Chapters
Shownotes Transcript
It's that time of the year. Your vacation is coming up. You can already hear the beach waves, feel the warm breeze, relax, and think about work. You really, really want it all to work out while you're away. Monday.com gives you and the team that peace of mind. When all work is on one platform and everyone's in sync, things just flow wherever you are. Tap the banner to go to Monday.com.
This podcast is supported by FX's English Teacher, a new comedy from executive producers of What We Do in the Shadows and Baskets. English Teacher follows Evan, a teacher in Austin, Texas, who learns if it's really possible to be your full self at your job, while often finding himself at the intersection of the personal, professional, and political aspects of working at a high school. FX's English Teacher premieres September 2nd on FX. Stream on Hulu.
In the lush hills of Jamaica stands a mansion with a dark past. Whispers of voodoo, murder, and a beautiful, ruthless mistress echo through its halls. Some say her spirit still walks at night, seeking new victims.
Built in the 18th century, this grand estate was once the stage for unspeakable cruelty. Its mistress, known as the White Witch, is said to have murdered three husbands and countless enslaved people. But did she really exist? Or is she a figment of island lore?
As night falls, the great house takes on a life of its own. Visitors report cold spots, unexplained noises, and glimpses of a woman in white. Are these mere tricks of the imagination? Or evidence of something more sinister? Welcome to Destination Terror, your passport to the scariest places in the world.
From haunted hotels to locations of unexplained creature sightings, and now places you can only visit in your imagination, we will travel to places that will provide excitement, adventure, and horror. Today we are visiting Rose Hall Great House in Montego Bay, notoriously known as the home of the White Witch.
So if you're into travel and all things scary, listen close, and you might just discover your next exciting adventure destination. But hopefully not your final destination.
Destination Terror is an EerieCast original podcast hosted by me, Carmen Carrion. If you would like to send us a suggestion or submit a story with your own experience, you can email them to carmencarrion at gmail.com or follow me on X at Carmen Carrion. If you enjoy the show, please follow and rate Destination Terror on Spotify and Apple Podcasts to help us grow.
Also, check out eeriecast.com for more scary podcasts, such as Freaky Folklore, the podcast where together we explore horrifying legends across the world and tell terrifying tales of monsters both ancient and modern.
The Caribbean sun beat down mercilessly as Ava stepped out of the taxi, her sandals sinking slightly into the gravel driveway. She squinted against the glare, taking in the imposing structure before her. Rose Hall Great House The Georgian mansion loomed against the deep blue sky, its weathered stone facade a stark contrast to the lush tropical vegetation surrounding it.
Ava had always been fascinated by the paranormal, spending countless hours devouring books on ghostly encounters and unexplained phenomena. When she had learned about the legend of Annie Palmer, the so-called White Witch of Rose Hall, she knew she had to visit Jamaica and see the infamous plantation house for herself. As she approached the entrance, a chill ran down her spine despite the oppressive heat.
The windows of Rose Hall seemed to watch her, their dark panes reflecting nothing but an impenetrable blackness. Ava shook off the feeling, chiding herself for letting her imagination run wild before the tour had even begun. A small group of tourists had already gathered near the front steps, chatting excitedly among themselves.
Ava joined them, overhearing snippets of conversation about the house's bloody history and the cruel mistress who once rolled over it with an iron fist. They say she murdered three husbands. A portly man in a gaudy Hawaiian shirt was telling his wife, "'Poisoned them all, and got away with it, too.' "'Oh, George, stop it,' the woman replied, swatting his arm playfully. "'You're going to scare me before we even go inside.'
Ava smiled to herself, amused by their banter. She had read all about Annie Palmer's alleged crimes. The murdered husbands, the tortured slaves, the dark rituals performed in the dead of night. While part of her hope to experience something supernatural during the tour, her rational mind insisted it was all just colorful local legend. As the group waited for their guide to arrive, Ava's gaze was drawn to a second floor window.
For a moment, she could have sworn she saw a flash of white, a pale face peering down at them. But when she blinked and looked again, there was nothing there but the same inscrutable darkness. A loud creak startled Ava out of her reverie as the massive front door swung open. A tall, slender woman with skin the color of rich mahogany stepped out onto the porch.
She wore a crisp white blouse and a long skirt. Her hair pulled back in a neat bun. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," the woman called out, her voice carrying a lilting Jamaican accent. "Welcome to Rose Hall Great House. My name is Amara, and I'll be your guide for today's tour." As the group gathered around Amara, Ava felt a strange sensation, as if unseen eyes were boring into her back.
She turned, half expecting to see someone, or something, watching from the shadows of the surrounding trees. But there was nothing there, just the rustle of palm fronds in the warm breeze. "Before we begin," Amara continued, her tone growing serious, "I must warn you that Rose Hall has a dark and troubled history.
Some say the spirits of the past still linger within these walls. If any of you are of a nervous disposition, now is the time to turn back. A nervous titter ran through the group, but no one moved to leave. Eva felt a thrill of excitement. This was what she'd come for after all.
As they filed into the cold, dim interior of Rose Hall, Ava had the feeling that she was crossing a threshold into another world, a place where the lines between past and present, life and death, were blurred beyond recognition. Little did she know that by the end of the night, her entire understanding of reality would be shattered forever.
The group huddled close together in the grand entrance hall, their excited chatter dying down to hushed whispers. As they took in their surroundings, Ava's eyes were immediately drawn to the sweeping mahogany staircase that dominated the room, its polished surface gleaming dully in the dim light. Amara's voice cut through the silence. Rose Hall was built in the 1770s, but it's best known for its most infamous resident,
Annie Palmer, who lived here in the early 19th century. She paused, her dark eyes scanning the group. Annie was said to be a practitioner of voodoo, using her powers to control the plantation and its slaves. She was feared and hated in equal measure, earning the nickname "The White Witch of Rose Hall." As they moved from room to room, Amara recounted tales of Annie's cruelty.
how she would watch from her balcony as slaves were punished in the courtyard below, how she was rumored to have taken slave lovers, only to have them killed when she tired of them. With each story, the atmosphere grew heavier, the air seeming to thicken with the weight of past atrocities. Eva found herself lagging behind the group, drawn to the faded portraits and antique furnishings that filled each room.
In the library, a particular painting caught her eye. A woman in a white dress, her face partially obscured by shadow. There was something unsettling about the way the figure seemed to be looking directly at her, no matter where Ava stood. "That's Annie," a voice said softly, making Ava jump. She turned to find Amara standing beside her, a strange expression on the guide's face.
the only known portrait of her, though some say it doesn't capture her true likeness. Eva opened her mouth to ask what Amara meant, but the guide had already moved on, shepherding the group toward the next room. As Eva hurried to catch up, she could have sworn she heard a faint whisper behind her, a woman's voice carried on a non-existent breeze. Stay.
The tour continued, winding its way through opulent bedrooms and austere servants' quarters. In Annie's bedroom, Amara showed them a hidden trap door that led to a secret passage. Annie used this to visit her lovers, she explained, and later to dispose of their bodies. A collective shudder ran through the group.
Ava, however, found herself oddly fascinated. She knelt down to examine the trapdoor more closely, running her fingers along its edge. For a moment, she thought she felt it vibrate beneath her touch, as if something on the other side was trying to push it open. Miss? Amara's voice startled her. Please don't touch the artifacts. We need to move on. As they left the bedroom, Ava glanced back.
In the mirror above the vanity, she caught a glimpse of a white-clad figure standing where she had just been. But when she blinked, it was gone. The sun was setting as they reached the end of the tour, bathing the great house in an eerie blood-red glow. Amara led them out onto the back terrace, where they could see the lush garden stretching out below. This house is not only where Annie lived, but it is also where she met her end.
she said solemnly. The slaves revolted, and she was strangled in her bed. Some say her spirit still wanders these grounds, seeking revenge on any who dares to trespass. As if on cue, a cold wind swept across the terrace, causing several members of the group to shiver and draw closer together. Ava, however, felt an inexplicable pull towards the darkening gardens.
She leaned against the stone balustrade, peering into the gathering shadows. For a moment she thought she saw a flash of white among the trees, like the hem of a dress disappearing around a corner. "That concludes our tour," Amara announced. "Please follow me back to the gift shop." As the group turned to leave, Ava hesitated. "Excuse me," she said to Amara, "but is it possible to explore the gardens?"
Amara's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "I'm afraid not, miss. The gardens are off limits after dark. For your own safety. You understand?" Disappointed but undeterred, Ava followed the others back inside. As they passed through the entrance hall, she noticed a door she hadn't seen before, partially hidden behind a heavy velvet curtain.
glancing around to make sure no one was watching. She slipped behind the curtain and tried the handle. To her surprise, it turned easily. Heart pounding, Ava eased the door open and peered into the darkness beyond. A narrow staircase led down into what must be the cellars. The air that wafted up was cool and damp, carrying with it the musty scent of age and decay. Ava knew she should rejoin the group.
But the promise of uncovering Rose Hall's secrets was too tempting to resist. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the doorway and began to descend the stairs, unaware that with each step she was being drawn deeper into the white witch's web.
Shop Crocs Echo Storm on Crocs.com today.
Today's destination is located in one of the most beautiful and visited places in the world. Within this beauty lies a dark story about a truly evil and terrifying person. Join us as we visit the notorious Rose Hall Great House and delve into the legends it holds.
Rose Hall Great House, a majestic Georgian mansion overlooking Montego Bay, Jamaica, is steeped in tales of the supernatural. At the heart of these stories is the infamous White Witch, Annie Palmer. According to local lore, she earned this sinister moniker through her cruel treatment of the enslaved people of her plantation, many of whom, it's said, met gruesome fates in the mansion's foreboding basement.
The legends paint Annie as a figure of unrelenting malevolence. They speak of her three husbands, each falling victim to her murderous inclinations. In a twist of dark irony, the stories claim Annie's own demise came at the hands of a former lover, one of the very enslaved individuals she had both exploited and tormented.
Yet even death couldn't contain Annie's malevolent spirit, or so the tales suggest. It's said that the ritual meant to bind her soul to the grave was left incomplete, allowing her restless ghosts to roam the halls of Rose Hall for centuries. Visitors to the estate have reported eerie encounters, glimpses of spectral white figures in the night, and haunting screams echoing across the bay.
Built in the 1770s by John Palmer, a wealthy British plantation owner, Rose Hall stands as a symbol of the wealth generated by sugar plantations, which relied heavily on enslaved labor. The house features classic Georgian style, with a touch of Jamaican influence, constructed using limestone blocks. The legend of the White Witch begins with Annie Palmer. Born Annie May Patterson in England in 1802,
According to the story, she moved to Haiti as a child, where she was allegedly taught voodoo by her nanny. At 18, she came to Jamaica and married John Palmer, the owner of Rose Hall Plantation. Annie was said to be a beautiful but dangerous woman. Standing only 4 feet 11 inches tall, the tale goes that she murdered her first husband, John Palmer, and went on to marry and murder two more.
She allegedly took enslaved men as lovers, then had them killed when she grew tired of them. Stories claim she practiced voodoo and black magic to control and terrorize those around her, often watching from her balcony, as enslaved people were punished in the fields below. The legend culminates with Annie's violent death in 1831.
Some versions say she was strangled by a slave named Teikou, whose granddaughter Annie had killed out of jealousy. Others claim she died during a slave uprising. After her death, it's said that her body was buried in a deep grave on the property, with rituals performed to prevent her spirit from escaping.
It's important to note that while this legend is captivating and has become an integral part of Jamaican folklore, historical evidence supporting the existence of Annie Palmer as described is scarce. Many historians argue that the story is largely fictional or greatly exaggerated. Historical records show that Rose Hall was indeed owned by John Palmer in the late 18th century.
However, his wife's name was Rosa, not Annie. The plantation passed through several owners after John Palmer's death, and there's no concrete evidence of a series of murdered husbands or voodoo practices at the estate. The legend as we know it today seems to have originated or at least been popularized in the 20th century.
Herbert G. DeLisser's 1929 novel, The White Witch of Rose Hall, is often credited with spreading the story, though it's unclear whether DeLisser was drawing on existing local legends or creating his own fictional tale. Regardless of its historical accuracy, the legend of the White Witch has become a significant part of Jamaica's cultural heritage.
Rose Hall Great House is now a major tourist attraction, offering both day tours and night tours that play up the supernatural elements of the story. The mansion has been beautifully restored to reflect its 18th century grandeur. Visitors can see period furniture, decorations, and learn about the history of the house and the broader context of plantation life in colonial Jamaica.
The restoration work, completed in the 1960s, was funded by former U.S. Congressman John Rawlins and his wife Michelle. The house's architecture is a prime example of Georgian style, adapted to the tropics, featuring wide-hipped roofs, tall windows, and spacious verandas designed to catch sea breezes.
The interior is lavishly decorated with silk wallpaper, chandeliers, and period furnishings, giving visitors a glimpse into the opulent lifestyle of plantation owners. Below the house, visitors can explore the dungeon, where enslaved people were allegedly tortured and imprisoned. This area now houses a pub called "Annie's Pub," where guests can try the Witch's Brew cocktail.
The grounds of Rose Hall are also noteworthy. The estate once covered over 6,000 acres, but today much of this land has been developed into hotels, golf courses, and other tourist facilities. However, the immediate surroundings of the house still maintain some of their historic character, with beautiful tropical gardens offering stunning views of the Caribbean Sea.
The story of Rose Hall and the White Witch touches on many aspects of Jamaica's complex history. It reflects the brutal realities of the plantation system, the power dynamics between plantation owners and enslaved people, and the cultural mixing that occurred in the Caribbean, blending European, African, and indigenous influences.
The legend also speaks to the enduring fascination with the supernatural and the way historical events can be transformed into myth over time. The story has inspired numerous books, songs, and even a few movies, cementing its place in popular culture.
While the historical accuracy of the White Witch legend is questionable, Rose Hall Great House remains an important cultural and historical site. It offers visitors a chance to step back in time, to learn about Jamaica's colonial past, and to engage with a captivating piece of local folklore.
Whether viewed as history, legend, or a mix of both, the story of Rose Hall and Annie Palmer continues to intrigue and fascinate people from around the world.
Make this new school year an opportunity for your kids to learn important life skills with Greenlight. Greenlight is a debit card and money app for families where kids learn how to save, invest, and spend wisely while parents keep an eye on kids' money habits. Greenlight also helps families get into their fall routine with a chores feature that lets parents assign chores and pay kids allowance when they check them off. Get your first month free at greenlight.com slash spotify. greenlight.com slash spotify.
- When four friends embark on a guy's trip to go ice fishing in the Alaskan wilderness, they expect adventure, but find horror instead. After strange events and gruesome gifts are left at the remote cabin, the men set out to find help, only to become hopelessly lost in the ominous forest as an unseen evil stalks them. Their friendships and sanity are pushed to the breaking point.
This is Lore, a new horror novel by Barry Napier. Buy Lore today in paperback, hardcover, or digital at eeriecast.com slash lore, or become a member at eeriecast.com slash plus to listen to the exclusive members-only audiobook. The stairs creaked ominously under Ava's weight as she descended into the bowels of Rose Hall.
The air grew colder with each step, and the musty smell intensified, mingling with something else, a sickly sweet odor that made her stomach churn. At the bottom of the stairs, Ava fumbled for her phone, activating its flashlight. The beam cut through the gloom, revealing rough stone walls slick with moisture.
Rusted chains hung from iron rings set into the walls, a grim reminder of the plantation's dark history. Ava moved cautiously through the cellar, her light dancing over discarded furniture and moldering crates. In one corner, she spotted what looked like an old voodoo altar. A small table draped in tattered red cloth, covered in melted candle stubs, and strange symbols carved into its surface.
As she approached the altar, a sudden gust of wind seemed to extinguish her phone's light, plunging her into total darkness. Ava's heart raced as she frantically tapped at her phone, trying to reactivate the flashlight. When it finally flickered back to life, she gasped in shock. The altar was no longer abandoned.
Fresh candles burned with an unnatural blue flame, and at the center lay a crude doll made of twisted cloth and hair. With growing horror, Ava realized the doll was wearing a miniature version of the outfit she had on. A low chuckle echoed through the cellar, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Curious little thing, aren't you?"
A woman's voice purred, the words dripping with malice. Ava spun around, her light sweeping across the room, but she saw no one. "Who's there?" she called out, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. "You know who I am, child," the voice replied. "You came looking for me, after all."
A chill ran down Ava's spine as she realized who, or what, she was talking to. Annie Palmer? She whispered. The very same, the voice confirmed, now sounding as if it were right behind her. Ava whirled around, but there was nothing there. She backed away, her eyes darting frantically from shadow to shadow. This isn't real, she muttered to herself.
It's just my imagination, or some kind of trick for the tourists. Oh, I assure you, this is very real. Annie's voice hissed. Suddenly, the temperature in the cellar plummeted. Ava's breath came out in visible puffs. As frost began to form on the stone walls, the blue flames on the altar flared higher, and in their eerie light, a figure began to materialize.
It started as a faint outline, like smoke given form, but quickly solidified into the shape of a woman in a flowing white dress. Her face was inhumanly beautiful, with porcelain skin and eyes that burned with an inner fire. Ava stumbled backward, her back hitting the damp wall. "Stay away from me!" she warned, though her voice quavered with fear.
Annie Palmer's ghost glided closer, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "But my dear, you're my guest, and I so rarely have the pleasure of entertaining these days." With inhuman speed, Annie closed the distance between them. Ava felt icy fingers caress her cheek, and she jerked away with a cry of terror.
She bolted for the stairs, her only thought to escape this nightmare. But as she reached the bottom step, an invisible force seized her, lifting her off her feet and slamming her against the wall. Ava struggled against the unseen bonds, panic rising in her throat. Annie materialized before her. "Now, now, don't be rude. The night is young, and we have so much to discuss.
Her eyes glittered with malevolent glee. "I have such wonderful games planned for us." Ava opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She watched in horror as Annie reached for the voodoo doll on the altar. A long, wicked-looking pen materializing in her other hand. "Shall we begin?" Annie asked, bringing the pen closer to the doll's heart.
just as the tip was about to pierce the cloth. A loud bang echoed through the cellar. Annie's form flickered, her face contorting in anger. As she turned toward the source of the noise, Amara stood at the top of the stairs, a smoking pistol in her hand. "Let her go, Annie," she commanded, her voice ringing with authority. Annie snarled, her beautiful face twisting into something inhuman.
"You dare interfere, witch doctor? This one is mine!" Amara descended the stairs, muttering words in a language Ava didn't understand. With each step, Annie's form grew less substantial, her grip on Ava weakening. "Run!" Amara shouted to Ava. "Get out of the house, now!"
Finding herself suddenly free, Ava scrambled up the stairs, Annie's enraged shriek echoing behind her. She burst out of the hidden door and raced through the darkened halls of Rose Hall, the sound of her pounding heart drowning out everything else. As she neared the front entrance, Ava risked a glance over her shoulder. What she saw made her blood run cold. A whirlwind of spectral energy was racing toward her.
Annie's face visible within it. Contorted with rage, Ava yanked open the front door and threw herself out into the night, tumbling down the steps onto the gravel driveway. She scrambled to her feet, ready to keep running. But as she looked back at Rose Hall, she saw the ghostly maelstrom slam into an invisible barrier at the threshold.
Annie's furious scream split the night air as her form dissipated, drawn back into the house like smoke sucked up a chimney. In the sudden silence that followed, Ava became aware of someone standing beside her. It was Amara, looking disheveled but unharmed. Are you alright? she asked, her eyes filled with concern. Ava nodded shakily, unable to find her voice.
As the adrenaline began to ebb, the full weight of what had just happened crashed over her. Her legs gave out, and she sank to the ground, her whole body trembling. Amara knelt beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I should have been more vigilant. I never thought she'd be strong enough to manifest like that." Ava looked up at her, confusion mixing with the fear in her eyes.
Who? What are you? She managed to ask. Amara sighed, her gaze turning toward the now quiet mansion. That, she said, is a long story, and one I think you deserve to hear. But first, let's get you somewhere safe. The night isn't over yet, and Annie Palmer isn't the only spirit that walks these grounds.
Once they were a safe distance from the mansion, she turned to Amara, her voice shaky but curious. "How… how did a gun hurt a ghost?" Ava asked, still trying to catch her breath. Amara smiled wryly, pulling out the pistol she had used earlier. "It's not an ordinary gun," she explained. "The rounds are filled with rock salt. It can't kill a spirit, but it can repel and harm them temporarily."
Ava's eyes widened with understanding. "And who are you, really? You're not just a tour guide, are you?" Amara sighed, her gaze turning back to Rose Hall, looming in the distance. "No, I'm not. I come from a long line of spiritual guardians. We're tasked with maintaining the balance between the world of the living and the dead. I use the tour guide position as a cover to monitor and contain the supernatural activity here.
Ava absorbed this information, feeling a mix of awe and embarrassment. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have wandered off. I had no idea." "No, you didn't," Amara agreed, her tone gentle but firm. Curiosity is a powerful thing, Ava. But in places like Rose Hall, it can be dangerous. Haunted houses aren't playgrounds. And spirits like Annie Palmer aren't to be trifled with.
Ava nodded, the weight of the lesson sinking in. "I've always been fascinated with the paranormal," she admitted. "But I never truly believed, I never thought, that it could be real." Amara finished for her. "Many don't, until they experience it firsthand." "Let this be a lesson, Ava. Respect the unknown, and never explore a haunted place without proper guidance or invitation."
The consequences can be far more severe than you can imagine. As they walked away from Rose Hall, Ava cast one last glance at the mansion. In an upstairs window, she thought she saw a pale face watching them, its eyes burning with hatred and the promise of revenge. She shuddered and turned away, grateful for the lesson learned and the narrow escape.
The moon was full and hanging high in the sky, casting a glow over the landscape. Ava knew she would never forget her encounter at Rose Hall, and she silently vowed to approach her fascination with the paranormal with much more caution and respect in the future. Thank you for joining us on our trip to visit Rose Hall Great House. Tune in next week as we discuss another terrorific location.
I'm Carmen Carrion. Remember, you can send me suggestions and stories of haunted places to my email, carmencarion at gmail.com, or follow me on X at Carmen Carrion. Go to eeriecast.com to find other terrifying podcasts, such as Freaky Folklore, hosted by me, Carmen Carrion.
Until next time, stay safe out there, until I see you at our next destination.
