No one, even those who have the facts concerning the recent horror, can say just what is the matter with Llanada Villa; though old legends speak of unhallowed rites and conclaves of the Indians, amidst which they called forbidden shapes of shadow out of the great rounded hills, and made wild orgiastic prayers that were answered by loud crackings and rumblings from the ground below. The evening air outside was fresh as it was warm, and full of the breath of the rain. A few ghosts of sunlight drifted down. I felt a rush of gratitude, and stood silently letting the air kiss my face and hands. All around the railings of this porch vines grow, tendrils dancing in the breeze, fine tiny leaves moving like so many little fairy wings beating against the screen. Flowers glimmering in the dark, white and delicate and beautiful. Looking out into the night, my ghoul-haunted mansion reawakened a sense of foreboding evil. It retained its mystic aura of the early colonials, and showed evidence of having been used for sinister purposes by colonial sorcerers and alchemists. In reality, I was more horrified than astonished; my home was developed with occult symbols to be used in certain conjurations. And there is an arrangement—a three-dimensional pattern. A maze of utterly baffling intricacy used in the construction to connect the hallways with the rooms. The unimagined space was alive with motion and music, and having no semblance to anything on Earth. And as I stood there looking in terror, the wind blew out both the candles in that ancient peaked garret, leaving me in a savage and impenetrable darkness with chaos and pandemonium before me, and the demon madness of Llanada Villa which chilled me to the very core. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5

Rushing airy presence could be heard faintly at certain hours from stated rooms. Then too, the servants are mortally afraid of the numerous apparitions which grow vocal on warm nights, lying in wait for fresh souls to consume. They time their eerie cries in unison with the sufferer’s fear. If these demons can catch the soul, they instantly flutter away chittering in evil laughter. Deposits of skulls and bones found on my estate sustain the popular belief that it was once an ancient burial-place. Many ethnologists persist in believing the remains Caucasian. Prior to purchasing and building my estate, the eighteen-room farmhouse had always been feared because the owner’s reputation for black magic, and the unexplained death by violence of his wife. After midnight, one can still hear the rhythmical screaming of shrill note bursting into a kind of pandaemoniac cachinnation which fills all the countryside, and it is not until dawn that they finally quiet down. The spirits walk unseen and foul in lonely places in the mansion, where the Words have been spoken and the Rites howled through at their Seasons. Their seal is engraven in the basement. One night, I awoke during a wild thunderstorm, and the boards in the corridor outside my chamber were creaking loudly. Lightning leapt in through the large window, and loud cracking peals of thunder burst overheard. However, it was the creaking that bothered me—it sounded like people walking up and down. When I finally got up my courage, I opened the door and peered out. Nobody was there. The door to Daisy’s bedroom was shut, and she was probably asleep. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5

Timidly, I crept down the front staircase and peered into the shadowy drawing room. As my eyes got used to the dark, I saw something that froze my blood: Someone was sitting in one of the arm chairs. I clenched my teeth and closed my eye. I could hear my heart hammering. Then I opened my eyes again, and a blue flash of lightning lit the room. The dark shape was gone. For a long time I stood in the doorway, staring into darkness. Then I made my way to a table and found a box of matches to light a lamp. The smoky yellowish glow showed that the room was empty. Anyone who tried to leave the room would have had to brush past me. Also, there would have been the sound of footsteps. You can imagine how all this crazy stuff strained my temper—and my imagination. I opened the window—I waited a few minutes first—and standing there getting some fresh air and trying to figure out what could be behind it.  After my fear died down, I made my way up the stairs and climbed into bed falling into an exhausted slumber. It was getting late in the morning. Light touched the dark skies with gray. A loose, crystal-smelling wind swept down from the mountains, an autumn chill of wetness. Down from the mountains and into Llanada Villa, where it set the trees hissing. And it even came into the mansion, because the bell in the belfry was ringing and there was no one to ring the bell. The farms in the yard stopped their talk and listened to the enchanting music. It came another wind then, mountain-scattered and fast: it billowed dresses, set damp hair moving; it pushed over pewter vases, and smashed roses and hydrangeas to swirling dust against the emerald green lawns. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5

I felt a wave of fright as tangible as a draught of a tomb’s cold clamminess. An entity stretched like titan phantasms beyond all sphere of force and matter, space and time. From every corner of my home, I could hear sepulchral voices of intruding horror. The hellish ancient nightmare fastened itself to my soul. The vague evil was threatening this estate, which gave me a growing amazement which passed slowly through caried degrees of alarm to a state of really acute spiritual fear. Deep and terrible growls continued. What had come had indeed completed its entrance; for the growling and the screaming was now fast fading into a mixed low growling and moaning, proceeding unmistakably from within the walls. The mansion was full of frightful spirits which I knew too well, and three servants rushed across the hall to from whence a low whining came. For a second, nobody dared to turn on the light, then Hans summoned up his courage and pushed the button. One of the three—it is not certain which—shrieked aloud at what sprawled before them among the disordered tables and overturned chairs. I wholly lost consciousness for an instant, though I did not stumble or fall. Kunst lay half-bent on his side in a pool of blood and tarry sickness. He was not quite dead, but twitched silently and spasmodically while his chest heaved. “Quickly, get him out of my sight.” I shouted. “This man needs medical attention immediately!” “Yes, Mrs. Winchester,” my servants replied. Blood tricked along the parquet floors, and left a curious discolouration behing. Bits of shoe-leather and fragments of apparel were scattered about the room. Whatever attacked this man seemed to follow the symmetries of some cosmic geometry unknown to Earth or the solar system. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5

It was now sunset, with a great wrinkled sheet of purple and rose stretching half across the sky and the first stars appearing above in the dark horizon. Outside the window there was a gathering crowd and the sound of a panic-struck whirring and fluttering. A cry rose from the crowd. “No one is to be admitted until the medical examiner arrives!” I shouted. Meanwhile frightful changes were taking place on the floor.  Desiccated flesh was tight over his skull. Filthy strands of hair were matted over his scalp, tattered lips were drawn away from broken yellow teeth, and, sunken in their sockets, eyes that should be dead were bright with hideous life. I screamed again, desperate with fear. His cadaverous face fell away, and the sight of his caved-in forehead and unblinking eyes from between which thick blood had been oozing would awaken me from my nightmares on countless nights. I was almost convulsed with fright as I stumbled into the kitchen. Shivering afresh with fight, I was aware that there had been unseen things around Llanada Villa—living things—things that were not human. The next day all the countryside was in a panic; and cowed, uncommunicative groups came and went where the fiendish thing had occurred. Darkness fell upon a stricken countryside. Servants banded together and watched the mansion, but it was futile, an ineffective gesture against the vengeful spirits. Still, these bold souls held steadfast. At 3am, the ghouls screamed with such unusual persistence that many could not sleep. It was horrible, yet hardly a surprise. This was nothing more than the spiritually poignant phase of the unravelling horror of my family and fortune being haunted, and I might be the next victim. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5

Happy Sarah L. Winchester Day!

“I have not received authorization to visit The Winchester Mansion. However, I have investigated secretly (and quite illegally) for a short time one night and was nearly caught. Came across reference to the place in collection of seventeenth century letters and papers in one of Mrs. Winchester’s libraries where she keeps the rare and forbidden books of old days. Writer denouncing the family as a brood of sorcerers and witches, references to alchemical activities and other less savory rumors—and describes underground stone chambers, pre-Columbian artifacts, et cetera, which are put to ‘foul usage and diabolic praktise.'”

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