It must have been years since I had walked back to this wing of my great massive house. It was born more grand, of masonry and trimmed in very fancy ironwork. The classic center hall with the twin parlors on either side; in these rooms the decorative energy come from the square and rectangular shape panels of varied materials that make up the wall surface rather than from the arrangement of discrete objects. The result is a mosaic of shapes held together tenuously in a plane, conveying an implication of flux not found in most of the rest of the mansion. I love the partially covered parquet floors; the three-part walls consisting of strong dark wainscoting, with a middle neutral ground of paper, brocade and leather, and the decorated frieze at the top; the ceiling are paneled in dark wood, and some are finished in plaster; with brass sconces and crystal chandeliers; along with centered, shelf-supporting overmantel with tiles below; there are fine woods and superior wood carving; exquisite hangings of plush and velvet; heavy embroidered portieres; firm but appealing colors—crimson, dead gold, bronze; stamped leather chairs, and on the walls original oil paintings by familiar names of the modern French, German, Spanish, and Italian schools. Although these homogeneous interiors are dark, because of the mahogany paneling, the light that does enter does not lift these interiors but bounces from the exquisitely finished surfaces of the wood and from the scores of well-crafted objects within the parlors. The reflected lights from these objects compete with one another and with the glistening surface panels. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

The chandeliers of these parlors were small, not decorated with gold like the Baccarats of the hall. They only had crystal and glass. I had played the organ in the dark, on winter nights. With the fireplace blazing, I tried and tried to make music. My vision was blurred. The words had been torn from my heart. Playing for spectators, of passing invisible though walls and then coming alive in lurid flaming splendor. That is when a dark-haired, long-robed entity materialized before me. Looking at me, his hair falling down dark and straight on both sides. The two small braids had come undone and mixed now with the longer locks, loose and shining. He broke down on me with all his powers to fright. However, it only brought some old actor’s beauty to mind. His sharp nose and enthralling eyes, he had the dark beauty of George Berrell. I believed him to be the ghost of a Native American. The ghostly adviser told me he had been at my side since I was a school girl. “I know you better than you know yourself,” the spirit chided me. The vapor that surrounded the ghost glowed with a surging life. My ears rand with the roars of the gun shots, the shouts and cries of million who had become locked in mortal combat. Above the sounds of strife, the mysterious voice admonished me to “look and learn.” A vision of my mansion manifested with carpenters expanding the back of my home, and the darkness, ghouls, ghosts, and demons suddenly vanished. As miserable and depressing as conditions could be, the spirit being vanished. I was revitalized in body, mind, and spirit. I rose from my organ, stood motionless. The music moved on. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

 Convinced that I had seen a vision of what I was to build, I was filled with renewed conviction that I would defeat the curse of the Winchester Rifle. Immediately, I had these rooms sealed up and gave the carpenters blueprints of what they were to build. They quickly got to work with their gold-plated hammers. I opened the back doors of the room to the dining room. I could see straight through it and out the back windows of the house, and there the tall cherry laurels were lighted against the pergola, bright leaves, moving as if there were a wind, and I had not—in this big house, haunted as it might be, had not even noticed the wind. Now I heard it tapping the panes, and creeping beneath the floors. Workers complained about strange noises coming from nowhere out in the fruit orchards—orders being shouted by unseen men; bugle calls from invisible instruments; drum cadences tapped out by long dead drummer boys; the strange, hideous thud of lead against flesh, echoes of horrified screams of human beings being slaughtered. Farmers scouted half a dozen miles ahead without seeing any living thing. They kept their Winchesters close and did not shuck anything but their hats. That’s how men lived to the ripe old age of thirty-five on the frontier. But then, on their way back to the mansion, what they beheld sent chills at a fast gallop up their spines. The landscape was alive with Indians! Several figures were silhouetted against a roaring fire about 100 yards from the fruit orchard. The majority of the figures were recognizable as Native American men dressed only in breechcloths. They spoke a language unknown to the farmers. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

When they realized they were hearing Spanish, the farmers rubbed their eyes to make sure they were not seeing an illusion, for there, sitting around a campfire on the estate, were men adorn in the armor of Spanish conquistadores. Lord amighty,” Jones groaned, “there must be five hundred.” “Don’t nobody pull a gun,” said Johnny. “We’re at their mercy.” The conquistadores began to advance toward the farmers, in a blink of an eye the fire went out and the conquistadores completely dematerialized. The next morning, greatly intrigued by the provocative experience, the farmers went out to the fields, three trees they had seen the night before were gone. By nine o’clock, the carpenters were heading home. As they grabbed their tools and were walking down the hallway, they found that their single path suddenly branched out into three. Confused, and believing they had somehow gotten off the main path, they decided they would ask two housemaids who were walking just ahead of them. The women were able to direct the men back to the hallway that led down stairs and out of the mansion. However, that hallway ended abruptly when another hallway intersected it at an angle and led in a different direction. They knew the hallways seemed like a dividing line between sections of patchwork quilt; it chopped off the oak floors they had been walking on. The rooms on the other side of the hallway looked different than anything that had seen before in the mansion. They looked like a dungeon from a 16^th century castle. Stone walls, no windows, and chains hanging from the ceiling. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

The men walked though these rooms and into another hallway. There were stained glass windows and light streaming through, creating cascades of color on the walls, floors, and ceiling. But no more than what seemed like an hour ago, it was night outside. The men also noticed they cast no shadow. Then they aw a man who was sitting with his back turned to them. As the carpenters approached this man, he turned toward them and they gasped at the sight of his face. His countenance was dark, his face was bleeding, and his mouth dropped like a Greek mask of tragedy, revealing an appearance of decay and evil that could not be concealed by staring, sightless eyes. The carpenters were so stricken by this sight that they did not see the other man until he called to them. The gentlemen composed themselves and asked him for directions. As he pointed the way, he spoke with an accent that none of the carpenters grasped. They thanked him, nevertheless. At once the man ran off, disappearing out of a door on the second floor with no stairs. But still the carpenters heard the sound of his running food steps. They started off in the direction their mysterious guide had indicted. Hurrying along a new, narrow hallway, with tiny stairs, that zig zagged, the men finally found themselves near an exit. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

However, a door slammed, and a young man dressed for kitchen work stood before them. He carried a brook and seemed to have stepped out to shake the dust from it. He seemed as surprised by the presence of the carpenters as they were of his. He asked if they were lost. The carpenters refused his offer to show them the way and made their way outside, where they found a wedding in progress. As they stood among the cheerful celebrants of marriage, they carpenters felt a cloud of depression hand been following them. As they wandered the grounds of the estate, the wooded areas closed in around them, the conversation began again, but it seemed the deeper into the woods they got, the further away the sound moved, always staying the same distance from them. Once again, they saw the darkness deepen. The same depression they had felt descended upon them with a cold rain. They puzzled over the activity of men harvesting fruit. Glancing behind them for a moment, when the carpenters looked back the farmers and their wheel barrels were nowhere in sight. Then, an agonized scream pierced the cold darkness of the woods; then sobbing; then a distinctive voice shouting, “Get up, get up, go! Go!” They slowed their walk into the woods, but continued forward, fascinated by and fearful of where they were headed. The horrible screams continued as well as the sobbing. Then a voice called out, “Charge!” The carpenters looked at each other, confirming that each had heard it. They were hoping to get out of this other-Worldly place as quickly as possible. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

The clouds seem to lower and the rain became very dense. Grayness was everywhere. Phantom shadows flung here and there and the ground itself appeared to dissolve in grayness and ooze. Fear had some, the dull terrible misery of dread; gloom consumed all hope. The carpenters heard metal rattling. Thankfully, they reached a clearing with a huge rock in the middle of it. Suddenly there was a loud “crack” to their right. They looked, but saw nothing. And now, it seemed, they had entered into a realm of the supernatural. Though they still could not see any people from who the voices came, the immediate area in which they were standing began to glow, and was illuminated by an odd blue light. The men were cold and shaking uncontrollably. They desperately tried to find their way back to the mansion. After two weeks had passed, no one had seen hide nor hair of them. I was betwixt by telegrams from the families asking if I knew of their whereabouts. I just assumed they quit. Later that evening, there was a curious carriage constructed of bones, driven by a headless driver, seen leaving the fields. The room was filled with a deathly silence. A chill swept over me, and I felt as though I was not alone. For some reason, I opened the drapes. That is when I saw the apparition. Outside of my window, so close that it seemed as if I might be able to touch them if I raised the glass, was a brightly painted Indian on his spirited mount. The warrior bent low over the flying black mane of his horse and looked neither to the right nor to the left. He seemed to be mouthing words of encouragement to the phantom mustang. There was a shimmering light around them. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7

The Winchester Mystery House

People have reported hearing the ghostly sound of horse’s hooves, and visitors have often reported the sounds of children’s laughter from empty rooms. A number of staff have been alarmed by the appearance of a ghostly women around midnight in the room where Mrs. Winchester said her last good-bye.

She suddenly appears by the window, gazing forlornly out at the night sky before turning and walking slowly to the bed where she lies down and clutches her stomach, writhing in apparent agony. Another female figure is also said to appear in the room and stands at the bedside. Investigators have suggested that the woman in pain may have been poisoned sometime in the past and the other woman is a maid, nursing her through her last painful hours. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

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