I sat for a while in the East Turret, then decided to walk out, in the lovely garden of sunlight. Sitting under the orange tree, I noticed that the sky had lost it morning haze; the restless spirits moved up to the zenith, where their mocking shadows seemed on the point of settling into some bizarre pattern which they feared to make quite definite or conclusive.  And at that same sky, as though to suggest that this was a World of perpetual twilight, teetering always on the edge of darkness and extinction, was a sun that was three-quarters eclipsed by an exquisitely rendered moon. It was so cunning, as it slid over the face of the day-star. For a moment, I grasped in admiration of the mansion’s unearthly cosmic beauty, and then vague horror, and then vague horror began to creep into my soul. Far from these shadowy walls, nothing could be seen of this forbidden catacomb—the highest peaks of the ceiling and evil in the abyss harbourered nameless horrors and secrets; shunned and prayed by those who feared its meaning; untrodden by strangers. Unholy primal legends hint evasively. One of Satan’s night-demons, which do torment us, had been captured and imprisoned in a beautiful chamber, the door of which for seventeen years had been locked. I looked at the cage cautiously, wondering what I would see. However, I saw only a heap of blackness like ravens, and then a tawny dazzle, torchlight on something like human skin. “Mrs. Winchester, you must go down and look,” said the housemaid protectively, as a carpenter pours about the cage. Someone pokes between the bars with a gemmed cane, trying to rouse the nightmare which lies quiescent there. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5

“Oh, heavens. I must be spared from this!” I demanded. “The frightful amorphous entities have pushed their fetidly squirming way even to the topmost peaks of the house.” The wings of these demons spoke more than their wild orchestral voices. The they produced wind made sounds like an evil musical piping over a wide range. At least one of these creatures had been captured. His human audience, pleased, but afraid and squeamish, backs away, and asks each other for the two thousandth time if the cage is quite secure. The eyes of the beast are more black than red. He starred about He was, though captive, imperious. If he were a lion or a bull, they would admire this “nobility.” However, the fact is, he is too much like a man, which serves to point up his supernatural differences unbearably. This demon understands the gist of his plight. Enemies have him penned. He is a show for not, but ultimately to be killed, for with the intuition of the raptor he divines everything. He thought the sunlight would kill him, but that is a distant matter, now. And beyond all, the voices and the voices of the wings of his kindred beat the air outside this room. The demon continues to sing, or at least, this is how it seems to the rabid servants and all the people in the mansion gathered in the hall. It seems he sings. It is the great communing call of his kind, the art and science and religion of the winged demons, his means of telling them, or attempting to tell them, what they must be told before he dies. Generally, all these beasts died in flight, fallen angels spun down the gulches and enormous stairs of distant peaks, sing. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5

To the crowds of Llanada Villa, the song is merely that, a song, but how glorious. The dark silver voice, turning to bronze or gold, whitening in the higher registers. There seem to be words, but in some other tongue. This is how the planet sings, surely, or mysterious creatures of the sea. Everyone is bemused. They listen, astonished. There is an enchantment which prevents movement and coherent thought. In spite of the heat in the Hall of Fires, I shivered. I recalled that one night these demons often tore cattle apart, and ripped the flesh from cornered farmers. Some crawled away from Llanada Villa, trailing their bowels; one had been thrown up into the trees, and his corpse hung there, tongue lolling. Other lay sprawled in the grass in pools of blood. By the sight of all of this, I was terrified. I could not figure out what sort of monstrous struggle occurred down here in the dark. The hunters kept their distance, no doubt waiting for the demons to depart. To make matters worse, something stirred in the blackness of the far corner. Two eyes, green and phosphorescent, glowed at me. Shadows betwixt the walls of the hall. As I drew closer to the 9^th floor the jutting peaks the wind’s strange piping again became manifest. I wish I had wax-stopped ears like Ulysses’ men off the Sirens’ coast to keep that disturbing wind-piping from my consciousness. Looking below, there were terrified couples clung to one another. This grisly massacre made it seem that there was no moral from one end of this World to the other. It would be possible to go on listing at great length the horrors and the spectacles of the scenes laid out on my estate this particular night of despair: the fields of flying demons, spectacles draped in mink coats, the spirits of gravesides rising behind every tree. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5

Of what had set me fleeing from the darkness in Llanada Villa after the 1906 Hellquake, I said nothing at all. If the fate which screened me was benign, that which gave me the half-glimpse was infinitely the opposite; for to that flash of semi-vision can be traced a full half of the horror which has ever since haunted me. I saw the heads of men flower into dark, monstrous shapes; demonic tails sprout from their backsides. After that experience, I had dropped my researches for some time. The situation was almost past management, and deaths ensued too frequently for the local undertakers to handle. Burials without embalming were made in rapid succession, and even Oak Hill Memorial Park’s receiving tomb was crammed with coffins of the unembalmed dead. Morticians were frightfully overworked, and the terrific mental and nervous strain made on my estate made everyone morbidly sad. It was as if I was living in a nebulous World or dimension without time, causation, or orientation. Llanada Villa had become a strange titanic mausoleum. The moonlight of midnight peered redly from the southern horizon through the strained-glass windows and skylights, and the terrible age and deadness of this nightmare maze seemed all the starker by contrast with such relatively known and accustomed things as the features of this Gothic mansion. There was not one portion of the estate that was not haunted by some bizarre sight or other. Even the clouds (innocent enough, surely) shat rains of evil on the place, and evacuated skulls in another. Demons cavorted unchallenged over the open sky, like dancer possessed by some symphony of Beethoven; other rose over the horizon, leering like emancipated jesters. It was as I was running up the colossal staircase that I first felt the terrible fatigue and short breath which the race through my labyrinth had produced; but not even the fear of collapse could make me pause before reaching my chamber. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5

Llanada Villa had neither irrelevance nor home-feeling. It had only horror, because I knew unerringly the monstrous nefandous entity possessing it. If the mists were thin enough, I had expected, upon looking back, to see a terrible and incredibly moving entity; but of that entity I formed a clear idea. What I did see—for the mists were indeed all too malignly thinned—was something altogether different, and immeasurably more hideous and detestable. Instinct alone must have carried me through—perhaps better than reason could have done; though if that was what saved me, I paid a high price. And now this had come, the scourge, grinning and lethal nightmare. The demon’s voice reverberated in falsetto echoes among the house; reverberated through the vaultings ahead, and through the empty vaultings behind. The thing in the cage opened its eyes, but only stared at the ceiling with a look of soul-petrifying horror before collapsing into an inertness from which nothing could rouse it. I knew they meant to butcher the winged man for the demonic fury his kind had unleashed. At the intimation of sunrise the black plague had lifted and gone away, and might never have been. The mansion full of men, women, and children emerged from the doors. The sky was measureless and bluely grey, with a cherry rift in the east. They moved through the dimly lightened garden as the last stars melted. Several servants refused to tell me what final horror made them scream out so insanely—a horror which, I feel sadly sure, is mainly responsible for their breakdowns. However, we all made pledges of secrecy. Certain things, we had agreed, were not for people to know and discuss lightly—and I would not speak of them at any cost. It is absolutely necessary, for the peace and safety of mankind, that some of Llanada Villa’s dark dead corners and unplumbed depths be let alone; lest sleeping abnormalities wake to resurgent life, and blasphemously surviving nightmares squirm and splash out of their black lairs to newer and wider conquests. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5

The Winchester Mystery House

It was a beautiful spring like day on Sunday September 5, 1926. A caretaker was standing alone in the foyer of the mansion, and the front doors were wide open. Suddenly they crashed shut with such force that the whole mansion seemed to shake. When there is no palpable reason, doors do not usually slam as if an express train had hit them. On November 5, 1926, a caretaker was preparing for tours, he tried to open the door-to-nowhere for some time, then gave it up hopeless; it was fixed tight. He walked away and came back to the room minutes later, and tried again. The influence had gone, and the door opened normally. All was quiet for thirteen years. Then in 1939, a caretaker reported another incident out of the ordinary. She and her daughter were busy decorating the interior of the mansion in preparation for Christmas. They had just placed some pink peonies in a vase, and had put it on a table while they were dusting; the caretaker and her daughter turned around to get some Christmas ornaments, when they turned around, they discovered that the flowers had been taken out of the case and placed neatly on the floor.

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