Amityville, Part 2 – Haunted By the Living

This is the My Dark Path podcast.

James Mullaly and his wife lived in Deer Park, an unincorporated community in the township of Babylon in Suffolk County, New York. One night they accepted an invitation to a dinner – their old neighbors had bought a beautiful, spacious riverfront home in a nearby village, and while they hadn’t completely settled in yet, they were eager to show it off.

These former neighbors were named George and Kathy Lutz. They were a young couple, only married for a year, with George becoming a stepfather to Kathy’s three children from a previous marriage. George was a land surveyor, and this place seemed far larger than he could afford on his income. But, the Lutzes shared, they believed that George could save on his business expenses by setting up a home office in the spacious three-story house. They also owned two boats, and since this property came with its own boathouse, they could save on marina fees by keeping them here. Besides, the bargain was simply too good to pass up. The realtor had agreed to a price well below market value; because you see, this house had a notorious history.

It was 112 Ocean Avenue, where Ronald “Butch” DeFeo, Jr. had murdered all six members of his immediate family just over a year before. The Lutzes were the proud new owners of the home that the previous owner had named “High Hopes”, in the town of Amityville.

The Mullalys remember their former neighbors being happy and joyful – it was right around the holidays, and the Lutzes took them on an extensive tour of the spacious, beautiful Dutch Colonial.

So it must have come as something of a shock later when the Mullalys learned that, at the time their friends had invited them over for a housewarming meal, the Lutzes were in the midst a month-long gauntlet of supernatural terrors. That they were being persecuted by angry voices, strange noises, green slime, mysterious illnesses, violent forces ripping doors off hinges, and red-eyed demon pigs. Strangely, none of that had come up at their dinner.

Just weeks later, the Lutzes abandoned their home, walking out on a mortgage payment and leaving most of their worldly possessions inside. They claimed that it was the month of unearthly terror which finally became too much for them to bear. Their story was turned into a book. The book was turned into a movie. The movie became a sensational box office hit, spawning sequels and spinoffs galore. The paranormal community swarmed to Amityville, spinning wild stories of tormented Native American spirits and an ancient frontier serial murderer. Among them were the celebrity exorcist couple Ed and Lorraine Warren – they’re going to be the subjects of our next episode but they also make an appearance here.

Here’s the problem, though. There’s a whole lot more evidence that George and Kathy Lutz made it all up then there is evidence that any of it happened. That dinner with the Mullalys is just one jarring example.

In our last episode, we focused on the DeFeo murders, the real crime that gave this house its notoriety. At the time, I talked about Butch DeFeo’s dismissive and exploitative attitude about the truth – to him, reality was whatever he wanted to spin it to be in that moment. And if we want to trace the dark path by which Butch’s lies and manipulations, and the fevered cultural attention he brought to Amityville, led to the ghost stories told by George and Kathy Lutz, it turns out that there’s a direct connection – William Weber, the defense attorney assigned to DeFeo. This is maybe the most complex tangle of claims and counterclaims we’ve ever tried to straighten out, and just about everybody involved has sued one another over it; so step carefully with me now, as we learn how the real haunting at 112 Ocean Avenue was our own collective obsession with that house.

***

Hi, I’m MF Thomas and welcome to Season Two of the My Dark Path podcast. In every episode, we explore the fringes of history, science and the paranormal. So, if you geek out over these subjects, you’re among friends here at My Dark Path. We hope you’ll check us out on Instagram, sign up for our newsletter at mydarkpath.com, or just send an email to us at explore@mydarkpath.com. And now in 2022 we’re launching our Patreon, where subscribers will have access to exclusive full episodes starting with our special miniseries, a My Dark Path tour of history, science, and the paranormal in Cold War Moscow.

Finally, thank you for listening and choosing to walk the Dark Paths of the world with me. Let’s get started with Episode 32: Amityville, Part 2 – Haunted By the Living.

***

PART ONE

William Weber didn’t know Butch DeFeo before DeFeo murdered his family. He was a public defender, which is a job you definitely don’t take for the money. And he wasn’t the first attorney assigned to the case. As we detailed in our previous episode, DeFeo rejected several candidates for not conducting his defense the way he thought it should. Reportedly he even threatened one.

Weber was able to stick around – who can say how he was able to strike up a functioning rapport with his client, but in a country that guarantees everyone the right to an attorney, it’s a skill which a public defender needs in order to perform their duty. Weber mounted a robust defense, attempting to gain a reduced sentence for his client by painting a picture of temporary insanity. But ultimately, DeFeo was found guilty and sentenced to six consecutive life sentences. When a reporter from Newsday asked Weber how he felt, he answered: “I’m glad I wasn’t a member of that jury.”

Normally, that would be the end of the relationship between a public defender and their client. But I’m going to jump ahead in time briefly and share with you part of a letter Weber sent to DeFeo in prison. The address is the Clinton Correctional Facility in Dannemora, New York. “Dear Ronnie,” the letter begins,

“Hans Holzer has come up with an offer which he believes will lead to another offer involving a large sum of money. An independent television producer is paying $10,000 to Holzer for a television article about you and your Trial. Mr. Holzer has agreed to pay you $2,000 and Bernard Burton and myself $2,000 each for participating in this venture with him.”

The letter closes with “Hoping to see you as soon as possible, I remain, Very Truly Yours, William E. Weber.”

DeFeo’s former defense attorney is now acting as a de-facto booking agent, negotiating appearance fees for a convicted murderer, and talking further about his hopes to get an offer from a book publisher. This remarkable letter is dated June 25th, 1979, three and a half years after DeFeo’s sentencing. It’s also one month before the release of a low-budget movie that is about to become an unexpected box-office hit – The Amityville Horror. The movie isn’t about DeFeo, but about the Lutzes, and the terrors they supposedly experienced after moving into DeFeo’s former house. But when the Lutzes first appeared in the public spotlight, claiming that their house was haunted, it was at a press conference – held at the offices of William Weber.

How did this happen? Let’s back up now, to the end of 1975 and the beginning of 1976 – to a whirlwind few months where a whole lot of people seemed to realize at the same time that the notoriety of this house could be worth some money.

***

Remember in our previous episode where I told you that William Weber hired an expert to interview Butch DeFeo in order to determine if he was sane or insane? And that expert, Dr. Daniel Schwartz, ended up also working on the notorious “Son of Sam” case involving serial murderer David Berkowitz? There’s an interesting additional connection here – after Berkowitz was arrested in 1977, the New York State legislature passed a law which became known as the “Son of Sam” law, which was designed to prohibit criminals from profiting by selling the stories of their crimes. That law was eventually overturned by the Supreme Court as being too broad with respect to the First Amendment of the Constitution – strictly applied, it would have stopped Malcolm X, with his past criminal record, from publishing the landmark autobiography he wrote with Alex Haley.

But at the time of DeFeo’s conviction, there was already an atmosphere of intense scrutiny with regards to murderers making any money out of their unintended celebrity. Now there are law enforcement theories that Butch DeFeo hoped to collect money from his family’s life insurance policy, or to spend the stashes of mob money he claimed his father had hidden in the house. But once he was convicted, these options were off the table. He still, technically, owned the house – but as we mentioned, he wasn’t going to get market value for it, and if he wanted to still have legal help appealing his case, he needed money. Arguably the most valuable thing he had left was the public’s fascination with his story.

At some point, he and Weber officially went into business together, creating a joint venture and shopping a book proposal about the trial and Butch’s side of it. A rich advance was on the table, and Weber had enlisted an author and journalist named Paul Hoffman. What was Weber’s motive here? Was he still hoping to use an insanity claim in an appeal? Was he dazzled by the sudden prospect of big money after years toiling for long hours in a public defender’s office? Was Butch psychologically manipulating him, as he later did Geraldine Romondoe, persuading her to sign a false affidavit claiming to be his secret wife at the time he murdered his family?

Weber made statements at the time that the publicity of defending Butch DeFeo was worth more than the modest fee he had charged. And from other public statements, we do see him clinging to the temporary insanity defense. But whatever his intentions, he never did file that appeal. But he did keep working to make money off the case.

And we also know that when the Lutzes moved out of their house, they sought out William Weber.

***

Before we start unpacking the story the Lutzes told, let’s say what they definitely did not do during the 28 days they lived in the house called High Hopes. During that month, they never called the police, and they never called a doctor. Have you ever had to call the police? Or get an ambulance? Or go to an emergency room because something alarming was happening that you didn’t understand? What made you choose to pick up the phone or get in the car? How bad did it have to get in order for you to take that step? Hold that thought in your mind as we proceed.

The Lutzes abandoned their home. That is undeniable. We found one fleeting reference to a claim that a local journalist saw George Lutz return to the home to try and hold a garage sale, but we don’t have enough to back that up confidently. So let’s take their abrupt departure at face value.

Now, this by itself is not, actually, a rare story. After the Great Recession of 2008, tens of thousands of underwater American homeowners simply abandoned the houses they could no longer afford to live in; leaving the keys on the counter and never returning. Because the foreclosure process can take months or even years, abandoning a mortgage payment might be a terrible long-term decision, but might also give you a short-term feeling of escaping an impossible dilemma. NPR referred to these empty suburban shells as “zombie homes”.

Remember that the Lutzes had paid twice as much for this home as they had originally planned to spend. And that George Lutz had disrupted his business in a major way in an attempt to make this investment make sense. But a month had passed, and now the mortgage payment was due.

The Lutzes were introduced to William Weber. From what we can tell, the Lutzes were curious about Weber’s persistent claim that Butch DeFeo was temporarily insane – that he had heard voices. At some point in that meeting, the Lutzes definitely learned about the deal on the table for a book. And at this point, Weber offered to bring them into the deal.

Why? What could the Lutzes have to offer? They didn’t know the DeFeo family, they weren’t in possession of any exculpatory evidence. The only thing they might have was a story – about why they fled their home. A story that could make a book about the DeFeo case more sensational and more profitable; a story that might even back up Weber’s claims that Butch DeFeo was insane, or influenced by dark forces?

After this initial meeting, a story emerged that offered everyone an opportunity to get exactly what they wanted.

***

PART TWO

In the middle of February, just a couple of weeks after the Lutzes left High Hopes, they invited the press to meet with them at Weber’s office. George did most of the talking – he made vague references to not feeling safe, to not wanting to spend another night in that house. He described a “very strong force” compelling them to leave. They did not share any of the more gruesome or lurid details which later became touchstones of their story, in fact they denied having heard wailing sounds or seeing flying objects.

To the journalists, it sounds like it was a frustrating experience, to be told that there was an important story here, but to only get these vague allusions and non-specific claims. To make it more confusing, William Weber seems to have alluded in the same press conference that he was exploring an appeal for his client, Butch DeFeo, based on the Lutzes’ experiences. But what were these experiences?

From what we’ve been able to learn, it sounds as though William Weber had offered the Lutzes a partnership on this book deal he was arranging. But it seems to have fallen apart – possibly over the financial terms, possibly over the Lutzes being uncomfortable with a business venture that was going to deliver money to an incarcerated killer. Not long after this strange press conference, the Lutzes moved to California. And the house called “High Hopes” stayed vacant.

Stories were still told about it, but they were a matter of local curiosity, kept alive by Weber and Paul Hoffman, the writer he had enlisted for the book they intended to publish. Hoffman published articles in the New York Daily News, sharing some of the claims that Weber and the Lutzes had discussed in their meetings. Later, William Weber would say that these details of a haunting were cooked up, quote, “over many bottles of wine”.

We’ve found an archival page from one of these articles, and it’s linked on our website. Hoffman published it in July of 1976, and it’s called “Life in a Haunted House”. This may be the first time some of the most famous Amityville claims were rendered in print. The article frequently quotes both George and Kathy Lutz, so perhaps there was still some degree of cooperation. But around this time, the Lutzes had also made a long series of tape recordings, dozens of hours’ worth, during which they discussed their supposed supernatural experiences. These tapes became the basis of their own Amityville book, the one which really caught the public’s imagination. So these claims may be derived from those tapes; we just don’t know for certain.

It’s interesting just how much you can make out of ordinary events – the Lutzes describe the house having mysterious cold spots, or hot spots. They describe George Lutz obsessively stoking a fire in the fireplace because he never felt warm enough. Personally, If I bought a large house on a river that was built in 1928, I wouldn’t blame it on evil spirits if it had some cold spots in it. The same goes for the strange noises they claimed to hear, or the window that would unexpectedly fly open.

The Lutzes also say, with candor and vulnerability, that during their month in the house they became more inclined to stay home than go out, and that they became more short-tempered and mean, not just with each other but with the children. I feel a pang of sympathy here because I doubt that they would invent details that reflect badly on them – it may be that they sincerely hoped there was something else to blame for George, in their words, barking orders at his children like a drill sergeant, and smacking their backsides with a wooden spoon until it raised welts.

In the context of the article, they blame this streak of abusive behavior on the influence of evil spirits. But remember that this was a couple which had only been married for a year, that George was still learning how to play the role of step-father having never been a father himself, and that they had just experienced a move, which is stressful enough. It was the holidays, which can be their own kind of stressful, and the family was taking on enormous financial risk by moving into this home. It’s natural both that they would avoid excessive outings to save money, and that the accumulated anxiety might affect their temper and self-control. So far, this all feels like a very earthly set of problems; and if the house is at all to blame, the simplest explanation would be because it cost so much more than the Lutzes intended to spend.

This article is also the first time we meet a certain anonymous priest. The identity of this priest and what role they played in this story has evolved several times; once again the truth is very difficult to pin down, so as we go through different versions of the story, remember that what we describe is only what was claimed at this particular moment in the timeline.

In this 1976 article, the priest is invited to come and bless the house. While George Lutz is a Methodist, Kathy is a Catholic, and perhaps because of the violent history associated with the house, they claim to have invited a priest to provide some peace of mind. This unnamed priest, according to the article, moved from room to room, saying blessings and sprinkling holy water; but when finished, he advised them, without offering any specifics, to not let anyone sleep in a particular room on the second floor. Depending on which source you read, this was either the room where the killer Butch DeFeo slept, or the room where his two little brothers slept. Nevertheless, the Lutzes claim that, acting on this advice, they converted it to a sewing room, and kept a bottle of holy water in the closet.

When it comes to events which are harder to explain, they talk about black stains on bathroom fixtures, of swarms of flies in the dead of winter, strange and sickening odors, trickles of red which ran out of keyholes. I’ve seen old houses that had mold stains and bad smells, but it would be a little harder to understand red liquid running out of a keyhole.

Then, the most bizarre claim in the article – that one night George awoke with a strong compulsion to flee the house, but when he woke Kathy, she transformed before his eyes into a 90-year-old woman. That her hair became old and dirty, that wrinkles spread all over her face, that she drooled until the bedsheets were soaked. And that she stayed that way for several hours.

This is one of those moments where I ask you to remember the question I posed – what would it take for you to call the police or call a doctor? If I watched someone spontaneously age over 60 years, I would definitely call a doctor. But it seems to have never occurred to George Lutz. He didn’t take a picture, either.

The article is blatantly drawing a connection between the dark aura of the house and the DeFeo killings. Kathy claims to have made a psychic connection with Butch’s late mother, Louise DeFeo. And they talk about smelling perfume in particular rooms when Kathy herself never wore any. This is also crucial as the story evolves; because later on, the DeFeo family would stop being described as the source of the hauntings.

Hoffman published at least one more article similar to this one, without garnering any more than local attention. It took a national publication to make the story to become a true phenomenon. And, incredibly, the article that turned Amityville into a supernatural sensation all across America appeared in Good Housekeeping magazine.

***

PART THREE

Remember that Paul Hoffman, the writer of all these articles, was partnered with William Weber and Butch DeFeo. The Lutzes weren’t included in the deal. But they were the star players in these articles, and all they were getting out of it was unwanted attention. They sued everyone involved in the publication of the article, including Good Housekeeping, but didn’t prevail. In our recent episode about the Hill UFO abduction case, I described how, after a newspaper article brought major publicity to Barney and Betty Hill without their consent, they collaborated with a local author to tell their side of the story. And this is what the Lutzes did now.

Jay Anson was a working writer in Hollywood with a background in advertising and publicity. His specialty was creating behind-the-scenes documentaries about the making of major motion pictures. He had never published a book before, but he was introduced to the Lutzes and a partnership was struck. This may have happened through the publisher, or it may have happened through Paul Hoffman – there are conflicting stories. But Jay Anson and the Lutzes didn’t spend too much time with each other, instead Anson was given those hours of tapes where the Lutzes described their experiences. He had basically free license to write the book however he saw best. He finished a draft in just three months.

While this deal was coming together, other people were drawn to the house, fascinated by its notoriety. A local TV news station decided to investigate High Hopes, and sent a camera crew along with a few local self-styled experts in the paranormal. Among them – Rick and Lorraine Warren, the late self-proclaimed demonologists who have become a pop culture phenomenon thanks to blockbuster horror films like The Conjuring and Anabelle. We have a unique episode coming next where one of our story team, Kevin Wetmore, is going to share memories of his personal encounter with the Warrens, and a little bit of the reality behind the PR.

With TV cameras covering them, the gaggle of psychics and ghost-hunters claimed to feel all sorts of dark and malevolent energies throughout the house. Lorraine Warren described it as a “horrible depression”. But despite the presence of all these experts and multiple cameras, no actual paranormal activity was witnessed or documented.

Meanwhile, Jay Anson finished his book. He borrowed from a famous H.P. Lovecraft story called The Dunwich Horror, and named it The Amityville Horror: A True Story. The publishers were probably hoping to emulate the success of William Peter Blatty, the author who wrote the best-selling novel The Exorcist and the subsequent blockbuster film, and also described his work as based on a true story. We could probably spend a whole separate episode breaking down that claim, but let’s just say that it was a stretch to say the least.

In the book, we read details which never emerged in any prior telling of the story. That priest I mentioned before is named Father Mancuso – he’s now described as an intimate family friend who had counseled the Lutzes before their marriage; and this time, when he goes into that ominous upstairs bedroom, he hears a sinister male voice commanding: “Get out”. But, for some reason, he doesn’t tell the Lutzes about this. Later, when he returns to his rectory, his hands break out in painful blisters, he comes down with a fever, and the rectory is infested with smells of filth and decay. The evil spirits even seem to try and cause a car accident, making the hood of his car fly open while driving. The make and model of the car, by the way, was changed in subsequent printings, when savvy readers pointed out that the hood of the car mentioned in the book can’t fly up in the way Jay Anson describes.

And Father Mancuso? That’s not his real name – it was actually Ralph Pecoraro. Interestingly, Father Pecoraro does seem to have participated at least a little bit in the spinning of this wild yarn. We found a 1978 episode of an ABC television show called “In Search Of” – a program after our own heart that investigated strange stories in the world of crime and the supernatural. It was narrated by Star Trek’s Leonard Nimoy, and the episode about Amityville was produced after the book became a hit, but before the movie version was made. In the show, which we’ve linked to on our website, the priest, or at least someone claiming to be him, is interviewed in silhouette to preserve his identity. Here’s the story he tells:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zBMnYt6N0Y (clip from 3:55-4:18)

So that was the story told to ABC. Later, testifying in a civil suit, the Lutzes admitted first that they never met Father Pecoraro prior to their marriage, that he wasn’t a close counselor to the family, and that their only contact was a phone call in which they asked about what they described as psychic experiences. There are other versions of the story where he goes to see the house and gives it a general blessing from outside; but in that version, he never sets foot inside. And his colleagues at the rectory immediately dismissed any claims of stigmata-like blisters and foul odors.

The book also named a local police officer, claiming that he was called to visit the house after a particularly violent incident. The actual police officer denied ever receiving such a call, and was able to back this up with his duty logs. The publishers of the book simply changed his name.

There’s a new theory in the book as to why all this haunting is going on. It’s no longer connected to the DeFeo murders. In the book, George Lutz contacts a local historical society, and learns from them that the land his house was built on was formerly used by the Shinnecock Tribe of Native Americans as a kind of terminal ward for the sick and mentally ill. The local historical society later revealed that Lutz had never visited them during the month he lived at High Hopes, that the Shinnecock never lived anywhere near Amityville, and that they never did so barbaric a thing as leave their sick to die in a field. It's a shameful slander.

Everything in the book has become more extreme and more terrifying. That red fluid dripping out of keyholes in Paul Hoffman’s articles has become a malevolent green slime which drips from walls and chases the Lutzes up their stairs. They never got around to taking a picture of it or preserving a sample.

Despite that press conference where they denied ever seeing furniture moving, now we read about doors ripped violently off their hinges. Somehow the Lutzes never called a contractor to fix their doors and windows despite that it was the dead of winter; and mysteriously, when new owners moved into the house, they saw all the original hinges and latches completely intact.

Kathy Lutz’s body levitates off of their bed. They witness what they describe as a demon pig with glowing red eyes, and claim that police came to the house and saw cloven hoofprints left in the snow. But, as we said, the cops were never actually called, and skeptical researchers checked this claim against the local almanac, and proved that it wasn’t snowing when the Lutzes describe this incident as happening.

When I wrote my first novel, Seeing by Moonlight, my co-author Nicholas Thurkettle and I set the prologue in the Oval Office at the White House on the day of Pearl Harbor. Because moonlight is so thematically important to the book, we actually used maps, historical data, and a piece of software that allows you to simulate the night sky, just to confirm the moon’s phase and location before describing it. And that was for a piece of science fiction. But we spent longer on our book than Jay Anson did.

Despite all these glaring incongruities, the book became a runaway bestseller. Millions of suburban homeowners across America turned its pages and wondered fearfully if their own houses might turn against them.

As for how the author felt about this, the public statements he made fall pretty short of taking responsibility for the tale he told under the heading “A True Story”. In an interview with People Magazine, Anson said, quote, “I’m a professional writer. I don’t believe and I don’t disbelieve. I leave that to the reader.” In another interview, he said, quote, “I believe these people believe that they went through all those things they saw and heard.” He published one more book, a fictional novel called 666, but he didn’t get to enjoy his newfound success for very long – he died in March of 1980, less than a year after the release of the film.

***

American International Pictures was, in its way, one of the most influential movie studios in history. Working independently starting in the 1950’s, they didn’t pursue glossy production values or Academy Awards, they worked fast and cheap to deliver entertainment to teenagers and anyone else with a taste for action and titillation. But they weren’t sloppy about it – working with pioneering low-budget producers like Roger Corman, they developed methods that made them more agile and resourceful than any studio in Hollywood, and they were the first to use focus groups and market testing to keep up with the appetites of their audience. If Westerns weren’t working anymore, they made UFO movies or car chase movies. They wouldn’t even start working on a script until they had market-tested a title and a poster. And it worked – many legendary filmmakers started their careers with AIP.

In the late 70’s, after helping to popularize the genre of blaxploitation, their run was coming to an end and a merger was on the horizon. But founder Samuel Z. Arkoff read the book of The Amityville Horror and he smelled a hit – and one that wouldn’t cost too much money, since it took place almost entirely in one house.

James Brolin, a well-established star in the 70’s, was offered the role of Greg Lutz, but the script wasn’t even complete. So he bought a copy of the book and started to read. He found that he couldn’t put it down and, at two in the morning, a pair of pants he’d hung up earlier fell to the ground and he jumped out his chair in fright. That, he says, is when he knew that, ridiculous or not, it was an effective story. Margot Kidder, who had just wrapped her role as Lois Lane in the blockbuster Superman, was cast as Kathy Lutz, and Oscar-winner Rod Steiger played their priest, who has undergone another name change and is now called Father Delaney.

If the book amplified previous incidents and invented newer and crazier ones, the movie takes this process even further. The land, the Lutzes now learn, was once occupied by a mythical New England Satanic child-killer named Jack Ketchum. Father Delaney not only gets blisters, he goes blind from demonic assaults and, by the end of the film, seems to be reduced to a catatonic state. George Lutz becomes possessed and attempts to murder his own children with an ax, before falling through the basement stairs into a pit of black sludge. There’s also a ghostly marching band – we’ve come a long way from that vague, sober press conference in William Weber’s office.

Both Brolin and Kidder admit that they were pressured by the studio publicity department to tell wild tales about supernatural occurrences happening on the set of the movie; even though it was filmed at a completely different house in New Jersey.

The critics were not kind. But in the end, it didn’t matter – The Amityville Horror became a massive hit, grossing almost twenty times its budget and becoming the second biggest hit of 1979, making more money than Rocky II, Apocalypse Now, or the James Bond adventure Moonraker. The only bigger movie that year was Superman. It remains one of the biggest independent film success stories of all time.

But behind all that success, the story underneath it all, the Lutzes’ claims of what they experienced, had been dragged into court.

***

James and Barbara Cromarty were the new occupants of 112 Ocean Avenue, and they did not like having their home be the center of all this attention. Pranksters would ring their doorbell and ask if Butch DeFeo was home. Gawkers would wander the property at odd hours. They re-painted the home, petitioned to change the street address, even altered the infamous windows; but it barely stemmed the tide of attention. And during all of this, never once did they experience any of the cavalcade of horrors the Lutzes described. The only damage to the house, and to their peace of mind, came from the relentless public attention. Finally, they sued the Lutzes over their claim that all of this was a true story.

In the meantime, there was also litigation between the Lutzes and William Weber – Weber felt as though he had been instrumental in developing this ghost story, and felt cut out of the deal.

There’s an old saying – “The witness stand is a lonely place to lie”. In these legal hearings, far from any spotlight or movie screen, Father Ralph Pecoraro confirmed that he never set foot inside the house. Despite claiming publicly that they had been cheated out of money relating to the film, George Lutz had to admit that he and his wife had made $100,000; but that the deal they had made with Jay Anson didn’t give them rights to any more money from Hollywood. And the Judge said, quote: “Based on what I have heard, it appears to me that to a large extent the book is a work of fiction.” The case settled privately, and who paid whom has never been confirmed.

***

PART FOUR

It’s odd to wind up a story about haunted house with a discussion of trademark law, but it turns out to be relevant here. Because Amityville is the name of a real place, you can’t tie it up legally. Many of the most recent horror movies with “Amityville” in the title don’t have any rights to the original book, to Butch DeFeo, the Lutzes, or to anyone connected with the house. Although the original producers did make a number of sequels; there’s nothing barring anybody from making a horror movie using the name “Amityville” in the title, as long as it comes up with its own characters and scares.

The name itself now conjures a story we’ve collectively told as a culture, one that seems familiar even if we never paid any attention as it developed. One of the most recent movies, believe it or not, is called “Amityville in Space”.

George Lutz, even after divorcing from Kathy, never relented in his public claims that the events described in the book were absolutely true. He claimed there was a real Father Mancuso, and other religious figures as well; plus police officers who could corroborate all his experiences, and previously-unrevealed evidence of everything. But despite ample opportunities, he never unveiled any of this evidence, he claimed in interviews that he was preserving it for a new book deal. Now, imagine how much money it could have been worth to a publisher if he had the goods he claimed. But this long-promised book never appeared, and George Lutz died of heart disease in Las Vegas in 2006.

I love a good ghost story – and if you remember our episode about the Taipei Hyatt, you know that I’ve had a personal experience of a haunting which I couldn’t explain. It always adds a little extra chill when you hear someone tell a spooky tale and then add “I swear, this really happened.” But where’s the line between a fun indulgence, a bit of supernatural speculation, and what has happened in Amityville? This dark path we’ve followed has shown us dishonesty, exploitation, questionable ethical behavior by lawyers and journalists. But maybe the worst offenses are leaving the new owners of the property prey to gawkers and publicity seekers, the tarnishing of the Native Americans who originally lived in this part of New England, and the distraction from the brutal crimes of Butch DeFeo, the implication that anything or anyone other than himself were responsible for the murders of his family. These feel like instances where we’ve crossed an inappropriate line.

The Amityville Horror came at a time when a lot of the Baby Boomer generation, born after World War II, were buying homes, starting families, taking on grownup responsibilities. And it was far from the only story of a haunted place that captured our imagination – this is right around the same time as the film The Shining, and then just a couple of years later, Poltergeist. The suburbs are where a large portion of Americans now lived, and what could be scarier than some dark force lurking inside the very place where you live – frightening you where you sleep, turning you against your own family?

We won’t deny, it’s a great story. And I hope you’ve enjoyed how we’ve told the story behind the story. But as we continue to ponder what makes us feel a sudden chill, and what might be causing those strange sounds in an old house, we’d better look out for our own fantasies and appetites and paranoias, before they turn us into the monsters of Amityville.

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Thank you for listening to My Dark Path. I’m MF Thomas, creator and host. I produce the show with Courtney and Eli Butler; and our creative director is Dom Purdie. This story was prepared for us by Roseanne Sinclair. Our Senior Story Editor is Nicholas Thurkettle, and our fact-checker Nicholas Abraham; big thank yous to them and the entire My Dark Path team.

Please take a moment and give My Dark Path a 5-star rating wherever you’re listening. It really helps the show, and we love to hear from you.

Again, thanks for walking the dark paths of history, science and the paranormal with me. Until next time, good night.

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