It was a beautiful day at the beginning of Winter. I was cheerful and optimistic. Stopping in my writing, I lifted my left hand from the paper, stretched it out to the pile of books, and moved the top one. I sat there fascinated, for a moment, glancing at the painting The Standard Bearer, by Prince Rupert. It was an interesting painting, there was almost hallucinatory quality about it. The deep blacks from which the image has been scraped reveals the ominous underside of contemporary culture that lurks as ever-present possibility in our lives. Also portrayed is the psychological state of isolation and dignity, as the prince poses, as one of high nobility would, while looking off into the distance, as if he is longing to know what lies beyond the castle walls. I find myself looking at it for a long time and coming back to it, several times. I went on with my writing as if nothing had happened, perhaps for another five minutes , and had actually got to the last few words of what I had determined to extract, when the figure in the painting started to move again. I saw the hands move; I turned my head again to examine him more closely, and I was framing a sentence to address him when I discovered that I did not dare to speak. There he sat, looking at me, and there I sat. I turned my head again to my work, and finished writing two or three words I still had to write. The paper and my notes are at this moment before me, and exhibit not the slightest tremor or nervousness. I could point out the words I was writing when the phantom started moving, and when he went back to his normal pose. Having finished my task, I shut the book, and placed it on the table: it made a slight noise as it was sat on the table, and the figure in the painting turned and looked at me again. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5

Sitting myself back in my chair, I sat for some seconds looking at the fire with a curious mixture of feeling, and I felt a sudden, strange frisson, a chill down my spine. The fire was blazing up well, when I happened to glance up for a second. I studied the painting over and over again, and each time it seemed to come more and more alive. The prince would sometimes blink and make slight facial expressions. He was no longer looking away. He seemed to be looking at me, and into this room. His face had a strange expression, no longer stoic. He looked as if he were at once astonished and afraid. The book on the tabled opened to a page, and the quote, “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” It has often been thought that the affections of the dead survive their death, and dwell long upon the people and the places they have loved in life. It is a beautiful thought, but carries with it, of necessity, the appalling corollary that if it be possible for the affections to survive, it is equally likely that hatreds are similarly immortal: and thus, in the inimical forces in that case ranged against us in the unseen World, we would have some foundation for the once universal belief in evil spirits. I wondered what message my companion in the portrait was trying to convey. I spent time looking at it, staring at the prince’s face, the porous ground through which the acid penetrated, and the lighter tones of the surface. In due course morning dawned: the sun rose, and a most beautiful day succeeded a very wet and dismal night. Suddenly, I heard a sound resembling the foot steps of a man. I carefully examined the entire room, but there was nothing there. I looked up at the painting and the prince had vanished. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5

I went back to my desk and started writing. However, I was again aroused. The noise was now louder than before. I darted to the spot where the noise was, and tried to grasp the intruder in my arms. My arms melted together, but enclosed nothing. The noise passed to another part of the room, and I followed it, groping near the floor to prevent anything passing under my arms. It was in vain; I could do nothing. The sound died at the doorway of the crypt, and all again was still. I went slowly down the hall, glancing at the vases. The corridor to the kitchen beckoned, but I was stopped short by something I had never seen before. The door to a library I had never seen before stood open. In all of the years of construction, this door had been a wall. Now, there was a glimpse of afternoon light falling across an ornate desk and blue persian carpet. This thrilled me with fear and wonder. I took a deep breathe and forced myself to walk through the door. Bookcases lined the walls, though there was space enough for one painting directly behind the desk. The faint square where the green paint seemed brighter told of a painting that hung there before some soul seized it. A set of casement windows let in the mellow winter light. Then, a deep, guttural moan whose source I could not identify. The prince? Had he groaned? I tried to speak, but no noise would come out. As I walked towards a doorway in the darkness, there appeared to be the silhouette of a figured in the doorway. I stood frozen on the spot holding my breath, when to my astonishment, a dark shadow moved toward me. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5

It was the prince. He was radiating a luminous glow. I shone the light in his direction and he started floating upward. Pointing at the wall and whispering, he ignored all the lovely crafts around him. I got the feeling that he wanted me to hang his portrait in the spot, which showed in indication that something had adored the wall long ago. I watched the ghostly scene for several minutes before he suddenly vanished. Later that day, I returned to the library and found the prince back in his portrait. I called to Mr. Hansen and had him hand the painting in the mysterious room. Shortly after he was done, we walked out of the room, and the door turned back into a wall. Later that day, the servants were drinking lemonade in the dining room, they sat around together and fraternized, discussing the sad state the country was in and reminiscing about better times when the country was whole. They suddenly heard vicious and rapid footsteps, looking to see where the noise was coming from, they noticed bloody footprints across the floor and leading down the hallway, only to disappear into the wall. They quickly cleaned up the mess, but the footprints only returned. While they spent hours more scouring the floors, a housemaid found an ancient key under the table, as she was coming to show it to me, she found herself being lead by blood footprints down the hall and the stairs. Curious to see where they were leading her, she followed. Unexpectedly, she saw a piece of an ancient door, as she got closer to it, she noticed impressions of large wooden beams set in gypsum plaster. “Where did this come from?!” –she mused. She stuck the antique key into the hole, and the door cracked into a million pieces. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5

Having entered the small with the rays of light that seemed to have struck the place for the first time after hundreds of years, the wide-eyed servant was horrified to see that the room was filled with skeletons. She felt the icy fear and urgency full now. Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest and she was running short on breath. From the position of the skeletal frames, it was easy to determine that they had died gnawing one another’s flesh. She expressed deep concern, surprise, but there was more. Looking further into the room, the servant noticed there were complex drawings and magical symbols on the walls. There had been stories that a monster had been born in my mansion. Servants often heard shuffling feet and hideous half-human cries as it emerged for its nocturnal prowling’s. It had a horn on its head, straight up like a sword, and instead of arms it has two wings like a bat’s, and at the height of the beast it has a fio [Y-shaped mark] on one side and a cross on the other, and lower down at the waist, two serpents, and was a hermaphrodite, and on the right knee it had an eye, an its left foot was like an eagle’s. Perhaps this was his ghastly chamber that is hidden deep within the walls of my home. Not even I knew the location of this secret room. The housemaid came to retrieve me, tears still streaming unapologetically down her face. In a state of shock and horror, the housemaid led me to the chamber she had discovered. As we got closer to this ancient door, her trembling ceased. Slowly, we walked around the corner, but the ancient door of strong oak was gone. So we did the only thing we could do in this terrible moment. To find this secret room, we hung drapes on every visible window. One window remained undraped, but we had no luck in locating the hidden room. I could only conclude that the secret chamber lay deep within a wall. But there, in the depths of the hall, we could just make out a massive black shape moving and writhing on the floor. Before we even had a moment to wonder what it could possibly be, I saw the moonlight glint across a gigantic mouth full of razor sharp teeth rushing toward the housemaid. She felt the teeth sink deep into her torso as that hideous maw snapped shut around her. It all happened so fast that she had no time to process what was happening, as she was pulled violently down the hallway and out of sight. Never to be seen again. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5

The Winchester Mystery House

In ancient times, many believed that the real essence of any living thing, be it animal or human, resided in the breath and that the spirit might live on in the last exhalation of breath by a dying person. This “spirit” or “breath” could be good or evil. It could inhabit the living, entering a person’s body so that they were possessed. In most beliefs of this kind, the possession was thought to be evil. The case files on hauntings at The Winchester Mystery House are ones that deserve to be reexamined. The knocking spirits, or poltergeist represent one of the forms of domestic hauntings. It is now regarded as one of the most haunted locations in the World.

There are many spirits that have been reported here throughout the more than one hundred years. It is said to be haunted by ghost from different periods in the mansion’s history, including a man dressed in black, and a ghost boy who has been regularly seen in the mansion’s stables, surprisingly, along with ghostly horses and chicken. Apart from this, the carriage house is said to be haunted by the spirit of a woman and a little girl who is said to appear to visitors and ask them where her father is. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

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