The scream tore through the house. I rose to find the sky uncommonly clear and full of visible stars. A good omen for Llanada Villa. On the desk in the library, I was astonished to see an ancient book, more of a handwritten codex, with brilliant illustrations on its wooden cover. Carefully lifting the pages, which were bound by three different ties of human skin made into thong, the very first page revealed several magic spells, written in faded but clearly visible and very crowded Latin script. It was as old a book of magic as I have ever beheld, and of course its claim—the claim of its title page—was to the very earliest of all black arts ever known since the Fall of Man. I was more than familiar with the legends surrounding vampires and the tale of the Watcher Angels who lay with woman, and taught magic to the Daughters of Men, as so the Book of Genesis states. However, the most important sentences were as follows: “It was a belief very strongly and generally held by the ancients—of whose wisdom in these matters I have had such experience as induces me to place confidence in their assertions—that by enacting certain processes, which to us moderns have something of a barbaric complexion, a very remarkable enlightenment of the spiritual faculties in man may be attained: that, for example, by absorbing the personalities of a certain number of one’s fellow-creatures, an individual may gain a complete ascendancy over those orders of spiritual beings which control the elemental forces of our universe. It is recorded of Adam that he was able to fly in the air, to become invisible, or to assume any form he pleased, by the agency of the soul of a boy whom he had ‘murdered.’” #RandolphHarris 1 of 6

“Similar happy results may be produced by the absorption of the hearts of not less than three human beings blow the age of twenty-one years. The best means of effecting the required absorption is to remove the heart from the living subject, to reduce it to ashes, and to mingle them with a pint of some red wine, preferably port. The remains of the first two subjects, at least, it will be well to conceal: a disused wine-cellar will be found convenient for such a purpose. Some annoyance may be experienced from the psychic portion of the subjects, which popular language dignifies with the of ghosts. However, the man of philosophic temperament—to whom alone the experiment is appropriate—will be little prone to attach importance to the feeble efforts of these beings to wreck their vengeance on him. I contemplate with the liveliest satisfaction the enlarged and emancipated existence which the experiment, if successful, will confer; not only placing one beyond the reach of human justice (so-called), but eliminating to a great extent the prospect of death itself.” Frightened by the pages that had just been translated, I no longer wanted to fear the torment of those words. I could not believe such words had been written. Deep in the bowels of my mansion are dungeons. I supposed I could burry the codex there and no one would ever discover it, nor attempt the experiments mentioned in the ancient text. However, after reaching the dreadful dungeon, a creature abhorrent to the eyes, was found, his head thrown back, his face stamped with an expression of rage, fright, and mortal pain. #RandolphHarris 2 of 6

To my surprise, it was my butler, Josef Schwalber. In his left side was a terrible lacerated wound, exposing the heart. There was no blood on his hands, and a long knife that lay on the table was perfectly clean. A savage wild-dog might have inflicted the injuries. The window of the dungeon was open, and it was the opinion of the Detective Kasberger, that Mr. Schwalber had met his death by the agency of some wild creature. However, after study of the codex, I am led to a very different conclusion. The next morning while I was drinking my coffee and eating my panini (always very flaky and powdery like in Italy), I had the servants sweep the spiders out of the Bath House at the far end of the formal garden (it is said to have been built by the Byzantines). The transformation is quite bewildering. A team of seamstresses had to work day and night for 48 hours, in in the fairy tales, to create my new impracticable dress. Nevertheless, I had quite enough dresses already even if it were the Pope and his cardinals who were going to entertain me. I have learned from experience that new dresses are more often than not thoroughly disappointing. I keep remind myself of that, but I needed to forget about what transpired last evening. But I can say no more than I had said already. Everything that I can remember, I have told with perfect candour. Nothing has been distorted or concealed, and if anything remains vague, it is only because of the dark cloud which has come over my mind—that cloud and the nebulous nature of the horrors which brought it upon me. #RandolphHarris 3 of 6

Vision or nightmare it may have been—vision or nightmare I fervently hope it was—yet it is all that my mind retains of what took place in those shocking hours after I went into the dungeon. It saddens me that Mr. Schwalber had gotten into my vast collections of strange, rare books on forbidden subjects, which many are written in languages that I master; but there are some with those in languages I cannot understand. I remembered how I shuddered at his facial expression on the night before the awful happening, when he talked so incessantly of his theory, why certain corpses never decay, but rest firm and fat in their tombs for a thousand years. Certainly it had something to do with the ancient book in undecipherable characters Mr. Schwalber left on my desk in the library. The picture seared into my soul is of one scene only, and the hour must have been long after midnight; for a waning crescent moon was high in the vaporous Heavens. I have been thinking on and off all day about the differences between the ways we are supposed to behave and the ways we actually do behave. And both are different from the ways in which God calls upon us to behave, and which we can never achieve whatever we do and however hard we apply ourselves. I am so friendless and alone in this alien land. It occurs to me that I must have great inner strength to bear up as I do and to fulfill my duties with so little complaint. The portrait, at the beginning of the beautifully engraved codex, I have begun to feat that I shall see that face looking over my shoulder as I sit gazing into the looking glass. I live on a spiritual plane and desire only the sweet and stimulating companionship of my husband. #RandolphHarris 4 of 6

Small pleasures seemed greater for having been snatched in the shadow of wretchedness. I have been subjected to a fate I fear more than the slowest tortures. My life has become filled with gore and grue, ghosts and ghouls and ghastly events, and I must confess I am impartial to such entertainments. The servants show me stains on the wall and tell me it is the blood of a murdered innocent killed by the Winchester Rifle fifty years before: no amount of washing will ever remove that stain, they tell me in sepulchral tones, and indeed it deepens and darkens on a certain day of the year, the anniversary of the violent passing. One is expected to nod gravely, of course, and one does, if one wishes. Back in the eleventh century, you will be apprised, a battalion of foreign invaders were vanquished by the skeletons of long-dead patriots who arose from their tombs to defend their homeland and then returned to the Earth when the enemy had been driven from their borders. (And since the servants are able to show you the very graves of these lively bones, how can one disbelieve them?) The servants have pointed to the Observational Tower and told me of a spectral tyrant who, a scant dozen years before, is suspected of having died from poisoning. My silver used to be store in the part of the tower where she is seen, and a footman was employed to sleep here and guard it. One night, when the footman had turned in to sleep, he was approached by a very pale-looking lady in white who asked him for some water. Think it was one of the mansion’s guests, he turned to get her some when he remembered he was locked in and no visitor could have possibly entered. When he turned back, the apparition had disappeared. It is thought that her longing for water suggest that she was poisoned. #RandolphHarris 5 of 6

Beside the Grand Ball Room, the voices of two men are often heard talking although no one can make out what they are talking about. If one makes an effort to trace them, they stop talking suggesting that whoever the ghosts are, they are aware of what is going on around them. Servants have also reported having their hair pulled, arms scratched, and even being bitten by unseen assailants while in the dark of its mahogany walls and corridors. I am cursed by Lucifer, they say, suffering the tortures. From the day, I wish the ghost would not strike terror to my soul and stop filling my heart with but paltry pity. Still, I have journeyed in foreign countries, and I long for peace at Llanada Villa. Amorphous shadows seem to lurk in the darker recesses of the mansion and to flit as in some blasphemous ceremonial procession past the portals of the catacombs; shadows which could not have been cast by a trick of light. These things are too utterly beyond thought—I dare not tell a soul—no one could know it and live—Great God! I never dreamed of THIS! Around me there are ghost and the darkness and the shadows; below me, some peril beyond the radius of the human imagination. Curse these hellish things—legions—My God! Beat it! Beat it! Beat it! After that was silence. I know not how many interminable aeons I sat stupefied; whispering, muttering, calling, screaming into the Heavens. Over and over again through those aeons I whispered and muttered, called, shouted, and screamed, “William! William! Answer me—are you there?” And then there came to me the crowing horror of all—the unbelievable, unthinkable, almost unmentionable thing. I watched amorphous, necrophagous shadows dance beneath my silver German chandelier. And this is what it said: “YOU FOOL, WILLIAM IS DEAD!” #RandolphHarris 6 of 6

The Winchester Mystery House

You have fallen into a time loop and cannot get out. Most paranormal accounts of hauntings fall into the realm of the residual. A cacophony of footsteps, knocking on the walls, music playing by unseen hands, and even smells repeat themselves when the time—and audience—is right. There is no actual ghost interacting during a residual haunting—you have simply stepped into a memory and gotten a bit on your soul. Some objects seem to react to certain dates, such as anniversaries or a time of death, and we think that whatever is making it reach out and say, “YOU FOOL, WILLIAM IS DEAD!” is trapped within its own vortex. Demons can literally attach themselves to certain types of objects. And if a person happens to bring one of these cursed objects into their house, the demon can then start to attack the people who are living in the house as a result of them being attached to that object.

Curses petition the deities for rulings in a Heavenly court. Although it is not surprising, it is unfortunately common that tourists will try to steal artifacts from archaeological sites. What may be surprising is that the tourists have tried to steal relics or artifacts from the Winchester Mystery House, but often voluntarily return them or turn themselves in to the authorities. Some have sent notes apologizing for the theft, claiming that the artifacts are cursed. However, sometimes the thieves just regret their actions and feel guilty, but the Winchester Mystery House has received hundreds of packages through its one hundred years of tours of stolen antiques, as the accompanying letters would say, those objects were responsible for harm to the relic thieves and their families. Some people have even donated things it hopes that the spirits of The Winchester Mystery House would save their lives. Could such curses be real? It seems more believable, perhaps, for objects once owned by Sarah L. Winchester, to be cursed. It adds to the mystery and mystique of the Winchester Mystery House. However, many people have claimed that everyday objects harbour negative energies, including decorative items, paintings, dolls, jewelry, and even a set of Mercedes Benz automobiles!

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