Making matters exponentially creepier, the mansion and brewery are connected by a series of underground tunnels and caverns, part of the legendary Caves of St. Louis. The cave system was reportedly the perfect temperature for aging beer, although it also served as a handy way for the Lemps to get to work each morning. Now, it’s home to—you guessed it—a wickedly gauche haunted house. The haunted house is operated by the St. Louis-based company Halloween Productions, with the following warning to potential visitors:

“The all-new Lemp Brewery Haunted House is ready to make you scream. House of Occult located deep underground where NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU SCREAM. Come face to face with demons, confusing mazes, inside a pitch black cavern of the occult. Lemp Brewery is the most famous haunted place in American [sic] prepare to go into the abyss to scream.”

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Yes, readers, someone has taken this very old, very stately property and transformed it with “state of the art animations, sets, props, sound effects and special effects,” highlighting the brewery’s “old rusty pipes and worn down machines from a time long ago.” There’s nothing creepier than worn-down brewing equipment, I guess. The 20,000-square-foot attraction also features “tens of thousands of dollars [worth of] monsters, dead zombie gangsters, a massive animated alligator, creepy rats, bats, and long lost brewery workers of the dead.”

The Lemp Brewery in its heyday
The Lemp Brewery in its heyday
Screenshot: Amazing mysteries (Fair Use)
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If you’re put off by the idea of dead zombie gangsters and a massive animated alligator, you can take the slightly classier approach and tour the mansion with the help of Betsy Burnett-Belanger, the aforementioned historian and paranormal expert. For the low, low price of 25 bucks (plus tax and handling fees), you can get yourself a tour that concludes with a “dark room session” during which Burnett-Belanger will “attempt to make psychic communication.”

And there you have it: an American story in three parts. Immigrant family achieves awe-inspiring beer fame; immigrant family suffers half a century of tragic losses fueled by vicious speculation and a hefty dose of untreated mental illness; Midwestern charlatans capitalize off said tragedy and install a massive animated alligator on the property. Today, the real ghoul appears to be... capitalism. It’d be great if I could turn into a bat and fly away after making that statement, but I’m writing this from my couch. Also, this is the internet, which means you can’t see me. Picture me turning into a bat, okay? Boom. Bat.