During the reigns of Elizabeth I and James I, the great plantations of Ireland saw vast tracts of land stripped from Gaelic lords and handed to English settlers in return for service to the Crown. Among the fallen were the once-powerful MacDermotts, Princes of Moylurg. Among the rising — a Yorkshireman named Sir John King.

In 1603, King and John Bingley were granted the lease of Boyle Abbey and its lands. Just four years later, records note King building a castle beside the ruined abbey. By 1618, he was sole owner of the abbey and more than 4,000 acres, his influence spreading into over twenty counties through titles, marriages, and sheer ambition.

It was his son, Robert, who raised the first version of what would become King House on Boyle’s main street. After a fire destroyed that home, Sir Henry King built the grand Georgian mansion of the 1720s that still dominates the town. For a time, it was a fitting seat for a family of wealth and power — but fashions shifted, and the Kings moved their attention to the newer estate at Lough Key.

Another fire in the 1770s led to functional repairs rather than ornate restorations, and by 1795 King House was sold to the British Army. Its elegant rooms were transformed into barracks for the Connaught Rangers, who marched from Boyle to fight Napoleon and later served on the front lines of the First World War. The former kitchens and servants’ quarters became hospitals and holding cells — places marked by loss and hardship.

When the British withdrew in 1922, the Irish Free State Army took over, only to abandon the building again by 1969. Left to decay, it was finally rescued in 1987 when Roscommon County Council acquired the property. A careful restoration began, and King House reopened as a museum and community space — though not all of its original finery was returned.

Yet history lingers here in more than stone and mortar. Centuries of conflict, betrayal, and sorrow have left their mark — and stories of hauntings have long been part of its lore.

The most famous spirit said to roam King House is the Lady in Green. Elegant and poised in deep emerald silk, she glides silently through the rooms as though inspecting her old home. Witnesses describe sudden chills or the unmistakable swish of a silk skirt along empty corridors. Far from menacing, she is thought to be calm and protective — a watchful mistress still keeping order.

But she is not alone. Staff tell of heavy footsteps on the stairs when the house is empty. Guides have seen doors open of their own accord — even those they had just locked. Visitors on night tours have felt someone brush past, only to find no one near them. Shadowy figures flicker across doorways and vanish when pursued.

In the basement, around the old cells, the atmosphere grows darker still. Guests report icy cold spots and the sensation of unseen eyes fixed upon them. Paranormal investigators have recorded unexplained knocks, sudden drops in temperature, and faint human voices caught on recorders — too low to understand, yet impossible to dismiss. EMF spikes have even been measured in rooms without electricity.