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Due to the graphic nature of this haunted place, listener discretion is advised this episode includes dramatizations of body horror, harm against minors, psychosis, institutionalization and domestic violence. We advise extreme caution for children under 13. Some call Janelle or Emily, but she preferred people call her the river, which she did a good business in Marietta, offering white and black magic alike. She drew sickness off one client just to cast it on another. She sold curses to one man and amulets to his enemy.


Tinnell There was no difference between dark and light hex Arri or Bracher I it was all magic and it was all hers. But she had a rifle, a strict do gooder who lived half a day's ride beyond the Susquehanna River, Nelson Ramaiah. She didn't understand why Ray Meyer needed to run a healing practice in his spare time. He was a successful farmer. His family was so large, the whole neighborhood was named after them.


But he was driving prices down and undoing her spells. Something had to be done. She began with the cursor to a sick horse, rotten crops, a fox getting into the henhouse. But still, she heard nothing from Ray Hollow. Stronger measures were needed. She put aside the turtledoves, tongues and the bullet she'd charm to strike. True, no matter the target, she boiled a T of Asaph at it and called the man's name up the chimney three times.


Ramaiah, Ramaiah, Ramaiah, she said, willing the forces of darkness to bring her a means of destroying Nelson Ramaiah for good.


And with a knock at the door, the spirits answered her call.


The troubled man asked if he could come in, he was in desperate need of help and most certainly better. Next, he was bewitched, cursed.


Nell smiled and opened the door, prepared to tell him the exact source of his problem.


Welcome to Haunted Places, a Spotify original from podcast, I'm Greg Polson. Every Thursday, I take you to the scariest, eeriest, most haunted real places on Earth. You can find episodes of haunted places and all other originals from podcast for free on Spotify. And every Tuesday, make sure to check out urban legends. These special episodes of Haunted Places are available exclusively on Spotify. This week joined me on a supernatural journey to Xolo murder house, the home of a Pennsylvania Dutch faith healer whose murder led to one of America's last witch trials.


And discover why to this day, it's haunted. Coming up, we'll meet the unfortunate Mr. Ramaiah High Haunted Places listeners. Did you enjoy last year's daily Urban Legends series then? We have good news. Urban Legends has been running as a weekly bonus series exclusively on Spotify. Check the haunted places feed for a new Urban Legends episode every Tuesday hitched a ride on a haunted bus, unravel the ribbon tied around a mysterious woman and be sure to follow haunted places on Spotify to get all new urban legends episodes every week.


The Pennsylvania Dutch began immigrating to what would become the United States in 1883, Dutch immigrants were originally attracted to Pennsylvania by its promise of religious and cultural freedom.


Many were members of Christian sects that had been marginalized in Europe, a devout Christianity blended with Orientalist mysticism known as Rockery or Pawling. The latter word was an appropriation of the Algonquian language to refer to the use of ritual traditions. But Bruguera borrows much more from medieval Catholic charms than any Native American practice. A broker may write out prayers on scraps of paper to be kept on someone's person for protection or lay hands on someone to alleviate pain or sickness.


But not all of their magic is good. Exercise the dark arts to a brokerage's light magic. A broker may be enlisted to remove the effects of a curse cast by a hex or a witch using targeted prayers of protection or the creation of talismans. While many Pennsylvania Dutch still practice, Bokhara today texturize only spoken of in whispers. There are many reasons for this, not the least of them being the practices inherent paganism. But the other reason is far more specific.


In 1928, a popular broker named Nelson Ramaiah was murdered by three men in York County, Pennsylvania, at his remote farmhouse. Their motives, as well as what happened next, would change rainmaker's hollow forever. John Blamire didn't trust witchcraft. It was slippery stuff, dangerous and fickle, but Blamire was a broker himself and he had a healthy respect for Nellie Noel, the river witch of Marietta worked miracles. She just worked them for a price. And after suffering all 33 years of his life, Blamire was ready to pay it and pay it.


He did five times five dollars each each. Consultation cost almost half of his rent payment for a month.


But he would do the witch's dance anything to remove the curse on his head. His wife had left him. His children were gone. All he had and left was his job at the cigar factory and his own troubled mind.


But he was sure the job was soon to go to, and he feared his mind would follow at his sixth session, only took the five bills from his hand and asked for one more. He was about to ask why, when she turned the dollar over and placed it in his palm, the old woman looked deep into his eyes.


Hers was palest ice on a frozen pond.


It frightened him.


She carefully pulled the dollar from his grip and told him to look down in his empty palm. He saw the face of the Hecks who had cursed him. Nelson Ramaiah.


No, no, that couldn't be right. Ray Meyer had been the Blamire family's broker for generations. The old man had removed a curse from Blamire himself shortly after he was born. Looked at Blamire with pity. Had he ever considered, she asked, that the curse Ramaiah removed may have been of his own design. Blamire his world had turned on its head. He begged Nellie to tell him what to do. It was very simple. She said he needed to obtain Rightmire spell book along with the lock of his hair.


If he buried the hair and burned the book, he would find Ramaiah so we could harm him no more. Surely, if they were friends, Blamire could charm these items from him, Blamire nodded. He had no idea how to outwit a witch, but he had no other choice. His first step was to enlist the help of another John, John Kerry they had met at the cigar factory. Curry was only 14, but Blamire was a sort of father figure to the teenager, not to mention his brother.


He offered prayers of protection for Curry when his stepfather got rough and Curry was ever so grateful. And the boy believed him when he said that Nelson Ramaiah was most certainly responsible for both of their misfortunes. After all, he was a boy of good sense. Next, Blamire received word that the neighboring Hess family was also going through great troubles. It didn't take him long to realize that Ramaiah had coerced the his family as well. Only a Hecks as powerful as Rightmire, could wreak so much havoc on so many people at once.


The his family had sick relatives, sick animals, crops rotting. It was atrocious. The evil had to be ended. Mrs has agreed to send her son Clayton to drive by and Curry as they scouted Ramires place. Claytons 18 year old brother Wilbert came along. It was pitch dark when Clayton drove the three of them to Ray Myers hollow when the farmhouses dark wood facade and porch came into view. Clayton stopped the car just out of sight and let Blamire Curry and Wilbert out.


The autumn leaves crunched beneath their feet. As they approached the house, Blamire called out to the second floor window. Ramaiah poked his head out, but his words were jumbled by a yawn. Blamire beg to be let in, he left something important behind during a previous visit, and he needed to find it, he said. Rightmire answered with another yawn and a nod and invited them inside.


But after a swirl of wind lifted the leaves from the porch, Blamire saw Nellie Noel sitting in the grass beside rainmaker's porch. She hadn't been there before. Blamire was sure of it. Her pale eyes glittered in the darkness and her shawl moved like a whisper in the wind. Blamire opened his mouth to ask if she was there to help, but Rightmire opened the door before the words left his lips.


Nelisse form melted away as Candlelights spilled from the house. If Blamire had been a different man, he would have believed he was seeing things that Nellie wasn't real. But he knew the power of a Hecks. So instead he told himself it was a good omen, a sign of the river, which is protection. He stepped inside behind the two young men and looked around the room for Ramaiah spell book, but he didn't see any sign of it. Rightmire smiled at the young man.


Could he get them anything? Tea, something to eat? Wilbert opened his mouth, but Blamire silenced him with a look. This was his mission. He was going to do the talking. He asked Ray Meyer if they could kindly have some tea. Brammeier obliged, whistling his way into the kitchen to put some water on to boil. As soon as the old man left the room, Blamire pulled the other two men in. He told them they would surround the witch together and subdue him.


They would tie him up and get that hair. Then the curse would end. They would all be free. Blamire approached the kitchen. Then he froze. Nellie was sitting on top of the oven watching him. Her shawl was black, now fading into the stove as if it itself was made of metal. Only her papery skin stood out near transparent and the lantern light, her expression unreadable. Blamire told himself again that she was there for protection. She knew how important this was.


He shifted his focus to the Hecks in front of him and jumped on Ray Myers back. Wilpert and Courey closed in from each side, desperately trying to bring the tall man to the floor. But Ramaiah managed to throw Blamire off.


Blamire grabbed a chair from the corner and brought it down as hard as he could on the old man's back.


Brammeier screamed in pain, but it wasn't enough to make the switch go. Still, he bucked against Wilbourne and Curry's grip.


They needed something bigger. Blamire wrapped his arms around Ramires torso and told Courey to find something heavy. He felt Courey pull away for a moment, then return. Suddenly, a large metal box slammed into rainmaker's head with an earsplitting Krak Ray Myers body stilled. Then the three men dragged him back toward the living area. Wilbur Tuncurry tied him up while Blamire dug around for the spell book. Suddenly, Currie stammered that Ray was dead. Blamire turned the witch over his head was a mess of viscose, grey and red, a long breath passed between them.


Why mind swirled with panic. It was never his intention to kill Ramaiah Hecks or not.


But as he stared down at the old man's crumpled body, he changed his mind.


Blamire clapped his hands together, the curse of ill fortune was done, he told them, easy as that Blamire gave the house a quick search, pocketing money.


He found a split between the three of them. Later, he thought for a moment that he heard Nely laugh from the hall.


She was gone when he turned around, but in her place, a bottle of lanterne oil glinted at him. Blamire smiled Ramaiah Whitburn.


He sent the two boys outside and struck a match, dropping it on the carpet below. He strolled outside as the small flames leapt up behind him. Curious why Blamire was so calm, Blamire reminded them that they had killed a witch, not a good citizen. They were righteous man. They didn't look back as they headed down the road to meet Clayton. They didn't see the fire extinguish itself and they didn't see nahles knowing smile. As she stood atop the roof.


Nellie had gotten what she wanted, but the tools of her machinations were another story. Their problems had only just begun. On November 27th, 1928, 33 year old John Blamire, 14 year old John Currie and 18 year old Wilbert Hess broke into a 60 year old Nelson Ray Myers house on the advice of a woman named Nellie Noal. Nellie, who was also known as the River Witch of Marietta, had convinced them that they had been hexed by Ramaiah.


Blamire suffered from both mental illness and family tragedy.


He'd actually been institutionalized until he decided to simply walk off the grounds of the Harrisburg State Hospital and never return.


When Nellie Nolt told him that Ray Meyer's curse must be the cause of his ill fortune, he was eager to listen, not considering any potential motive for her to take out her rival practitioner, Blamire Currie and Hess broke into Ray Meyer's home the next night.


But in their struggle to subdue him and steal his spell book and a lock of his hair, they killed the older man with Ray Meier dead Blamire reason the curse was broken. They stole his valuables and covered the corpse in oil and set the house on fire. But magic is based on equal exchange. The world was out of balance and Blamire, Curry and Hess were about to pay the price. Up next, the so-called York which trial begins, listeners hears a show you do not want to miss when it comes to love.


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Whether it's a chance encounter, a former friendship or even a former enemy, our love story proves that love can begin and blossom in the most unexpected ways. Ready to hear more, follow our love story free on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts. Now back to the story. A November 28th, 1928, 33 year old John Blamire, 14 year old John Currie and 18 year old Wilbert Tarsa bludgeoned 60 year old Nelson Ramaiah to death, Blamire had been convinced that Nelson Ramaiah was a Hecks, a witch who had cursed him, Currie and the Hess family with ill fortune.


The three men covered Ray Meyer's corpse in oil, set it alight and left the house. But they didn't stay long enough to see the fire suddenly go out.


A neighbor heard Ramirez animals calling out in distress. The next morning, his body was found shortly after, but the fire had been mysteriously snuffed out. When Nelson, his wife, Alice, was told of her husband's death, she knew exactly who had done it. Two days before the attack, John Blamire and John Currie had inquired as to rainmaker's whereabouts. And Alice sent them over the hill to his small farmhouse. The strange murder of Nelson Ramaiah thrust both the Pennsylvania Dutch and their folk magic into the national spotlight.


The New York Times reported that the killers Blamire Curry and Wilbert Hess were quickly picked up by the police and questioned by District Attorney Amos W. Herman. But Amos learned that the story leading up to their arrest was anything but simple. The case seemed too easy, and District Attorney Amos Herrman didn't trust Easy the death of Nelson Ramaiah didn't fit into the York County community at all. They didn't get many murders. There were hunting accidents and a drunken quarrel or two.


But prohibition violations and bank fraud were far more common. It hadn't taken magic to point them in the direction of Blamire and Curry. Curry was a complicated boy, not frequently in trouble with the law, but his stepfather was, if anything, he was looking for male authority in all the wrong places.


Blamire, however, was a peculiar case. He was, as Amos's mother would have said, odd. His eyes were wild, and he smiled an awful lot for an innocent man. Amos was willing to believe that Blamire wasn't innocent. A year earlier, he'd been brought into Amos's office under suspicion of a different murder. 16 year old Gertrude Rootes corpse was found on the train tracks, her face mostly blown away by a shotgun shot at close range. Someone had tried to make it look like an accident.


Fortunately, they weren't smart enough to succeed.


Blamire had been seen with Rudy repeatedly. Witnesses said she was smitten. Now the autopsy showed she was pregnant, but everything was circumstantial. Yet another of the rare murders in York County. And now John Blamire was potentially attached to both. It couldn't be a coincidence. A month later, Blamire walked toward the witness stand, far more subdued than he'd been when Amus originally questioned him, Amos's first question was to ask him about the source of his calm. Blamire smiled.


He replied that he had ended a curse. Amos spoke gently. What did he mean by that, Blamire? His voice got low, raspy. The curse had begun, he said, the night his daughter had died. That evening, he laid her down to sleep and kissed her forehead good night, but the next morning there had been silence, no earsplitting cry to wake him, no gurgle or laugh. Babies just died. Sometimes the doctor said no one knew why Blamire had his suspicions, but it was too terrible to think of.


The next night he heard a scattering in the walls. At first he thought it was an animal, but the scratching had a distinctly human rhythm.


Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. But he asked his wife if she heard it. She only cried and turned over in her sleep. Soon the taps became knocking and then voices. He swore he heard people moving through the walls, but the walls weren't thick enough to hide anyone. There were no wider than the palm of your hand. Soon he heard footsteps, then ghostly sighs that kept him awake. As soon as I started to feel heavy, he felt the weight of someone's hand against his face.


But there was no one else in the room besides him and his sleeping wife.


He needed confirmation that he wasn't alone.


As if to answer him, the voices started to grow louder. Every time he tried to rouse his wife, she mumbled to him that he should just go back to sleep like Maya's father had been more helpful.


He hired a broker with experience in exorcism, but the charms only agitated the voices. They got louder and louder. And one night filled his room with a din of a thunderstorm. She shook his wife awake, but when she turned, she had the face of a monster.


Her features were distorted, red and angular. He suddenly realized that her head was too large for her body. It had grown short and emaciated. Small wings beat beneath the sheets behind her. Blamire fell out of bed, stumbling to get away. He begged the creature not to hurt him for the Hecks to come to an end. But the creature only lifted up on its tiny wings, disentangling itself from the bedsheets and flew toward him. He tried to move, but he was backed up against the wall.


Taraba wrapped around his throat, making it impossible to speak. Tears dripped from his eyes. Blamire summon every bit of courage he had and screamed, letting out every incantation he knew, but the goblin only moved closer and closer. The next thing he remembered, he woke up on the floor, read scratches all down his arms and chest with his terrified wife standing over him.


Blamire was crying on the stand. Now Amos handed him a handkerchief. He wasn't sure he believed Blyer Meyer's explanation about goblins and chants. Still, he didn't want the man getting sweat and snot all over the witness stand. Blamire thanked him for his generosity. Amos let Blamire sit in this moment of small kindness. Then he sprung his trap. Amos asked if Blamire felt Gertrude Rudie had seen Goblin's to Blamire blinked. His eyes darted from Amos to the jury box beside him.


He claimed he didn't know who Gertrude Ruti was. Amos held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. He admitted that it wasn't exactly fair to ask Blamire to answer for a murder. He didn't officially commit a course up. Gasps rose from the pews in the courthouse. It was Amos turn to smile. He just planted a seed of doubt. Now all they had to do was watch it grow. Days after Blamire testimony justice was served, Blamire, Curry and Hess were all found guilty of murder.


Hess was sentenced to 10 years and Blamire and Curry were given life in prison, though they would all eventually be released on parole. This comparative leniency of Hess's sentence may have been a result of local sentiment, while some looked on the accusation of witchcraft as a pitiable oddity. Many of the Pennsylvania Dutch believe that Blamire and his family were actually coerced. District Attorney Hirmand had tried his hardest to keep the word witchcraft out of the trials entirely. But as soon as Clayton has told the jury that Blamire had said he'd got the witch, a media circus was born.


After the guilty verdict was read, Blamire told the press that they went a little heavy, but he felt a lot better. He said the spell was off him. He wasn't bewitched anymore. Yet while Blamire might have felt relief about Ramires death, absolution didn't come as easily for the rest, Wilbert has said never been fully convinced of Nelson Rae Meyer's curse. He needed to see the house again to make sure that he hadn't killed an innocent man. Coming up, Wilbert Hess revisits the scene of his crime.


Now back to the story. Though all three were found guilty, none of the three Hecks trial defendants served their full terms despite his life sentence. John Blamire was released on parole after 23 and a half years and died in 1972. John Currie was paroled after 10 years and became a well-known local artist and cartographer. He was part of the team that planned the invasion of Normandy in World War Two and was well-loved in York County. Wilbert has served his full 10 year sentence and went on to live a quiet life in York.


Nobody held his crimes against him. The town appeared to move on. But to Wilbert Hess, Nelson Ray Myers, now abandoned farmhouse, was a bleak reminder of what he'd done. Wilberg Hess was 28 years old when he breathed open air again. There were no more cramped cells or dim institutional lighting. He was no longer afraid of the people around him. He was free. It was another chance more than anything. It was a chance to be away from John Blamire 10 years before Wilbur thought he'd helped break his family's curse.


Blamire was so sure that Nelson Ramaiah was evil.


He needed to be stopped. So Wilbur did exactly as I asked. But things quickly spun out of control. What Wilbur learned about Blamire after the trial was enough for him to rethink everything. On a particularly dreary night at the Eastern State Penitentiary, when they'd run out of things to talk about why Myers started mentioning a woman named Gertrude. Blamire told Wilbert that before Ramaiah had ever been a thought in Blamire mind, there was Gertrude. She was pretty, but she wouldn't give him what he wanted.


So he killed her, then placed her body in the train tracks to try to make it look like an accident. The plan didn't work. A signalmen caught sight of Gertrude's corpse before the train could run through her. But luckily for Blamire, the case was never solved. Wilbert was stunned. Blamire swore on the stand that he had nothing to do with Gertrude Rootes death. But in prison, his story changed. Milbrett didn't like how flexible Blamire was and his morality.


Killing a witch was defensible. Killing a woman because they didn't like you wasn't. If Blamire could be so cavalier about the whole matter, then maybe everything Wilpert knew about Nelson Ramaiah had been a lie, too. They'd never given Nelson a chance to tell his side if Blamire was lying. Maybe he wasn't the hero of vanquishing the monster. Maybe he was the monster. So on his first day of freedom, he decided to pay a visit to Nelson Ray Myers Hollow.


He needed to walk the ground again, dredge up his memories. There had to be something in there that proved that Nelson was evil. If he had that, then he could sleep well again. The house was falling apart, abandoned the shutters dangling from the windows. But then he saw something he hadn't expected. There was a light inside. A figure appeared in the window, twisting and turning. It could almost be mistaken for dancing, but light was creeping along the body.


The entire interior of the house was being eaten by flames, Wilpert took off running toward the house. He'd sent one man to his death. He couldn't stand by while another one met his end in the same hell. He flung the door open and felt the heat against his face. He could smell fire in the air and hear the crackle of flames, but he couldn't see anything. It was empty. Suddenly, Wilbert slipped, nearly falling through a hole in the floorboards in front of him.


But he grabbed hold of a partially burned joist. He realized he was in the exact spot where they'd laid Nelson's body down where the fire had started. Bellbird clung on for dear life, not wanting to fall through to the basement below.


Then a high pitched, almost human sound screamed in his ear. He couldn't make out the words, but the desperation of the sound made him think it was a cry for help. He scooted along the joist until he was able to pull himself up. He began searching for any sign of this person where the fire that he'd heard burning just moments before. But there was nothing.


A voice bellowed at him to get out of the house, it sounded almost like Blamire without thinking, Wilbert ran toward the door, stumbling once again into the hole in the floorboards. But this time he didn't grab the joist. His back took the brunt of this all, landing hard in the stone basement. As he lay there, his brain caught up with his body. John Blamire was still in prison. He told himself it couldn't have been his voice he'd heard moments before, which meant that Blamire must have been right about one thing.


There was a curse here. The only problem with Blamire conviction was that it had been misplaced. It wasn't Nelson Ramaiah who had caused the curse. It was the house. Nelson was innocent. Wilbur tried to get back up, but his back burned. He wasn't strong enough to make it out of here on his own, but nobody knew where he was. He hadn't been brave enough to tell his mother he was getting out of prison that morning. He wanted to walk through the rain hollow on his own.


If his family had come along, they would have found confirmation of evil at every turn. No, Wilbert had to see the place alone, but now no one would come looking for him. He felt utterly helpless.


Suddenly, Wilbert saw the faintest glow of orange near the corner. It was just a spark at first. But then the small spark grew bigger. Smoke poured into the basement from the hole in the upper floor. Everything was swallowed by giant black clouds. Wilbert struggled to see the flames, sucked the breath out of his body. He writhed on the floor, fighting through the pain to find a hold so he could pull himself to his feet. But his energy was going.


He'd walk to the farmhouse. His muscles were tired, his spirit broken. Maybe he deserved this. Maybe he was going to burn in this world before he burned it. The next one, perhaps the only curse here was his own, his Injuns and Currys. Each sin in equal measure. He stopped struggling, his outstretched hands falling toward the floor. But then he felt them connect with someone else's. The hands pulled him to his feet and guided him up the stairs.


Gilbert's vision was starting to fade. His back was still mired in pain. He couldn't see well enough to do anything but hold onto the hand and follow. Every time he tried to speak, he lost his words to a violent burning cough. He made it to the door and rested his head against the frame. A voice told him to keep going. He did, as he was told, picking his tired torso up off the wood and throwing himself outside.


His body collapsed in the grass of a lush green hollow barely three feet away from the front porch. He breathed the freezer again and slowly managed to turn over to look at the house.


Nelson Ramaiah was standing in the window. The old man didn't look angry or vengeful, just sad. Wilbert felt something fall into his hand, a small roll of paper sat in his palm. It seemed to glow softly in the moonlight. He opened it slowly there in shaky read. Handwriting was a protection charm. It was Nelson's handwriting. He knew it from the annotations in his book before they buried it behind his family's barn. It was a spell against evil forgiveness, even if he may not deserve it, and escape from a horror of his own making a hope for the future.


Wilbert looked to the empty window. Then up at the sky, he whispered, Thank you. Then he started to sob. Shortly after Nelson rainmaker's murder, York locals gave Ray Myers Hollo, a new name inspired by its now infamous former resident Hecks Hollow. It became a go to location for teenagers looking for a scare. And the ghost stories grew. Disembodied voices are said to float around the property. A jet black dog with red glowing eyes has been seen in the forest beside the house.


If you throw rocks at the home, it will throw them back. Nelson Ray Myers, great grandson Ricky Ebow reports that some still address him as if his ancestor was a witch, siding with Blamire and describing the site of the murder as an evil, cursed place. Many, however, have forgotten Ray Meyer's rival, Nellie Noal, the River Witch of Marietta. Blamire supporters cite Ray Meyer's body's failure to burn as evidence of his witchcraft. Blamire Curry and Hess claim they saw a figure moving in the flames.


Historian Ross McGinnis suggests that Ramaiah may have managed to stand as he bled out and tried to escape the burning house. But Ray Meyer's last flailing attempts at life don't explain how the fire Blamire set was doused so quickly. Rick Ebow says that it was a twist of fate. As part of the floor burned away, Ray Myers body partially fell through, catching out of potato bed and the blood from his corpse potentially stifled the flames. But there is one more factor to consider.


The long lost friend. The name of the supposed spell book Ray Meyer used to guide his healing practices includes the following invocation. Whoever carries this book with him is safe from all of his enemies, visible or invisible. And whoever has this book with him cannot die without the Holy Corpse of Jesus Christ, nor drown in any water nor burn up in any fire. Nor can any unjust sentence be passed upon him. You may not believe the story of the Hecks hollow or in the shadow figure seen around the hollow or in the spectral black houn to that lurks in its woods.


But something horrible did happen there. Something evil. So who do you believe the respected healer or the tragic man who felt this curse was lifted as soon as the healer was dead? What is a hex and what is fate? Who did God protect in the end? It's all a matter of faith. Thanks again for tuning into haunted places. We'll be back on Thursday with a new episode. And don't forget to come back on Tuesday for our Urban Legends series available only on Spotify.


You can find more episodes of Haunted Places and all other originals from podcast for free on Spotify. I'll see you next time. Haunted Places was created by Max Cutler and as a podcast studio's original executive producers include Max and Ron Cutler, Sound Design by Kenny Hobbs with production assistance by Ron Shapiro, Carly Madden and Bruce Kittridge. This episode of Haunted Places was written by Little Director and Jennifer Rachet with Writing Assistants by Alex Garland. I'm Greg Perlson. Don't forget to check out our love story, the newest Spotify original fun podcast every Tuesday discovered that many pathways to love as told by the actual couples who found them.


Listen to our love story. Free on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts.