In the year 1900, in the green fields of the mountain region of Santa Catarina, more specifically on the outskirts of Lages, there was a property that few residents of the region dared to mention after sunset. The Souza Farm was an imposing structure of araucaria wood and stone, located about 15 km from the city center on the old road that led to São Joaquim. Built at the end of the 19th century by the patriarch Jerônimo Souza, a wealthy yerba mate merchant who had made a fortune during the Imperial era, the property stretched over 1,000 hectares of rolling fields and small araucaria forests.
The reports we have come from various sources: local church records, notes from the delegate at the time, a handful of letters found in 1952 during the renovation of the old city hall, and above all, the testimony of the only direct survivor of the events, the coachman Anselmo Rodrigues. In 1962, at the age of 84, he agreed to record a statement for Professor Arnaldo Silveira of the Federal University of Santa Catarina, who was conducting research on old rural properties in the region. The audio recording remained filed and forgotten until 1968, when it was partially transcribed and then archived again. An incomplete transcript was found during a file reorganization of the university and is one of the few direct sources we have about the events.
The Souza family consisted of Jerônimo, his wife Eleonora, of German origin, the eldest son Augusto, 28 years old, daughter Cecilia, 25, and the youngest, Teodoro, 22. They all lived together on the farm with about 20 employees between foremen, laborers, cooks, and domestic servants. According to municipal records, the Souza Farm was known in the region for the quality of the cattle and the yerba mate produced on those lands, but also for the isolation the family maintained regarding other residents of Lages. Jerônimo was not a man who often attended parties or celebrations.
Anselmo reported this in the recording of 1962: “He used to come to town once a month, at most, to solve business problems.”
The owner Eleonora, even less. In ten years, Anselmo saw her get out of the carriage in town about four or five times at most. The children came more frequently, especially Augusto, who took care of business relations with his father. The routine on the farm was marked by a regularity that was almost a military imposition by Jerônimo. They all woke up before sunrise and worked until nightfall.
After dinner was always served at 7:00 PM, the family would retire to the east wing of the main house. The employees had explicit instructions not to wander the property after dark, except for two men assigned to the night watch who alternated in four-hour shifts. No one questioned the orders.
Anselmo continued: “The boss was a man of few words. But everyone whispered it was strange that the curfew was so strict. At the time, I thought it was fear of intruders or cattle thieves, something common in that region. I only understood later that what Jerônimo feared was inside his own home, not outside.”
The first record of something unusual at the Souza Farm is dated March 1900, when the city doctor, Dr. Mateus Correa, was urgently summoned to help Eleonora, who according to the report at the time, was suffering from nervous breakdowns and disturbing visions. In his notebook, partially recovered in 1955 by his grandson who donated it to the Lages Municipal Museum, Dr. Mateus wrote:
“The lady presents a worrying situation: marked weight loss, a distant gaze, trembling in the hands. She complains of insomnia and noises at night that apparently no one else hears. Prescription: potassium bromide and absolute rest.”
The husband seemed more annoyed than worried about her condition. After this visit, Eleonora was rarely seen outside the farm limits. According to statements from former residents collected by Professor Arnaldo in 1962, rumors circulated in town that Jerônimo’s wife had gone mad or suffered from a mysterious illness the family preferred to keep secret. Some even speculated she had passed away and that the family was hiding the fact to avoid questions related to inheritance.
Meanwhile, life on the farm seemed to follow its usual course of apparent normality, which would only later reveal itself as the calm before the storm. Business flourished, cattle herds multiplied, and yerba mate exports to Argentina increased year after year. Jerônimo Souza was mentioned in the newspaper O Lageano in April 1900 as an example of entrepreneurship and commitment to progress in the mountain region. The eldest son, Augusto, followed in his father’s footsteps in business, but according to reports from patrons of the few bars and game rooms that existed in Lages at the time, he was a man of a strong and unstable temperament, alternating periods of extreme cordiality with bursts of anger for no apparent reason.
An old employee of the provincial bank reported in an anonymous statement in 1961: “The young man Augusto came to deposit farm earnings and sometimes he would just stay there staring at the walls as if he saw something there. When someone asked if everything was alright, he would give a strange smile and say it was just business considerations. But his eyes… his eyes did not smile with his smile.”
Cecilia, the middle daughter, was described as a young woman of rare beauty but extremely reserved. She had studied at a college in Porto Alegre during her youth and upon returning to the farm, she rarely participated in social events. A diary entry from Mrs. Adelaide Ramos, wife of a former mayor, mentioned:
“Young Cecilia attended the charity tea party in the company of her father. She remained silent during the entire event and barely touched her cup. When asked about music or literature, she always answered with monosyllabic words. She looked at her father as if asking permission to speak. There is something deeply disturbing in her eyes. A sadness or fear that I cannot name.”
As for Teodoro, information is even scarcer. It is known he did not pursue formal studies like his siblings, remaining always on the farm under his father’s direct supervision. Some of the workers mentioned years later that the young man was almost obsessed with animal husbandry, spending hours in the stables and pens.
A former foreman said in an informal conversation: “Young Teodoro had a strange way about him when dealing with animals. It wasn’t cruelty, understand? It was as if he wanted to understand how they worked inside.”
The trigger for the events that would transform the Souza Farm into a synonym for mystery and horror was the arrival of a stranger who introduced himself as Eduardo Mendes, an agricultural engineer from Rio de Janeiro. According to records from the Lages Central guesthouse, Mendes claimed to have been hired by Jerônimo Souza to modernize the yerba mate production. The presence of the engineer in the town did not go unnoticed. Tall, with delicate features and an unmistakable Rio accent, Mendes stood out from the locals. In his first days, he circulated through town, visiting shops and talking to residents, always asking questions about the Souza family. Many people found his interest beyond professional matters strange.
Mrs. Jurema Lemos reported in 1962: “I remember when he arrived in town. He was a very cultured man, quiet and polite, but there was something in his eyes—a restlessness, as if he were constantly looking for something. And the questions he asked about the Souzas were not normal. He wanted to know details about the family, if they had enemies, or if anyone had strange habits. He even asked if Mrs. Eleonora was still alive because he had heard rumors she had died.”
After about a week in Lages, Eduardo Mendes moved to the Souza Farm. From that moment on, information becomes increasingly fragmented, depending mainly on the testimony of the coachman Anselmo and correspondence between Augusto Souza and a friend in Porto Alegre, recovered decades later. According to Anselmo, Mendes’ arrival caused an immediate change in Jerônimo’s behavior.
“The boss changed from then on. He seemed visibly nervous, constantly checking if the doors were locked and increasing the number of men on night watch. And the discussions… at night, screams came from the main house. Mr. Jerônimo and that engineer argued often, initially always quietly, but then the voices grew louder. I never understood what they were talking about, but it didn’t seem to be about yerba mate or cattle.”
A letter from Augusto, dated August 16, 1900, reveals more: “The presence of this man has disturbed the peace in our house. Father is convinced that he is not who he claims to be. Last night, I found them in a heated discussion in the office. Mendes demanded to see my mother, saying he had a right to it. When they saw me, they fell silent immediately. Something very strange is happening and I fear the consequences.”
In another letter dated August 28, Augusto wrote: “The situation is worsening. I finally saw my mother again, escaping my father’s vigilance. I don’t know what they talked about, but after that, she has shown even more erratic behavior. She stares out the window for hours, muttering words I don’t understand. Yesterday I met her in the corridor during the early morning in her nightgown, with her hair disheveled. When I asked what she was doing, she looked at me as if she didn’t recognize me and just said: ‘He’s back to take us.’ The father blames Mendes for her worsening condition and swore to make him leave.”
The confrontation Augusto predicted did not take long to occur. On September 5, 1900, according to Anselmo’s report, there was a violent argument in the main house.
“I was taking care of the horses when I heard the screams, louder than ever. Mr. Jerônimo was screaming like never before, and the engineer was answering at the same volume. Then a loud noise, as if furniture was being broken. Some laborers wanted to see what was happening, but the foreman wouldn’t allow it. He said a fight between bosses was not our problem.”
The following morning, Eduardo Mendes was not seen on the farm. Jerônimo informed the staff that the engineer had left during the night after a disagreement over work methods. The explanation seemed to convince the majority, but Anselmo noticed disturbing details. The engineer’s horse remained in the stable and he had a large, heavy suitcase that was also left behind. How could he have left in the middle of the night on foot without taking anything?
Two days after Mendes’ disappearance, Jerônimo ordered that a part of the property near the small stream be surrounded with barbed wire. He justified the measure as protection for the cattle, preventing the animals from getting stuck in the swampiest areas. Several laborers completed the service in one day. However, Anselmo noticed something that piqued his interest.
“I saw Mr. Augusto supervising the work, something he didn’t usually do, and I noticed he seemed particularly interested in an area where the earth had been recently stirred. When he realized I was watching, he abruptly ordered me to go take care of the horses.”
In town, the sudden absence of the engineer did not go unnoticed. The owner of the guesthouse noticed his belongings were never retrieved. After two weeks, he decided to notify the local delegate, Lieutenant Ramirez. A brief investigation was launched, and the delegate even visited the farm to question Jerônimo.
According to the official report, Jerônimo explained: “Mendes shared his intention to return to Rio de Janeiro after realizing the climate was not good for his health. He mentioned he would take the stagecoach in São Joaquim to avoid unpleasant encounters in Lages, where he had some debts.”
The delegate, apparently satisfied and possibly influenced by Souza’s status, closed the case. In the following weeks, an apparent normality returned to the farm, but the family noticed subtle changes. Eleonora was not seen even by the domestic servants. Jerônimo withdrew further and became irritable. Augusto took over most business trips. Cecilia rarely left her room, and Teodoro spent whole days wandering alone.
In mid-October 1900, the first reports of occurrences among the laborers emerged. Maria Conceição, one of the cooks, confided to Anselmo that she heard voices from the cellar of the main house during the night.
“It’s not screaming or SOS calls. It’s as if someone is having a normal conversation, but underground. When dawn comes, the silence returns.”
Other employees reported strange smells, especially near the fenced stream—a sickly sweet yet putrid smell, which some compared to spoiled meat or decomposing flowers. The foreman strictly forbade the workers from commenting on these smells. An especially disturbing incident occurred in the first week of November.
Anselmo recalled: “It was almost midnight when we were all awakened by screams from the main house. Not the screams of an argument, but of pure terror. Mrs. Eleonora’s voice was screaming incessantly, as if she were seeing the devil himself.”
Some employees stood up, but the foreman appeared immediately: “No one should approach the house.”
“We all stayed awake listening. The screams continued for almost an hour, then stopped suddenly. The next day, Mr. Jerônimo just said his wife had had a very vivid nightmare and that everything was fine.”
A few days later, an even more oppressive atmosphere hung over the farm. Jerônimo decreed that absolutely no one should move through the property after sunset without express permission. The number of men assigned to the night watch was increased from two to six. In mid-November, Father Antônio Meireles arrived to administer the sacraments to Eleonora. What happened during that visit only came to light decades later in the priest’s memoirs.
“I will never forget that afternoon. I was received by Jerônimo with a formality that bordered on hostility. He personally led me to his wife’s room, but before entering, he grabbed my arm and said: ‘Whatever she says, remember that it is the delusion of a sick mind.'”
“Upon entering the room, I saw an image that haunts me to this day. Eleonora Souza was unrecognizable, so thin it was cachexia, her hair completely white. Her eyes were deep in their sockets, but most disturbing was her clarity. I found no signs of delirium. When we were alone for confession, she grabbed my hands and said: ‘He is buried in the stream, Father. Eduardo is buried in the stream, but he is not dead. At night he walks. I hear him. He comes to my window and calls me. It’s not just Eduardo. There are others, many others. Jerônimo knows. Augusto knows. Everyone knows except the town. Father, I fear for my soul.'”
“At that moment, Jerônimo burst into the room and claimed his wife needed rest. Upon leaving, he offered me a generous donation for the church, which I refused. Something in that house, from that family, emitted a darkness that no candle could extinguish.”
The priest’s visit was the catalyst for the end. On the night of November 27, 1900, the horror finally overflowed.
Anselmo reported: “I was in the stable when I heard the first shot. It came from the main house, then another, and another. I ran toward the house as did some other employees. As I approached, I saw Mr. Jerônimo on the balcony with a shotgun. He was screaming things that made no sense about traitors and liars. Inside the house, we heard more shots. No one had the courage to go in. We saw the flash of fire.”
The fire broke out on the second floor. Within minutes, the whole house was in flames. Mr. Jerônimo remained motionless on the balcony, staring at the fire as if hypnotized. Some laborers tried to enter to save whoever was inside, but the heat was unbearable.
“Then we saw Mrs. Eleonora at the window of her room. She had her arms extended as if to embrace the sky. She didn’t scream for help. Her smile made my blood run cold. When the roof collapsed, she disappeared into the flames.”
The fire completely destroyed the main house. When authorities arrived, they found human remains believed to belong to Eleonora, Cecilia, and Teodoro. There was no sign of Augusto, who had reportedly left for Curitiba the afternoon before. Jerônimo was found near the stable with a gunshot to the head. Beside his body was a letter in shaky handwriting that said:
“We can no longer contain them. They are free now.”
The tragedy shocked Lages. Delegate Ramirez concluded that Jerônimo, in a fit of madness, had murdered his family and set the house on fire before committing suicide. This was readily accepted by residents eager to close such a dark chapter. However, questions remained. What caused Jerônimo’s breakdown? What was the connection to Eduardo Mendes?
The Souza Farm remained abandoned for almost a decade until 1909, when a farmer named Hermínio Machado purchased it. He began reconstructing the house, but in July 1910, strange events began again. Employees heard voices from the stream and smelled putrid odors. Hermínio’s youngest daughter, Antônia, began showing erratic behavior similar to Eleonora’s.
According to her sister Maria: “My sister changed completely. She began waking up in the middle of the night saying there was a man calling her name outside the window. She spent hours staring at the stream and repeating: ‘He knows our secrets.’ One morning, Antônia simply disappeared. Her bed was made, but she was gone.”
On the dressing table, they found a note in handwriting that wasn’t hers: “I went to where I should have always been.”
Hermínio sold the property immediately. In 1945, during road construction, workers made a macabre discovery near the old stream: a human body buried two meters deep with clothing fragments matching Eduardo Mendes’ style. More disturbing was a shallow grave nearby containing the bones of at least five different people, including one skeleton with a deformed skull featuring unusual growths. The workers were ordered to rebury the remains and stay silent.
As for Augusto Souza, the sole survivor, his fate remains a mystery. There are unconfirmed reports of him in Buenos Aires and Paris. In 1952, an elderly man claiming to be Augusto Souza appeared in Lages, staying at the same guesthouse where Eduardo Mendes had stayed fifty years prior.
He told the guesthouse owner: “Families carry their secrets like curses. Some manage to bury them so deep they never surface. Others, like ours, have the annoying habit of coming back to the surface. I came back to see if they are still where they should be. And for now, they are.”
Professor Arnaldo Silveira continued his research until his death in 1968. Colleagues said he had found a diary belonging to Teodoro Souza. Arnaldo was found dead of an apparent heart attack in his office, but all documents related to the case were gone. His assistant, Helena Monteiro, tried to resume the work. She found records in Germany suggesting an inherited disease in Eleonora’s family that affected bone structure. Her last diary entry in 1969 noted:
“Someone broke into my apartment. I found mud tracks with a putrid smell from the window to my desk. I woke up with the feeling someone was standing by my bed watching me.”
Helena disappeared shortly after. In 1972, a group of students led by Jorge Teixeira camped near the site. One student, Carlos Mendonça, disappeared for a week and was found 70 km away, dehydrated, with his fingernails worn down as if he had been clawing the earth.
He later said: “I found a place that shouldn’t exist under the surface, where the Souza family kept their secrets. I understand why Mendes was silenced. There are things that, once seen, cannot be unseen. I still hear voices pleading for release. They aren’t ghosts; they are past events inscribed into the earth.”
In 1993, during more highway construction, workers found an underground structure with double walls and primitive soundproofing. It contained cells, surgical instruments, and notebooks in German and Portuguese. They were ordered to fill the area with concrete immediately.
In 1998, historian Margaret Reynolds found letters between Jerônimo and a Dr. Müller, who suggested an “experimental treatment” for a rare bone disease appearing in Teodoro. Margaret theorized that Jerônimo turned the farm into a secret laboratory. After publishing her article, she received an anonymous email:
“Stop while you still can. Ask Arnaldo, Helena, and Carlos what happens to those who dig too deep.”
In 2015, workers found a metal box with a diary fragment signed “T.” It read: “The changes continue. Father says Dr. Müller’s treatment will work, but the suffering is unbearable. Mother’s screams… Brother says I will soon be ready for my own treatment. I fear…”
The case of the Souza Farm remains one of the unsolved mysteries of Brazilian history. What really happened on that remote property? Was it a father’s desperate attempt to cure a rare disease, or something more sinister? Even today, in the quiet nights when the cold wind blows from the mountains, residents report muffled conversations and cries of pain echoing from beneath the ground.
As Helena Monteiro wrote in her last known letter: “Some secrets are like wounds that never fully heal. No matter how much we try to bury them, the blood always finds a way to the surface.”
