A massive investigation is underway in Philadelphia after police discovered over a million pieces of graphic digital evidence, chemical equipment and weapons inside an Olney neighborhood home belonging to late pornographer Raymond “RC” Horsch, who passed away last year at age 83.

The sprawling federal and local probe centers on at least seven women tied to the house who disappeared beginning in 2012. At the home authorities have uncovered disturbing recordings documenting the 𝘢bu𝘴e, asphyxiation, and alleged strangulation of women at the residence, alongside urns holding ashes and containers of an unknown oily substance.

Erotic-content creator Audrey Hollander was a model who worked with Horsch in the early 2000s and recounted her experience to The Post’s Chadwick Moore:

I was just starting out in my career as an adult-film actress in 2004 when my agent booked me on a string of gigs in the Northeast. I was excited about breaking into the industry. I packed my bags and left Kentucky bound for my first meeting in Philadelphia, where I was told a local artist was casting girls to appear in a music video.

But the minute I stepped into the now infamous “house of horrors” on Chew Avenue, I knew something wasn’t right. It was like a hoarder’s nest — junk piled everywhere. But mostly it was the odor, which still haunts me more than 20 years later — a funky smell, rotten, like something spoiled.

I had a bad feeling. I wanted to run out of the door and never look back. The house had a dark energy and I was fully creeped out. Even then I felt like I was being cased out for a body part or a snuff film. I had this feeling he was feeling me out, seeing what he could do to me.

After decades in the industry, I’ve learned to trust my instincts in these situations, but back then I was brand new. I worried that if I turned down this gig, my agent might drop me.

I was alone in the house with RC Horsch and asked to use the bathroom. He led me down into a damp, dark basement. Sitting next to the toilet was a copy of AVN magazine, the porn industry’s flagship publication. Being a newcomer in the industry, of course I’m going to flip through it.

When I did, a baggie of brown powder fell out from between the pages. I’ve never done drugs, but I know heroin when I see it.

It all made sense when I rejoined Horsch and he told me some of the models he worked with were really bad on drugs and he wanted to document their lives. I realized he placed the magazine there with the drugs for me to find, hoping I would do them.

I got the job. A month later we were in California śh́óóting at the renowned fetish studio of a Playboy photographer who had worked with Ansel Adams. The song we were śh́óóting the video for was called “Bad, Bad Boy.” Horsch said he licensed it from Madonna, an obvious lie meant to impress me, I guess.

It was a really stupid song, but I didn’t want to get a reputation of being uppity or difficult. Besides, it seemed pretty straightforward. He wanted me to lip sync the lyrics while bent over a wooden desk with him simulating 𝘴єx on me from behind.

We shot for two days. A more graphic version was also released and I noticed on the promo image Horsch standing behind me holding a sickle. Still to this day, I don’t know what that was about. It’s all so morbid.

By the end of filming, my fingers were bloody and I had severe bruising on my hip bones. He was violently hitting and slapping my rear-end, knocking me into the desk and demanding that I dig my nails into the wood harder and harder.

He wasn’t satisfied until I had left deep scratch marks smeared with streaks of my own blood. My nails had splinters in them and my fingers were bleeding when it was all over. This was no simulation, I thought.

“Show the claw marks!” he snapped to the camera guy.

I was 23, and even today at 47 years old I still have a beautiful mane of bouncy red hair, but he made me put on a grotesque wig to cover it up. I thought it was strange he was trying to make me look as ugly as possible. We usually sell fantasy in this industry but it became clear that wasn’t what Horsch was going for: he wanted me to be clownish and degraded.

Bruised and bloodied, I walked away vowing to never work with that creep again. Nonetheless, he pursued me. My agent said Horsch called nonstop asking me to come back to Philadelphia.

I knew this was a messed-up guy and I didn’t care if I never worked again — I wasn’t going back.

In hindsight, I see why he liked me. I was super skinny, waif-like with a young face. I had that wounded “heroin chic” look, and Horsch, we now know, preyed on drug-addicted women.

I pushed that experience to the back of my mind and went on to have a successful career in the adult industry. I was AVN’s Performer of the Year in 2024 and even inducted into their Hall of Fame.

Then, a couple weeks ago, a fan who remembered my early work commented on a social-media post asking what I knew about RC Horsch. The disgusting creep in Philadelphia with the foul-smelling house? Why would he ask that, I wondered.

I searched his name. When I saw the news, my heart sank to the floor.

When I dealt with Horsch I knew down to my core that this was an evil guy. I know he definitely had plans for me and I’m still psychologically processing all of this.

I’m even going to therapy about it. I think about those poor missing women and how I could have been one of them.

I’m so thankful I never went back to that creepy house on Chew Avenue.

Luckily, things got better for me. I have a lot more control over my content now. I even started a dog-walking business, and I’m looking to start a sexy coffee company.

If my experience can help in even the smallest way to advance the investigation, then I believe it is worth sharing. And I hope that in some small way I can give a voice to the missing women who never got a chance to speak.