Due to the graphic nature of this haunted place, listener discretion is advised. This episode includes descriptions of Gore, murder, sexual situations and violence against women. We advise extreme caution for children under 13. Only a few minutes into the trek through the Hellfire caves, Tanya suddenly slipped, she yelped and grabbed at the stone wall, barely regaining her balance while the cavern spun around her to her right. Her best friend, Debs, was trying not to laugh, and she wasn't doing a great job of it.

A sharp giggle burst out of her and echoed throughout the cave. Tanya was annoyed. Apparently, her almost fall was just hilarious. She knew deps hadn't wanted to come, and it asked more than once that they could just bail and go to the local pub. But Tanya didn't want to head back home to Austin without seeing at least some English history. She began to tell Debs off, but heard a shush at her left ear. Even angrier now, Tanya turned to her left to face depth's, but there was no one there because Debs was still standing at her right.

Tanya felt a chill swirl through the air. It was quiet for a moment, but then the same shushing filled the entire corridor.

This time, Debs must have heard it too, because Tanya felt her cold hand grabbed her as tight. Tanya turned around just in time to see Debs a few paces in front of her, tentatively looking around, Tanya frowned. Something was odd about this picture. Then her blood ran cold.

Debs was up ahead of her, but Tanya was still holding someone's hand. Tanya slowly turned beside her. A man with white, chalky skin and limp graying curls stood in the shadows of the corridor. He said nothing, only gazing back at her with a blank stare under his arm. He held a large leather bound book and his wool shirt coat was ripped out the chest, revealing a bloody, gaping hole where his heart should have been. Then he opened his mouth and in a thunderous voice, he screamed, Get out.

Welcome to Haunted Places, a Spotify original from podcast, I'm Greg Bolson. Every Thursday, I take you to the scariest, eeriest, most haunted real places on Earth. You can find all episodes of haunted places and all other originals from Park asked 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. Join me on a supernatural journey deep beneath the ground to the Hellfire caves of West Wickham, England, and discover why to this day it's haunted.

Coming up, we'll explore the dark underbelly of a quaint English village. The Hellfire caves are one of the most haunted locales in the historically ghosty country of England, located an hour outside of London. The Hellfire caves are a network of manmade caverns below the village of Westwick. In the caves, initial excavation was commissioned in the 1756 by wealthy English politician Sir Francis Dashwood. The 11th Baron leader Spencer Dashwood had inherited the land from his family and knew the area had fallen on hard times after an extended drought.

So he employed local farmers to dig out the chalk from caverns beneath Wickham. His objective so, he said, was to rebuild a road that would increase town trade and transportation between West and High Wickham. But while hand mining the chalk, the workers were also instructed to build the groundwork for something else. About 300 feet beneath West Wickham St. Lawrence Church, a system of cavernous corridors was erected. This was Dashboard's true intention for the project, a new underground compound for the Knights of St.

Francis of Wickham, also known as the Hellfire Club. And there there was little a gentleman could not or would not do. Paul sat in the corner of the inner temple, holding tightly to a leather bound book in his lap. It was fairly dim in the room. The flames of its many torches made him squint and the cavernous ceiling seemed to loom even higher above him, appearing more like a throne room than a cave. The book he held was the most damning text in England.

It contained a detailed account of who owed what, who needs what and who did what. He was supposed to keep it safe, but he destroyed at once. If Francis asked him to Francis Dashwood, his proprietor, his love. Francis was only two years older than Paul, yet Francis had the presence of someone who had lived a century.

Francis knew everything, and it made Paul desperate for his admiration. Paul bit his lip as self-loathing took over to Francis. Paul wasn't an esteemed gentleman worthy of his attention. He was a secretary, a necessary mechanism that kept everything running a clock. You don't notice you need until it breaks. A woman's laughter interrupted Paul's thoughts. In the large, cavernous centre, Torchlight illuminated the limbs of about a dozen men dancing their dark billowing robes and black masks, making them appear like romping phantoms.

Among them, three half naked women danced for the men's entertainment. This was what Paul kept running the nights of Sir Francis of Wickham, a gentlemen's club comprising London's best and brightest. Paul would not say their names.

Even in his head, Frances expected them to uphold the utmost discretion. Paul had arranged their passage here to the caves of West Wickham, just as he'd arranged for women to entertain them. It wasn't his taste, but he wasn't there for enjoyment. He was there for Frances. Paul focused on him, but tallest man dancing in the centre of the cavern. But he quickly realised that Francis was staring back. Francis rarely looked at him. Paul's cheeks warmed, his stomach fluttered.

He was so taken aback by the novelty of Francis's attention that he barely noticed when Francis reached into his robes and pulled a knife from their folds. Paul Idit. In confusion, Francis raised the knife and the other man's movements slowed. Suddenly, they stood in a circle. Still, statutes, the women continued to dance, not noticing or not caring that their companions had practically frozen. Paul felt a twinge of uneasiness, the club was for gentlemen to socialize, drink and play games, of course, lying with a woman or two in secret from their wives, what's part of it?

But lately, the activities Francis encouraged felt almost satanic. Paul shrugged off the thought and leaned against the cold stone wall. If the men wanted to dance about in robes and masks like their pagan ancestors, so be it. Paul reminded himself that he would stay at Francis aside no matter what he did. Francis waved the knife through the air, muttering something that Paul couldn't quite make out. The women looked at him curiously, then giggled at his antics.

Paul thought he ought to tell them off for their rudeness, but before he could, Francis moaned and thrust the knife into one of the women's chests.

She let out a shocked, gurgling scream, her companions fled for the cave exit sweeping past Paul to run for the lone door, a stone arch framing a gaping black hole. Paul didn't move to stop them. He was so shocked he couldn't move at all. Frances tore through the woman's chest with his blade. The other members looked on, stoic as the woman rides that way hold. When she fell silent, Frances jammed his hand into her chest and ripped out her heart.

Its heat hit the cool air, causing steam to drift around the cave like an ethereal mist. Paul rose to his feet, his own heart beating a mile a minute. Frances had gone mad. It was the only explanation. And if that was true, only Paul could fix it. He had to get Frances alone quickly before he harmed anyone else. So he gestured wildly, yelling at the other members to leave, yelling Get out! But no one moved.

Instead, Frances slowly approached Paul and raised the heart to his mouth.

Frances pulled down his mask.

His own lips were curled in a smirk. Paul stared at Frances and then eyed the atrocity in his hands. Maybe it was love. Maybe it was some otherworldly force. But Paul felt himself leaned forward.

His mouth opened, though his mind screamed at him to stop, and then his tongue touched the organ slick surface, but taste of blood filled his throat, coating it in iron. When he pulled away, Paul's eyes were filled with tears.

His breath came out a big heaving gasps. You could not believe what he had just done. He had tasted human flesh.

It was unthinkable. He swiped out his tongue, trying to rid himself of the taste. But when he looked up at Francis again, Paul felt his worries slip away. The man he loved, the man he respected, was finally looking at him with admiration. And then Francis whispered into Paul's ear, asking for Paul's heart to.

When Paul Whitehead died decades later, at age 64, he made an unusual bequest in his will, he maintained that his heart would go to Francis Dashwood to be held in the mausoleum at West Wickham. The reason why isn't clear. Perhaps he was fulfilling his benefactors request. Or maybe he hoped that by dedicating a piece of himself to Francis, they would always be together in any case. Paul's heart was stolen by a visitor to the mausoleum in 1835 in 1758, London.

Gentlemen, clubs were a common part of male aristocratic life. They were a social space where diplomats, wealthy artists and lords could mingle. But Francis Dashwood wanted his club to be far more exclusive and secretive than others. His Hellfire Club, therefore started small under the name The Order of the Knights of St. Francis. But like all taboo pleasures of the wealthy, where did the club was spread in hushed whispers over imported glasses of wine. When membership grew, Dashwood moved it from a London pub to Wickham to keep it an even bigger secret.

The club's members were rumoured to include London politician John Wilkes, the Earl of Sandwich, John Montagu and even Benjamin Franklin when he was visiting England. While there are no confirmed accounts of human sacrifice or serious devil worship, it is evident that the group mocked conventional religion. They were located below St.. Lawrence Church and seemed gleeful about the juxtaposition that came with the local heaven sitting over hell. All official records of club membership and activities were burned by Paul Whitehead in the days before his death, according to legend.

However, the Hellfire Club men drank cocktails with names like Gin and Sin, called their roast beef dinner devils loins and indulged in pagan practices honouring the Greek deities Bacchus and Venus. Some members would even dress up as monks and require the women they invited to the caves to dress like nuns as a joke in the world above these members of the upper class or civil. But when they took their indulgences underground, they embraced their deepest desires, whatever they may be.

Coming up, Loblaws, another victim into the caves paper Caster's.

Have you entered the world of haunted places ghost stories. Yet? Every Thursday on this Spotify original fun podcast, Alistair Murden summons a new spine tingling tale of Wraith's phantoms and chilling apparitions. Ghost stories resurrects fictions from Japan, India, the U.K., even ancient Rome, created by the minds behind Sherlock Holmes, Dracula and some of the greatest and most frightening literary creations ever devised. Don't miss stone-Cold classics like The Kitbag by Algernon Blackwood, a sinister account of a condemned murderer's final wish and the lengths you go to fulfill it.

And The Misery, a Spanish tale of a wandering musician who hears a terrifyingly beautiful song in a burned out monastery, and it's doomed to capture its notes until he dies. Every episode is ghoulish, ghastly and a ghostly good time. Be sure to follow haunted places, ghost stories free on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts.

Now back to the story. The Hellfire caves consist of an entrance hall and various bases now named after its members like Lord Sanja, which is Circle and Franklin's cave at its farthest end, the members would cross the Styx, a subterranean stream named after the Greek Underworld's River, and walk into the inner temple. It was there, hidden far beneath the earth, but its members would meet to indulge in their less polite desires.

But for some, the Hellfire caves weren't a place of pleasure.

They were a place up to. Suki's fingers gently ran over the white lace, her mother's wedding dress when sooky had turned 20 last year.

Her mother had taken it out of the dusty closet, brushed it off and hung it where Sukhi could see it. Her mother wasn't subtle. She wanted sooky to pick a local lad for a husband and settle down. The sooner the better. A little twinge of anger stirred in her belly when she thought about it. Poor boys could own a farm or become soldiers or merchants if they were lucky. But girls were stuck with a dull dream of wearing their mother's old wedding dress.

One day. It was cruel. So sooky was waiting for a lord. Sure, the title was well above her station, but plenty of wealthy elites passed through the tavern where she slung ale.

Plus, she was beautiful. Everyone said, so she hadn't cared much about her looks before she realised it could get her out of this raggedy village.

She just had to find her nobleman. Sooky trudged into the Tappan's kitchen, the establishment's owner was already waiting with a sympathetic look, he told Sookie that the crowd was rowdy. Tonight, Sookie rolled her eyes and grabbed a travaille from a small table by the hearth, easily balancing it with one hand. She'd done this so many times. Sookie strode into the hubbub, passing out cups and avoiding lingering stares. She wrinkled her nose tight, hoping it would make her look snotty.

Sometimes that helped stave off the drunks of Wickham, but not all, apparently, because as she put down her last cup, a young local boy waved her down with a leering grin.

Christopher, her most ardent Pesquera. She purposely looked away and headed to a table of well-dressed gentlemen out of towners, wealthy ones.

She guessed by their clothing, not the kind of threadbare canvas or wool worn by the locals. Sookie sidled up to the table and asked if she could get them anything when she noticed an ornate pin fastened to one of the men's shirt collars. Lord, she considered her angle. He looked like he was on the young side. So he may be pickier than some of the older ones, not as easily duped by a coquettish eyelash padding. She'd have to be a bit smarter.

The Lord smiled and asked for some ale and a slice of pie. Sookie quickly assured him that the pie was on the house. Sweet people don't pay for sweet things, she said. She almost snorted at her own quip.

She sounded ridiculous, but the Lord laughed, which made Sookie crying. So it was charm he wanted. She leaned forward, ready to show him just how charming she could be. When she felt a hand on her shoulder, Christopher stood behind her with an annoyed expression. He told her there was a table that needed wiping in the corner. She stepped around him, her blood boiling. Just because she didn't want anything to do with the rowdy boys of West Wickham didn't mean he needed to make her look like a fool in front of a nobleman.

He was just jealous. Sookie hurried to wipe down the table, eager to get back to the Lord. But when she returned, Christopher was speaking with him. They both looked towards her and she quickly looked away. It wasn't charming to be caught staring. It wasn't until she heard the door that she looked up again just in time to see the Lord and his comrades leaving, she stared for lonely after them, a chance at freedom gone. Christopher stepped into her eyeline, sooky Simard.

She didn't want to see him right now, but rather than his usual nasty sneer, he looked a bit sad. Sookie asked what he wanted. He offered her a piece of parchment, telling her it must be her lucky day.

She watched him leave, then slowly open the note deep black ink scrawled across the page.

It was from the Lord. He'd written that he'd fallen in love with her. A short, shocked laugh burst from her throat. It had been so easy. It was almost ridiculous. But she was elated. Her fingers tightened around the paper, almost ripping it. Her eyes raked over the remaining sentences. He wanted her to meet him in the Hellfire caves that night.

Once he was able to get away from his comrades, he asked her to wear something nice. It was probably her quip that did it in the past, she'd tried to be flippant or seductive and sometimes idiotic, but the moment she made that sweet as pie crack, he'd been in the palm of her hand. She glanced around the tavern. She'd be happy to never set foot in this place again. That evening, sooky, agonized on what to wear, but with few options, she settled on her mother's wedding dress.

It was, after all, the nicest thing she owned. The wind blew the hem of the white lace against her ankles as she walked to the church. It was a bit short on her, but otherwise she'd been pleased at the fit. She stared at the church's facade, holding a lit candle. No matter how many times she saw it, she had to remind yourself it wasn't a real church, just the entrance to the Hellfire caves. Though the caves have been empty for years, Sooky had never been inside them herself, but everyone knew they'd once been a well known meeting place for the richest men in London.

Her mother had told her dark deeds. It happened there during her lifetime. Things like devil worship. The villagers called them the Hellfire Club. Suki knew she should have been a little wary once she read the location of the invitation, but truthfully, she was pleased if her Lord wanted to meet in the caves, it could mean he had connections to London's inner circle. Suki stared at the church, there were window holes in its peak, giving it the appearance of a stone tall man staring down at her.

The turrets beside it stretched out like arms. And at its center, a dark doorway was cut out of the rock like a Blackheart. She felt her cheeks grow hot with anticipation the black hole of darkness might once have unnerved her, but now it called to her a door through which her new life would begin.

Sooky heard a faint, high pitched voice calling inside the doorway, her stomach flipped, was that the Lord?

It sounded higher than she'd remembered it. But then again, the Taborn had been loud and they hadn't spoken for long.

The voice called again and Suki stepped forward, then hesitated. She told herself she was being a coward and she wasn't a coward. The echo of the caves probably distorted the Lord shout. That's why it sounded odd when she stepped inside the entrance. The damp, musty smell nearly choked her. She coughed, holding out her candle in front of her. The flame barely cut through the heavy dark. She could only see an inch or so in front of her.

She stepped on her dress hem and stumbled, ripping the bottom.

She swore she'd hoped to appear in a beautiful, perfect gown, so he didn't have any reason to second guess his choice. But no matter it was her charm that got him, she reminded herself. Not necessarily her appearance. The voice called again louder. This time she called out to answer, but heard no footsteps rushing towards her. So she quickened her pace, soon finding herself at a large, cavernous room. A dusty wooden table sat at its center.

She'd heard about this place, the banqueting hall, with a Hellfire Club with feast. Souki heard in laughter behind her and whipped around her candles. Pitiful glow illuminated a face, but it wasn't the gentle, kind face of her Lord. Instead, it was three faces, local boys, and at the center was Christopher. She walked into a trap. As they laughed, her hand quivered with anger. Wax dripped onto her hand from the candle and tears sprang to her eyes.

She called them nasty, idiotic poppers and kick stones at their shoes, but her tantrum was only making them laugh harder. She didn't know what else to do. Her chest tightened. She couldn't bear to look at their awful mocking faces. One second longer. She screamed at them to get out. Get out! She picked up a pebble from the cave floor and chucked it. It hit Christopher in the head. His smug grin faded and his eyes turned hard.

Sooky, backed away, chilled. He reached down to grab a stone bigger than hers, but before Suki could protest, it was flying through the air. It hit Stookey in the shoulder, sending a shock of pain through her arm. She yelped and dropped the candle.

The light blinked out on the floor, plunging them into darkness. But that didn't stop the onslaught. Another stone hurtled through the black, hitting her chest. Sooky, raised her hands up in a panic. She screamed at them to stop, but they didn't. The boys blindly hurled rocks, hitting her jaw, her cheek, a large rock smashed into her face, her nose snapped and a sharp head swimming pain ripped through her skull.

She screamed and fell to the ground, but the rocks only continued. Aside from Paul Whitehead, a woman called Sooky is the most frequent ghost that visitors report, seeing the caves, tourists speak of a woman in a white dress hurrying through the darkness and eternal pursuit of a lover. Historically, the caves are known as a playground for a chauvinistic lords and secretly wild men of esteem. But ironically, or perhaps fittingly, some theorize the design of the caverns mimics the female reproductive system.

The rooms of the caves are set up in a row, with one leading to the next. Through passages, author Daniel Mannix suggests that the main room, the banqueting hall, is the room, and the corridors that extend from it are the birth canal. And as one walks down the corridors, they'll find themselves in the carnal pleasures of the inner temple. It's feminine design might feel familiar to some, but the Hellfire caves, cavernous halls and earthen walls are still easy to get lost in, no matter who you are.

Coming up, a date in the caves turns perilous now back to the story. The Hellfire Club was slowly dissolved in the 17th 60s. The reason behind the club's end is unclear. But one theory is that when Dashwood was appointed the 11th Baron, the dispenser, his elevated social standing forced him to clean up his act after his death in 1781. The caves seem to have remained deserted until the mid 20th century, when a descendant of Francis Dashwood had them renovated and repurposed into a tourist attraction.

The grand opening of the Hellfire caves was in 1951, and since then over two million people have visited. They come for history, sure, but what people really wish to see isn't always contained to the safe, neat pages of their brochure.

Sometimes it has to be experienced. Laura walked toward the Hellfire caves entrance, dodging the camera, wielding tourists and little kids as she went. The place was teeming with people, not exactly the romantic date she was hoping for. Dan checked his Rolodex, then asked if she was ready to go inside. But just as she was about to answer, he was already stepping through the entrance. He seemed a bit self-involved, not really letting her get a word in at the dinners they'd had, but he was really enthusiastic and he kind of charmed her with his quirky interests, like when he talked about historical architecture.

Plus, she had a rule. If you even kind of like the guy, give it three dates. Usually the third date gave you a clear answer. This was the third and she'd weigh it on negative or positive points. So far it was unusual, but she gave him a point for creativity. Dan had held off telling her where they were going all week. He wanted it to be a surprise. She'd thought maybe the surprise was the reservation at Sexy Fish in London.

Dan was in finance, after all, and he treated at a two pretty nice meals already. But then when he picked her up at his Porsche roadster, they kept driving and driving and driving. And then an hour later, voila, the middle of nowhere, she worried for a second he was going to kill her, but it was worse. They were going into a tiny, dark, underground lair with a crowd of sweaty American tourists, minus one point.

Laura took a breath, she told herself to keep an open mind, Dan might know exactly what he was doing and that this was going to be the date that made her fall in love. She'd give it a chance. That's what the third date rule was all about, then poked her and pointed at the guide, telling her to pay attention. Laura frowned, but then he smiled and gave her a nerdy thumbs up and she felt yourself warming to him again.

He was just excited, she guessed. She could vaguely hear the guy rambling about the style of the church face covering the entrance. It wasn't a real church, just some flintlock arranged to resemble a European Gothic facade. It sounded like Sir Francis Dashwood was a little too obsessed with his Italian travels or something. Dan whispered to her that he loved Italy, but France was better. She started to respond, but he already turned away. It made her bristle.

But the truth was she gave him a point. She thought France was better, too. They followed the group down the narrow steps into the belly of the Hellfire caves, and it began to grow cold. Her linen dress was the wrong choice, but this wasn't an excursion she'd been anticipating. She glanced at Dan now understanding his high end hiking outfit. He'd just forgotten to tell her Laura and Dan hovered at the back of the crowd. Laura could barely hear the guide, but got snippets like how Dash Woods tormented steward literally gave the guy his heart after he died.

Dan seemed to love that. He made some comment about how that guy knew real dedication. Laura rolled her eyes. Her date was relating to someone in a satanic gentlemen's club. Negative onepoint. Lauren needed a minute, so she let herself fall behind the group, she tried to reason that Dan wasn't so bad, just a little eager. His comments were probably meant to be funny. She just wasn't getting a sense of humor yet. He had a lot going for him.

He was outdoorsy. He was upbeat, certainly rich. Maybe she'd had a few points for the Roadster. She let her attention drift to take in the corridor.

She was in the bright led. Lights on the walls were aggressive against the darkness of the tunnel.

It made the screaming faces etched into the stone walls looked particularly violent. She shuddered. When Laura looked back down the corridor, her adrenaline spiked, the group was gone.

She listened carefully. They could have slipped into Lord Watson's room or Benny Franklin's suite or something. But it was incredibly quiet, like they disappeared. Laura slowly walked down the tunnel, her ears listening for even the slightest trace of the tour group up ahead. And LED lights seem to dance in the darkness. Laura squinted, wondering if she was getting a little loopy. She stepped towards it, eyeing it curiously to see if it was actually moving. Then it disappeared, along with all the other lights in the corridor.

Laura's eyes tried to adjust, but it was pitch black, a faint indiscernible whispering echoed through the caves quietly at first and then louder. Laura jerked around certain someone was behind her. She frantically waved her arms to see if she was correct, but all she felt was the cool air. Suddenly, the whispering boomed in her ear.

She shrieked so hard she hit the floor. Her knee scraped on some rocks in the dirt. She stood up wincing, her heart hammered in her chest. She whispered to herself not to panic. Please don't panic. She was in complete darkness with no idea where the tour had gone. And there was someone messing with her. She hoped it was Dan. Please let it be the man she thought she'd even at a point for humor, her eyes started to discern objects in the darkness.

Up ahead, she made out a hint of white against the black. It was the only thing she could see, so she headed towards it. As she drew closer, she realized it was a figure wearing a dress. Laura was relieved, a fellow lost tourist who had also dressed a little at appropriately.

But the figure wasn't moving. Laura called out to no response. Its stillness sent a shiver down her spine. She suddenly had the urge to run. But where would she go? She couldn't just sprint through a pitch black cave. She could fall into a ravine or something.

Suddenly the lights came on bright as long as I suggested she saw the figure was a woman. Her hair was in perfect tight ringlets and she wore a beautiful white myse gown. But her face was a bloody, pulpy man. The only clear feature was the crazed whites of her eyes staring at Laura in unbridled horror. Laura called out for help. She thought she was screaming, but she couldn't hear it. Her heart was pounding so loud it drown out everything else except the whispering.

The woman was whispering to Laura that he isn't who he says he is.

When she said it again, Laura's body, released from its shock induced, told she stumbled backwards, suddenly noticing a group of figures standing around the ghostly woman.

They were wearing black masks over their faces.

Only one of them was unmasked, a man with chalky white skin, limp curls and a ripped wool shirt, exposing a chest with a gaping hole right where the heart should be. He gripped a leather book and cried at her. Get out! She turned and ran, Laura told herself to keep her eyes on the path, but the stone faces on the cavernous walls were watching her. She didn't know where she was going, but she knew she had to listen to that Korps guy and just get out.

Finally, she saw a stone staircase up ahead, the one that led to the church. She could picture the hooded figures behind her, reaching out with our dead cracked hands to pull her into their lair forever.

She flew out of the ruined church facade, screaming her foot caught on a root, and she lurched forward, falling onto the damp grass.

But a quick look back showed her that there was nothing behind her, just the dark, empty blackness of the church's entrance. Laura looked around wildly, searching for the cloaked figures. That's when she saw the entire tour was gathered nearby, staring at her. Dan hurried over as she hauled herself up, she glanced down at her wedding dress, it was ruined, muddy and torn. Her words tumbled out of her mouth. Panicked and desperate, she told him about the woman, about the man with a missing heart and the lights going out and asked why he had brought her there.

The place was messed up. Dan told her to pipe down. He assured her that ghosts aren't real and added that he had realized she was so hysterical.

Laura stared at him in shock, unable to speak. He checked his Rolex again and suddenly she noticed something strange on the watch.

His face was a black arch beneath the numbers. It was familiar somehow. The hair stood up on the back of Laura's neck, the black arch looked like the church's entrance, the ghostly woman's words thundered in her ears.

She is not who he says he is. Laura had gotten her third date answer. The points didn't even matter. She told Dan that he could drive her home and then he had to screw off.

According to the assistant manager of the Hellfire caves, Julian Barlow, quite a few people feel in certain parts of the caves, especially around the inner temple, that there's somebody whispering in their ear.

Visitors have also reported seeing glimpses of floating orbs of light or ghostly figures and ethereal mists. These reports only continue to solidify the caves supernatural legacy. But the Hellfire caves may be haunted. Perhaps what's more terrifying than ghosts is what they represent in our culture. Some believe the caves are built on lies and trickery afforded by power and privilege, a barren, deceiving poor farmers into building an underground palace of sin beneath a house of God. Just one of the many reasons why villagers suspected the Hellfire Club was a satanic group.

But the Hellfire caves aren't just chilling for their potential connection to the devil. Their dark legacy is a reminder that the most dangerous people are sometimes those who masquerade as idols to be respected. These figures come to us with their fancy ease and opulence, but they are ultimately a Venus flytrap ready to snap shut on the innocent. And by then it's too late to get out. 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 is a Spotify original from podcast executive producers include Max and Ron Cutler, Sound Design by Kenny Harp's with production assistance by Ron Shapiro, Carly Madden and Eric Larson. This episode of Haunted Places was written by Kate Murdoch with writing assistants by Alex Garland. I'm Greg Polson.