claim descent from an Irish clan that dated back at least a thousand years.

By the 16th century though, the O'Carrolls of County Offaly represented the last powerful fragment of that older clan.

But it was sometime before that that the O'Carrolls took control of a castle in their territory, once held by a secondary clan, the Obanans.

The castle was called Lep.

Dating the age of the original structure has proven a bit challenging to historians, but there are a couple of things that are known for certain.

First, there are signs of significant settlement on the site of the castle dating back at least 2,500 years.

Second, Most scholars agree that the main keep was built around the year 1250, which means that it was already well known and very old by the time the O'Carrolls moved in near the end of the 1400s.

Lep Castle certainly had a reputation, too.

Originally built as a simple tower house, essentially a tall, solid rectangle of stone and mortar, its purpose was to protect anyone inside.

Over the centuries, more wings and extensions were added on, but that protective nature never really went away.

For a very long time, it seems, Lep was considered impenetrable.

From the outside, at least.

You see, the O'Carroll clan wasn't known for getting along with their neighboring clans or even themselves.

Family discord like that has a way of creeping inside the walls like a cold December wind.

And if the story hasn't piqued your interest yet, don't worry.

Winter is coming.

The first O'Carroll to rule in Lep Castle was John O'Carroll.

But he died of the plague around 1490, passing the leadership on to his son, Mulrooney.

And this new clan leader filled his father's shoes beyond anyone's expectations.

Through the years, he became known for his bravery in battle and his honor as a leader.

He even earned the nickname the Great Mulroney, at least among his clan.

When he passed away in 1532 after over four decades in control, he left Lep Castle in the hands of at least three sons.

Tyg was known as a hothead, always quick to move toward violence.

Thaddeus had trained as a priest and served the family in the chapel at the top of the castle.

And the youngest, Farganum, seems to have been a bit more calm than the others.

Following the death of their father, the three brothers fell into months of arguing over who should lead the clan and control the castle.

The tensions were high, and with Tyg, that was never a good thing.

It was a stewing pot of frustration and entitlement.

It was about to boil over.

The legend says that Thaddeus, the family priest and one of the contenders for the leadership of the clan, had waited to start mass until his brother Taige could arrive, but eventually he gave up and just began without him.

Sometime later, Taige walked through the door and despite being late, was shocked to see that the service had already begun.

In a fit of rage, it's said that Taige drew his sword and rushed at his brother Thaddeus, screaming about how insulting it was to be left out.

Of course, Thaddeus was in the right and would have explained that to his brother if Taige hadn't run the sword straight through him first.

The priest screamed as Taige pulled the blade free and blood began to spill out on the floor of the chapel.

Mortally wounded, Thaddeus staggered backward, swaying in front of the others who had come for mass.

And then, he toppled over the altar, face down, and stopped breathing.

Because people are very good at giving incredibly obvious names to places, you might not be surprised to hear that, ever since, the site of this gruesome murder has been known as the Bloody Chapel.

Humor aside, there are those who believe that something dark took place that day.

A brother killing brother, putting ambition and petty disagreement ahead of loyalty and family.

Those things have a way of standing out as powerful actions.

They're atypical in the grand scheme of things.

On top of that though, a priest was killed, right inside his chapel, and in the middle of a religious service, no less.

It wasn't long after the murder of Thaddeus that Tyg himself was killed by a nephew.

In the end, the only remaining brother, Farganum, took over leadership of the clan and castle, but even he wasn't immune to the bloodshed.

Legend says that during his reign, the O'Carols hired another clan, the McMahons, to help them defeat a common enemy.

The plan worked and the O'Carrolls achieved victory in battle.

And to celebrate, the McMahons were invited to Lep Castle for a grand meal, with a hidden purpose.

Some say they were given poisoned wine, while others say they were murdered in their sleep.

Either way, the McMahons never left Lep Castle alive.

Now, I'll admit, this is a lot of death for one family over the course of just a single century.

Some would say it's so atypical that, given enough time, this sort of history could leave a mark.

It's this, then, this dark cocktail of violence, betrayal, and blasphemy that many think was enough to taint the well, so to speak.

It tore a hole in the very fabric of reality.

Something the rest of the story only seems to confirm.

The bloodshed inside Lep Castle went on for generations until 1659 when the fortress passed into the hands of a new family through marriage between Finola, the daughter of the ruling O'Carroll, and an Englishman named Captain Darby.

Over the years, Lep Castle was improved and extended.

Gothic architectural elements were added, and the gardens were expanded.

With every change, it became less an Irish tower house, and more an English manor house.

It was being tamed, at least from the outside.

In 1881, the castle passed to Jonathan Darby, and after his marriage to Mildred Dill in 1889, the couple settled into their new life there.

Perhaps inspired by the dark atmosphere of the castle, Mildred soon began to write novels in the popular Gothic genre, that beautiful blend of horror and romance, terror and literature that attracted the likes of Mary Shelley, Anne Radcliffe, and Edgar Allan Poe.

She published under the pen name Andrew Mary, and her novel Patty Risky was well received.

But it was more than the architecture of Lepp Castle that inspired her fiction.

The halls there, at least according to her, were full of something darker and more evil.

At first, there were noises, as if furniture were being moved in distant parts of the house, but noises quickly evolved into something more sinister.

One October night, Mildred was awoken after midnight by the sensation that someone was in the room with her.

After looking toward the foot of her bed, she was horrified to see the shape of a person in the darkness.

This figure was dressed all in red and had raised a hand toward her.

What is it?

she said aloud, thinking a servant had come in to wake her.

And then she reached for the bedside table to find a match.

She struck it, lit a candle, and then lifted it to illuminate the darkness.

When she turned toward the foot of the bed though, she caught her breath.

The room was empty.

Now, this was the sort of experience that would probably convince most of us to back off and avoid the castle's dark history.

But not Mildred.

She was obsessed.

Instead of turning away, she rushed headfirst into the world of the occult and paranormal.

She held seances and occult gatherings, maybe just to deepen her reputation as a gothic novelist or perhaps to quench a personal thirst.

The consequences, though, were darker than she could have imagined.

Something was there in the castle with them, and her experiments only seemed to attract its attention.

Then, one night, it made itself known.

According to Mildred, She'd been up late writing in her room when she heard something in the hallway bump against her door.

She opened it to find the hall filled with a putrid, rotting odor, but otherwise empty, so she closed it again.

Moments later, the bumping and scratching sounds returned, only this time she could also hear sniffing at the foot of the door.

Expecting a burglar, Mildred picked up a loaded pistol and quickly pulled the door open once again, and then froze, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

There was something squatting in the doorway.

Something unnatural and gruesome.

The thing, she later wrote, was about the size of a sheep, thin, gaunt, and shadowy in parts.

Its face was human, or to be more accurate, inhuman in its vileness, with large holes of blackness for eyes, loose, slobbery lips, and a thick, saliva-dripping jaw.

According to Mildred, The thing stood silently in the doorway, locking eyes with her for what seemed like an eternity.

And then, with a jump, it moved inside her room.

She raised the pistol and fired, nearly point-blank, but still somehow managed to miss.

She fired again, this time even closer to the thing, and still the bullet exploded against a piece of furniture behind it.

Whatever the creature was, whether immaterial spirit or some demonic animal, The shots didn't seem to have an effect on it.

Frightened out of her mind, she brought the pistol up for a third shot and claims she pressed the gun right against the thing's chest, just as it brought its arms up to reach for her.

She fired and then quickly pulled back from its grasp, tripping over something on the floor behind her.

And then, she claims, everything went black.

Later, Mildred reported all of this in the most unusual manner.

She wrote it up and had it published in a journal called The Occult Review in December of 1908.

But like her novels, she signed the name Andrew Mary to this new tale.

The following month, the journal also published letters from others that seemed to verify and support the stories.

But whenever a novelist is involved, it's impossible to be 100% certain everything is being reported with undecorated accuracy.

Still, it's not difficult to believe, is it?

This castle, Designed for warfare and built around generations of bloodshed, was home to more than the people inside.

Evil events have a way of filling a building like explosions.

While the initial shock might eventually fade away, the echoes can still be heard ringing through the halls long after it's over.

Whether those echoes took the form of red ghosts and rotting elemental creatures, or just an overwhelming atmosphere of dread, we can't deny the power and the darkness of the explosion itself.

In the end, it seems, the only thing more frightening than our deepest nightmares might just be our own violent humanity.

Ireland certainly has a lush and fertile landscape when it comes to folklore.

The stories that are still told around fires and in crowded pubs cover the spectrum from the deeply mythological to the downright terrifying.

And I wouldn't expect anything less from such a textured, poetic culture.

But that line between fact and fiction has a way of getting blurry when you add in our own violent human nature.

The events we hear about or the things we ourselves do to others, those things have a way of giving birth to tales far more frightening than anything we could invent.

Reality, though, often fails to have the tidy ending we've come to expect from books and film.

Lep Castle isn't the same today as it once was.

In fact, it's literally a shell of its former self.

In early 1922, sensing a growing political tension in the country, the Darbies left their home and moved to England.

On July 30th of 1922, just one month after the Irish Civil War began, 11 men knocked on the door of the castle and demanded that the caretaker, Richard Dawkins, provide them lodging for the night.

When he opened the door for them though, they forced their way inside and began to cover everything with gasoline.

And then, they set it all on fire.

The following day, more men arrived and burned the parts of the castle that had been missed the night before.

Dawkins tried to save as much of the furniture and belongings as he could, but the outbuilding he hid them in was later broken into and looted.

By the time the Darbies returned, Lepp Castle was nothing more than a smoldering ruin of charred stone.

One of the tragic losses that resulted from the burning of the castle was the vast collection of stories and novels that Mildred had yet to publish.

According to one report, she lost an estimated 150 short stories, roughly 40 larger manuscripts, and two finished novels.

Some things, though, still remain.

For decades, while the castle sat empty, locals would look up at night to see lights in the old fortress windows.

It was as if someone were walking the halls, armed with a pale candle.

Others who ventured closer to the property reported that the ruins smelled of rotting flesh.

And although they could never find the source, many reported hearing the sounds of some animal or creature.

Sniffing sounds

Today, Lep Castle is being restored by the current owner, with work being done to rebuild the two wings that extend out from the original towerhouse.

But it's something else, something that was discovered decades earlier, that might be the most chilling revelation of the castle's last century.

Upstairs.

Just north of the bloody chapel, in fact, workmen stumbled upon a secret chamber.

Think of it more as a pit, because it was only accessible from a trap door above.

The room below was small, barely larger than a closet.

These sorts of rooms were called oubliettes, a French term that loosely means a place of forgetting.

Unwelcome visitors or betrayed family members might be led over to the trap door and tossed inside.

If the fall didn't kill them, The large spikes protruding from the floor certainly would.

And this oubliette, it turns out, was filled with skeletons.

So many skeletons, in fact, that when the workmen began to remove them, they quickly filled up their cart.

Three cartfuls later, they had finally moved all the bones out.

When they were finished, though, they found something else in the pit.

A watch.

A pocket watch, to be precise.

And after studying the maker's marks on the watch, researchers were able to estimate its age.

According to them, it had been manufactured in the 1840s, mere decades before it was rediscovered.

Which raises a very interesting question: If the oobleyet had stopped being used when the Darbies took over the castle in 1659,

how did the watch get there two centuries later?

It seems the ooviette of Lap Castle had been used a lot more recently than we'd care to admit.

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This episode of Lore was written and produced by me, Aaron Mankey, with research help from Marcette Crockett.

Lore is much more than a podcast.

There's a book series in bookstores around the country and online, and the second season of the Amazon Prime television show was recently released.

Check them both out if you want more lore in your life.

I also make two other podcasts, Aaron Mankey's Cabinet of Curiosities and Unobscured, and I think you'd enjoy both.

Each one explores other areas of our dark history, ranging from bite-sized episodes to season-long dives into a single topic.

You can learn about both of those shows and everything else going on all over in one central place, theworldoflore.com/slash now.

And you can also follow the show on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

Just search for lore podcast, all one word, and then click that follow button.

When you do, say hi.

I like it when people say hi.

And as always, thanks for listening.

Today,

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What do you say, Michael?

Experimental!

Oy, it's 23.

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