Stonehenge has never been short of folk who reckon something unaccountable goes on… Far out there, man. Far out there.
The Devil got in first. Bought the stones off an old woman in Ireland, magicked them over by night, then chucked one at a friar who caught him at it. Hence the Friar’s Heel.
Then there’s the counting. Four hundred-odd years ago, back around Elizabeth I, it was held that nobody could count the stones twice and arrive at the same total, and that whoever managed it would come to a bad end. Nobody ever says what sort of bad end. That’s the trouble with a curse. No docket. No paperwork. Nobody to ring. No Google to query. No help’s coming. (I know that trick.)
The witches turned up considerably later. Skyclad rites at the stones are a 1950s and 60s invention, Wicca first, then the free festivals, yes, sometimes naked, but as ancient as a Ford Anglia. Hasn’t stopped anybody. Thursdays out there are usually strange.