Outside, rain was falling harder than ever, pounding on the roof, gurgling noisily through the gutter and downspouts. It was slanting across the front porch and through the shattered window, but we did not have time to worry about water damage. When I was well enough to trust myself to think about it all again I found that a very little thinking got my temperature up, and my heart hammering in my throat. And I sat and talked with my husband, on the same sofa—my husband who had been dead year! I clutched his hand, which was blue and waxy. Tears ran down my cheeks. The circle was a vicious one; I could not break through it. There would be no more sleepless nights spent smothered by his arms—he would never come to bed again. A sob ripped through my body. “Come back!” I wept into his neck. My back quaked, shoulder blades cutting sharp wings in the silk of my dress. I looked at William’s cold face, his eyes staring out into a new World that he could only see. A glacier of hurt expanded in my chest, and I could not get away from the clinging reality. It was a ghost I had been talking to, and not a mere projection of my imagination. Something survived of William Winchester—enough to cry out to me the uttered loneliness of a lifetime, to express at last of what I had always had to keep silent and hidden. The thought moved me curiously—in my weakness I lay and wept over it. No end of a marriage was ever like that, I supposed, and perhaps, after death, if my husband had got his chance, he would try to use it…Old tales and legends floated through my mind; Ziusudra from Old Babylonian, the medieval vampire—but what names to attach to the plaintive image of William Wirt Winchester! #RandolphHarris 1 of 9
All the preternatural World shimmered. Once a preternatural mind picks up the ripples of a sharp cut in the fabric of the ordinary, then another mind receives the image, and on it goes. And then a wickedness possessed me. I came closer toward William and embraced him, knowing that the hardness and coldness of my body would strike the deepest chord of terror in him. But he did not draw back. And when I kissed his cheek, he kissed mine. My mind wandering in and out among these visions and conjectures, and the longer I spent time with him, the more I became convinced that something which had been William Winchester had talked to me this night and held me in his loving arms. I made up my mind, to hurt out the spirits in my mansion—in that shady wing where the sun never bothers one—and appease the poor ghost with a few flowers for allowing me to see my husband again, and let them tell me about how they wanted my home constructed. These precious spirits not only protected me, but I felt that they truly loved me. I had had a glimpse of things that were really no business of mine. The spirits allowed me to see their archives. It was remarkable. A storehouse of tablets, scrolls, parchments—books and poems from cultures of which the World knows nothing. Books lost from time. Of course they forbade me to reveal anything I found except their detail drawings for construction plans. I held documents from Imperial Rome, and other crumbling bits of stone tablets. But after a while of thought, the knowledge began to trouble me. #RandolphHarris 2 of 9
I started to look at the queer neglected look of my house. There was a knot in my throat; I felt almost uncomfortable. “The housemaid forgets,” I heard my poor ghost husband quaver. I shook my head. After all, what had shocked me was that the change was so slight—that between being dead and alive. But William’s eyes were still searching me insistently. He sat silently, his eyes still on my face. His tears had stopped, but his look of solicitude slowly grew into a stare of something like terror. Hesitatingly, almost reluctantly, he stretched out his hand and laid it on mine for an instant more. “You must tell me,” my dead husband said. “I know I ought to have long ago,” I replied. I wanted to say more, but the words would not come. I hugged my ghost husband tighter, trying to find the old scent of his smooth skin. William could feel the rage trembling inside my body, the hatred that a curse had wedged between me and my family, as voices echoed down the bustling hallways of my mansion. I reached over to take him into my arms again, but midway I froze. A pair of beady black eyes stared back at me as the biggest snake I had ever seen taunted me with a forked and darting tongue. The serpent was enormous: as wide as a Zip and who knows how long, the thick muscle of its body flexing under a sheen of scales that glistened in an ominous black-and-red pattern, like tar glistening in the sun. It flicked its tongue at me almost seductively from inside a head as red and lustrous as fresh blood. I opened my mouth, but even the scream would not come right away—not until the viper brought itself up tall and hissed, flexing the scales on its neck. Then I let loose a shriek so loud that even the Greek statues looked like that wanted to take cover. #RandolphHarris 3 of 9
The snake swayed back and forth, beady eyes darting back and forth, as if there were other entities in the room and it was decided who to attack first. It filled me with a cold dread that ran deeper than fear, as if the devil himself had sent a dark and bloodthirsty messenger to my home. Its head was at least two feet off the floor, and there was who knew how much of its stilled coiled under the coffee table. I shrank back on the sofa. The snake burst through William’s throat with a loud roar. The snake hissed hideously, lashing its tail from side to side like a fresh-caught fish flopping on Long Wharf. Bjorn, the butler, heard the commotion and rushed into the parlor with Captain Henry Ware Lawton’s ’86 Winchester, shooting the snake again and again. Its tail flailed, jerking back and forth in a spray of glittering scales and blood. At Bjorn shot it one last time, the jerking stopped and the snake stiffened. For a second, it looked like it was levitating off the ground, all of its coiled muscular energy propelling itself into one final moment of life. And then it vanished. “My goodness, what happened in here?” Bjorn asked? “Oh, it was awful!” I sobbed. Zip leapt onto my lap and began licking my tear, and I heled him tight, weeping into his soft fur. “This snake just popped out of nowhere.” Bjorn jumped up, clasping his hands on his chest and darting away from me. At the other end of the room he stood and gazed, and then moved back slowly. “Then, after all—I wonder?” He held his eyes on me, half fearful and half reassured. “Could it be that this mansion is really haunted?” No,” I said slowly. #RandolphHarris 4 of 9
I walked through the huge vestibule and then into the peristyle and into the dining room. I beheld an amazing sight. My father-in-law, Oliver Winchester, was in full battle dress, armed with sword and dagger, lacking only his shield. He even wore his red cloak. His breastplate was polished and gleaming. He started at the floor and with reason. It had been dug up. The old Hearth from generations ago had been excavated. This had been the first room of this house that I started to remodel, and it was around this Hearth that the past owner and his family gathered, worshipped, and dined. I had never even seen it. There was a pattern, a texture of rectangular stones. It was a mosaic. There were slabs of decorated travertine, the kind you find in a cemetery. “What is God’s name is going on here?” I wondered. I was convinced that the ghost of my father-in-law was telling me this site was some kind of Pompeii waiting to be discovered. Lying in the pile of stones, there were several Roman funerary markers. Next to them was a marble altar decorated with rams’ heads and birds; one of the rams’ heads had been clipped, and the altar edges bore the fresh scars of a knife’s blade. Stumps of marble tombstones were strewn across what used to be my dining room. My heart sank. I could see small remnants of mosaics and terra-cotta urns. This was not just a small cluster of graves; it was extensive, probably composing four thousand or five thousand square feet of the main floor. In the center were the brick walls of what looked like a columbarium and other small mausoleum. Someone had sliced through a city of the dead. When I bought the house, it was an eighteen-room farmhouse, I had no idea what secrets it kept. #RandolphHarris 5 of 9
I remembered a similar discovery a few years earlier, as the construction workers were expanding the basement. The excavation hole was vast and deep and looked like the entry to hell. I later learned that we had dug into an ancient Roman villa, with frescoed paintings of birds, masks, and monsters. The artifacts were cleared out, cataloged, and stored in a museum on the estate that had long been forgotten. Then, there came a loud crash. The front door was being bashed in. My father-in-law wobbled as if he was fainting. He was white. Blood flowed and flowed from his wrists. His eyes rolled up into his head, and he vanished. I went to see what had become of my front door. Glancing through the thickening fall of the torrential rain, there was a melancholy man in black. He was wondering how such a house as mine came to be built. Explaining that there had been others like it, and that one Colonel Naglee, who had been murdered by the Indians, with all his family, once lived nearby. This tale was confirmed by the fact that the ruined cellars of several smaller houses were still to be discovered under the wild growth of the estate, and that the Communion plate of the moribund Episcopal church of Trinity Cathedral was engraved with the Colonel Naglee, who had given it to the church when it was consecrated in 1867. No other traces of the church remained. I never knew this place. My home seemed as far away from humanity. Miles were not the only distance. The man seeming satisfied turned into a gloomy mist and dissipated. It was not possible for any candle to keep fire. #RandolphHarris 6 of 9
I saw something in the mystical flash of the whole picture, and in a mad ray, the thing gripped me because it was so utterly unbelievable. All Christians believed the World would end soon. Preparing for this end of the World was the essence of religion. Blood flowed that night representing the Garden of Eden, Satan, and the magical presence of Christ’s blood having been poured into the chalice from the last supper. That night, I awoke to find a tall, hooded figure standing in the corner of the room. A full cowl threw the face into shadow; the arms were crossed over the chest. The creature’s hands were hidden in the deep folds of its garment. I was bloody scared because it was so real. I shouted at it, but it would not budge. It just stood there, even when I lit a candle. I figure if this man would not leave my sleeping chambers, I would. However, when I got to the landing, there it was again, standing at the bottom of the stairs. I did not know what to do. I ran back into my room and locked the door. The hooded entity demonstrated that doors and walls were no obstacles as it appeared at the foot of my bed again. I lie awake most of the night, a prisoner in my own bedroom. This druid did not want me to leave the house. But eventually I dozed off. As daylight broke at the window, I knew something was wrong. Little Zip was missing. I cursed myself for falling asleep. Trembling, I left the bed. The door was still locked. I hardly dared to think about what I might find outside. Refusing to accept the possibility that my dog could be lost to me. #RandolphHarris 7 of 9
However, Zip was safe. He lay fast asleep, curled up on the stairs. And demons also came out, many of them. From place to place, and from one room to another. Spirits came out of the walls. It was as if I was being transported back three thousand years into the days of old religion. There were bodies arranged on the floor as if they had taken part in some ancient ritual. The dark secrets of my mansion were almost as enchanting as was the glimpse of ancient cult rituals, which played out on their own. Horned monsters appeared, with glistening green eyes and blood and smoke exuding from their nostrils and fanged mouths. Sounds of mooing, hoof beats and cowbells made my ears bleed. Soon after all these hauntings, public lighting was introduced. Many were able to grasp the gas lamps of my estate, this arc lighting brought virtual daylight to my home, gardens. Later, the miracle of electricity penetrated my home, as well as other public places. With it, came the brilliance of the sun into cottages and palaces alike. The advances in lighting had affected the behaviour and the minds of people. The planet had been transformed by lighting. Yet, these times were still perfect for ghost, they had new sources of energy to feed off of and it was as if they became even more active. Being confused by light during the darkest nights, they started to come out in the daylight and cause even more of a fright. However, they still preferred the night, where they could hide in the shadows. The Winchester Mansion’s Demons still wanted fresh blood. And got what it wanted. I was truly frighted of all these new souls it was acquiring. I discovered the heart of superstition in myself. #RandolphHarris 8 of 9
To those who believe in them, a demon is an evil spirit. Demons are not a new idea. Stories of demons have been around for thousands of years. Early paintings and folklore show images and tell stories of demon possession. The word “demon” comes from the ancient Greek word daimon. It means “full of wisdom.” The idea of being possessed calls frightening visions to mind. However, not all possessions have been seen as negative. In ancient times, people believed being possessed by good spirits caused divine visions. Some people claimed to become possessed so spirits could speak through them. More than 3,000 years ago, the Greeks built the shrine of Delphi. The Greek built Delphi around a spring they thought was the center of the World. A priestess, called an oracle, lived at the shrine. People traveled great distances to visit the Oracle at Delphi. They believed she could get information from the spirit World. She answered people’s questions about the future. For thousands of years, people have believed that crystals held special psychic powers. Between AD 500 and 1500, the crystal ball became a popular tool for fortune-telling in European countries. Fortune-tellers would gaze into crystal balls and claim to see visions. In the visions, fortune-tellers said they received information about a person’s past, present, or future. Some people continue to seek guidance from the spirit World Mediums and psychics are people who claim to have knowledge of the spirit World. Some claim to know hidden information about you or your life’s path. It is estimated that The Winchester Manson once contained 500 to 600 rooms, but because so many were redone, only 160 remain. This naturally resulted in some peculiar effects, such as stairs that lead to the ceiling, doors that go nowhere and that opened onto walls, and chimneys that stop just short of the roof! #RandolphHarris 9 of 9
Randolph Harris II International 