During the Victorian era, too few physicians knew how to treat seelische illnesses, which literally meant illness “of the soul,” but depending on its context, could also mean spiritual, psychological, emotional, or mental. As a result, patients wandered without a cure from doctor to doctor and medications did nothing from them. Those deemed “fit,” that is, who had an Aryan racial identity, experienced freedom from hereditary disease, and an ability to work vigorously and produce. However, those regarded as biologically dangerous usually suffered from disability, and a range of illnesses or conditions that were inherited (or believed to be). My butler Frau Joest had been afflicted with stomach trouble and digestive complaints. As a rule, he kept to himself in his own pantry. One night, I asked him to grab a bottle of wine from the wine cellar, and he replied, “Mrs. Winchester, you may get your own wine, if you like, this evening. Either I do it in the daytime or not at all. I don’t know what it maybe: very like it’s the rats, or the wind got into the cellars; but I’m not so young as I was, and I can’t go through it as I have done.” “Well, Mr. Joest,” I replied, “you know it is a surprising place to find rats. “I’m not denying that, Mrs. Winchester; and, to be sure, many a time I’ve heard the tale from men in the shipyards about the rat that could speak. I never laid no confidence in that before; but tonight, if I’d demeaned myself to lay my ear to the door of the further bin, I could pretty have heard what they was saying.” “Oh, there Mr. Joest, I have no patience with your fancies! Rats talking in the wine-cellar indeed!” “Well, Mrs. Winchester, I’ve no wish to argue with you: all I say is, if you choose to go to the far bin, and lay your ear to the door, you may prove my words this minute.” #RandolphHarris 1 of 8

“What nonsense do you talk, Mr. Joest—not fit for children to listen to! Why, you’ll be frightening Mrs. Winchester there out of her wits,” replied Daisy. “Mrs. Winchester knows well enough when I’m playing a joke with her, Daisy,” he said. In fact, I knew much too well to suppose that Mr. Joest had in the first instance intended a joke. I was interested, not altogether pleasantly, in the situation; but all my questions were unsuccessful in inducing the butler to give any more detailed account of his experiences in the wine-cellar. We have now arrived at February 24, 1891. It was a day of curious experiences for Frau Joest: a windy, noisy day, which filled the house and the gardens with a restless impression. As Frau stood the gate of the grounds, and looked out into the park, he felt as if an endless procession of unseen people were sweeping past him on the wind, borne on resistlessly and aimlessly, vainly striving to stop themselves, to catch at something that might arrest their flight and bring them once again into contact with the living World of which they had formed a part. After luncheon that day I said, “Frau, my boy, do you think you could manage to come to me tonight as late as eight o’clock in my study? I shall be busy until that time, and I wish to show you something connected with your future life which it is most important that you should know. You are not to mention this to Daisy nor to anyone else in the house; and you had better go to your room at the usual time.” Here was a new excitement added to life: Frau eagerly grasped at the opportunity. He looked in at the library door on his way upstairs that evening, and saw written sheets of paper laying on the desk. #RandolphHarris 2 of 8

The wind had fallen, and there was a still night and a full moon. At about seven o’clock Frau was standing at the open window of his bedroom, looking out over the country. Still as the night was, the mysterious population of the distant moonlit woods was not yet lulled to rest. From time to times strange cries as of lost and despairing wanderers sounded from across the mere. They might be the notes of owls or water-birds, yet they did not quite resemble either sound. Were not they coming nearer? Now they sounded from the nearer side among the shrubberies. Then they ceased; but just as Frau was thinking of shutting the window and resuming his reading of Voyages to the Moon and Sun by Cyrano de Bergerac, he caught sight of two figure standing on the terrace that ran along the garden ide of the Mansion—the figures of two men, as it seemed; they stood side by side, looking up at the windows. Something in them inspired him with acute fear. One man stood still, half smiling, with his hands clasped over his heart, the other man, a thin shape, with black hair and ragged clothing, raised his arms in the air with an appearance of menace and of unappeasable hunger and longing. The moon shone upon hi almost transparent hands, and Frau saw that the nails were fearfully long and that the light shone through them. As he stood with his arms this raised, he disclosed a terrifying spectacle. On the left side of his chest there opened a black and gaping rent; and there fell upon Frau’s brain, rather than upon his ear, the impression of one of those hungry and desolate cries that he had heard resounding over the woods of The Winchester Mansion all that evening. In another moment this dreadful pair had moved swiftly and noiselessly over the terrace, and he saw them no more #RandolphHarris 3 of 8

Inexpressibly frightened as he was, he determined to take his candle and go down to my study, for the hour appointed for our meeting was near at hand. The library opened out of the front hall on one side, and Fraud, urged on by his terrors, did not take long in getting there. To effect an entrance was not so easy. The door was not locked, he felt sure, for the key was on the outside of it as usual. His repeated knocks produced no answer. Frau felt that the library was further than he realized—and his travel to it had taken him back in some vague realm or dimension outside our material Universe; some vague abyss out of which only the most accursed rites of human blasphemy could ever have called him for a moment. There was a brief silence, and in that pause the scattered senses of poor Frau Joest began to knit back into a sort of continuity; so that he put his hands to his head with a moan. Memory seemed to pick itself up where it had left off, and the horror of that sight on the terrace had prostrated him burst in upon him again. “Oh oh, my Gawds, that haff face—that haff face on top of it…that face with the red eyes an’ crinkly albino hair, an’ no…It was a octopus, centipede, spider kind o’ thing, but they was haff-shaped man’s face on top of it, an’ it looked like a wizard.” Crystallized into fresh terror, he paused, exhausted. It was—well, it was most likely a kind of force that does not belong in our World; a kind of force that acts and grows and shapes itself by other laws than those of our sort of Nature. We have no business calling in such things from outside, and only very wicked people and very wicked cults ever try to. There was something in my mansion—enough to make a devil and a precocious monster appear, and to make Frau’s passing out a pretty terrible sight. #RandolphHarris 4 of 8

Nature, meaning sometimes the forces and processes that produce everything according to the laws of nature (which include what we call physical laws), sometimes simply those laws, and sometimes all that nature produces—nature, after the Fall, did not wholly lose her original power to produce and control natural, perfect, ordered phenomena, any more than Satan lost all his original brightness on man all his power to reason or to intuit natural laws and God’s will. The other servants carried Frau to bed. After sitting by the fire for a few more hours, I found that I was colder than ever any my arms were quite stiff. However, I had to drag myself to my room and take off my clothes somehow, blow out the candles, and insinuate my tiny self into that enormous, frightening bed. I wished I had slept in a more cheerful room, with better furniture, though tonight I have succeeded in bringing to bed a bottle of mineral water and even a glass from which to drink it. It is only the Italian mineral water, of course. I only wish I were not so sensitive, so that the rooms in my home and other things did not matter so much. The water from my well was actually much more pure. On nights like this, and most particularly on nights when the moon is slim or cloud-enshrouded, it is a heavy blot upon the horizon, a shadow only, without feature save for its many-turreted outline; and should the moon be temporarily released from her cloudy confinement, her fugitive rays lend scant comfort, for they but serve to throw the mansion into sudden, startling chiaroscuro, its windows fleetingly assuming the appearance of sightless though all-seeing orbs, its portcullis becoming for an instant a gaping mouth, its entire form striking the physical and the mental eyes as would the sight of a giant skull. #RandolphHarris 5 of 8

I believe it is entirely possible for a man to possess not a single one of the virtues, to be a demon in human flesh. Frau’s actions seem to have become quite ghoulish. I often wondered had he not been responsible for robbing graves and then feeding upon the disgusting nourishment he found therein? Ghouls are by no means imaginary. A human being can sink into a truly monstrous man. To understand, one must transport their mind back a few years and to a rural region of New Haven. One must become acquainted with a family of country folk—hard-working, law-abiding, God-fearing, or moderate means—the head of which was a simple, good man named man named Alfred Dieck. When he died, it was his expressed wish that he would be buried with his gold and that his wife and sons were not to be told about it. Several weeks after his funeral, the family was desperate for money and Pastor Kuntz told his wife about the gold. The sons began making plans to exhume the dead man. However, the widow spoke firmly: “You father rests peacefully,” she said. “He must not be disturbed. If we disturbed him, no amount of gold would sooth our hearts.” The sons protested with vehemence, but the widow stood her ground. “No son of mine will profane his father’s grave—unless he first kills his mother!” Grumbling, those sons withdrew their plans. However, that night, Claus awoke to find his mother gone from the house. He was frightened, for this was not like her. Intuition sent him to the graveyard, where he found her, keeping a lonely vigil over the grave of her husband, protecting him from the greed of grave robbers. Claus implored her to come out of the cold, to return home; she at first refused; only when Claus offered to keep vigil all night himself did, she relent and return home, leaving her youngest son to guard the have from profanation. #RandolphHarris 6 of 8

Claus waited a full hour. Then he produced from under his shirt a small shovel. He was a strong boy, and the greed of a youngest son who has been deprived of inheritance lent added strength to his arms. He dug relentlessly, stopping seldom for rest, until finally the coffin was uncovered. He raised the creaking lid. An overpowering fetor filled his nostrils and nearly made him faint. Gathering courage, he searched the coffin. The moon proved to be his undoing. For suddenly its rays, hitherto hidden, struck the face of his father, and at the sight of that face, the boy recoiled and went reeling around the wall of the grave, the breath forced from his body. Now, you must know that the mere sight of the father—even in advanced state of decomposition—he had steeled himself to withstand; but what he had not foreseen—what he had not foreseen was that the face of his father, in the rigor of death, would look directly and hideously upon him. And most terrible and most unforeseen of all, the dead lips were drawn back from the teeth in a constant and soul-shattering smile! The remembrance of that night, though it is now many years past, fills me with dread. Fraud Joest was is that ghoulish son, Claus. When his sense returned, he ran out of the grave and ran as swiftly as his limbs would carry him. He reached the graveyard gate, and was smitten by the fact that he had not accomplished the purpose of his mission—the gold in the coffin. His terror notwithstanding, he halted, and forced himself to retrace those hasty steps. His fear notwithstanding, he descended once more into that noisome grave. He threw his father’s body out of the coffin and robbed him of his gold. But the true horror came when he reached him. He was stricken with stomach troubles and when he looked in the mirror, he screamed so loud as to wake the entire house. His face was a replica of his dead father’s: the lips drawn back in perpetual, mocking grin. He tried to close his mouth. He could not. The muscles were immoveable, as if held in the gelid rigor of death. He could hear his family’s stirring at his scream, and since he did not wish to look upon the, he ran from the house and came here, to Llanada Villa. #RandolphHarris 7 of 8

As he wandered the rural roads, his mind sought the cause of the affliction that had been visited upon him. Though but a country lad, he had read much and he had a blunt, rational mind that was not susceptible to the easy explanations of the supernatural. I would not believe that God had placed a malediction upon him to punish him for his act. He would not believe that some black force from beyond the grave had reached out to stamp his face. At length, he began to believe it was the massive shock that had forced his face to its present state, and that his great gilt had helped to shape it even as his father’s dead face was shaped. Shock and guilt: strong powers not from God above or the Fiend below, but from within his own breast, his own brain, his own soul. You need only know that, despite his blighted face, he stole the gold and thus gained an amount of money that would not seem large to me, but which was more than he had ever seen before that time. It was this gold that made him one of the richest men in New Haven. Naturally, he sought out physicians and begged them to restore his face to its previous state. None succeeded, though he offered them vast sums. His face remained fixed in that damnable unceasing smile, and his heart knew the most profound despair imaginable. He could not even pronounce his own name! God and Satan are very much alive. Though readily most people cannot fully explain all the mysteries of life. Spinning hears. Levitating bodies. Otherworldly strength. These are all curious things I have dealt with, here, at Llanada Villa. Gratuitous violence. Eerie voices spouting off vicious claims and threats. These are just some of the things that come with The Curse of the Winchester Fortune. Dozens of my servants are so horribly frightened or so confused that they begin to lose their grip on reality. We are not struggling with flesh and blood, but against the spiritual forces of evil. #RandolphHarris 8 of 8

The Winchester Mystery House

Devils and demons bring up frightening images and terrified thoughts. Mrs. Sarah L. Winchester was forced to look upon these objects of horror and live in fear. As we read tales of this haunted wine-cellar, there may be a real treasure hidden away in The Winchester Mansion. At one time, Mrs. Winchester enjoyed the finest vintage wines and liqueurs. However, one evening when she went to the wine cellar to locate a special bottle, she came across a black handprint on the wall. It was most likely a dirt smudge left by a workman, yet she took it as an omen and ordered the cellar boarded up. To this day the wine cellar had not been rediscovered, which means that there might still be spirits in The Winchester Mystery House—intoxicating and otherwise. We live in a World of duality. Darkness and light. Good and evil. Heaven and Hell. Most likely evil existed before human beings were around to interpret darkness and bad behaviour as such. Demons were created in a Hell-like dimension. Demons are minions, and the most intriguing part of their nature is that we need not believe in their existence to feel the effect they have on our lives. It is believed that demons were summoned, one after another, after which they were forced to give their true names, and reveal what they governed, and offer instructions on how to banish them. Nearly all of these demons were sent to work on the construction of The Winchester Mansion. Many of them more powerfully ranked demons were also empowered with hordes of servitors to do their bidding, as they themselves were subject to their liege’s commands.

Some ranked and named demons had only a few lesser spirits to act on their behest while others had servants in the hundreds of thousands. Always a few of the most important servitors were named but seldom if ever was any real or extensive information about them given.  Nearly every culture has some belief in cursed objects, things that cause unnatural harm to the person whom owns or uses them. Often, these objects have roots in a tragic past, and according to those who believe in curses, something from a tragedy sticks with the objects, becoming part of them and spelling disaster for anyone who might come across them. Almost anything can be a cursed object: a fortune put under a spell by a murdered witch, a car owned by a movie star who died in a wreck, a mansion protected by the power of misfortune. Even normally rational people may occasionally fall into a certain superstition to avoid brining a curse down on themselves. Despite this abundance of allegedly unfortunate object, few come close to one of the most legendary of all: The Winchester Mystery House. The recorded history of this jinxed mansion stretches nearly two centuries, and over that time period, dozens of people have claimed ownership of the stunningly beautiful mansion. Of the owners of The Winchester Mystery House, a few have experienced such great catastrophes that many claim it to be cursed. Fortunes have been lost, noble men executed, and entire communities thrown into chaos and war. The history of The Winchester Mystery House is certainly one of intrigue, but is it true that it, as well as other objects Mrs. Winchester owned, are sources of tragedy?

Some individuals have little choice than to recognize their own abilities to interact with the spirit World. If their gift is strong, it may be difficult to get the ghosts to pipe down. Their abilities to pick up on paranormal vibrations help them to work with ghosts and send messages to those that have departed. It is likely that a ghost has wiggled its way between the molecules of The Winchester Mansion, fortune, family, and objects Mrs. Winchester once owned, and is embedded within the fibers of these objects because it cannot bare to be without them. The first law of thermodynamics states that energy cannot be created nor destroyed—it can only be transferred—so one theory about what we call a “haunted object” is simply that energy is being deposited onto an item instead of floating around the ether and popping up at inopportune times. The energy leaves a residue that enables the object to present itself to people sensitive enough to pick up on its energy in the way of movement, talking, feelings of doom—you get the picture. An item may also be used for the spirit to manipulate, sch as a chair being thrown across a room, but does that mean the possession is possessed, or merely in the right place at the wrong time? Other objects such as roads, buildings, houses, and waterways may also be haunted through the transference of a great emotional experience. Some owners of haunted objects want to get rid of the goods fast. An auction, either online or local, can move an item out of the basement and into your hands in no time. Local auctions many not have the label “haunted” attached to a particular item, so take the time to visit the objects beforehand to try to get a feel for what is being offered. If you are interested in bringing home a haunted object, ask the auctioneer to keep an eye out for you. You could be first on their list for something special, and if curse is real, you may be able to being home a new piece for your collection at a great price.

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