Casa del Diablo (Puebla) Mexico

In the Mexican state of Puebla, just fifteen minutes from the ancient pyramids of Cholula, sits the small village of San Luis Tehuiloyocan. For centuries this settlement has been a crossroads where pre-Hispanic beliefs, African cult practices, and the Catholicism of Spanish conquistadors fused into something unique. In that dense cultural landscape rises one of the most mysterious and sinister colonial-era buildings in the Americas. Today it is officially the Amoscalli public library, but locals still call it “La Casa del Diablo”—the Devil’s House. No matter how hard the authorities try to brand it as a center of learning, the place remains tainted in popular memory by its menacing architecture and by stubborn rumors that satanic rites and black masses were once performed here.

Even the building’s orientation defies Church convention: instead of facing east toward the light, its main door looks west, toward the setting sun—an occult symbol for the gateway to the underworld. Built in the mid-thirteenth century, the façade is sheathed in elaborate mosaic work created by inlaying tiny pieces of black volcanic rock into pale stucco. Born of magma, that stone has long been associated with underworld deities, and its use allows the imagery to stand out in sharp, indelible relief. Symbolism continues in the detailing: window frames are carved as upside-down church silhouettes, and the faces of sculpted Indigenous angels look inward, sealing the room in what locals believe is a vessel meant to trap evil spirits.

The façade itself is a visual manifesto that openly challenges Catholic dogma. The main entry is flanked by two unsettling creatures—monkeys with birds’ legs. In Christian iconography the monkey often represents the Devil. Yet the identity of the original patron with the deep theological knowledge needed to design all this remains an unsolved mystery.

If the exterior broadcasts heresy, the building’s interior is its beating heart. On its surviving ceiling beams is carved the Latin text of the Magnificat—Mary’s hymn of praise—but every word is reversed. You can read it only with a mirror or by gazing at its reflection in still water. In black-magic practice, reciting a prayer backward is intended to invoke the opposite of its sacred power.

Scholars still debate the house’s true purpose. Some village elders claim it was built by an elite cabal for the practice of sorcery. The wide inner courtyard, conspicuously free of crosses, would have made a perfect nighttime stage for summoning demons, and Inquisition records confirm that witchcraft in the region was systematic.

Inevitably, the building has spawned a web of sinister folklore. The most chilling legend centers on a deep well in the courtyard where, people say, human sacrifices were made. Locals also whisper about nahuales—shapeshifting guardian spirits, gaunt and impossibly tall, who lurk in the tree line and fiercely protect the occult site.

To this day, the area’s main tool for spiritual diagnosis and exorcism is the egg-cleansing ritual. Folk healers roll a raw egg over the patient’s body, praying as they go, then crack it into a glass of water to “read” the curse. The patterns formed by the yolk and white reveal the magic at work: blood means a death hex, cloudy water signals a drain on life force.

From 100 Cursed Places · Fern Flower Press