A few miles west of Borris-in-Ossory, rising from the low pastures near the old road to Roscrea, stands Ballaghmore Castle — a five-storey tower house built in 1480 by the Gaelic chieftain Mac Giolla Phádraig (Fitzpatrick), whose name means “son of the servant of Patrick.”

The stronghold once formed part of a defensive chain protecting the Mac Giolla Phádraig lordship of Upper Ossory, guarding the approaches between Laois and Tipperary. It survived rebellion, siege, and cannon fire before finally falling to Cromwell’s army, which left it roofless and desolate. For nearly two centuries the ruin lay silent, its vaults home only to rooks and ivy.

That changed in the 1830s, when Richard Ely, a rent collector for landlord Charles Coote, took an interest in the ruins. Ely was notorious throughout the district — a man said to have “a heart as cold as the coins he carried.” He oversaw evictions, collected arrears without mercy, and was widely despised. Yet he began restoring Ballaghmore, claiming it as his residence.

Locals whispered that Ely’s newfound wealth came from a hoard of gold unearthed during his renovations, hidden centuries earlier within the castle walls. Whether or not that was true, he would never finish his work.

On the night of 8 November 1858, Ely was ambushed as he approached the castle gate. A single gunshot echoed through the fields. He fell on the flagstones, blood pooling beneath him. Though a doctor was summoned from Roscrea, Ely was dead before dawn.

Across the Midlands, newspapers called it an “atrocious murder.” In Laois, many called it justice. The gunman was named as James Delaney of Rossbawn — a tenant’s son Ely had allegedly threatened to evict for poaching. Delaney was sheltered by neighbours and lived the rest of his days in hiding, becoming a quiet folk hero of the district.

Ballaghmore was used briefly as a granary before being abandoned again. Nineteenth-century surveys noted a dark stain near the entrance, said to mark the very spot where Ely had fallen.

In 1990 the property was restored, and Ballaghmore stands proudly once more — yet one flagstone remains darker than the rest. Visitors say it bears an imprint that no amount of scrubbing can erase.

And then there are the stories.

The ghost of Richard Ely is said to wander the corridors with a lantern in hand, his shadow crossing the stairs as if forever searching for a way out. During restoration works, a stonemason told the Laois Nationalist he saw “a tall man in nineteenth-century dress” standing silently by the hearth before fading from sight. Guests have since reported footsteps on the spiral stair, doors closing softly in empty rooms, and faint breathing near the so-called bloodstone.

When a paranormal team visited in 2006, they recorded cold currents moving against the wind and “a whisper like the sea through the cracks of the hall.”

Whether curse, conscience, or something older still, Richard Ely’s restless presence lingers in Ballaghmore — a reminder that not every sin can be sealed beneath stone.