Poised on Venice's Grand Canal, one of the world's most famous waterways, this extraordinary 15th-century palazzo has just hit the market for €18 million (£15.4m/$19.5m). The storied residence is steeped in over 540 years of history and is shrouded in a mysterious and somewhat infamous past. As well as a prized piece of Renaissance architecture, the lucky buyer will also take on a rumoured curse that has befallen almost all of the palazzo's previous owners. Click or scroll on and let's take a tour of this magnificent Venetian villa – and discover why locals do their best to avoid it...

Known as Ca’ Dario, construction on the palace began in 1479 on the orders of Giovanni Dario, a merchant, diplomat and secretary to the Venetian Senate. Dario was crowned a local hero after negotiating an important peace treaty and economic agreement with the Ottomans, who controlled parts of Central Europe until the late 17th century. He was nicknamed 'Saviour of the Homeland' and gifted a noble title, land and a large sum of money. With the cash, Dario decided to build a gorgeous palace in Venice – the ultimate way to thank the city and its people.

Dario commissioned architect and sculptor Pietro Lombardo to design the palace. This photograph was taken sometime before 1882, showing how regal the residence was in earlier years. Soaring up four floors, it offers 10,763 square feet of inside space, including eight bedrooms and eight bathrooms. When Dario passed away in 1484, he left the residence to his daughter Marietta and her husband, Vincenzo Barbaro, a spice merchant. This is when the alleged curse begins. After Barbaro's business failed, he was reportedly stabbed to death. Marietta passed away soon after too – some sources claim she took her own life, while others say her passing was due to a heart attack.

The house passed to the couple's son, who is said to have been killed by assassins in an ambush in Crete. In the 19th century, the Barbaro family sold the palace to Arbit Abdoll, a precious stone merchant. He reportedly immediately lost all his wealth and was forced to sell the property for only £480 ($608) to English historian, Rawdon Brown. Sadly, Brown didn’t fare any better and four years after getting the keys, he was left bankrupt and was forced to sell up.

The palatial property then passed from owner to owner with increasing frequency and unfortunate events befell all who lived there. According to local legend, Ca’ Dario is also said to be able to strike from a distance. In 1964, Italian operatic tenor Mario del Monaco wanted to buy the place. However, he had a serious car accident on the way to the viewing. Luckily he survived, but the incident triggered a change of heart about procuring the property. A few years later in the 1970s, the palazzo was purchased by Count Filippo Giordano delle Lanze, who was killed inside the walls by his lover.

But how can one house be so unlucky? According to the Venetian tourism website, many believe the palace was built on the site of a Knights Templar cemetery, while others think that the building that previously occupied the land must have been the scene of an especially evil occurrence. Local lore also suggests that it's inhabited by the spirits of past owners, with some locals stating they feel an “uneasiness” entering or even looking at the building from afar. As such, many Venetians do their best to avoid passing by the property. Luckily for us, we can have a look around from afar! 

Overflowing with ornate Gothic architecture, Ca' Dario is richly decorated with marble and boasts grand European fireplaces, elaborate columns, carved timber doors, beamed ceilings, Bevilacqua fabrics and antique Murano chandeliers. Key rooms include the palace's imposing entrance hall and the exquisite formal dining room. Meanwhile, the age of the home's construction is apparent, with the structure leaning slightly to the right due to subsidence – it is built over water, after all!

Interestingly, Pietro Lombardo added an inscription to the façade of the palace after it was finished. It reads “Joannes Darivs Vrbis Genio”, Latin for "To the genius of the city Giovanni Dario". However, this phrase is also allegedly an anagram of “Svb Rvina Insidiosa Genero”, which translates to "I create under an insidious ruin". If all that doesn't scare you off and you'd like to rescue and restore this beautiful building, then you can purchase the historic palazzo for a cool £15.4 million ($19.5m), or €18 million in the local currency.

Loved this? Read on to discover more cursed mansions across the world...

The world's unluckiest mansions might look innocent enough from the outside, but don't be fooled by appearances. Seemingly jinxed for generations, these ill-starred properties have brought nothing but trouble and strife to their hapless residents. Click or scroll through to uncover the shocking stories behind eight grand piles plagued by problems – and count your blessings that you don't live in one...

This palatial Jacobean-style mansion in Greenwich, Connecticut, was built in 1918 for industrialist and 'Tinplate King', Daniel G Reid, who gave it to his daughter Rhea as a wedding gift. According to the Associated Press, the house cost $1 million at the time – the equivalent of £15.7 million ($20m) in today's money – and was absolutely brimming with splendour: the best house in the best part of Connecticut. Sadly, the nightmares began not long after the completion of the 23-room manse.

Reid's mental and physical health deteriorated from 1919 onwards, and a clipping from the 8 May 1928 edition of the San Francisco Chronicle printed that he had developed a serious opiate addiction. The metals magnate spent huge sums of money in a bid to get better, but to no avail, and he died in 1925 at the age of 66. Reid's daughter passed away in 1947 at an even younger age, dying at 61 from pneumonia. This inauspicious trend was to continue through the years...

Dunnellen was sold in 1950 to steel baron Loring Washburn, who subsequently lost his entire fortune. In 1963, the mansion was seized by a finance company, laying empty until 1967, when another unfortunate millionaire, Ms Gregg Sherwood Dodge Moran, snapped it up. A former showgirl and ex-wife of the heir to an enormous automobile fortune, she sold the manse after a year. Her life went rapidly downhill, culminating in bankruptcy and a conviction for stealing, while her husband also took his own life, according to an archive New York Times report.

The next owner, an investor, was indicted on larceny and fraud charges, dying in 1974 before the case had gone to trial, aged just 46. His widow compared Dunnellen to the cursed Hope Diamond, according to reports. The next millionaire to hold the deeds, Indian oil tanker tycoon Ravi Takkoo, ended up filing for bankruptcy. In 1983, he sold Dunnellen and its contents to the 'Queen of Mean' real estate mogul Leona Helmsley and her husband Harry for £25.2 million ($32m) in today's money. Here's a pic of their revamp, which they spent a fortune on.

The Helmsleys also fell victim to the curse, with Leona eventually imprisoned for false accounting and tax evasion. Following her death in 2007, Dunnellen was sold again and underwent a major refurb, shown here. But the curse persisted. The mansion was listed in 2014 for £51.3 million ($65m) and didn't sell until 2020, when the price was slashed to £13 million ($16.5m). Here's hoping the current owner is having better luck!

Construction on this fantastical castle in Portugal's northern Braga region began in 1915. It was commissioned by João José Ferreira do Rego and his wealthy Brazilian-born heiress wife Francisca Peixoto Rego, with the residence's popular moniker deriving from her first name, which was shortened to Chica.

Swiss architect Ernest Korrodi designed the pad in a fabulous hotchpotch of styles, from Gothic and Renaissance to Art Nouveau, but the project hit the skids when the Regos separated in 1919. According to some sources, Francisca infuriated the parish priest with the many parties she threw and her refusal to cover up from head to toe, which was expected of respectable ladies at the time.

As the story goes, tensions with the clergyman came to a head in the 1930s and Francisca escaped to Brazil, having divorced another husband. But before leaving Portugal, she is said to have cursed the castle, vowing it would never be finished or lived in. Whether this local folklore is true or not, her hex appears to have held over the decades.

In 1938, the unfinished castle was bought by an English aristocrat, but it's unclear whether he actually resided there. Ditto the next owner, Alberto Torres de Figueiredo, a bookkeeper for a wealthy count. An owner further down the line, Francisco Joaquim Alves de Macedo, pressed ahead with construction work, removing original features, including exquisite tiles and wooden interiors.

The crumbling mansion is said to have been completed in 1991, but the curse still holds more or less as the project wasn't finished as planned, with jarring newer additions. The locals say Princess Diana was interested in buying the castle not long before her death in 1997, as reported by Portuguese media company, Publico. As for residents, to date, nobody appears to have actually lived in the property, which has passed through several owners since de Macedo.

Elda Castle in Ossining, New York, was built in 1927 by David T Abercrombie, the co-founder of Abercrombie and Fitch, which started out as a high-end purveyor of outdoor apparel. Resplendent with turrets featuring crenelations, arched windows and whimsical courtyards, the medieval-inspired 25-room marvel was simply magical on its completion.

According to a report in the New York Almanack, Abercrombie named the castle after the first letters of the names of his children, Elizabeth, Lucy, David and Abbot. Lamentably, bad fortune struck the family soon after they moved there. In 1929, 30-year-old Lucy was killed in an explosion at her father's factory. The grief-stricken gentlemen's outfitter passed away two years later at 64, while his son David Jr died in 1937. He was only 35.

The American castle boasts a cavernous great room, shown here in its heyday. Following her husband's death, Abercrombie's widow sold the property to a paint research company, but after the Second World War the castle was left vacant and frequently targeted by vandals. Harrick Scientific company president James Harrick bought the rundown property in 1964 for the equivalent of just £110,430 ($140k) today and set about restoring it, but died in the 1990s before he could complete the project.

Subsequent owners, who have included a JP Morgan heir, have attempted to finish the restoration and revive the property, but all attempts to breathe some life into Elda Castle have met with abject failure. A magnet for bad luck, the crumbling property last sold in 2011 for £3 million ($3.8m) to a mysterious trust that has left it vacant.

No doubt eager to offload the cursed property, the trust put it back on the market in 2017 with an asking price of £2.9 million ($3.7m). The price was subsequently dropped to £2.4 million ($3.1m) but failed to attract a buyer. And as if things couldn't get any worse, in mid-2022, the property was gutted by a devastating fire, which ripped through all five floors, adding to the castle's cursed reputation. Amazingly, the property is still for sale right now for £2.3 million ($2.9m).

According to local legend, this 32-room mansion, in Philadelphia's upscale Chestnut Hill neighbourhood, was built in or around 1911 by a carpenter who went on to murder his wife. In 1926, the property was bought by Major May Easby of the storied Easby family, who trace their ancestry back to 12th century Yorkshire and immigrated to America aboard the Welcome way back in 1683.

Shortly after the family moved into the mansion, the major's son Steven died aged only 11. The story of the house's haunted past is explored in the book, Haunted Philadelphia: Famous Phantoms, Sinister Sites, and Lingering Legends, by Darcy Oordt. His brother George, who ultimately inherited the property, revealed that a few weeks before his death the boys were playing in the garden when they stopped to look in the fountain. Disturbingly, Steven's face appeared on the water's surface as a skull, a harbinger of his imminent demise.

Things get a whole lot creepier from here. Steven's ghost has appeared to several people over the years aside from George, and has even been spotted by the current owner's wife and two of the couple's friends. The duo is convinced they saw a blonde-haired boy walking around the house, while the owner's partner said she caught the child's reflection in a mirror, then turned around to discover he'd vanished.

A hotbed of paranormal activity, the mansion is also said to be haunted by George's mother Henrietta, while Thomas Jefferson apparently lurks in the dining room, and the ghost of the first owner's wife has threatened terrified visitors with her cane. Strange noises, random power cuts and objects being moved by an invisible force suggest that a poltergeist is in residence too.

The scariest part of the house has got to be the infamous blue room, home of 'the chair of death'. This cursed antique is said to have been crafted by a warlock in the 18th century and was once owned by Napoleon. Sitting on it isn't advisable, since those who have done so are said to have died within two weeks, victims of a malevolent spirit called Amelia or Amanda that haunts the chair. The local historical society has linked four deaths to the dreaded piece of furniture before it was reassuringly roped off, including one of George's cousins.

Dundas Castle, aka Craig-E-Clair, lies deep in the Catskill Mountains of Roscoe, New York. Cloaked in sadness, the so-called Castle of Sorrow conceals a particularly heart-wrenching history. The medieval-style residence was commissioned by wealthy New Yorker Ralph Wurts-Dundas in the late 1910s, but he died in 1921, before its scheduled completion, leaving his wife and daughter absolutely bereft.

According to the Beaverkill Friends group, Wurts-Dundas' widow Josephine was committed to an asylum one year later and the half-finished property passed to the couple's daughter, Muriel. The family's awful luck continued when she was duped out of her inheritance. Muriel eventually moved to England where her mental health quickly deteriorated and, like her mother, she was packed away to an asylum, where she ended her days.

The castle remained unfinished. Muriel's estate sold the property in 1949 to the Prince Hall Grand Lodge of the Masonic Order. It was used as a masonic retreat and holiday camp until the 1970s, and then largely abandoned. The castle has sat empty ever since. In fact, nobody has ever lived in the cursed residence.

According to local folklore, Josephine's ghost haunts the castle. Some say the forlorn figure was cruelly locked away in a room after she became mentally unstable, but there's no evidence this ever happened. It's also said that the water in the ponds on the castle's grounds turns into blood when the moon is full.

Fortunately, things are finally looking up for the Castle of Sorrow, with a happier future on the cards. The property is reportedly undergoing an extensive makeover and is set to open as a luxury hotel. Let's keep our fingers crossed that the reinvention finally breaks the curse that has afflicted the pile for so many years.

Born out of grief and tainted by tragedy, the spectacular Lynnewood Hall just outside Philadelphia was completed in 1900 for industrialist and art collector Peter A B Widener, who splurged a staggering £220 million ($279m) in today's money on the colossal 110-room pile. The largest Neo-classical mansion of the Gilded Age, Lynnewood Hall has been described as "the last of the American Versailles", such was its grandeur.

Widener packed the 70,000-square-foot mansion with museum-worthy antique furniture, Persian rugs, silk drapery and Chinese porcelain, not to mention his enviable collection of paintings, which included works by Raphael, El Greco, Rembrandt and other Old Masters. But all the finery couldn't take away from the fact that Lynnewood Hall was built on grief.

Widener commissioned the mansion partly as a way of coping with the loss of his beloved wife, who died aboard the family yacht in 1896. But grief returned in a devastating way in 1912 for the industrialist. An investor in the Titanic, he passed on a berth on its maiden voyage. Instead, Widener's son George, his wife Eleanor and their son Harry booked into first class, following a holiday in Europe.

Eleanor survived the disaster, but George and Harry perished when the ship went down. Crestfallen, Widener's health declined considerably due to the overwhelming guilt and grief he was feeling. He died in 1915 with a broken heart. Widener's younger son inherited the property but soon abandoned it. In 1947, Lynnewood Hall was sold to a developer.

In 1952, Reverend Carl McIntire, a rabid anti-communist preacher, bought the manse and turned it into a religious school. He sold off many of the furnishings and original features, and failed to maintain the property. After hard-up McIntire foreclosed in 1992, Lynnewood passed to a Korean church. It has attempted several times to sell the property, without luck, and it was last on the market in late 2019 for £8.6 million ($11m). It remains unsold and in dire need of a proper restoration, as captured here by Leland Kent of Abandoned Southeast.

This evocative ruin may have a cheerful name, but its history is anything but, according to a report in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. In 1903, Kansas City businessman Robert McClure Snyder Sr began purchasing land near Camdenton, Missouri, including the Ha Ha Tonka Lake, which means smiling or laughing waters in the local Native American language.

Construction began in earnest on an extravagant medieval Scottish-style pile, but work on the project was brutally cut short in 1906 when Snyder Sr was killed in a car accident, making him one of Missouri's earliest motoring fatalities. Ha Ha Tonka Castle then passed to Synder Sr's sons, who set to work completing the residence.

Snyder's sons managed to finish the castle in 1920, albeit on a less lavish scale than their father envisaged. The manse was subsequently used as a holiday home before one of the sons took up full-time residence. But it wasn't meant to be. The Wall Street Crash of 1929 decimated the family fortune and land rights lawsuits related to the castle bled the Synders dry.

Broke and dejected, the Synders were forced to rent out the castle, which was converted into a hotel and lodge during the 1930s, but the business was in operation for only a few years. The castle's end came in 1942 when a catastrophic fire ripped through the building, completely gutting it.

For decades, the castle's shell remained largely forgotten. Thankfully, the state purchased the grounds in 1978 and shored up the ruins, creating Ha Ha Tonka State Park, and the site is now one of Missouri's most popular recreation areas. Be that as it may, visitors who are aware of the castle's cursed history may decide to give it a very wide berth.

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