So time passed and did not move at all. Ten years of voices in my head, of memories that were more real, more vivid, than the World outside my window. Ten years of constant construction. All this might suggest that I was very far adrift from reality, that I was incapable of distinguishing true from false. Were there hideous dream coming in the night? Visitations, or more of glowing, late-night specters suddenly visible just outside my bedroom window? Had I really seen blood ooze from behind the walls?  It had got quite dark, as if a sudden storm was sweeping up over the sky. Others were near me, but I could not see them. We were standing by the palm trees at the turn of the drive, and as Mr. Hansen came to me, I passed behind the palm trees and, in the darkness, I hurried back to the house. And a queer thing was that as I reached the door the black cloud vanished, and there was the transparent twilight again. In the house everything seemed as usual, and the caretakers were busy about their work; but I could not get it out of my head that a shadow of a cloud had concealed the sun. I paused for breath, and began again. In the hall I stopped at the annunciator to call for help, but unknown forces seemed to answer my call. A mass fog started hovering at the end of the hall, and out of it came a tall thin man with a pocket watch in his vest and black garters on his arms. He was carrying a lantern down the hall toward me. He was extremely pale as if suffering from a high fever. When the phantasm’s eyes met my own, his features appeared quite tranquil and not at all disagreeable, but I could not help being filled with some sort of nameless dread. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

Suddenly, there came a fierce bombardment of stones against the roof and doors. Fearing an attack by bandits, I ran to grab my revolver, and shouted an alarm. Cautiously looking out into moonlit fields, I saw nothing. No one. Then, as I blinked my unbelieving eyes, the front gate was wrenched from its hinges by an invisible force and tossed high into the air. Venturing out to investigate, my revolver clenched firmly in my hand. A volley of stones was suddenly hurled at me, and I feld back into the mansion. As I slammed and barred the front door behind me, the caretakers shuttered the windows. However, shutters made no difference to the stones. In they came, through glass, through shutters, rolling down the chimney, smashing against the door. Objects in the room began to hurl themselves at me. Candles were blown out. The bars on the doors began to bend under the solid blows of an invisible hammer. A tea cup smashed itself against a wall. Somehow, I managed to survive this night of horror. However, much to my dismay, the stone-throwing spirit had not vanished with the coming dawn and the rooster’s crowing. That day, haystacks in the fields were broken up and the hay tossed into the high branches of trees. As the farmers attempted to go about their farmwork, stones pursued them. This could not be the work of naughty little boys. One of the boys who had been helping put up the hay was struck so hard on the back that he began to cry. This spirit never developed a voice, but was quite proficient at snorting and whistling. It smashed pottery and slammed furniture about the room. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

One night I was standing on the stairs, talking to a stonemason who told me his tools were being knocked out of his hand while he was working by an invisible demon and others went missing. As we were talking, we both caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure floating down towards us carrying the tools. The farmers has also had sickle blades broken by stones, and several rows of corn had been uprooted. If passion, fear, anger or other emotions must be expended to create a haunting, then it should be no surprise that my mansion was host to its share of ghost. Staff often reported hearing what sounded like heated arguments coming from the Blue Séance Room, and the sweet smell of smoking tobacco, despite no one ever smoked in my home. On December 24, 1896, two men using a key opened the safe in the Grand Ball Room and stole over $1,000,000 in money and bonds were removed from the vault, but the bonds were thrown away and they took what gold and silver they could carry without attracting attention. The sheriff was dumbfounded. However, they soon leaned that two locksmiths, Robert and David Bowles had recently changed the locks, so they were arrested. The two of them lived in the attic of my home. There was not enough evidence to hold the men, so the men were set free. They both contracted yellow fever while in jail, and died a week later. Soon after their deaths, reports began to surface that the staff of the Winchester mansion were being haunted by Robert and David. Loud banging or dragging noises came from the attic and the hallway just outside it. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

Since the late 1880s, there has been a persistent sight of a young woman, dressed all in white. We believe her name to be Astrid, she was one of my caretakers who fell in love with one of the farmers Baldur. It seems that they used to meet in the greenhouse, and that his family disapproved of her. However, he was certain their love would prevail, and promised he would be with her forever in marriage, eventually. Their meetings continued, her love growing deeper and deeper for him. But even the strength of love has its limits. He finally told her that it would not work out, the problems that they faced were insurmountable, and that he would have to break his promise that they would be together in marriage. They met in the greenhouse one last time. She committed suicide and died in his arms. Now, whenever a promise is broken, there, among the deep green plants, a pale phantasm hovers in the greenhouse. Forever, mourning a broken pledge, forever haunts the Woman in White. Frequently on Easter Sundays, clocks would move about on the mantelpiece in the Hall of Fires and the room would be lit up by a vibrating glow. I had been naturally a fearless child; now I live in a state of chronic fear. Fear of what? I cannot say—and even at the time, I was never able to formulate my terror. It was like some dark undefinable menace, forever stalking my steps, lurking, and threatening; I was conscious of it wherever I went by day, and at night it made sleep impossible, unless a light and caretaker were in the room. However, whatever it was, it was most formidable and pressing when I was returning from my daily walk. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

During the last few years, and while I waited on the door-step, I could feel it behind me, upon me; and there was any delay in opening of the door I was seized by a choking agony of terror. It did not matter who was with me, for no one could protect me. This species of hauntings lasted seven or eight years, and I was a young lady with long skirts and my hair up before my heart ceased to beat with fear if I stood a minute on the door-step! Then one day, at the very front door, I looked up and saw an officer, dressed in Union blue, tall, gaunt, and apparently a modern re-enactor moving rapidly down the wide open lawn, toward my home. He seemed in a hurry to reach the front doors. I looked away to make sure they were opened, and as I looked back at him, he had completely vanished. I immediately had the front doors sealed so that his soul would rest in my estate. From the day on, the Devil had appeared to me on a number of occasions, the first time offering me a purse of silver. I was lost. Bewilderingly, heart and soul, lost. There was a promise that there was an entire life to be lived if I could only take the chance. I can still recall the sense of possibility that came over me then, a kind of lightness. Every sinew, every muscle, every vein in my body seemed suddenly to vibrate, to be alive. If I could find the courage to speak, people would listen. I took a deep breath and then slowly, steadily exhaled. Finally, I began to talk.  I noticed that I could speak in languages that I had never learned. I remember everything about that day. Every tiny detail. The smell and the texture of it, every second before and after the Devil appeared. The purple leaves on the copper beech turning and there was condensation on the inside of the window in the early morning. The fire had been lit for the first time since the previous winter and there was a pleasant smell of pine in the room. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

I did not hear the knock at the door, but I remember being aware of footsteps on the floors in the hall. Even then, I think I knew. There was something in the quality of the silence that shouted out that this caller was unwelcome. I stopped what I was doing and listened, listened to the silence. Then I heard a voice in the hall. I ran. Sending the door flying back against the wall, I ran down the stairs. From the hall below, a sound that tore through me like a butcher’s knife. Not screaming exactly, more a howling, a wailing, the same word repeated over and over, “Mine, mine, mine.” I was struck on the head by a falling hammer. Laying on the floor unconscious, I awoke, and it was the Devil, he told me that I must live and continue to build my estate and that every coin of silver in his purse represented the years I had to live. If I wanted to see my husband and my darling daughter again, it was an offer I could not refuse. When I awoke, my most valued pieces of furniture were rudely destroyed by the violent and unbidden guest, but there were nearly one hundred silver coins in a purse. I had no visible injuries, nor suffered any terrible mental or emotional pain. But there was a piercing scream, followed by a raucous cacophony of voices filling the room. That night as I lay in bed, I thought about seeing my husband and daughter again. I thought about how I would devote this mansion, not only to the spirits, but also to the spirits of my family. My face was stained with tears. I thought about the pact I had made. I got up, put on my clothes, keeping my revolver in my pocket, and went down the steps of my home, past the two caretakers playing cards in the living room.  One of the me got up. “Mrs. Winchester, you want something, a cup of tea maybe?” “I need to walk,” I said. No one stopped me. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

I went outside and walked around the gardens. I noticed the lay the leaves looked in the trees that were nearest the lamppost. I noticed how the branches of the evergreen trees were gleaming with dew. I studied the tall steep shingled roofs of the house. I looked at the glint of light in the diamond-paned windows. I listened to the sound of grass under my feet, and came to the cupid fountain that was running in spite of the cold, and watched the water erupt from the jet and fall down in an airy white shower into the basin that boiled under the dim light. The air smelled of pine needles and of burning wood. There was a freshness and a cleanness I had not experienced. There was a deliberate beauty. I made my way back to the house slowly. I could not sleep. Then a strange thing occurred, as I drew near the mansion. From within the house, I heard a subtle stirring music. Surely a window was open to the cold for me to hear something of such tenderness, and subtle beauty. I knew it to be a harp. There was the window up ahead, tall and made of leaded glass and opened to the cold. From there the music was coming: a long swelling note, and then a cautious melody. Finally, the music stopped. I glanced up and saw a black shadow jump out the window toward me. I found myself shaken, frightened without reason by the sound of voices crying out in pain and the echoes of sobbing. Looking over to the nine-story observation tower, there was a ghostly guard walking his eternal watch. My home seems to be a place haunted by shadows and furtive ghosts. It seems to have been taken over by spirits. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7

The Winchester Mystery House

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