Heart Starts Pounding: Horrors, Hauntings, and Mysteries - 59: Haunted Mexico City: Three Tales of Horror

Episode Date: March 21, 2024

The legend of the Burned Woman, the Black House, and the ghosts of Lecumberri prison. Today, we're talking about the folklore, myths, and legends stemming from Mexico City TW: Suicide Subscribe on Patreon for bonus content and to become a member of our Rogue Detecting Society. Patrons have access to ad-free listening and bonus content. And members of our High Council on Patreon have access to our after show called Footnotes. Apple subscriptions are now live! Get access to ad-free episodes and bonus episodes when you subscribe on Apple Subscriptions. Follow on Tik Tok and Instagram for a daily dose of horror. We have a monthly newsletter now! Be sure to sign up for updates and more. This episode is brought to you by Miracle Made. Upgrade your sleep with Miracle Made! Go to TryMiracle.com/HSP and use the code HSP to claim your FREE 3 PIECE TOWEL SET and SAVE over 40% OFF. Heart Starts Pounding is written and produced by Kaelyn Moore

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Welcome to Heart Starts Pounding, a podcast of horrors, hauntings, and mysteries. I'm your host, Kaylyn Moore. So as I was prepping this episode, I actually realized something. We've had the Heart Starts Pounding Patreon up for a year now and I have some patrons that are hitting their anniversaries. Erin, Jamie, Vanessa, and Christopher, thank you for being the longest continuing supporters of Heart Starts Pounding. Don't think that I don't see you. Also as a side note, I talk about what's going on with the Heart Starts Pounding community

in my Patreon show, Footnotes, but a bunch of you sent me articles about how the Cecil Hotel in Los Angeles is for sale and how you want me to buy it for you all and make it our headquarters, which I personally love that idea. So let me make some phone calls. I mean, how hard could it be to buy a building? Alright, jumping right in, I am so excited for today's episode. Mexico has been one of the most requested locations for me to do an episode about. But if I'm being totally honest, it was hard to know exactly where to start. There was so much to read about. In Mexico, folklore is a serious art, and everywhere you go there are whispers of cryptids, ghosts, and witches that lurk in forests and outside of your home while you sleep. There's such a vibrant

culture of storytelling there that its influence has crept up north to my neighborhood in Los Angeles. Back in college, I lived in a house with eight girls from all over the world. I think there were only three of us there who were born in the United States. One of my roommates was from Mexico, and one night we were all sitting in the living space doing homework and watching TV when out of nowhere she shot up off the couch. Oh my god, I forgot I'm getting something from my aunt tonight, she said. My other roommates and I all looked at each other. It was 8 p.m. No one was getting a

package tonight. But by that point, my roommate was running around the apartment, lighting a bunch of candles and moving all the shoes by the door. We were all so confused. What are you supposed to be getting? I asked. She was holding one candlestick to another to light it. My aunt in Mexico is sending me seven ghosts and I'm supposed to welcome them at the door. I think with the time difference they're supposed to be here any minute. Immediately all of my other roommates jumped off the couch and started screaming. Mellie no you're not letting ghosts into the apartment.

This was not the first time Mellie's brujeria had nearly made some of my roommates move out. No one had time to make a convincing argument, however, Mellie was already holding a candle and opening the door, chanting to herself. And with that, I heard the sound of six doors slam shut as all of my roommates closed themselves in their rooms not willing to greet our new guests. I, on the other hand, stayed on the couch. One because I wanted to see what would happen and two because I was scared that if I seemed rude to the ghosts they would ruin my life.

So I grabbed a candle and helped Mellie welcome them in with some bienvenidos. I don't know if I really believed that seven spirits were being mailed to us by my roommate's aunt, but I could see how real the spirits and the legends were to Mellie. And so I became fascinated. Today, I'm gonna share with you some of the stories stemming from Mexico that I read about. And for now, we're just going to focus on Mexico City. Our first story is going to be about the legend of the Burning Lady.

Then I'm gonna tell you about a haunted house in the center of Mexico. And finally, we're gonna end on the site of some of Mexico's darkest history and the ghosts associated with it. We'll be back after a short break. And as always, listener discretion is advised. This episode is brought to you by Miracle Made.

I'm not a very good sleeper. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I spend 90% of my day researching and writing very scary stories or maybe it's because my body becomes an actual furnace at night and I feel like I'm going to melt straight through the bed. Regardless, those are two things that I really can't change. And that's why I love Miracle Maid sheets. Even though I can't regulate my temperature at night, which hurts my sleep, Miracle Maid seems to have found a way to do just that. Inspired by NASA, Miracle Maid uses silver-infused fabrics and makes temperature-regulating bedding

so I can sleep at the perfect temperature all night long. They're also self-cleaning. They prevent up to 99.7% of bacterial growth, which keeps my pores from getting clogged with whatever would be on a non-MiracleMaid pillowcase. I've upgraded my sleep and so should you. Upgrade your sleep with MiracleMaid. Go to trymiracle.com slash hsp and use the code HSP to claim your free three-piece towel set and save over 40% off. Again, that's trymiracle.com slash HSP to treat yourself. Thank you to Miracle Made for sponsoring this episode. In the Benito Juarez borough of Mexico City lies a quiet side street called La Quemada. It's a one-way road lined with short trees and compact three-story apartment buildings.

Terracotta reds and earthy yellows accent and add a playful, festive nature to the otherwise clean and modern design. You'd never guess that this street has hundreds of years of history, and a dark one at that. See, the name, La Quemada, means the burnt woman, and it's derived from a 17th century legend that still haunts the neighborhood to this day. century legend that still haunts the neighborhood to this day. Back in the 1600s, a woman named Dona Beatriz de Espinosa lived on the street. She was the daughter of a rich Spanish merchant and she was as gorgeous as they come. People said looking at her was like looking at the moon, ethereal and captivating.

She'd draw in the window of her father's big luxurious home and all of the boys in the community would come by just to catch a glimpse of her. When she turned 20, her father beckoned her into his study. He told her that she was finally old enough to take a husband, which shouldn't be difficult, she clearly would have many options. But Beatrice didn't love this idea. She knew she was beautiful, and she also knew her father was known for his wealth. She didn't want someone pursuing her just for those things, she wanted to be loved for who she was.

Her father insisted that he wouldn't give someone his blessing until he was sure they loved her for her. And so she agreed to meet some prospects. The following week, nearly every man in town gathered outside the gates of her home for a chance to sit with her. Sons from prominent families rode horses for many days just to have a few

minutes with the girl. Word of her beauty had spread far and wide across Mexico. One by one, Doña Beatriz sat with each man and watched how they gazed upon her and sucked up to her father. Barely anyone asked her a single question about herself. One man, the son of another wealthy merchant, talked about himself the entire time as if she wasn't even there. Another tried to pry into her father's financial standing. By the end of the day, she told her father she hadn't met anyone she'd be willing to marry and begged him to not force her to choose. He agreed, but he made her promise to keep looking. He was worried for her future.

At the time, there weren't many options for young girls like her besides marriage, and he was getting older. He wasn't gonna be around forever to take care of her, though he wished he could. He told her that the next night, one of his colleagues, a man named Don Luis, was holding a ball at his home. A home that was just down the street on La Quimada.

It was going to be the who's who of Mexican society, so she should go. It would be fun for her to go to a party and dance away the day's disappointments. And plus, she never knew who she might meet there. So, though skeptical, Beatrice agreed. The next night, she put on her best floor-length gown, tied her hair around her stockings to give it a nice ring curl, and laced up her corset until she couldn't breathe, as was customary at the time. She looked at the painting of Santa Lucia that hung in her room, prayed to her for a good night,

and then went on her way. The ball was incredible. Live music filled the three story mansion, chandeliers of drippy wax candles lit the ballroom. Mexican high society was all there in their best dress. And even still, Beatrice was the most beautiful girl in the room. She was swarmed by men all night,

who knew she still hadn't selected a match and that's when she saw him an Italian man named Don Martin Schiapoli standing in the corner sipping champagne He seemed uninterested and detached from the party almost brooding and detached from the party, almost brooding. He was the most beautiful young man she had ever seen, and he wasn't trying to bother her at all.

She knew she had to make an effort because of her father's request, and this seemed like her best option. Beatrice went up to him to ask why she hadn't seen him around before. He took one look at her and the rest was history. What followed was a whirlwind romance. Don Martin was charming and intelligent. He didn't seem to care about her father's money and liked to ask Beatrice deep questions. He seemed perfect and each day she fell deeper and deeper in love with him. But he was also a jealous man.

He would go after men who looked at Beatrice in the street. His brooding nature that originally drew her to him was proving to be darker than she imagined and when she finally introduced Don Martin to her father, he had some concerns. He's too jealous, Miha, her father said. He knows what he has, the most beautiful girl in the city from the wealthiest family, and he doesn't want to lose it. You have to be careful, my love. This critique of Don Martin devastated Beatrice.

Sure, Don Martin was jealous, but he loved her for her, not for her circumstance or appearance. But she couldn't help but understand where her father was coming from. He was a jealous man, and his anger grew every day. She was worried that if other men kept pursuing her, he would only become more jealous, and that if he really did only want her for her beauty,

one day that would fade and he wouldn't love her anymore. So she came up with an idea. That night, she sat in front of the painting of Santa Lucia that hung in her room and she prayed for guidance. Beatrice had a classic painting of Santa Lucia. One where the saintly woman is carrying a dish that holds two eyeballs which match her own. The legend goes that Lucia was being pursued by a relentless suitor. Every day he would show up to her home to tell her that he couldn't live without her eyes. He probably meant it figuratively as a way to woo the girl. But Lucia was so disgusted by the man

and so annoyed by his presence that one day she took a spoon and gouged out her own eyes. She put them on a platter and the next time the suitor came to her door she handed him the grisly mess. Here, she said, you said you can't live without my eyes so take them and leave me alone." A miracle occurred though when, days later, the Lord gifted Lucia her eyes back. Her sacrifice was noticed by God, and he gave her two new eyes more beautiful than the last. Beatrice sat in her room crying and thinking about the story of Santa Lucia when all of a sudden she was struck with an idea.

She was going to remove her beauty from the equation. She ran out into the living room and gathered hot coals from the fire that had just been extinguished for the night, putting them into a big dish. She brought them back into her room and then tied a wet handkerchief around her eyes. Unlike Lucia, she wasn't willing to part with them. And then she took a deep breath and plunged her face into the coals. At first, the pain was horrific. She felt as every cell in her face burnt and then slowly started to melt from the bone. After just a few moments though, everything went numb and all she could feel was wetness on her neck, either from sweat or from the flesh dripping down.

That night, when Don Martin snuck up to her balcony to see her, he peered in through the window and saw Beatrice dressed completely in white, wearing a veil and sitting in a chair facing the window. He crept in, but she didn't move a muscle. She just stared straight ahead. Slowly, he got closer and could see her bright, big eyes shining through the veil, but not much else.

So he reached for her and pulled it back, almost fainting at what he saw. Beatrice's eyes and teeth shone back at him amongst a face of charred, melted flesh. Everything had been burned away. Her lips, her nose, her eyelids, just exposed muscle and bone was left. Don Martin covered his face, not believing at first that this was his love. Beatrice's mouth slowly opened

and she drew in a rattled breath. Do you still love me? Was all she could get out. Don Martin knelt beside her chair, taking her hand in his. Beatrice paused, worrying that her worst fears were right, that he did only love her for her looks and those were now gone. But he steadied himself.

Yes, I do, he replied. The two lived happily ever after, Don Martin and the burned woman, or La Quimada as she became known. Legend has it that some nights you can still see two bright eyes shine out in the dark on the street. But if you get too close, you may smell something burning, or even catch a glimpse of the rest of the woman's charred and melted face looking back at you, wondering if you care about her or just her appearance.

For our next story, I want to take you just five kilometers north to the Roma neighborhood of Mexico City, known for its boutiques and artisanal coffee shops. There, in this quaint, even hipster part of the city, lies one of the most haunted houses in all of Mexico. After a quick break. This episode is brought to you by Better Help. If I had an extra hour in my day, I honestly think I would spend it in bed. Or I would maybe practice Spanish. Or actually, you know what, I would kill two birds with one stone and I would spend it in bed practicing Spanish. The thing

is sometimes you don't need an extra hour in your day. You just need to change your priorities. If I prioritized sleep or learning Spanish, maybe I wouldn't be here today dreaming about watching Alite in bed. And yet here we are. Therapy can be a good way to help get your priorities in order. I've used therapy at times in my life and I've honestly found it really helpful for better coping skills. And if you're thinking about starting therapy, consider

giving BetterHelp a try. It's all online so you can fit it into your schedule from the comfort of your own home. Just fill out a brief questionnaire and get matched with a licensed therapist and you can switch therapists at any time for no additional charge. Learn to make time for what makes you happy with BetterHelp. Visit betterhelp.com slash stay curious today and get 10% off your first month. That's betterhelp, H-E-L-P dot com slash stay curious.

If you were to stand on one of the busiest corners in the Roma neighborhood of Mexico City, you may notice how red it is. Red mulch lies in flower beds in the Juan Rolfo Park, circling a beautiful bubbling fountain. Red tents line the streets under which food vendors cook on grill tops out in the open, reaching into their red Coca-Cola fridges to get drinks for customers waiting for their food in the heat. This intersection is vibrant and alive, which is the theme with most of Mexico City. But if you were walking the sidewalks, you'd notice a

house that sits on the corner, set a little bit back from the buzz of the street. It's a towering three-story home with an iron second-floor balcony and large arched windows. It should blend right in with the other beautiful Spanish-style homes that surround it, but its level of decay makes it stand out. The home looks dead and abandoned, a shocking contrast to the street where it sits.

If you were to try and ask one of the vendors about this home, they may cast you a look. They've heard about this house. Everyone in the neighborhood has heard about it. But no one is brave enough to go inside. Even the squatters that have tried to take over the house have all left after just one night. It's too haunted, they say.

See, this home, known as the Black House, or sometimes as Casa Mondragon, has been abandoned for almost 100 years and holds some of Mexico City's darkest history. The house was originally built sometime in the late 1800s as a private residence but by the 1930s it needed to be used for something else. A typhoid epidemic was spreading throughout Mexico City and makeshift hospitals were popping up all over as people were falling ill. It was decided that the house would act

as one of those temporary hospitals. It had plenty of rooms and lots of natural light. It was perfect. Typhoid is typically spread through contamination, usually from one person who has typhoid not washing their hands. Symptoms include fever, abdominal cramping, and other symptoms that can mimic food poisoning. Only typhoid is fatal in 10% of untreated cases.

And it can be hard to find the source of a typhoid spread. As a result, it can feel like some otherworldly force is behind it. For instance, in the early 1970s, 10,000 people came down with an antibiotic-resistant strain of typhoid across Mexico. And while a source was never officially discovered, some scientists believed it was from a contaminated patch of soft drinks. In the 1930s, while the spread was happening, some religious zealots thought that it may be coming from a demonic source.

They insisted that the sick were actually paying for their sins, whatever those may be. The spread, they said, was from Satan, and needed to be stopped by any means necessary. As the story goes, one chilly night as doctors were finishing their rounds and helping patients get to sleep, a hooded figure from the church appeared from the dark. Slowly and methodically, they secured chains and locks around the first floor exits of the home to make sure no one would be able to escape. Then, they set the whole thing ablaze.

In their minds, the fire was purifying the city. The screams coming from inside were from the devil realizing he had been beat. By morning, everyone inside, patients and doctors, all had perished. But the bones of the establishment survived the fire, and the Black House was able to be reconstructed and was later bought by a wealthy man named Señor Mondragon. He moved in with his wife and three children. Within a month after moving in, the family was found dead in the home. There was no sign of forced entry or struggle, the bodies didn't appear damaged or bruised, and the toxicology report came back clean.

Neighbors thought that Señor Mondragon was involved in some bad business, that someone finally came to collect the money he owed. However, the coroner's report would say otherwise. The cause of their deaths has remained a mystery to this day. The home has remained abandoned ever since, now belonging to the government. Though the rest of the neighborhood grows and morphs around it, the house is stuck in a moment in time, on the heels of two great tragedies. It's slowly decaying with the memories of its past locked inside. Those who have been brave enough to enter the home have all said the same thing.

They hear screams coming from nowhere, and can feel invisible hands pushing them towards the exits. Whatever is in the house appears to not want anyone else there. As for the street vendors, they set up near the black house because it's a good location, lots of foot traffic, but they never get too close. One man tried to use the house as a storage unit for his cart, but could hardly make it through the front door before he felt like something didn't want him in there. Others say they can feel an icy cold draft coming from the house, no matter how hot it is outside.

You may pass this house if you wanted to catch a dark part of Mexico City's history and the ghost stories associated with it. But if you kept driving past this house and went about 30 minutes to the northeast of the city, you would find an even darker piece of the city. Taking up an entire block of the busy streets in the city's federal district stands a formidable stone complex. From the city street, it looks like an old two-story castle or a wall that was once used to keep enemies out. An aerial view paints a much different and darker picture though. It reveals a large circular dome in the center of the complex with seven different wings of various lengths connecting the dome to four large stone walls that we can see from the street.

It looks more like a prison than a castle, and that's because it used to be one. Known as the Black Palace of La Cumberi for its darkened stone, the result of water absorption from a drainage canal that surrounded the perimeter during construction, this building was built in 1900 under dictator Porfirio Diaz's regime to house Mexico's worst criminals – traitors. It could house up to 800 male prisoners, 180 women, and 400 children, and contained workshops, a nursery, and medical facilities. The large circular dome in the middle was a surveillance tower, where guards could keep a watchful eye over inmates 24-7.

Palacio de la Cumberi was opened on September 29, 1900, and the newspaper El Tiempo proclaimed that the prison was to be a redemptive building. But the next 76 years of its operation were far from redemptive. It quickly garnered a reputation as the most inhumane prison in the country. It was a place where officials could keep those accused of trying to overthrow the government, communistas, and members of the Partido de los Pobres, party of the poor. Although a specific death count during the prison's operation has not been widely recorded, many instances of torture, murder, and death were reported behind the ashen walls.

Sometimes it was at La Cumberi and sometimes it was carried out at another detention center, and then the inmates were transferred to Lekumbere right afterwards. Types of torture included being strapped to a board blindfolded while officers shouted questions trying to get prisoners to name names. Inmates would be hit all over their body by police until they discovered the parts that hurt the worst and could focus in on those. The types of torture used were designed to be more painful the longer they went on.

If the beatings didn't work, they'd hold inmates' heads underwater, and if that didn't break them, then electrocution was used. Multiple methods were tried until it was discovered what would be most unbearable to a specific prisoner. And then that method was dialed in on. One prisoner remembered being hung up by his wrists. Guards shouted questions at him. Who is conspiring against the government? Which of your friends are communists?

When he refused to answer, one of his arms was released. So he was just hanging by his left arm. He was left like that for days. It felt like his arm was going to just rip off of his body. A man named Jose Garza Maltos was imprisoned in 1973 for a conspiracy and possession of a pistol which he said he didn't own. He survived, but barely. In an interview with The Telegraph by Oliver Poole in 2002, Maltoz recounts how he was brutally beaten with sticks on his first day, then locked in a filthy bathroom for two weeks.

In the following weeks, he was tortured. He said, quote, "'They'd wrap me in a cloth like a mummy, "'tie me to a plank and dunk me in a tub of water "'until I'd almost drown.'" Doctors were usually around to make sure those being tortured didn't actually die, but that didn't always work.

Maltos was lucky. Many prisoners did drown during the torture. And perhaps it's due to decades of executions, torture, and accidental deaths, but La Cumberi is known as one of the most haunted places in Mexico City. There are countless reports of paranormal activity from staff and visitors alike. In 1976, the prison was decommissioned and turned into a national archive, and some of those who have visited reported supernatural occurrences. We'll get into those right after this short break. right after this short break.

One Friday night at the archives of La Cumberi, a janitor named Juan was doing his daily cleaning rounds, walking the empty cell blocks as the sound of his footsteps bounced off the tall walls. He had heard reports of ghosts, but nothing unusual ever happened to him, so the solitude and the late hour and all of the dark history was almost relaxing. But on this night, as he was walking alone, he heard a loud sigh. He whipped around and saw a man wearing a grey uniform standing at reception. The man introduced himself as Hasinto and asked if Juan had seen his wife, to which Juan responded,

Who are you and how did you get in here? Hasinto just frowned. She didn't come again, did she? All Juan could do was ask, who didn't come again, did she? All Juan could do was ask who didn't come. Amelia, Jacinto explained, who was his wife. Juan turned to see if there was anyone else around, but when he looked back, Jacinto was gone. Other staffers have heard mumblings of a man late at night. The voice always says, again, Amelia didn't come.

No one can ever tell where these whispers are coming from, but they surely aren't from a person who stayed in the archives after hours for some late night reading. It's said that this disembodied voice belongs to a former inmate named Don Jacinto. This encounter stuck with Juan, and he realized that the gray suit was how prisoners dressed in the 1940s. So he started to look into the archives, and sure enough, he found something. Jacinto's file. The man was imprisoned for taking responsibility for a crime he didn't commit.

His wife and best friend had murdered the owner of the place where Jacinto worked, and because of his love for his wife, he took the heat. In prison, he waited every Friday for her to come see him during visitation hours, but she never came. He tragically took his own life by hanging himself from the second floor of cell block four. Another reported operation is that of Charo Negro, a man in elegant black clothing that's followed by screams and chilling cries. Also often cited as a hot spot for activity is the South Tower of the Prison, in which some of the worst offenders were kept in brutal conditions with little protection from the

cold. Some nights, people say they can hear cries of despair emanating from the tower. Maltose, the man who survived torture in the early 1970s, became an anthropology professor after his release. In 2002, he was able to look upon the 135 files that harbored these incriminating secrets at the National Archives, now stored in the very same building he had been imprisoned and tortured in all those years ago. The files revealed 99 extrajudicial killings and more than 2,000 cases of torture, most taking place in the Black Palace.

It's unsurprising, then, that so many tormented souls seem to remain inside. If you ever visit Mexico City, or if you're one of our many listeners who live there, you can visit La Cumberi. A write-up I read about it says that the archive is more inspiring than its dark history may imply, and I am begging one of you to let me know if that's true. I hope for its own sake that it is. I often think back to my old roommate and the seven spirits she invited into our home. Remember how I said our other roommates all ran into their rooms and didn't greet the spirits? Well, I'm not kidding, but the next week, their shared bathroom majorly flooded,

causing serious damage to the whole building. The bidet literally just dislodged from the wall entirely. Was it the ghosts angry they weren't welcomed? Or was it the 100-year-old plumbing? Who's to say? But if your roommate ever tells you seven ghosts from Mexico are being mailed to your home, you better be at the door to greet them. Just in case. This has been Heart Starts Pounding, written and produced by me, Kailin Moore. Heart Starts Pounding is also produced by Matt Brown. Sound design and mix by Peachtree Sound.

Special thanks to Travis Dunlap, Grayson Jernigan, the team at WME, and Ben Jaffe. And a special shout out to our new patrons. You will be thanked in the monthly newsletter. Have a heart pounding story or a case request? Check out heartstartspounding.com. Until next time, you better stay curious. Ooh. You better stay curious. Woohoo!