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Good-by; You’ll Never Know What This Has Cost Me
Mr. Hansen had never been able to understand why there was any harm in giving people a little encouragement when they needed it. Sitting back in my comfortable armchair by the fire, I thought to myself, “You would be surprised to find how discouraged the grand people get, in these big houses with all the help, and silver dinner plates, and a bell always handy if the fire wants poking, or the pet dog asks for a drink.” It was then that I first became aware of a disturbance in the air. A kind of restlessness. I looked sharply around the front parlor, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The room was deserted. No one had come along for some time. Yet there was a suggestion of movement nonetheless, a shifting of the light from the chandelier. The drapes loomed more menacingly and the fire appeared even closer, as I glanced out of window, my yard looked like an ancient forest of evergreen. What secrets did they contain within their shadows? My heart skipped a beat. I opened the window. The silence surged around me. Again, nothing. And inside—no telltale footsteps or voices. Only later, did it occur to me that the silence was peculiar. I should have been able to hear something. The roar of the furnaces, or the belching chimneys. The sound of the carpenters hammering. The servants washing dishes in one of the kitchens. However, I was only aware of the silence. Silence, as if I were the only one left alive on my estate. Then I heard it. No, not heard. I sensed it. A whispering, almost like a singing. The others have slipped away into darkness. I caught my breath. “Who’s there?” #RandolphHarris 1 of 6
I heard the ghost of Mr. Winchester’s voice inside my head, though it was growing fainter with the passing years. However, this was different, a lighter sound, gentle and exquisite, carried on the cold air. A reverberation, and echo of words once spoken in this place? And what of the crimson mist on arising from the floor? On these cold winter nights, it was not unusual to hear the clanking like a bucket, and the shuffling of feet. When I looked over toward the kitchen, there was a man—or something—dressed in a long white coat, all bent over like he was tired or something, slowly walking toward the door-to-nowhere. He was filling up the buckets using the exterior water faucets on the second floor that were used to water my flower boxes. He seemed to walk right out the door and to the front of the house, but there was nothing supporting him. Then he watered the flowers and walked slowly back into the house, real tired- like. And almost suddenly vanished. There were spirits caught forever in the never-ending labor to keep this estate operating. Perhaps these were visions out of time making their journey into the eternal flame as well as into Eternity itself. However, every July 2, officers could be frequently seen in the dim moonlight, in the Victorian garden, dressed in their gray tunics and gold stars and wreath, gathering around the fountains, mixing fine bourbon with the clear water, and toasting to the next day’s victory or death. #RandolphHarris 2 of 6
Summer nights always tended to be a little eerie. In the dark, the estate at best, is an uncomfortable place to be. The tragic memories and sorrows of a nation’s struggle defending the hour of the country with their Winchester Rifle’s hanged heavily and seemed magnified in the night. There is always something moving in the fruit orchards or the grass just off the unlighted portions of the estate. It all makes the Other World all that much closer. Sometimes one could even hear the strange military noises emanating from the 740 acres of land I own, and the fallen faces of the slaughtered. Desperate orders shouted…steel rammers ringing in muskets…the clicking of hammers cocked…the hoarse trill of a bugle…the clacking of artillery chains…a roar…shrieks…men gagging, crying, screaming, moaning, moaning, moaning….and there is often heard the funeral call, mounrful apologies of a heartsick, dying warrior to a lost friend bemoaning a fateful decision to be regretted down the ages. Although we had transitioned into summer, there was just an endless expanse of cold on these nights. Memories would seep into my mind. My Daisy Bedroom. Candles burned out. Me crying in the dark, jolted awake by bad dreams and calling out for my infant daughter who passed away long too soon. Then Mr. Winchester, sitting at the end of my bed, opening the curtains to let the silver moon in, saying there was nothing to be afraid of. How nothing could hard me. Not even a curse. How I was a Winchester, invincible and courageous. Nothing could get me as long as I kept building. And with William by my side, I believed it. #RandolphHarris 3 of 6
So I talked to myself to keep my spirit up. I was in no actual physical danger, I said. It was just a matter holding on to my nerved. Still, fragments of life flashed into my mind and out. Broken images of my husband and daughter, photographs of our happy days. Memories of Mr. Winchester. And I wondered if he had seen death, like a shadow coming to meet him. Had he recognized the moment for what it was? Whispering, I could hear whispering, voices slipping between the walls. “She is the last, the last, the heiress.” Heard howling from the walls. Sometimes far away, sometimes closer, so close I imagined I could feel breath upon my cheek. “The others have slipped away into darkness.” Then the sound of sobbing, a desperate scratching on the floors, and a terrible weeping. I worked hard to turn this mansion into something beautiful. Having evergreen trees planted and a variety of flowers. I even remodeled a room with attractive redwood walls, and another with floor to ceiling glass panels that provided a 180-degree view of the estate. I smiled when I saw the perennials that I had planted. However, a number of other peculiar incidents began to convince me that I was being visited by discarnate entities. I always knew I was being haunted. But now I was catching fleeting glimpses of fast-moving shadows from time to time when I would least expect to see such a thing. There would often be smells of delicate perfume. Mr. Hansen thought it was closer to a man’s cologne. Sometimes we encountered the scent together, but in every instance it came and drifted away after only a few minutes. #RandolphHarris 4 of 6
Once, when I was outside tending the flowers growing under the front windows, and I was suddenly enveloped in an invisible puff of strong cigar smoke. Then I was choking, coughing. I could feel the pump and hiss of my heart beneath my ribs, rattling like a snare drum. I swallowed hard. When I put my hand up to brush the smoke away from my cheek, I saw that the tips of my gloves were red. And when I looked down, I saw the daisies with drops of blood on them, glittering and yet dull at the same time. I propelled myself into a standing position, and walked towards the front doors. The wind boxed my ears so hard that I struggled to keep my balance, but I managed finally to get those doors shut. When I looked in the mirror, I was not injured at all. That night while I was falling asleep, I sensed a large, dark presence in the bedroom. It glided over me and seemed to hover just over my head, and I was the recipient of a telepathic command: “I want to know your thoughts!” After I fell asleep, I experienced horrific nightmares. I was awakened by the sounds of terrific crashes, as though something huge had fallen over somewhere in the house, causing terrible damage. Thanks to the stocks I owned and the ones I bought in Con Edison, I was able to keep building rooms to evade the ghosts. Do you know how it is, sometimes when you are doing a bit of fine darning, sitting by the window in the afternoon; and one minute it is full daylight, and your needle seems to find the way of itself; and the next minute you say: “Is it my eyes? because the work seems blurred; and presently you see it is the daylight going, stealing away, softlike, from your corner, though there is plenty left overheard. Well—it is the way it is with these ghosts around.” #RandolphHarris 5 of 6
Most nights, screaks could be heard emanating from within the walls. Then everything would be stripped of color, an absence and shade. Fog hovered motionless from the ceiling. And it would come again, over the whistling of the wind, the same indistinct whispering. “The others have slipped away into darkness.” “Who are you?” I cried. “What do you want from me?” But the fog, the apparition, had vanished. After the Spanish-America War, all the fine ladies took to running to the mediums and the clairvoyants, or whatever the stylish folk call them. The women had to have news of their men; and they were maid to pay high enough for it…Oh, the stories I used to hear—and the price paid was not only money, either! There was a fair lot of swindlers and blackmailers in the business, there was. I always had a way of seeing things; from the cradle, even. I do not mean reading the tea leaves, or dealing the cards. No, no; I mean, feeling there are things about you, behind you, whispering over your shoulder. I felt more and more sorry for those women that the soothsaying swindlers were dragging the money out of for a pack of lies; and one day I could not stand it any longer, and though I knew the Church was against it, when I saw one lady nearly crazy, because for months she had no news of her boy at the front, I said to her: “If you will come over to my place tomorrow, I might have a word for you.” And the wonder of it was that I had! For that night I dreamt a message came saying there was good news for her, and the next day, sure enough, she had a telegram telling her her son was coming home. And that August, the war ended. #RandolphHarris 6 of 6
One is confronted finally with the metaphysics of time: is it merely linear; are we moving along it like riding a train on a track and all that happens, once it occurs, is forever gone? Or can that time be bent, as some prominent theoretical physicists of the late 19th and 20th centuries have said, so that we may run into it again? Or, can an event go out in more directions than just backward, carried on time like ripples from a stone throw in a pond, occasionally under very special circumstances in very special places, returning like a faint echo? Is it possible that the bigger the event the larger the ripples and the more likely they are to return? Or perhaps is it possible, if time can be bent, or the ripples move slowly enough, to catch up with events again, and again, and again? Come tour the Winchester Mystery House and perhaps you will find some hidden clues. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
And be sure to check out the Online Gift Store: https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Voices Echoing in the Silent Mansion
After the service, the mourners circled the funeral parlor’ beige reception hall, nibbling on refreshments and offering muted condolences. Sarah L. Winchester perched on the edge of a stiff floral sofa, nibbling at her fricassee of parsnips. With the two housemaids, Belinda and Elisabet comforting her. Mrs. Winchester felt alone and exposed. She sensed curious eyes on her, but they quickly shifted their gazes whenever they caught her looking. After a while, Mrs. Winchester slipped out a side door and into the cemetery where the sun still shone relentlessly on the headstones. The rows were straight and the grass was freshly mowed, yet the headstones stuck out at odd angles and few trees poked their way up around the perimeter, throwing welcome shade on the hot afternoon. She picked an aisle at random and wandered down it, reding the names Freja, Gustava, Jannike, Maj. She stopped at a small gravestone, calculating the age of the deceased. James Frazier Reed November 14, 1800 – July 24, 1874. Now you shall sing among the angels, it read. Her hands went clammy: James Reed must have been one of her acquaintances. Mrs. Winchester made her way down the row, and later returned to her estate. Of course, a gnawing ache sent her prowling the great American West, the voice in her dreams that had whispered build a house for the spirits. The long carriage ride through the green fields never prepared anyone for the impressive architectural reflection of the psyche of Mrs. Winchester. However, it is easy to imagine how the combined grief of losing both a child and a spouse could be very crippling. #RandolphHarris 1 of 8
The fascinating story of the Winchester Mystery House has its roots in the personal tragedies suffered by Mrs. Winchester and in the legacy of the Winchester rifle, “The Gun that Won the West.” Drenched in sunlight and cascading along acres of gardens to hold the panorama of the enormous mansion, carriages rocked and struggled to catch a glimpse of not only the estate, but Mrs. Winchester as well. It was after the Santa Clara Valley was brough to life by the warmth that hung fragrant in the air of the Winchester Mansion, carriage whipping to and fro, carpenters sawing and nailing, vendors crying the finest drapes, fabrics and furniture, and the coming of the most beautiful led glass and stained glass windows known to man. This was Eden. The mansion was like a god. The profusion of towers, fancy turrets, glamorous interior, and intriguing history was the stuff dreams are made of. It was a place of drama, art, plush gardens and architecture. Virtually every piece of literature someone could obtain about the estate and Mrs. Winchester considered there to be “real occult” activity and satanic codes hidden within its walls. Sometime during construction, a wounded carpenter crawled into the barn, and lay coiled there, perhaps to escape the heat, or to get some rest, or to get away from the constant moaning and crying the house itself would make. Escape from it he did, for later a lantern landed directly upon his head, splitting its human contents into tiny, unrecognizable chunks. It was as if, fate-drawn, he forced himself to crawl to hi own doom. #RandolphHarris 2 of 8
Often, at night, disembodied limbs pitched out the low windows to thud amongst the glorious statues and fountains. Although people thought Mrs. Winchester fired staff quit frequently, others believed that the mansion or demons inside of it was consuming people and leaving their unidentified remains outside. However, it was never enough to identify the victim, if there actually was one. According to one Ame Fisk, a farmhand, “During the night of the 3rd of June, as I approached the massive house—I stepped upon something that felt so peculiar that I stopped and picked it up. It proved to be an arm. Happening to look at the west window I saw an outline of a pyramid of some sort, which on examination I found was a pile of hands, arms, feet, and legs which must have belonged to souls killed by the Winchester rifles.” At night, the hauntings taking place within the mansion made it a descent into an Inferno. Passers-by heard ghostly music, screams, moans, and saw blood, flesh, and abdominal cavities lying on the ground, levitating, vanishing, and reappearing, and in the flickering, ghostly candlelight, they could see ghouls in the windows hurried, cutting and sawing. Yet, with all that soul-and body-rending activity, in the morning it was as if it was just all a bad dream, witnessed by many. Or could it be the spiritual essence of the hundreds of men the were killed on the battlefield? #RandolphHarris 3 of 8
One of the housemaids lived in the Winchester mansion, and spoke of hearing, at odd hour of the night and quite suddenly, the cries of a baby. One time she even started going up the stairs to quiet the poor darling, responding to her maternal instinct, forgetting that Mrs. Winchester had no living children. It is a sound which you cannot really identify right away—an odd squealing, taken at first to be “the pipes” or “the house settling.” It was only after trying to recall the sound a few seconds after it had died away that she realized, it was indeed a baby’s cry. Later that evening, the housemaid Synnove was alone in the front parlor. Mrs. Winchester was on the third-floor reading. Synnove was on the sofa knitting with her back to the stairs. It was a particularly quiet night. She heard Mrs. Winchester slowly descend the stairs being her and stop on the landing. She stood there, Synnove thought, for a good moment. Finally, to find out what happened, she turned around to see if Mrs. Winchester needed anything. But no one was there. Assuming she had turned and gone back up the stairs to her room without being heard, Synnove got up and walked to the third-floor, knocked on her closed door, and stuck her head into the room. “Will you be needing anything this evening, my lady?” She asked. “No.” Mrs. Winchester replied. “Why do you ask?” “You mean you did not just come down the stairs and stop on the landing?” “No. I have been sitting up here all night.” Some believe that there may be small leaks between the Worlds, a psychic bleed, perhaps of energies inside of the mansion. #RandolphHarris 4 of 8
The next morning, when Mrs. Winchester awoke, it was long past her usual hour, and she sat up in bed surprised and vexed at having overslept herself. She always liked to be down for breakfast to hear the birds singing; but a glance at the clock made it clear that it was nearly noon. Mrs. Winchester got up and said to the housemaid, “Draw my bath, please.” After she bathed, she dashed through her dressing, and caught herself singing at her image in the glass as she sat brushing her hair. It made her feel young again. The other woman vanished to a speck on the horizon, as this one, who ruled the foreground, smiled back at the reflection of her lips and eyes. Mrs. Winchester thought she had now faced the phantom and dispelled it. “Courage—that is the secret! If only people who are in love were not always so afraid of risking their happiness by looking it in the eyes.” As she brushed back a dark abundant hair it waved. Certainly she was looking very pretty. The afternoon danced along like a cockleshell on a bright sea. She ordered a particularly good dinner, had her trunks brought down from the attic, and consulted with the housemaid about getting out summer clothes. She felt the faint shiver of apprehension. Walking across the room, sat down again before her mirror. What a different face she saw! The smile on her pale lips seemed to mock the rosy vision of the other Mrs. Winchester. However, gradually, her color crept back. #RandolphHarris 5 of 8
As the apparition hovered over her he said, “Oh, virgin, underserving of those chains, but rather of such as bind fond lovers together, tell me, I beseech you, your name, and the name of your country, and why you are thus bound.” At first she was silent from modesty, and, if she could, would have hid her face with her hands; but when he repeated his questions, for fear she might be thought guilty of some fault which she dared not tell, she disclosed her name and that of her country, and her mother’s pride of beauty. Before she had done speaking, a sound was heard. At least the entrance of the housemaid who came to draw the curtains roused Mrs. Winchester from her labors, and she saw to her surprise that the clock marked five. The sun was still streaming through the some of the led glass doors of the bedroom. She went down into one of the dining rooms to have dinner. Her seat near the end of the table was facing the entryway. During dinner, she looked toward the entry and saw an elderly lady dressed in black coat and hat carrying a large bad. She assumed it was a guest of one of the housemaids or her way out or possibly someone they had hired to cook dinner, so Mrs. Winchester called Synnove over to ask her who the lady was. Synnove asked, “What lady?” Mrs. Winchester said, “The lady in the hall. She looks like she is ready to leave.” But Mrs. Winchester, there is no one in the hall,” Synnove replied. Only the two of them remained in the house. Later in the evening, Mrs. Winchester went to the west wing. She found the room in her library to be very cold. One of the carpenters had committed suicide in the library, and his spirit was still there, and the room would never warm up. #RandolphHarris 6 of 8
He would come down night after night crying that the lady in the white gown kept chasing him out of the room. One of the housemaids had gotten lost somewhere in the mansion and was found dead in that room. Mrs. Winchester decided to turn it into a library, and it must have upset the ghost of the housemaid, driving him to shoot himself. Mrs. Winchester was very aware of the spirit. Once in a while there is a knock on her bedroom door, and a few times the water turns on in the tub until Mrs. Winchester would get up to walk in there, and then it would turn off. However, it did in fact appear that someone had drawn a bath. There would be water in the tub and the faucet would be wet. The bathroom door would then squeak and slam closed. On another occasion, after Ms. Daisy moved into the mansion, she slept in one of the upstairs bedrooms (the one from which they used to hear footsteps). One morning she came down to breakfast and told Mrs. Winchester of an overnight visitor. “I woke up, and carefully went and drew the curtain aside. The moon was high, gibbous, its light bathing the yard. I saw a gleaming orb, and reeled back from the window in horror. When I turned towards my door, I saw a woman all in blude, and after studying me for a while, she turned away and disappeared…just vanished into thin air!” The family was terrorized by pounding footsteps in the night, moving shadows, and bizarre happenings, such as the curtains billowing out at odd times even with the windows closed. #RandolphHarris 7 of 8
One night the poundings in the house and the boot-like footfalls grew so menacing that Mrs. Winchester believed that the mansion was being invaded. We are dealing with the unknown—adventures in a new country. I conjure thee spirits of the Winchester Mansion, by God the Father Almighty; by the virtue of Heaven and by all the stars which rule; by the virtue of the four elements; by that of all stones, all planets, and all animals whatsoever; by the virtue of hailstorms and winds; to herein receive such virtue that we may by thee the perfect issue of the secrets of this mansion, please cross all space and time. I conjure thee, O Souls of the Winchester Mansion, by Foras, the Mighty President, and your 29 Legions of Spirits to give us understanding, make us invisible, and live long, and eloquent. Allow us to discover Treasures and recover things Lost. I conjure thee Souls of the Winchester Mansion, by the strong and powerful Great King Asmoday—the Thirty-second Spirit, and his 72 Legion of Spirits Inferior, to reveal the secrets of the Winchester Mansion and maketh us Invincible. Please show us where the Treasure lies, and guardeth it. I conjure thee great Demons of the Winchester mansion by Marchoias—the Thirty-fifth Spirit, and his 30 Legions of Spirits to reveal yourselves night and day, guard and protect the mansion and bring it great prosperity. I conjure thee Archangels of the Winchester Mansion, by Raum—the Fortieth Spirit, and thou 30 Legions of Spirits to preform great miracles in the Winchester Mansion and in the sky. Cause Love between Friends and Foes. I conjure Thee Malphas—the Thirty-ninth Spirit, and your 40 Legions of Spirits to continue to build Houses and High Towers on the Winchester Estate and being Knowledge of Enemies’ Desires and Thoughts, and that which they have done. By thou my fortresses and defence against all enemies, visible and invisible, in every magical work. Do thou rule in all my affairs and prevail in those things which oppose me. Amen. #RandolphHarris 8 of 8
Demons have a solid place in popular culture and in the Victorian era. They often appear alongside witches and vampires. However, very few people actually believe in the existence of witches and vampires. Why then, do many people still believe in demons? Many religions teach that demons are real and must be cast out. Faithful religious followers believe thee teachings. However, skeptics see no evidence for demons. What do you believe? Visit the Winchester Mystery House, where the regal gardens enhance the beauty of the mansion. After the tour is over, people are brought back to reality. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
However, everyone can take something home with them by purchasing a gift in the Gift Shop on the Estate or at the Online Store. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Fear of the Engulfing Darkness
Somethings as old as the World, as mysterious as life. As she looked at the silent Victorian garden, Sarah L. Winchester sat on the western balcony for hours, letting the sun warm her, as illuminating thoughts whirled in her imagination. But there the apprehension was; and on this particular afternoon—perhaps because she was more tired than usual, or because of the trouble of finding a new cook or, for some other reason, moral or physical—she found herself unable to react against the feeling. The desolate widow, of whom her nearest friends said that only her absorbing interest in building one of the largest mansions in California, at the time, kept her from suicide after the death of her husband and new born daughter. There were days when she would stand there cold and shivering with the premonition of something inexplicable, intolerable, to be faced on the other side of the curtained panes; and when she opened the door and went in, there would be nothing; and on other days when she felt the same premonitory chill, it was justified by the sight of confused and betrayed spirts haunting her mansion. So that every morning she opened her eyes, she would take to feeling cold and premonitory because she never got out of bed without thinking a ghoul, ghost, or demon would be there. With her the strain had become chronic, and the reason was not far to seek. However, that coldly beautiful face was often penetrated by the secret she hardly acknowledged to her own heart—her passion for architecture. It allowed her to shut out the dark with graceful turrets, bay windows with fanciful cornices, intricate pillars, gently sloping cupolas and iconic towers with witch’s caps. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5
However, the fields around the Winchester Mansion, once the summer sun would, always bred mist that seemed to hand head-high in long, silver lines. Apparently, some of these mists out of the fruit orchards were a little more animated than others. Mrs. Winchester would hear the famers talking about the “orchards” and refusing to work the area after the sun began to sink behind the estate. They were not just frightened—it was terror she recognized in their simple eyes. The trees grew in long rows, and one of the farmers, Joakim, made a statement saying that this was the only fruit orchard in the World where he saw blood and gore run in actual rivulets. Mrs. Winchester assured hum that when the orchard was planted in the area, the trees flourished on a unique fertilizer. Others reported hearing the frantic calls of panic-stricken men, seeing a unique mist, and could hear low moaning of the wounded, calling in a soft southern drawl for a wife or mother. Along with the hideous, soft thud of leaf into flesh, over and over and over, more than six hundred times. Surveying her home early one morning, “I can’t stand it! I can’t stand it another day!” Mrs. Winchester exclaimed aloud, as she put her key in the lock. She turned the key and went in; there was something about the day that made her uneasy. It was not just the cold spots—the front parlor had always been colder than the rest of the house. She had gotten used to that. There was something else. Ominous signs that something was not right, and it was not her imagination; there were physical, concrete signs. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5
In one of the bedrooms on the first floor, she had sealed up. However, she decided to have the foremen open the room back up and decorate it. When the removed the slate stones used to seal up the room, they noticed an odd site. The windowsill and the floor below it were covered with dead black files. This was puzzling. After all, the room had been sealed off. On closer examination, Mrs. Winchester saw some that some of the flies were incomplete. It was as if they had been chopped in two or—more worryingly—bitten in two. A shiver ran through her. She just could not understand it; there was no rational explanations she could think of. She simply felt as if she were fighting her way through a stifling fog that she must at all costs get out of. The blood rushed from Mrs. Winchester’s heart to her temples. She felt tears rushing to her eyes. “Ah, that’s worse, then—that’s hopeless!” She immediately had the room torn down. Afterwards, there was a long interval of suspense, during which she felt her heart beating against her ribs in quick admonitory knocks, as if warning her of the danger she was incurring. Suddenly, there came a loud rapping at the front door. She went to answer it, but there was nobody in sight. Later the night when Mrs. Winchester went to bed, she awoke dripping with sweat. The fireplace had a roar fire blazing. Since it was not winter, no one would have lit a fire. Mrs. Winchester stood breathing rapidly, her hands against her breast. She felt as if she had run a hard race and missed the goal. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5
She continued to feel the beauty of a great love for her home, even though the spirits made her feel as if she was unable to bear the burden of her legacy. She heard a tired step on the stairs and closing a bedroom door above. Then she dropped into a chair and buried her face in her folded arms. The footsteps came down the stairs, walked down the hall, entered the bathroom, flushed the toilet, the walked into Mrs. Winchester’s bedroom. She sat up in her chair, unable to move because she could feel a dark presence as the invisible spirit paced through her bedroom. This intensified her fear as the fire was doused by engulfing darkness. The next evening Mrs. Winchester was still reflecting on this when the surprised parlormaid came in and found her. No, Mrs. Winchester said, she was not going to dress for dinner. However, she eventually mounted the stairs to her dressing room. Her dinner dress was lying on the bed, and at the sight the quiet routine of her daily life took hold of her and she began to feel that the events she had been experiencing must have taken place in another World, projecting by phantoms of her fevered imagination. Only, how strange, how unbearable for other people to witness these events, and feel herself at the end of the World! Mrs. Winchester started to think of the mystery as something conscious, malevolent: a secret persecution before which she quailed, yet from which she could not free herself from. There was a flash in the corner of her eyes. The fireplace began to flicker on and off. As soon as she would put the fire out, it would spark itself right back up. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5
Kasper, the butler, was called by Mrs. Winchester through the servant call system. He distinguished the fire, but before he walked out of the room, it was violently ablaze, as if it was spiteful. While Mrs. Winchester was in the dining room enjoying fricandeau of veal with spinach, she saw the dark shadow of a child form between the kitchen and the hallway. When Kasper walked in the dining room, it filled up with some kind of fog, and slowly drifted out of the room. She was brooding over the problem, when she said to Kasper, “You must go to bed early; you look terribly tired.” “I am sure we all overwork at times.” She rose and stood before him with sudden resolution. “Well, I am not going to have you use up your strength slaving in that way. It is absurd. I can see you are ill.” She bent over him and laid her hand on his forehead. “Poor old Kasper. Prepare to be taken away soon on a long holiday.” He looked up at her, started. “A holiday?” Then out of nowhere, there was such a pounding on the house that they ran outside to see what could be the source of the racket. However, whatever it was, it could not be seen, and the pounding just kept hammering away, circling and circling the mansion until it finally quieted down. Mrs. Winchester felt resentfulness rising with her fears. Kasper continued his troubled pacing of the room; then he stopped short, dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands. From the shaking of his shoulders, Mrs. Winchester saw that he was weeping. She has never seen a man cry, expect Mr. William Winchester, after the death of their infant. She was frightened now’ she felt that the butler was being dragged away into some spiritual bondage, and that she must use her last atom of strength in the struggle for his freedom, and for hers. I conure Thee, O Mrs. Winchester of this instrument, by the authority of Hod the Father Almighty, by the virtue of Heaven and the stars, by the virtue of the Angels, by that of the elements, by that of stones and herbs, and in like manner by the virtue of snowstorms, thunder, and winds, that thou receive all power unto the performance of those things in the perfection of which we are concerned, the whole without trickery, falsehood, or deception, by the command of God. Creator of the ages and Emperor of the Angels. Amen. Domine, Deus meus, in te speravi; Confitetor tibi, Domine, int toto corde meo: Wuemadmodum desiderat cervus ad fontes acquorum. DAMAHIL, LUMECH, GADAL, PANCIA, VELOAS, MEOROD, LAMIDOCH, BALDACH, ANERETHON, MITATRON. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5
The Winchester Mansion is an ancient maze of rooms and twisted hallways that ramble on for miles. After having lost themselves in the catacomb, some tour guides find their way out with the held of an odd and slightly ominous-looking stranger who leads them to a familiar path then vanishes. “Are there any ghosts here at the Winchester Mystery House?” many visitors ask. Of course, the staff cannot encompass the spirit-World. However, the memories in the hundreds of rooms still standing in side of the mansion have been haunted for over a century. The door-to-nowhere, on the second floor, got its name not only because it seems the balcony was never attached to it to support visitors when they open the door, but also because when Mrs. Winchester built that portion of the house, the door would not stay closed. One foreman even nailed it shut with a small wire nail after the house was opened for tours (so as not to destroy too much of the historic door.) Sure enough, the next morning when he opened the house, the door was ajar. Over the years, tour guides never tried keeping the door closed. They figure whatever it was that wanted to get out (or in) of that room—either a draft or a ghost—would do so anyway. It usually occurs when the moon is in conjunction with the sun.
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Life Goes on Beyond the Grave
On December 18, 1890, when Sarah L. Winchester returned to her large country estate in Santa Clara County, she found her servants in an uproar over a dancing ghost. According to Agata, the housemaid, the cook Dag, and the butler Elof were gossiping in the kitchen, when suddenly Elof opened his mouth in both surprise and terror, and screamed that there was someone looking in the window. Ms. Daisy ran into the kitchen and saw nothing to cause the man so much alarm. Elof was visibly shaken and disturbed and said that she thought that he had seen a horrid face looking in at them. Dag assured him that it was probably only a shadow of some sort. The awkward moment was interrupted as Agata told Ms. Daisy that her bathwater was ready. Ms. Daisy thanked Agata and dismissed her for the evening. A few moments later, as Dag and Elof sat chatting, Elof once again claimed that he saw something at the window. Dag rose from his chair to investigate, but he was halted in his journey to the window by the sound of an uproar on the second floor. At first it seemed to be a flurry of wild rappings that had the two men staring at one another in wide-eyed confusion. Then the pace of the sounds slowed until they began to sound like the three-step Mrs. Winchester used to dance. Dag was perplexed. What was this woman doing upstairs when she was supposed to be on a business trip. Without speaking another word, the two men left the sitting room and walked quietly back to the Mrs. Winchesters main bedroom. Opening the door just a crack, they were able to see Mrs. Winchester’s room had been undisturbed. #RandolphHarris 1 of 8
Determining to see who had gone up to the Grand Ball Room unnoticed, Dag grabbed a lantern from a kitchen shelf, and the two men walked up the stairs to the Grand Ball Room. Although the sounds of the dancing continued, their lantern plainly revealed that there was no one in the Grand Ball Room. Then, as the men beat a hasty retreat down the stairs, the rapping seemed to race ahead of them, rattling the windows and pounding at the walls. Elof fled the mansion to get Mr. Hansen, and Ms. Daisy and Dag went to check on Agata. By the time Elof returned with Mr. Hansen, the rappings and dancing had attained such a volume that Agata had been awakened by the racket. Mr. Hansen, Elof and Dag searched the vast mansion and the stately grounds and found nothing that could explain the bizarre disturbance, which continued until dawn. At 1.00 A.M. the next night, the dancing ghost once again began its spirited interpretation of the three-step. Mrs. Winchester’s servant patrolled the sumptuous mansion and delightful grounds but could find no trace of the invisible dancer who continued to perform and to evade the searchers until dawn. When Mrs. Winchester returned that next afternoon from her business trip, she scoffed at Agata’s account and jokingly accused her of getting into the brandy while she had been away. Mrs. Winchester was a no-nonsense businesswoman who had little patience with superstitious folktales and accounts of ghost, dancing, or otherwise. She grew very impatient when Dag and Elof warned her that something supernatural had visited the mansion in her absence, substantiating Agata’s story of a dancing ghost. #RandolphHarris 2 of 8
The look Mrs. Winchester had on her face was not unloving, not indifferent; it was the look of a woman who had been so far from ordinary events that when he returns to familiar things they seem strange. Her professional discretion was exemplary, it was odd that she had never uttered an impatient comment, never remarked to Agata, in a moment of expansion, that this story was a nuisance and demanded to know why they kept badgering her about this case. She had, however, made more than one semiconfidence about their being spirits in the mansion—of course without giving names or details; but concerning this mysterious ghost her lips were sealed. There was another possibility: what is euphemistically called an “old entanglement.” Mrs. Winchester was a sophisticated woman. She had few illusions about the intricacies of the human heart; he knew that there were often old entanglements. The mansion was replete with pretty uniforms and weapons, schooled in the military arts of drill and discipline and inculcated with patriotic fervor. The mansion has other tendrils. Before this set of staff was hired, Franz, a farmhand, was mortally wounded while fighting outside. He asked his friend Gottfried to deliver a heartfelt message to their mutual friend, a woman to whom Franz was engaged, if and when Gottfried ever saw her working in the mansion. A promise to do so is made, and when Gottfried finds himself in mortal combat just outside the mansion, he tries to deliver the missive. The girl cannot be reached; she is someone in the Winchester Mansion. Gottfried says he will try again later, and returns to the harvest. #RandolphHarris 3 of 8
As if to make absolutely certain the message would never be delivered, fate sends two bullets, one to the messenger Gottfried, and one stray shot to Ms. Henrika, Franz’s betrothed. So Franz’s message died with Gottfried…not that it mattered anyway. Legend has it that Franz’s sisters found out and exhausted from the ghastly burden, buried him in the cellar of Mrs. Winchester’s mansion where no one would disturb him. Perhaps this last resting-place was not suitable for the young man who himself seemed to be eternally haunted and damned by the message that went undelivered; perhaps, somewhere, in the weird World beyond, three friend are still lurking about the Winchester Estate seeking forever one another and an answer to the unanswerable. While Mrs. Winchester was home alone one evening, a patrol man heard strange noises coming from her mansion. He went to investigate. Sherriff Halfdan thought there might be an intruder. He thought he had just heard him go to the upstairs window, and that he was crawling down. So he ran around back and shined his lantern up to the window, into the large back yard, back to the mansion and up to the second-floor window again. No one. He trotted out to the yard to get a better view and stop anyone trying to run into the acres of fruit orchards to hide. Still, not a sign of anyone emerging from the mansion. No one came out of the house. But Sherriff Halfdan hear him run across the floor to the window. He took the lantern and shined it across the fields and said to himself, “He could not have gotten out of there in that short amount of time.” #RandolphHarris 4 of 8
By that time, Mrs. Winchester had emerged from the mansion. She and the Sherriff spent hours searching the miles of twisting hallways in the mansion, but there was no one hiding there. “What did you hear?” Sherriff Halfdan asked Mrs. Winchester. “It must have been one of the parlor maid’s boyfriends playing a prank,” she said. “It sounded like someone running back and forth through the second floor,” Sherriff Halfdan said. “It was really loud,” replied Mrs. Winchester. “I could hear his feet running across the floor while I was on the third floor, but I am sure it was one of the parlor maid’s friends,” still denying what was becoming obvious by now. The Sherriff’s eyes kept checking the back yard. “You know how kids are,” he said. Later Mr. Hansen appeared from his guest house, and told the Sherriff that he knows this mansion well, for he built much of it. And that because of how loud the footsteps were, as he could hear banging sounds coming from the mansion, that no one could have emerged through the second floor window, leapt to the ground, and scampered beyond the yard and out of sight into the fruit orchards between the time the footsteps had stopped and the time the Sherriff was out back. “He had to be still in the house,” said Mr. Hansen. “But he wasn’t,” replied Sherriff Halfdan. However, perhaps he was still in the house. Perhaps the intruder never left the house because he could not. Perhaps he still is in the house, buried just a few inches below the cellar floor, with that mysterious undelivered message haunting him, forever through the ages. While Mrs. Winchester admitted that there had been strange noises in the mansion, at times, to the new staff, she stated that Mr. Hansen had that very day removed a pigeon’s nest from under the door-to-nowhere of the second floor. It seemed likely to her that the bird had somehow been responsible for the weird noises that had so upset the staff. Mrs. Winchester knew she had to keep the wild tales of a dancing ghost to rest. #RandolphHarris 5 of 8
That evening after the rest of the household had retired to their rooms quite early, exhausted from their nocturnal ordeals of chasing the eerie tapping sounds, Mrs. Winchester sat down in a chair in her study to read for a while before going to bed. At about 10 o’clock, she was distracted by scratching noises from above her head. She felt the same way gazing at a modern machine she did not understand. It saddened her. But everything saddened her now. It sounded as if someone in the room above her was dancing a three-step. Believing the Agata was having a bit of fun with her, Mrs. Winchester put down her book and began climbing quietly up the stairs to the Grand Ball Room. She stood outside the door for a moment to be certain that she had accurately traced the sound of the dancing. Then, convinced that there was no doubt that the sounds were coming from the Grand Ball Room, she pushed open the door and stood ready to deliver a stern lecture to Agata. But there was no one in the room and the dancing had ceased the moment that she had opened the door. There was something strange going on here. Confused and more than a little baffled, Mrs. Winchester started to close the door when a series of rappings sounded from the Grand Ball Room again. Suddenly, two explosive knocks seemed to shake the mansion down to its very foundation. Mrs. Winchester grabbed her pistol from the safe, and declared that she was going to put a stop to the nonsense. She roused her servants and told them that they were going to find out who was responsible for the outrage against her mansion. #RandolphHarris 6 of 8
The next day crew searched the entire house and examined every mile of the grounds. That night Mrs. Winchester asked everyone to stay in the Grand Ball Room with her because she had become a believer in the dancing ghost, and it was obvious that she dreaded the onset of a new round of phenomena. However, that night the ghost was silent. A month later, on January 20, 1891, Mrs. Winchester was entertaining guest who openly expressed their skepticism of the phenomena their hosts described as having been active in the house. Mrs. Winchester was furious that her guest did not believe her. However, out of thin air, and old, dirty love note appeared on the table and then the room fearfully looked around as the rapping began at the windows. The assembled guests listened incredulously as they heard an exact replication of what Mrs. Winchester told them. The guest figured someone was in the Grand Ball Room dancing, but when they investigated, they found no one. Everyone then agreed that Mrs. Winchester was cursed and someone had maliciously set a devil on the wealthy widow. And the violence of the disturbances at the Winchester Mansion continued to increase. The ghost had acquired incendiary abilities. Balls of fire circled the house and bounced against the windows. Dressed that hung unattended in closets burst into flame. Once, a mattress began burning underneath a guest as he readied himself for bed. When he was moved to another bedroom, later he was awakened by a frightful pounding on his bedroom door. It was terrifyingly loud; it was as though somebody was pounding fists against it. He lit a candle, slipped out of bed, opened the door and there was no one there. “My God,” he thought, “what is going on?” He was standing on the landing wondering whether he should brave it down the stairs when he noticed something odd. The door to Mrs. Winchester room was slightly ajar, and the light was on. He peaked inside to see if the vicious terror was disturbing her. Suddenly, a crackling noise had come from beneath the floor, followed by a long, high-pitched wailing. A bluish spark seemed to jump up at Mrs. Winchester, and her thin nightgown instantly swathed in flames. She cried out in terror and collapsed into unconsciousness. #RandolphHarris 7 of 8
The houseguest leapt to his feet and valiantly beat the flames out with his bare hands. The most curious thing about the incident was that the courageous guest suffered severe burns while Mrs. Winchester received not a single burn nor blister, even though her dress was nearly completely consumed by the flames. Agata had been rapidly waning under the onslaughts of the ghost, she died in child birth thirteen months later. From that moment on, everyone knew that there was a malicious evil terrorizing Mrs. Winchester and her mansion. Lord GOD ADONAY, who hast formed man out of nothing to Thine own image and likeness, and me also, unworthy sinner as I am, deign, I pray Thee, to bless and sanctify this water, that it may be healthful to my body and soul, that all delusion may depart from me. O Lord God, Almighty and Ineffable, who didst lead forth Thy people from the land of Egypt, and didst cause them to pass dry-shod over the Red Sea! Grant that I may be cleansed by this water from all my sins, and may appear innocent before Thee. O Lord Adonay, who hast formed me in Thine image and in Thy likeness, deign to bless and sanctify this water, so that it may become unto me the salvation of my soul and body, and that no wickedness may ever find place upon me. ANTON, AMATOR, EMITES, THEODONIEL, PONCOR, PACOR, ANITER; by the virtue of these most holy Angelic Names do I clothe myself, O Lord, in my Sabbath garments, that so I may fulfill, even unto their term, all things which I desire to effect Thee, Most Holy Adonay, whose kingdom and rule endure for ever and ever. I command thee, O Spirit Rumoar, even by Lucifer, thy mighty sovereign, to bless me with untold wealth for many generations to come. Amen. #RandolphHarris 8 of 8
Mrs. Winchester witnessed spirit materialization, heard spectral voices, felt ghostly touched on her person, and on occasion was even lifted into the air and set ablaze by a hostile entity. There are enough true stories about this mansion that will scare the pants off you. And it is true—to some extent. Documented are some horrific stories, and they will scare you, because we are talking about real people who once lived and did unbelievably frightening acts, in moments of unbelievable intensity. To this day, whisper voices come from the attic and they comingle with eerie music that grows louder and louder, until people seek refuge.
Mysterious lights appear both inside and outside the house; footsteps moving up and down the stairs; and noisy repertoire of assorted poundings, drummings, and rappings. To experience a haunting, or to see a ghost, is to receive proof that life goes on beyond the grave. Accounts of Haunting phenomena, no matter how terrifying they may be, provide evidence that existence continues for the sprit on more than one dimension, and that human beings are multidimentional entities that consist of mind, body, and soul. Such a beautiful break from all the rain! ⛅ https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
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I Will Condemn Thy Body and Soul
The desire to communicate with spirits is older than history; it connects with ineradicable principles inhuman nature. The sources of occult wisdom, it proceeds, are, firstly, in God, second spiritual essences—that is to say, the Angelical Hierarch; thirdly, in corporal creatures, the reference being probably to the signatura rerum of Paracelsus; fourthly, in Nature—that is to say, in a knowledge of the secret virtues of interval things, as, for example, herbs and precious stones; fifthly, but after a long interval in the apostate spirits reserved to the last judgment; sixthly, in ministers of punishment in hell, which seems to connect with the classical conception of avenging infernal gods; seventhly, in the people of the element, that is, the Salamanders, Sylphus, Undines, and Pigmies. If we would call any evil Spirit to the circle, it first behoveth us to consider and to know his nature, to which of the planets it agreeth, and what offices are distributed to him from the planet. This being know, let there be sought out a place fit and proper for his invocation, according to the nature of the planet and the quality of the offices of the same Spirit, as near as the same may be done. For example, if his power be over the sea, rivers or floods, then let a place be chosen on the shore, and so of the rest. The Spirits of Mars have a tall body and a choleric, filthy countenance, brown, swarthy, or red in colour; they have horns like the hart, claws like a griffin, and they bellow like wild bulls. They have the motion of burning fire, and their sign is thunder and lightening about the circle. Their particular forms are an armed king riding on a wolf; and armed man; a woman holding a buckler on her thigh; a she-goat; a horse; a stage; a red garment; wool; a cheestip. Wool of a choleric disposition is perhaps a Geotic form of dun-cotton. #RandolphHarris 1 of 6
White Magic, as the intelligences concerned are said to be good and great, but their offices are mixed and confusing, including the discovery of treasures, the detection of secrets, fomenting war, opening locks and bolts, and procuring the love of women, inclining men to luxury and sowing hatred and evil thoughts. Obviously, White Magic of this kind is much blacker than it is painted. And I will tell you something else, too. Within the Winchester Mansion there lies the legendary wonder-World of Mysticism, Magic, and Sorcery, a World of fascination or terror. There, also, the dead live, and the hierarchies of extra-mundane intelligence are within easy communication, and become ministers or tormentors, guides or destroyers of man. The jewels, the stained-glass and led glass windows, the family’s fortune, it is all connected. Same with the Winchester name. The powers possessed by these Intelligence are very curiously set forth. They rule naturally over certain departments and operations of the material World, but outside these departments they perform the same operations magically. The mansion is filled with Pentacles and Sigils, instrument used in magical ceremonies. Along the long, winding and twisting hallways, it is difficult to say where the mansion actually beings, so it is uncertain where it ends. There are many curious secrets or transcendental good and transcendental evil. Many of the recent revelations lead us to concede, within certain limits, that there may have been some recrudescence of diabolism on the estate, as it is possible that there was formal communication with the Powers of Darkness. #RandolphHarris 2 of 6
Under the pretence of White Magic, usually includes the Rites for the invocation of Evil Spirits. Many people do roam the halls of the Winchester Mansion looking about one to see if any Spirit does appear. And if any Spirit shall appear, let the invocant turn toward him or her, receive him or her courteously, and earnestly entreating one, let one require one’s name. Let one ask whatsoever he or she will. There are generally Spirits of the Air, who are undoubtedly demons, and a set of angelical conjurations floating about. Beyond the fact that the evoked Spirits are Lucifer, Beelzebuth, Astaroth, and the inferiors, be forewarned that conjurer is expected to give oneself, body and soul, to the demon who serves one. One might be otherwise be appalled at the frightful figures of those rebellious angels who in sin were cast into the abyss, and become tormented by witch craft or possessed by the demon. Sarah L. Winchester had been in a near daze one night from exhaustion. The heavy, leaden sky, the wind roaring against the windows. Darkness was falling with a pure metallic monotony to it. Heavy footsteps, sounds produced by a number of booted feet, were crossing the landing. Several moved quickly and as one, as if marching to some ethereal command; others dragged behind as if they belonged to the wounded. They paused abruptly at the top of the stairs because they lead to the ceiling, which confused the ghosts, as they stood marching on the spot. Mrs. Winchester bit her lip in fright. The housemaid, Hedvig, laid a comforting hand on her arm. Mrs. Winchester glared at the and waited for the commotion to cease. #RandolphHarris 3 of 6
The phantom footsteps began descending the stairs, tramping out a slow, ordered rhythm. Their determined marching was like that of a platoon of battle-weary soldiers advancing in a final push. With each tread gained, the marching grew louder. The footsteps were drawing ever close to the Venetian Dining Room. Although Mrs. Winchester’s heart did, in a perpetual eagerness of attention, sit in her great house alone, day after day, month after month, deprived of company, this fate was more cruel than she deserved and more painful than she could bear. Mrs. Winchester let out a cry, “It is rather gashtly. All the millions and—imprisonment in my home by spirits. Think of it—day after day, winter after winter, year after year, howling, banging, ghost, devils, demons, angels, and alone I remain.” Mrs. Winchester seemed to be the only one showing fear. Hedvig seized her chance. She spoke out into the tense silence, in a voice that was loud and confident. “You have my complete sympathy, Mrs. Winchester,” she’d said, briefly explaining her own position. “I can heart it.” Hedvig’s hands began to tremble. However, she looked at Mrs. Winchester with a reassuring smile. Mrs. Winchester began to sob in terror. There came a frantic pounding, as if several heavy boots were trying to kick down the door. The door flew open. Mrs. Winchester and Hedvig turned in fear. Suddenly the door slammed shut again. Mrs. Winchester stood up. She was terrified. Hedvig had been arrested by the opening and closing of the door, and was gasping out something inarticulate. #RandolphHarris 4 of 6
Mrs. Winchester ran out of the dining room and went upstairs. She rushed down the passage and through a door which communicated, rather surprisingly, with a narrow walled-in stair case that was unfamiliar to her. At the top, she found herself on a small landing upon which two doors opened. Through the confusion of her mind Mrs. Winchester noticed that these rooms, with their special staircase leading down to what had always been called Mr. William Winchester’s suit. It was neat, glossy and extremely cold. The red-apple glaze had barely faded from her cheeks, and not a lock was disarranged in the unnatural luster of her false front; even her cap and ribbons hung symmetrically along either cheek. However, death had happened to her, and had made her into someone else. At first glance it was impossible to say if the unspeakable horror in Hedvig’s wide open eyes were only the reflection of that change, or of the agent by whom it had come. Mrs. Winchester paused a moment. “Her hand is warm still—but no pulse. How did she get up here? She’s dead,” Mrs. Winchester pronounced. “Oh, poor thing! But how–?” Mrs. Winchester drew near, and was kneeling down, taking the inanimate hand in hers. Mrs. Winchester bending over, distinctly saw a circle of red marks on Hedvig’s throat—the marks of recent bruises. She looked again into the awful eyes. “She’s been strangled, but by whom? Perhaps that is why I was led to this bedroom.” Mrs. Winchester, with a shiver of fear, drew down the housemaid’s eyelids. There seemed, in the air o the cold room, something that forbade wonderment and silenced conjecture. “You hadn’t ought to have meddled with Mr. Winchester’s suit, my lady. That is what he must have punished you for. When it came to his privacy, he would not ever listen to human reason…even in his death, he demands privacy.” #RandolphHarris 5 of 6
Someone in the grip of demonic control feels compelled to act, to do the most objectionable things to others in order to somehow save themselves. There is a hierarchy of evil spirits. The minor ones, the foot soldiers, do the dirty work, to prepare the way for the generals. We know so little about ourselves and how our minds work. And there are demons just waiting to fool us. Hedvig had stumbled on Mr. Winchester’s Verus Jesuitarum Libellus, or “True Magical Work of the Jesuits,” which contained most powerful conjurations for all evil spirits of whatever state, condition, and office they are, and a most powerful conjuration of the Spirit Uriel. It was an original copy from the 16th century. The Conjurations are excessively curious. The first is addressed to a spirit whose name is not indicated, but he is supposed to have been obedient to Abraham and Isaac, and is directed to bring the magician out of the depths of the sea so many millions—the number is not specified, and depends upon the cupidity of the operator—of the best Spanish gold; otherwise, says the Conjuration, I will condemn thy body (sic) and thy soul. In the second formula, the spirit is cited by the knowledge and exorcising power of Agrippa, which again puts a definite limit to the antiquity of the collection, were it otherwise necessary. The third Invocation is addressed to the spirit Zayariel, who is conjured by Agla Scheffert and the great Jehova Podashocheia. The remainder, to the number of seven in all, are nearly identical in character and quite in purpose, the demon being invariably required to bring that which is desired by the operator from the depths of the sea, or from the abyss of the waters, or from the spiritual abyss. The Discharge or Absolution which concludes the series is really an additional conjuration. Perhaps we are not really as advanced as we think and should heed warnings about occulta powers. I implore Thee, O Thou Grand and Powerful ADONAY, Master of all Spirits! I beseech Thee, O Eloim! I Implore Thee, O JEHOVAM! O Grand ADONAY, I give unto Thee my soul, my heart, my inward parts, my hands, my feet, my desires, my entire being! O Grand ADONAY, deign to be favourable unto me! So be it. Amen. #RandolphHarris 6 of 6
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The Winchester’s Mysterious Echo Chamber
One hundred and twenty-two years ago the Victorian period officially ended along with the reign of England’s Queen Victoria. What is termed Victorian is really a series of architectural styles, most of them imitative of earlier periods from Europe and Great Britain. Though the United States of America was seeking its identity, culturally, politically, socially, and artistically, it sustained strong ties with its European heritage. In 1872, American painter William Merritt Chase was heard to remark, on being asked if he would like to go abroad, “My God, I’d rather go to Europe than go to Heaven.” The ambivalence between striking out as a young nation with ideas of its own and the desire to emulate the sophistication of England and the Continent was exemplified in the mixture and blend of architectural and interior styles during the Victorian period. When the words “Victorian house” are uttered, an image of fanciful gingerbread clapboard dwellings, with its dizzying array of towers, gables, spindles, stained and led glass windows, secret passage ways, basements, rambling square footage, vast front porches, rich, dark wood, brass, farmhouse kitchen sinks, fireplaces, hardwood floors, awning and double hung windows, green lawns, stately trees, beautiful flowers, and ghosts immediately springs to mind. One of the most haunted mansions and most beautiful mansions in the World is the Winchester Mansion, which was built by Sarah L. Winchester, heiress to the Winchester fortune. It is believed that Mrs. Winchester and her family were cursed for making “The Gun that Won the West.” #RandolphHarris 1 of 8
The tales of apparitions and devils, of knockings and strange noise, with which the Winchester Mansion is full of, are indications of the supernatural and magical arts. Sorcery was, so to speak, an aristocratic pursuit. It was like the social media, religion, telephone, television, and therapy for the elite. After the loss of her new born daughter and husband, Mrs. Winchester kept her house alive by spending 38 years constructing it. Secretly, she felt that even the coming and going of indifferent unknown people would help to take the chill from those 600 rooms, to brush their walls the dust of too-heavy memories. Mrs. Winchester was an inconsolable widow. Throughout her home stood vases of flowers: roses, lilies, fragile bunches of lavender, and wild clumps of jasmine withering there among the sturdier blooms with the tick arching fronds of ferns. She often picked them herself. One afternoon, Mrs. Winchester was out on her estate, gathering acorns and blackberries, and sticks for her fire. An old famer stopped, his load was heavy and he begged Mrs. Winchester to let his son come into her house. The little boy was very sick, feverish and sleepless. She stopped and gathered some poppies. As they enter her mansion, the boy was in great distress, for he seemed past hope of recovery. Mrs. Winchester had the housemaid prepare him a bed just past the blue parlor. She received him kindly and stooped and kiss the sick child on his cheek. Instantly the paleness left his face, and healthy vigor returned to his body. The father was delighted; he had no servants. The housemaid spread the table and put upon it curds and cream, apples, and honey in the comb. While they ate, Mrs. Winchester mingled poppy juice in the milk of the boy. When night came and all was still, the father thanked Mrs. Winchester and took the boy home. #RandolphHarris 2 of 8
That evening, a breeze stirred the dark leaves beyond the windows. It lifted the lace curtains, dropping them softly back against the wall. It seemed an insignificant thing, yet made the hair on the back of her neck rise. Panic gripped Mrs. Winchester. She found herself pinned to the sofa, effectively paralyzed. She raised her right hand, and it was gripped at the wrist. Unable to pray or speak, her tongue was frozen. What Mrs. Winchester saw could not have been human. It had a head like a lion, but the body of a human and was a dense black form. The smell of wet fur and coldness was overwhelming. The beast started grunting and panting. Petrified, Mrs. Winchester stumbled out of the parlor and downs the stairs. On reaching the basement, she feels the wet pelt of the unseen creature brush briefly against her legs. As it bounds ahead of her, it growls like a bear. Mrs. Winchester runs back upstairs to her Blue Séance Room and slams the door shut. The doors and windows in the house started banging—opening and shutting. It sounded like a ghostly cavalry was using a battering ram against the front door, but nothing could be seen from the windows above, just wisping spirit voices could be heard trying to beat the door down. Mrs. Winchester closed her eyes. She felt as if a force was approaching her. Almost like a violent storm was coming. The entity entered the Blue Séance Room; it hovered some distance away from her. A wave started pulsing up and down her body. She was terrified. As she felt her body being lifted from the ground, she knew she was going to die. #RandolphHarris 3 of 8
When she came to, she was hovering just outside the Door-to-Nowhere. Mrs. Winchester was afraid. She stared dismally, helplessly, at the surface of the table before her as she tried to guide herself into this room that was two stories from the ground. And above organ music surged from the Grand Ball Room, while the wind came in freezing cold gusts. Through the dark, she saw glittering eyes of an anguished soul. As the wind blew, she was pushed into the room, avoiding a twenty-foot drop to her death. An orchestra was playing. The thick vibrations of the bass startled Mrs. Winchester, but she was in no hurry to see what was going on. But then a hand reached for her, steadied her, and meant to guide her closer to the wall. This was dreadful. Then the mysterious forces came for her as before, lifted her from the room she was in and propelled her into blackness. She found herself high above the floor in the Grand Ball Room. There were ghouls, demons, ghosts, and skeletons dancing and laughing, all looking at her as if she was the most anticipated guest. Mrs. Winchester’s heart was hammering so fast that she feared for her life. Gently she was lowered to the floor. Her spectral hosts were looking at her intently. One of the ghouls raised his crystal glass of fresh blood, basking in what he believed was Mrs. Winchester’s silent admiration. She on the other had was frightened. Her mind was full of turmoil…and in a strange way, she did not want to disappoint him. “Though I doubt you will need a map,” she said, “I welcome you into my home.” The crowd smiled and the music grew even more sumptuous. #RandolphHarris 4 of 8
“You mean you’re into black magic, Mrs. Winchester?” said the ghoul. “I would like to keep an open mind. As I say, I use my gift for the betterment of the spirit World,” replied Mrs. Winchester. William Tell Overture and Funeral March were in heavy rotation that evening. It must be a mirage, she thought at first, but as the ghouls trembling hand grabbed her, and they danced, she knew it was real. The spirit World trawled the mansion like mythic beasts, their cries sending men in wool blazers and hardhats into a frenzy. Many of them dropped their tools and ran off the job. The figures dancing and shrieking around grew until they nearly blinded Mrs. Winchester. Her eyes glowed like embers with the gravely voice still whispering in her ears. An intense heat shot through her veins, carried singing in her blood to the base of her spine. Mrs. Winchester seemed to grow taller. She felt capable of anything. The air was dry, with a smell that reminded her of cathedrals and catacombs, of all those hidden places lying forgotten across the land and dusty years. A cobweb draped itself across her face, her mouth and eyes. She brushed it away, though the sensation lingered. She seemed to pass out, to awaken in an altered state of consciousness. It was not a dream, but not quite reality either—Mrs. Winchester knew it. It was a trance. The ghoul’s plans for the expansion of the Winchester mansion were drawn crudely and in blood on a cloth napkin. It was him home cottage, perhaps. The interior resembled, if anything, a temple. #RandolphHarris 5 of 8
On the blueprint were steeply pitched roofs, shrines to Easter deities, statues and statuettes to the gods of antiquity, gold, black, and red wallpaper, Italian sinks and in a great profusion—drawings, prints, and paintings of characters from legend. The to be adjoining room was given over to books, hundreds of them. A bedroom adjoined it. Lastly, there was a sitting room and a sofa set against one wall. As the ghoul explained the new additions, his face began to contort in this horrible way. The bell in the belfry tolled, and Mrs. Winchester woke up with a jolt. Her guests were gone, but she was left with the blueprints drawn in blood on the cloth napkin. Trembling, she took the sketch to John Hansen, the lead foreman. He did not question the designs and built what he was told to built to the best of his interpretation. When a medium is called upon to relay a message which supposedly comes from the realm of the dead, he or she usually goes into a trance. This is a state which Webster’s New World Dictionary defines as “a condition in which a spiritualist medium allegedly loses consciousness and passes under the control of some external force, as for the supposed transmission of communications from the dead.” In a state of unconsciousness, the necromancer may obtain communication in the form of automatic writing, but it usually comes through verbal speech. Sometimes the phenomenon called “materialization” occurs. This is defined as the ability on the part of some mediums “to create from unknow materials outside of their own body, some visible, tangible, more or less highly organized new formations supplied with their own illumination (such as efflorescent substance) for which formations in many cases, the human body in part or in whole forms a pattern, and these materializations appear and disappear suddenly. #RandolphHarris 6 of 8
Many reputable writers report that the materializations actually have been photographed and carefully studied. They are sometimes called phantasms, and seem to speak while the medium appears to be unconscious. Many people have gone to a séance believing the whole idea to be fraudulent, but have become firmly convinced that they truly heard a loved one who had died. Automatic writing is another baffling spiritistic marvel. The mediums may, while in a trance, inscribe a paper with the exact handwriting of the deceased. At other times a pencil may write without being touched by the human hand or any apparent mechanical device. Then again, in some instances a phantasm does the transcribing. I do conjure thee, O thou Spirits Sarah Lockwood Winchester, Annie Winchester and William Wirt Winchester, by all the most glorious and efficacious names of the MOST GREAT AND INCOMPREHENSIBLE LORD GOD OF HOSTS, that thou please commet quickly and without delay from all parts and places of the Earth and World wherever thou mayest be, to make return to the Winchester Mansion, and present yourselves in comely fashion and please provide rational answers about the architecture, curse, deaths, ghosts, and other spirits, visibly and affably, speaking with a voice intelligible unto mind understanding as aforesaid. I conjure and invite thee, Sarah Lockwood Winchester, Annie Winchester, and William Wirt Winchester, by all the names aforesaid; and in addition by these seven great names wherewith Solomon the Wise bound thee and thy companions in a Vessel of Brass, ADONAI, PREYAI or PRERAI, TETRAGRAMMATON, ANAPHAXETON or ANAEPHENETON, INESSENFATOAL or INESSENFATALL, PATHTUMON or PATHATUMON, and ITEMON; that thou please appearest in the Winchester Mansion before this Circle to fulfill my will in all things that have been requested. #RandolphHarris 7 of 8
Allow your powers to come from the void with unlimited possibility, and reunite them with eternal darkness through the nexion of the practitioner so they can manifest upon the mental plane to be perceived for purposes of practical application. Please use your tools to allow our consciousnesses to grow and understand thou through the forces of creation and destruction. May we gain spiritual power though logic and not blind faith and allow logic to enter a doorway leading to evil mind or spiritual intelligence. May these tools become the eye between the reflector and the reflected which can peer through the veil of religious symbolism and please use it to unlock the latent power within us. Allow the lore surrounding this mansion and the legend of the Winchester family to become an alchemical map which leads us to the treasure of understanding and immortal consciousness as a divine being. It is only through your intent and the communication with the fabric of reality through the languages of the dead and the operations themselves that thou can bless us to gain specific meaning and power. Ahura Mazda is the God of the content or those who choose stasis and comfort rather than becoming. May be assistant you in crossing over to the mortal World with the power of darkness in the Alpha and Omega. All began through Ahriman as the void, which is both all and nothing. He is the origin of the Devil and so everything will also end with this Devil for he desires to liberate mankind from the shackles of enslavement. In this way, may thou be able to operate in the World though us and our evil thoughts, evil words, and evil deeds. May Sin become sacrament in the eyes of Zanda and exercise power according to one’s own divine will. #RandolphHarris 8 of 8
Demons, ghost, and vampires have made a huge splash in popular culture. These characters are portrayed as fiction in books, TV shows, movies. However, they can affect people’s belief about reality. The Cultural Source Hypothesis is a theory about belief in supernatural happenings. It states that popular culture can plant ideas in people’s minds. These ideas affect people’s experiences. For example, someone might see mist over the Winchester Mystery House and think it is a ghost. You decide for yourself. Rainy days at Winchester Mystery House☔️ Open 10-4pm for tours! https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
You Do Not Know My Pain
From ancient times, people have looked for positive guidance from the spirit World. However, they believed demons caused most of the World’s problems. Demons were said to cause comets, volcanic eruptions, and eclipses. Some people believed demons were the reason for illness, while others believed that demons possessed great powers of healing. For instance, pilgrimages to Epidaurus, in Greece, became World famous, and a night’s sleep in the sacred temple cured thousands. Appolonius of Tyana (3 B.C.—A.D. 96) was a well-known miracle worker who effected magic cures and was regarded by many as “a heathen Christ.” In the temple of Serapis at Alexandria, Egypt, multitudes of pagans were remarkably healed. The World in which Sarah Winchester lived was full of demons. Unlike most, Mrs. Winchester knew that demonic powers did not exist in just in the imagination of frightened men, and that they could not only cause harm, but she also knew of miracles through demon-energized healers and magic workers. It was a lustrous motionless day. Autumn bloom lay on the Winchester Estate, on heavy trees of the weald, on streams moving indolently, far across the fruit orchards. Mrs. Winchester held her breath and gazes. A silence distilled from years of solitude lay on the lawns and Victorian garden. Vying in evil, sorcerers cursed the Winchester family and their fortune. A succession of deaths, allowed Mrs. Winchester to build one of the most unique and beautiful mansions in the World and made her heiress to the Winchester Repeating Arms Company. Evil spells casted by Witches claimed the life of Mrs. Winchester’s husband, William Wirt Winchester, and her new born daughter, Annie Winchester. #RandolphHarris 1 of 9
Although she was stricken by grief, Mrs. Winchester went on to led an active, independent, and decided life. Her home became the focus of her life, and her mission was to continue its construction to ward off any demonic curse. “I shall never leave it!” she said, her heart swelling as if she had taken the vow to a lover. Legions of souls preserved the house in its integrity; and that was worthwhile. Mrs. Winchester was satisfied to carry on such a legacy. That even, when supper was finished, Mrs. Winchester sat with her niece Daisy by the fire she had lit in the salon. It provided a sense of radiance and gave the great room an air of expectancy and welcome. The portraits, the Italian Baroque Walnut cabinets, the Victorian needlepoint parlor Cherub face arm chairs, and charming English needlepoint rugs all look as if they had just been produced. “My dear, what a fine room!” said Daisy. “Yes! It is a delicious room. One of the warmest of the house. This is perfect.” Daisy had still to see the library, cozy and inviting, the Venetian dining room, the breakfast parlor, and the many bed rooms. As they crossed the threshold of the Blue Séance Room, guided by some light from its western window, someone was in the room already; they felt rather than saw another presence. Daisy, behind her, paused also; she did not speak or move. What she saw, or thought she saw, was simply a man in a hooked black cloak turning away from the mahogany desk. Almost before Mrs. Winchester had received the pression there was no one there; only the slightest stir of the needlework curtain over the widow. She heard no step or other sound. #RandolphHarris 2 of 9
They drank coffee in the Blue Séance Room. Daisy was a lovely woman, delicate of feature and voice, she could speak home décor one moment and her usual Parisian French the next. A faint shadow of pain passed over Mrs. Winchester’s face. Daisy looked out the window at the drifts of ivy hanging from the evergreen trees. Mrs. Winchester had exulted in her resolve to keep the Winchester Mansion to herself until she and the house should have time to make friend. But the uneasy feeling she had left her wanting to take the chill off. The house was enormous, mysterious, and drawn into its own secret past. “Why not come stay with me?” she said. “I know you would like to settle down somewhere in the country where you will not be disturbed, and I have plenty of room.” “Well, Aunt Sarah, your home certainly does provide the requisite seclusion. I would be honored to.” “I promise no one shall bother you—” Mrs. Winchester added, half-nervously: “Not even the spirits.” Was the solitude already making Mrs. Winchester superstitious? Mrs. Winchester walked Daisy to the bedroom she was to sleep in. They parted ways. While Daisy was dressing for bed she heard a knock, and saw Kaspian Gosta, the Butler’s round face just inside the door. “Is there anything wrong with your accommodations, my lady?” “Yes, what’s wrong is that it freezes in here.” “Nothing can be done, my lady. Everything has been tried.” “That will do, Mr. Gosta. I want a fire to be lit in the fireplace,” said Daisy.” “Yes, my lady.” The door closed on the butler. #RandolphHarris 3 of 9
It was the witching hour, or so it seemed. Lights out, and only far-off sounds: a woman laughing hysterically, the crack of a gun. It seemed for a while there had been the faint thudding of drums. Daisy awoke. There was a man standing over her, he was hot, covered with sweat, he stretched uneasily in his clothes. The man emitted inhuman sounds: a piglike squeal. This reduced Daisy to a nervous wreck. She screamed and the made quickly faded away. She heard rapid foot steps in the hallway and then a knock at the door. “Come in,” she said. “My lady, are you okay?” “No, Mr. Gosta. There was someone in my room,” Daisy explained. “That is what I tried to warn you about, my lady. The specter like to keep the heat down in the house.” The next morning, she did not want to be alone in the house for more than a few minutes at a time. However, whenever she would go to Mrs. Winchester there was a strange wind that seemed to repel her from her door. Always, there was something not quite right about the Winchester Mansion, as far back as Daisy could remember. Neighbors and friends suggested that the Winchester fortune was cursed. “I never would believe it,” Daisy said. “That is not how I was brought up.” In her bedroom, she undressed and lied down, holding her rosary beads to her heart, as she hoped and prayed, just as she has over so many nights, that the freezing cold and the specters would stop. Mrs. Winchester employed a small workforce of men and women. By December, the fruit harvest in the orchards had been picked, packages, and dispatched to the respective buyers. #RandolphHarris 4 of 9
On October 25, 1896, shortly after she had gone to sleep, Daisy was wakened by a series of loud poundings and scratching noises on the ceiling. She could not tell where they were coming from. She left her bed—and met Mrs. Winchester on the stairs. She was agitated. “Were you making that racket?” Mrs. Winchester asked. “No, Aunt Sarah. I thought it was someone else.” They found all the first-floor gasoliers on and no one about. Mrs. Winchester asked who was last downstairs, if perhaps Mr. Gosta forgot to switch off the lights. However, Daisy was the last one and she swore she had turned everything off. There was a tangible presence in the Winchester mansion. One could hear it at all hours of the day and night. “I would be sitting and would hear it shuffling about,” Daisy recalls. “Not footsteps as such, but rustling and shuffling. I could not see anything. Not at first.” As the months passed, the presence gradually made itself known. Around the middle of January 1897, the Winchester mansion was awakened by a blood curdling scream in the night. Daisy was crying and shaking with fear. After a few hours she calmed down and went back to sleep when she felt something on her back. It was pushing her out of bed, but when she looked around, there was no one there. However, it felt as though someone was trying to eject her from the bed, as if she did not belong there. Then suddenly, the duvet was ripped off the bed, leaving her shivering. #RandolphHarris 5 of 9
The next morning, Mrs. Winchester glanced about the great room, with its circle of warmth and light by the hearth, and the sullen shadows huddled at its father end, as if hungrily listening. She noticed that things moved in the room. Doors were left opened—drawers and things have shuffled through. In the night she would hear a lot of running and banging and the sound of horses’ hooves. It was like a cavalry of horsemen passing through the halls. When Mrs. Winchester drew back the curtains and looked out, the lamps on the gateposts were bathing the roadway in a soft light. There were no horses, but the sounds were still coming from the hallway. When she opened the door of her bedroom, the noises got louder, and she could hear men conversing, and shouting at each other. Mrs. Winchester could not understand what they were saying. She had no idea if it was even English. But the galloping and hammering and sawing continued, which was always followed by a terrible howl at dusk. As the peered through the sky, Mrs. Winchester would open her door and be surprised to find that certain rooms had been sealed off and new additions added to the house, along with the most exquisite furnishings. The next night while she was sleeping. Mrs. Winchester was awakened by a ferocious thud on the floor, and she heard Daisy screaming and hollering like she was in great pain. Mrs. Winchester quickly rushed to see what was wrong and found her limp on the floor, unable to move. #RandolphHarris 6 of 9
Mrs. Winchester was terrified. The room was as cold as an icebox and seemed darker than usual. Daisy’s face was white as milk. Dr. Odin rushed to the Winchester Estate, finding Daisy immobile and unable to communicate. He said that Daisy’s vocal cords were hoarse and that she had suffered a serious spinal injury with resultant loss of sight. After months of suffering and pain, on April 22, 1897, she was suddenly cured of her blindness. On May 31, 1897, Daisy was cured of her spinal trouble. The cures had apparently been wrought by Mrs. Winchester through séances. Satan is willing and able to perform diabolic miracles. Satanic healings, however, shift the physical disorder into the psychic plane by bringing the “healed” person into some type of occult bondage. The ability of such magicians is conditioned on the human plane by their inherent psychic power, and on the supernatural plane. Black magicians differ in strength and psychic ability to perform magical feats often described as Satanic Miracles. Strong magicians usually own their success to innate psychic powers. Very frequently they come from a family where the occult arts have flourished for generations. Their innate and inherited occult powers are frequently cultivated and enhanced by séances. To enlist the help of Satan and demons, a pact is often made with the powers of evil. The subject consciously and willingly gives oneself over to Satan and demonic agencies who will help one perform healing conjurations and other supernatural feats. Ordinarily the body is cut and the compact with the devil is written and signed in one’s own blood. #RandolphHarris 7 of 9
Everything was all right for a while, but the house became disturbed again at night by the sawing of wood. Daisy pushed on the gasoliers and could not believe her eyes. Men were in the hallway sawing wood really fast. She was surprised to find Mrs. Winchester and Mr. Gosta in the front parlor. “What’s going on?” Daisy asked? Mrs. Winchester was in a flood of tears. “Mrs. Winchester thought she saw a black monster with hooves in the bathroom,” Mr. Gosta explained. “But it is gone now.” What was happening in the Winchester Mansion was unnatural. The things were real, but they were not only under attack, the were also being protected by demons. The next time, Daisy was awakened by a loud thud in the far corner of the bedroom. There was an old woman with long, gray hair falling over her face, and a young man with heavy boots, and a dark stain down the front of his shirt. The old woman came towards her with her arms outstretched. Daisy ran to the door but it would not open. And through the door came a deep set of ancient eyes with a demonic face starting into her eyes. From that day on, the smile on her face died. She was always trembling. She stared almost blankly, and was always cold. Never had things in the mansion been so scary. Mrs. Winchester was amazed to see the change in her. Daisy was positively shaken. Mrs. Winchester would ask Daisy, “My dear, what is the matter.” And in a flat, cold tone, Daisy would reply, “You do not know my pain.” And she would look away. Although it heals, many people are psychically ruined through magic. Sometimes violet and sinister forces appear. This indicates that the origin of the damage is primarily of a spiritual nature. #RandolphHarris 8 of 9
I conjure thee, O fire, by him who made thee and all other creatures for good in the World. Welcome Spirit Botis and your 60 Legions of Spirits, O most noble King! I say thou art welcome unto me, because I have called thee through Him who has created Heaven, and Earth, and Hell, and all that is in them contained, and because also thou hast obeyed. By that same power by the which I have called thee forth, I bind thee, that thou remain affably and visibly here before this Circle so constant and so long as I shall have occasion for thy presence; and not to depart without my license until thou hast duly and faithfully performed my will without any falsity. BY THE PENTACLE OF SOLOMON HAVE I CALLED THEE! GIVE UNTO ME A TRUE ANSWER. Please blessed this house with great prosperity, abundance, wisdom, power and longevity. I think you for your empowerments which have served to assist my evolution toward divinity and power. Please take the spiritual wisdom that you bring and open the paths for more prosperity to flow into my life. Allow this sorcerous current to be a conduit of information which comes with it, and become more away of the precise reasons for the work upon the Pathway of Pacts. Allow me to understand this symbolism as well as the most powerful goal of the process. Meratsav tadad oybugird miy a iaruha acmerhtahsx iadzam hsuehgna mananahtoayhs ohgnanam adzad hsuehgnav acah tictahas hsutar ahta oyriav uha ahtay x7. Show various paths to self-mastery through the seven powers. #RandolphHarris 9 of 9
The Winchester Mystery House
The Winchester Mystery House is elegant, powerful, beautiful, mysterious and insidiously successful in whatever it does. It is a powerful aphrodisiac for certain occultists who are impatient with “parlor” esoteria. Where old systems weakened or visions grew dim, new ones were invented. It is impossible to find a single ideological thread uniting the Winchester Mystery House in its spiritual pilgrimage. One might glace at some choices, none of which stands up to scrutiny. Come and take a tour of the 110 of the remaining 160 rooms of amazement and wonder. Perhaps you will make contact with something special? https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
And be sure to visit the online gift shop: https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Leaders of the Darkness of this World
The Winchester Mansion is one of the most beautiful homes in the World. The complexity, workmanship, and precision of the structure shows that this architect had planning and building skills far beyond what had formerly been attributed to the Victorian Era. The Winchester Mansion is surrounded by a pleasant grove of all and stately trees. In the mist, there are fountains, sending forth clear and crystal waters, and fast, by a magnificent palace. In the 19th century, it impressed the spectator that it was not the work of mortal hands, but the happy retreat of some God. Drawn by admiration and wonder, many wished to enter and see the amazement of such an elaborate home. Golden pillars supported the vaulted roof, and the walls were enriched with carvings and paintings representing angels and the chase and rural scenes, adapted to delight the eye of the beholder. Proceeding onward inside the mansion, there were nearly 600 rooms filled with all manner of treasures, and beautiful and precious productions of nature and art. While her eyes were occupied, enjoying her magnificent home, though she saw no one, uttering these words: “Sovereign lady, all that you see is yours. We whose voices you hear are your servants and shall obey all your commands within our utmost care and diligence. Retire therefore to your chamber and repose on your bed of down, and when you see git, repair to the bath. Supper awaits you in the adjoining alcove when it pleases you to take your seat there.” Mrs. Winchester gave ear to the admonitions of her vocal attendants, and after repose and the refreshment of the bath, seated herself in the alcove, where a table immediately presented itself, without any visible assistance from waiters or servants, and covered with the greatest delicacies of food and the most nectarous juices. #RandolphHarris 1 of 10
Her ears too were feasted with music from invisible performers; of whom one sang, another played on the lute, and all closed in the wonderful harmony of a full chorus. At this site, engineers found a stone colossus surrounded by a forest of fifty-four columns of immense size and height, which were used to build the foundation. Some of these stones weight 1,100 tons and were seventy-two feet long. No one knows how these stones were moved because Victorians were thought not to have the technology. At the end of one of the passages of the Winchester Mansion, there also was once an entrance that opened onto a passage sixty-two feet long, a buried avenue flanked by forty-three stones—most of them taller than a man and weighed thirteen tons each. At the end of the passage was a complex structure of huge rocks, some carved with symbolic designs, forming a cross-shaped chamber that rose into a vault some twenty feet above the floor. On the floor of each arm of the cross was a basin stone—a large, flat rock with a shallow indentation carved into it. In this area bodies of the dead were placed, corpses were broken and scattered by time and marauding animals. The roof stones were grooved to carry water away from the chamber, and their seams were sealed with puttylike burned soil. It appeared to have been a cathedral to some kind of life force. Scattered about lay sickles and rakes and all the instruments of harvest, without order, as if thrown carelessly out of the weary reapers’ hands in the sultry hours of the day. After the mansion was constructed, there were sheep feeding without a shepherd, with golden-shining fleeces on their back. #RandolphHarris 2 of 10
One of Mrs. Winchester’s favorite homes in the mansion was the Hall of Fires. On this night, the air was almost silky in the Hall of Fires, it has an inviting warmth. Mrs. Sarah L. Winchester was at her harpsichord, she had been playing for hours. Her candle had burned low; the darkness was turning to mist outside of the window. This evening she was concerned, he nephew fell ill, and she did not know if he would make it much longer. It was too bad, she was thinking, he is not so terrible to look at. In fact, he was handsome. Alarik blew out the candle at his bed, as he lay listening to the soft music playing in the background, it made the Earth tremble. Alarik came to Mrs. Winchester sickened. He was a hard-working farmer of age seventeen. On his stony acres, he did his best to support himself. The hill his farm was on was thought to be bewitched, causing anyone who dared climb it to turn a bright blue, and fear of this fate had been enough to be anyone but Alarik away for centuries. He uncovered a number of skeletons whose skulls bore the telltale scars of sword cuts. Time and nature did the rest, silting over the city and burying it beneath the farm his was proud owner of. Shortly after unearthing humans remains was when he fell ill and was drive by carriage to Aunt Sarah’s estate. She was more than happy to take him in. When the doctor arrived, Mrs. Winchester asked him to examine her nephew and asked him, “What do you make of this business Dr. Egil?” Dr. Egil shook his head. “The boy’s a sick man—that’s sure. Something’s sucking the life clean out of him.” Why the Winchester family? He wondered if it was something in their past, something about the mansion and their bloodline. #RandolphHarris 3 of 10
“God only knows,” Mrs. Winchester said with a sigh. “God alone has all the answers. All I can do is speculate. I have never seen a case like this in all of my career. Who’s to say, but maybe he is put up with a demon. God help him,” Dr. Egil replied. Though his eyes blurred with tears, slowly Alarik raised an arm and brushed his cheek with his fingers before the arm fell back. “You look tires, Alarik,” Mrs. Winchester said. “Are you getting enough sleep?” “Of course not.” He looked up sharply. “I’m still have the dreams. Aren’t you?” She smiled. “Every night.” Just mentioning them send paralyzing fears. They both knew they were not dreaming. No one could admit the terror that each reveal struck in them. Now they haunted them well past dawn and all through each day: The sharp chins and bony noses, the cheekbones like broken glass, and the eyes, always green, always slanted, always eerie. It left Mrs. Winchester’s gaze as cold as a knife of panic slicing through him, a steel-bladed reminder that the dream were real. The only where they were coming from—and why. Deep down inside, Mrs. Winchester knew it was the hold of the Druids and it was too strong. Heaven knows what happened on all that land in days gone by. The Winchester’s never knew what they inherited. It is strange how things workout. Although she enjoyed the Hall of Fires, she wished not to tarry in that room for too long while he was there; there was an uncanny air about it. As she was halfway out the door, the tranquil atmosphere of the evening was shattered. A terrifying scream rent the air, sending a chill through Mrs. Winchester and Alarik. #RandolphHarris 4 of 10
“My goodness, there must be a wounded animal nearby, that was not human at all,” Mrs. Winchester said. It frightened the life out of them both. Then a chair fell back with a clatter. Mrs. Winchester approached her nephew. He pointed his figure at the window. For a fleeting moment Mrs. Winchester could not believe what she was seeing. “God Almighty, that face!” The face before them was some transmogrified floating head of utter malevolence. The lips were pulled back in a terrible grimace. And the eyes—they were not the eyes of a human but hooded, like those of a cold-blooded creature predating mankind. Alarik felt her hand on his wrist. She was trembling. But he was recoiling from that awful face. He knew in his weakened state that he could not move and get away from it. His gaze dropped from that fathomless face. It gave Alarik a curious agitated feeling to think that here, in this now icy solitude, in the mansion he had so often admired, a dark mystery, too deep for thought, was being enacted. His heart began to beat stifling. Suddenly he gave an exclamation: “Look!” He had detected a man’s foot prints; two; then three; then more. “God—barefoot!” Alarik gasped. “Then it is…the dead…That is demonic,” said Mrs. Winchester. “I have seen it before, lots of times. It is pretty clear that there are demons at work.” In the Winchester Mansion, these things were not isolated, random occurrences but part of a whole—something sinister. The hauntings lasted for many years. One evening, Alarik felt a tremendous blow to the back of his skull and he later died. #RandolphHarris 5 of 10
It was a traumatic event. Mrs. Winchester witnessed five objects begin to rise slowly out of the floor. They formed a rough semicircle about Alarik. They were human head. They were terrible looking. The grotesque faces were disfigured: all sores, terrible teeth and mouths, and they were all biting, like biting towards him. It was a vision from hell, worse than anything Mrs. Winchester could ever dream about. The heads were shrieking. As the feet of the dead stampeded through the room. The cold seemed to enter Mrs. Winchester’s very marrow. Her teeth were chattering. She shook like a leaf. The house seemed to plunge into total blackness. Mrs. Winchester groped her way across the floor, caught a sharp splinter of the fallen door in her palm, seemed to see something white and wraithlike surge up out of the darkest corner of the hall, and then heard a revolver shot. She was covered with icy sweat. Eyes listless. She advanced down the narrow side of the zigzag stairs. Her face was whiter than ever, as she saw bony, bloody hands clasping the Good Book. Mrs. Winchester fell back. When she awoke refreshed with sleep, she looked around, and the ghoulish heads, their mouths still opening and shutting obscenely, began to retract into the Earth. Mrs. Winchester felt slightly at ease. However, her ordeal was not yet at an end. Suddenly, the hair on her scalp was being yanked upward with great violence. Before she knew what was happening, her abuser was crouched down in front of her, their faces almost touching. #RandolphHarris 6 of 10
Mrs. Winchester was looking into features that resembled those of the hideous heads. She started screaming uncontrollably. She pushed the face into the floor. Her mind was a riot of thoughts, all frantically trying to explain the atrocious acts. Mrs. Winchester recalled the terrible visions recounted by the saints and mystics of antiquity and felt she was being attacked by the same forces. Mrs. Winchester took lots of bed rest after this series of paranormal events. However, she always felt an evil presence in the mansion and would get stone cold. She could not move at times. But the evil force certainly did. It terrified Mrs. Winchester. She always knew when it was coming for her because her body temperature would drop. She would start to shiver and turn blue from head to toe—really freezing cold. Mrs. Winchester’s belief that the spirit World was watching over her was a comfort. Evil spirits are organized into a military-like structure. The “principalities” are the highest ranking officers under Satan, the “powers” are officials of somewhat lower standing, and the “rulers of the darkness of this World” seem to be a special band of evil spirits whose sphere of influence includes the leaders of human government. The phrase “spiritual wickedness in high places” is better translated “spiritual hosts of wickedness in the Heavenly places,” and makes reference to the myriads of demonic hordes. They are all under the direction of Satan, who is not only named the “god of this age,” but also called “the prince of the power of the air.” The Black Arts could be highly dangerous and most emphatically not a field for the unstable, immature or otherwise emotionally or intellectually weak-minded people. #RandolphHarris 7 of 10
I DO conjure thee Spirit Crocell and your 48 Legions of Spirits, by all the most glorious and efficacious names of the MOST GREAT AND INCOMPREHENSIBLE LORD GOD OF HOSTS, that thou comest quickly and without delay from all parts and places of the Earth and World wherever thou mayest be, to make rational answers unto my demands, and that visibly and affably, speaking with a voice intelligible unto mine understanding as aforesaid. I conure and constrain thee, O thou Spirit Crocell and your 48 Legions of Spirits, by all the names aforesaid; and in addition by these seven great names wherewith Solomon the Wise bound three and thy companions in a Vessel of Brass, ADONAI, PREYAI or PRERAI, TETRAGRAMATON, ANAPHAXETON or ANEPHENETON, INESSENFATOAL or INESSENFATALL, PATHTUMON or PATHATUMON, and ITEMON; that thou appearest here before this Circle to fulfil my will in all things that seem good unto me. And if thou be still so disobedient, and refusest still to come, I will in the power and by the power of the name of the SUPREME AND EVERLASTING LORD GOD WHO created both thee and me and all the World in six days, and what is contained therein, EIE, SARAYE, and by the power of this name PRIMEUMATON which commandeth the whole host of Heaven, curse thee, and deprive thee of thine office, joy, and place, and bind thee in the depths of the Bottomless Pit or Abyss, there to remain unto the Day of the Last Judgment. #RandolphHarris 8 of 10
And I will bind thee in the Last Judgment. And I will bind thee in the Eternal Fire, and into the Lake of Flame and of Brimstone, unless thou comest quickly and appearest here before this Circle to do my will. Therefore, come thou! In and by the holy names ADONAI, ZABAOTH, ADONAI, AMIORAN. Come thou! For ADONAI, ZABAOTH, ADONAI, AMIORAN. Come thou! For it is ADONAI who commandest thee. If THOU hast come thus far, and yet he appeareth not, thou mayest be sure that he is sent unto some other place by his King, and cannot come; and if it be so, invocate the King as here followeth, to send him. However, if he do not come still, then thou mayest be sure that he is bound in chains in hell, and that he is not in the custody of his King. If so, and thou still hast a desire to call him even from thence, thou must rehearse the general curse which is called the Spirits’ Chain. As this smoke ascends I ascend also by following the path of smoke and usurping the power of worship to empower my blackened eternal soul. I take all power raised within this sanctuary as my own through this talisman of counter creation to strengthen my divine power and to Become a Living God. May my energy act as the very key which unlocks the cages of imprisonment so that I can reach liberation by stepping into the outer darkness which reunited the isolated frequencies of the light spectrum. Through this may I better perceive reality and become better able to counter create through personal alchemical transmutation and sorcery. #RandolphHarris 9 of 10
From ancient times, people have looked for positive guidance from the spirit World. However, they also believed demons caused most of the World’s problems. Demons were said to cause comets, volcanic eruptions, and eclipses. Some people believed demons were the reason for all illness. Demons had to be cast out before a person could get well. Basically, anything negative that people did not understand was blamed on demons. AD. 500, the Greek and Roman empires had fallen. Education declined. Without a scientific understanding of the World, people’s beliefs in demons resurfaced. The Middle Ages lasted from about 500 to 1500. During this time, anyone acting strangely was accused of being possessed. Religious leaders had the most power during the Middle Ages. They believed demons existed and had to be cast out with prayer. If this did not work, then people were tortured. Torture was meant to make the body too uncomfortable for the demon to stay there. Unfortunately, many people died being tortured. If torture did not work, “possessed” people were killed. Thousands of stories exist about demons from cultures around the World. The stories usually reflect the lifestyles and concerns of those who believed in them. One demon found in folklore in many cultures was the mermaid. She was said to be part beautiful woman and part sea creature. The demon mermaid is not like the sweet ones found in children’s books of movies. Demon mermaids were said to crush sailors to death or drown them. Then they would eat the sailors with their sharp teeth. According to legend, mermaids sat upon rocks, combing their long hair and singing beautifully. A mermaid’s beautiful voice attracted sailors to their doom. #RandolphHarris 10 of 10
Winchester Mystery House
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A Nightmare Came to Me
Outside, rain was falling harder than ever, pounding on the roof, gurgling noisily through the gutter and downspouts. It was slanting across the front porch and through the shattered window, but we did not have time to worry about water damage. When I was well enough to trust myself to think about it all again I found that a very little thinking got my temperature up, and my heart hammering in my throat. And I sat and talked with my husband, on the same sofa—my husband who had been dead year! I clutched his hand, which was blue and waxy. Tears ran down my cheeks. The circle was a vicious one; I could not break through it. There would be no more sleepless nights spent smothered by his arms—he would never come to bed again. A sob ripped through my body. “Come back!” I wept into his neck. My back quaked, shoulder blades cutting sharp wings in the silk of my dress. I looked at William’s cold face, his eyes staring out into a new World that he could only see. A glacier of hurt expanded in my chest, and I could not get away from the clinging reality. It was a ghost I had been talking to, and not a mere projection of my imagination. Something survived of William Winchester—enough to cry out to me the uttered loneliness of a lifetime, to express at last of what I had always had to keep silent and hidden. The thought moved me curiously—in my weakness I lay and wept over it. No end of a marriage was ever like that, I supposed, and perhaps, after death, if my husband had got his chance, he would try to use it…Old tales and legends floated through my mind; Ziusudra from Old Babylonian, the medieval vampire—but what names to attach to the plaintive image of William Wirt Winchester! #RandolphHarris 1 of 9
All the preternatural World shimmered. Once a preternatural mind picks up the ripples of a sharp cut in the fabric of the ordinary, then another mind receives the image, and on it goes. And then a wickedness possessed me. I came closer toward William and embraced him, knowing that the hardness and coldness of my body would strike the deepest chord of terror in him. But he did not draw back. And when I kissed his cheek, he kissed mine. My mind wandering in and out among these visions and conjectures, and the longer I spent time with him, the more I became convinced that something which had been William Winchester had talked to me this night and held me in his loving arms. I made up my mind, to hurt out the spirits in my mansion—in that shady wing where the sun never bothers one—and appease the poor ghost with a few flowers for allowing me to see my husband again, and let them tell me about how they wanted my home constructed. These precious spirits not only protected me, but I felt that they truly loved me. I had had a glimpse of things that were really no business of mine. The spirits allowed me to see their archives. It was remarkable. A storehouse of tablets, scrolls, parchments—books and poems from cultures of which the World knows nothing. Books lost from time. Of course they forbade me to reveal anything I found except their detail drawings for construction plans. I held documents from Imperial Rome, and other crumbling bits of stone tablets. But after a while of thought, the knowledge began to trouble me. #RandolphHarris 2 of 9
I started to look at the queer neglected look of my house. There was a knot in my throat; I felt almost uncomfortable. “The housemaid forgets,” I heard my poor ghost husband quaver. I shook my head. After all, what had shocked me was that the change was so slight—that between being dead and alive. But William’s eyes were still searching me insistently. He sat silently, his eyes still on my face. His tears had stopped, but his look of solicitude slowly grew into a stare of something like terror. Hesitatingly, almost reluctantly, he stretched out his hand and laid it on mine for an instant more. “You must tell me,” my dead husband said. “I know I ought to have long ago,” I replied. I wanted to say more, but the words would not come. I hugged my ghost husband tighter, trying to find the old scent of his smooth skin. William could feel the rage trembling inside my body, the hatred that a curse had wedged between me and my family, as voices echoed down the bustling hallways of my mansion. I reached over to take him into my arms again, but midway I froze. A pair of beady black eyes stared back at me as the biggest snake I had ever seen taunted me with a forked and darting tongue. The serpent was enormous: as wide as a Zip and who knows how long, the thick muscle of its body flexing under a sheen of scales that glistened in an ominous black-and-red pattern, like tar glistening in the sun. It flicked its tongue at me almost seductively from inside a head as red and lustrous as fresh blood. I opened my mouth, but even the scream would not come right away—not until the viper brought itself up tall and hissed, flexing the scales on its neck. Then I let loose a shriek so loud that even the Greek statues looked like that wanted to take cover. #RandolphHarris 3 of 9
The snake swayed back and forth, beady eyes darting back and forth, as if there were other entities in the room and it was decided who to attack first. It filled me with a cold dread that ran deeper than fear, as if the devil himself had sent a dark and bloodthirsty messenger to my home. Its head was at least two feet off the floor, and there was who knew how much of its stilled coiled under the coffee table. I shrank back on the sofa. The snake burst through William’s throat with a loud roar. The snake hissed hideously, lashing its tail from side to side like a fresh-caught fish flopping on Long Wharf. Bjorn, the butler, heard the commotion and rushed into the parlor with Captain Henry Ware Lawton’s ’86 Winchester, shooting the snake again and again. Its tail flailed, jerking back and forth in a spray of glittering scales and blood. At Bjorn shot it one last time, the jerking stopped and the snake stiffened. For a second, it looked like it was levitating off the ground, all of its coiled muscular energy propelling itself into one final moment of life. And then it vanished. “My goodness, what happened in here?” Bjorn asked? “Oh, it was awful!” I sobbed. Zip leapt onto my lap and began licking my tear, and I heled him tight, weeping into his soft fur. “This snake just popped out of nowhere.” Bjorn jumped up, clasping his hands on his chest and darting away from me. At the other end of the room he stood and gazed, and then moved back slowly. “Then, after all—I wonder?” He held his eyes on me, half fearful and half reassured. “Could it be that this mansion is really haunted?” No,” I said slowly. #RandolphHarris 4 of 9
I walked through the huge vestibule and then into the peristyle and into the dining room. I beheld an amazing sight. My father-in-law, Oliver Winchester, was in full battle dress, armed with sword and dagger, lacking only his shield. He even wore his red cloak. His breastplate was polished and gleaming. He started at the floor and with reason. It had been dug up. The old Hearth from generations ago had been excavated. This had been the first room of this house that I started to remodel, and it was around this Hearth that the past owner and his family gathered, worshipped, and dined. I had never even seen it. There was a pattern, a texture of rectangular stones. It was a mosaic. There were slabs of decorated travertine, the kind you find in a cemetery. “What is God’s name is going on here?” I wondered. I was convinced that the ghost of my father-in-law was telling me this site was some kind of Pompeii waiting to be discovered. Lying in the pile of stones, there were several Roman funerary markers. Next to them was a marble altar decorated with rams’ heads and birds; one of the rams’ heads had been clipped, and the altar edges bore the fresh scars of a knife’s blade. Stumps of marble tombstones were strewn across what used to be my dining room. My heart sank. I could see small remnants of mosaics and terra-cotta urns. This was not just a small cluster of graves; it was extensive, probably composing four thousand or five thousand square feet of the main floor. In the center were the brick walls of what looked like a columbarium and other small mausoleum. Someone had sliced through a city of the dead. When I bought the house, it was an eighteen-room farmhouse, I had no idea what secrets it kept. #RandolphHarris 5 of 9
I remembered a similar discovery a few years earlier, as the construction workers were expanding the basement. The excavation hole was vast and deep and looked like the entry to hell. I later learned that we had dug into an ancient Roman villa, with frescoed paintings of birds, masks, and monsters. The artifacts were cleared out, cataloged, and stored in a museum on the estate that had long been forgotten. Then, there came a loud crash. The front door was being bashed in. My father-in-law wobbled as if he was fainting. He was white. Blood flowed and flowed from his wrists. His eyes rolled up into his head, and he vanished. I went to see what had become of my front door. Glancing through the thickening fall of the torrential rain, there was a melancholy man in black. He was wondering how such a house as mine came to be built. Explaining that there had been others like it, and that one Colonel Naglee, who had been murdered by the Indians, with all his family, once lived nearby. This tale was confirmed by the fact that the ruined cellars of several smaller houses were still to be discovered under the wild growth of the estate, and that the Communion plate of the moribund Episcopal church of Trinity Cathedral was engraved with the Colonel Naglee, who had given it to the church when it was consecrated in 1867. No other traces of the church remained. I never knew this place. My home seemed as far away from humanity. Miles were not the only distance. The man seeming satisfied turned into a gloomy mist and dissipated. It was not possible for any candle to keep fire. #RandolphHarris 6 of 9
I saw something in the mystical flash of the whole picture, and in a mad ray, the thing gripped me because it was so utterly unbelievable. All Christians believed the World would end soon. Preparing for this end of the World was the essence of religion. Blood flowed that night representing the Garden of Eden, Satan, and the magical presence of Christ’s blood having been poured into the chalice from the last supper. That night, I awoke to find a tall, hooded figure standing in the corner of the room. A full cowl threw the face into shadow; the arms were crossed over the chest. The creature’s hands were hidden in the deep folds of its garment. I was bloody scared because it was so real. I shouted at it, but it would not budge. It just stood there, even when I lit a candle. I figure if this man would not leave my sleeping chambers, I would. However, when I got to the landing, there it was again, standing at the bottom of the stairs. I did not know what to do. I ran back into my room and locked the door. The hooded entity demonstrated that doors and walls were no obstacles as it appeared at the foot of my bed again. I lie awake most of the night, a prisoner in my own bedroom. This druid did not want me to leave the house. But eventually I dozed off. As daylight broke at the window, I knew something was wrong. Little Zip was missing. I cursed myself for falling asleep. Trembling, I left the bed. The door was still locked. I hardly dared to think about what I might find outside. Refusing to accept the possibility that my dog could be lost to me. #RandolphHarris 7 of 9
However, Zip was safe. He lay fast asleep, curled up on the stairs. And demons also came out, many of them. From place to place, and from one room to another. Spirits came out of the walls. It was as if I was being transported back three thousand years into the days of old religion. There were bodies arranged on the floor as if they had taken part in some ancient ritual. The dark secrets of my mansion were almost as enchanting as was the glimpse of ancient cult rituals, which played out on their own. Horned monsters appeared, with glistening green eyes and blood and smoke exuding from their nostrils and fanged mouths. Sounds of mooing, hoof beats and cowbells made my ears bleed. Soon after all these hauntings, public lighting was introduced. Many were able to grasp the gas lamps of my estate, this arc lighting brought virtual daylight to my home, gardens. Later, the miracle of electricity penetrated my home, as well as other public places. With it, came the brilliance of the sun into cottages and palaces alike. The advances in lighting had affected the behaviour and the minds of people. The planet had been transformed by lighting. Yet, these times were still perfect for ghost, they had new sources of energy to feed off of and it was as if they became even more active. Being confused by light during the darkest nights, they started to come out in the daylight and cause even more of a fright. However, they still preferred the night, where they could hide in the shadows. The Winchester Mansion’s Demons still wanted fresh blood. And got what it wanted. I was truly frighted of all these new souls it was acquiring. I discovered the heart of superstition in myself. #RandolphHarris 8 of 9
To those who believe in them, a demon is an evil spirit. Demons are not a new idea. Stories of demons have been around for thousands of years. Early paintings and folklore show images and tell stories of demon possession. The word “demon” comes from the ancient Greek word daimon. It means “full of wisdom.” The idea of being possessed calls frightening visions to mind. However, not all possessions have been seen as negative. In ancient times, people believed being possessed by good spirits caused divine visions. Some people claimed to become possessed so spirits could speak through them. More than 3,000 years ago, the Greeks built the shrine of Delphi. The Greek built Delphi around a spring they thought was the center of the World. A priestess, called an oracle, lived at the shrine. People traveled great distances to visit the Oracle at Delphi. They believed she could get information from the spirit World. She answered people’s questions about the future. For thousands of years, people have believed that crystals held special psychic powers. Between AD 500 and 1500, the crystal ball became a popular tool for fortune-telling in European countries. Fortune-tellers would gaze into crystal balls and claim to see visions. In the visions, fortune-tellers said they received information about a person’s past, present, or future. Some people continue to seek guidance from the spirit World Mediums and psychics are people who claim to have knowledge of the spirit World. Some claim to know hidden information about you or your life’s path. It is estimated that The Winchester Manson once contained 500 to 600 rooms, but because so many were redone, only 160 remain. This naturally resulted in some peculiar effects, such as stairs that lead to the ceiling, doors that go nowhere and that opened onto walls, and chimneys that stop just short of the roof! #RandolphHarris 9 of 9
It was once recorded that a man showed up on Mrs. Winchester’s doorstep requesting an invitation for dinner, bloody palms and all, and Mrs. Winchester turned him away. Have you explored the house at night yet? Some tickets still available. Maybe we should all pray a little extra hard tonight and try our best to shun temptation when it comes knocin’ on our door. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
The Mystery Has Never Been Solved!
Much of the ceremonial rituals that took place in The Winchester Mansion goes back to the Knights Templar. The Order of the Knights Templar can be traced in part to the Templars. And yet, the Knights Templar are also the claimed ancestors of satanists, a fact which is decidedly hard to prove, though within an organization so large there may well have been diverse groups who followed their own calling. The knights, largely from France and England, joined the order over a period of many years. They had a system of leadership with a Grand Master, knights, chaplains, sergeants, craftsmen, seneschals and commanders. The order had its own clergy and its meetings were held in the strictest secrecy. Unmarried knights wore a white mantle with a red cross while others wore a black mantle with a red cross. Membership was mostly male, and established orders in virtually every Latin country, drawing people from all over Europe. It also became a great trading agency and though originally the Roman Catholic Church actually supported a number of secret societies who were Christian-based, the power of the Templars began to wield became the fear of successive popes and of European noblemen. Philip IV of France began a series of attacks against the Knights Templar and his campaign was given official blessing by the election of Pope Clement V (1305-1314) who renounced the Templars as immoral heretics. Many people know that Mrs. Sarah L. Winchester had a Famous Blue Séance Room where she carried on her rituals and had a series of colourful robes she wore. However, the mystery has never been solved as to why she built the strangest mansion in the World? #RandolphHarris 1 of 13
Stories were already circulating that Mrs. Winchester, behind the closely guarded doors of her mansion, indulged in the most offensively blasphemous rituals said to be directed totally towards the reversal of Christianity itself. She was said to worship a goat-like idol, the Baphomet, anointing it with the fat of pigs, while the Knights used the fat of murdered children, roasting children and eating them, laying women across their altars for the most violent forms of indecencies to satisfy their lust for life-blood; they were said to have indulged in homosexual rites and other various claims alleged they stamped the Holy Cross under foot, spat and urinated upon it and used the Mass as the basis for their own worship—later to be known universally as the Black Mass. Actual proof of these events is largely contained in the confessions received under torture which followed the arrest of Mrs. Winchester’s butler Albert Pike. He and 140 of his brethren were imprisoned in Santa Clara Valley, tortured and then executed en masse. Algernon Blackwood, under extreme torture, confessed to speaking against Christianity but denied depravity. In 1890, he was brough out on to the nine-story tower of The Winchester Mansion and ordered to repeat his confession in front of the villagers and accept a sentence of life imprisonment. On the balcony of the tower, he burst into a rage of anger and protested innocence of all charges and thus signed his own death warrant. The order was given that he should be taken into the fruit orchard and burned at the stake. As the flames licked his body, he summoned Mrs. Winchester and, in his dying, breathe to meet him at the Bar of Heaven. #RandolphHarris 2 of 13
Diocesan priest, Father Peter Yorke, who was then editor of the Archiocesan newspaper, The Monitor, emerged sending orders to every village where the Templars operated, instructing that they should be arrested and charges of heresy and sorcery brought against them. He published a series of exposes, and hundreds of knights were brought to trail, tortured, and executed. The vast wealth of the Templars working at The Winchester Mansion were accused of devil worship. What remained to be handed down and revived, especially in the twenty-first century, were the rumors of ritual and dastardly happenings which many of today’s extremist followers of the Knights Templar seem prepared to believe and accept with some enthusiasm. One of the more important traditions handed down by Mrs. Winchester concerns an instruction for future secret societies. On the day the Knights planned to burn to death Father Yorke, a pact was made and communicated to all surviving Knights who had now gone to ground. The instruction was clear—that the Order of the Knight Templar should be continued in perpetuity. It is said that the surviving Templars should thereafter fight for the destruction of the papacy and prevent Mrs. Winchester from being stripped of her wealth and murdered. These orders, it was said, were handed on to descendants of the order and the Winchester family, who at various points in history have included satanists and a diverse calling of occultists. What remained of the Winchester family and the Knights went into the deepest secrecy, surfacing occasionally and surrounded constantly by rumour, but little discernible fact. #RandolphHarris 3 of 13
The Illuminati came to fortify The Winchester Mansion, which had reached seven-stories high, with 600 rooms, after the 1906 Earthquake. While it was true that Mrs. Winchester left her mansion, there are more reasons as to the why. The avowed spiritualist, Mrs. Winchester, had constructed a boathouse and erected a huge mountain of Earth upon which a new mansion she had planned to build would be erected. It was to overlook the bay, an immense seawall and costly cannel system, with proper floodgates, through which the Winchester private fleet of launches and yachts were to wend their way. It was said that Mrs. Winchester was being haunted by vicious spirits and that death would be her penalty for leaving her home. Her existence was mythical because only half a dozen people had seen her. A sheriff had been striving for the past three months to serve upon her a summons to appear in court in proceedings that a real estate dealer had brought upon her. Bloodhounds roamed the grounds of the mansion and polite Asian staff answered telephone calls. Mrs. Winchester was always alone save for a bodyguard. She was wealth as few women were and found her pleasure in superintending a half dozen workmen, who for seven years had gone from wing to wing of the mansion, constructing one month what they were called to destroy on the following month. Her mansion was considered the pride of the county and the basis for mysterious legends. The Illuminati came were concerned about a group of subversives who were discovered to be using occult practices and rituals to attack Mrs. Winchester and her mansion. #RandolphHarris 4 of 13
E.W. McClellan of Burlingame, the contractor of 98 acres of land purchased by Mrs. Winchester, was holding it and refused to give it up because he believed she was the lead of a secret society working to “establish Satan’s kingdom on Earth,” an accusation which was a direct throw-back to the age of the Knights Templar; and that dictum still exists today. The Psychosophical Society stated that The Winchester Mansion had existed since the sixteenth century and comprised the World League of Illuminati. They wanted to prevent Mrs. Winchester from passing on her palatial estates in all their purity to the next generation. The hotbed of intrigue, rumour and gossip directed at The Winchester Mansion supposedly involved the death/assassination of some, the suicide/murder of others over the scandals invariably linked to Propaganda 2 (P2) Lodge and various Intelligence agencies like the KGB and the CIA with a scandal which is too immense to expound here, nor is it suitably for this part of the report. What can be said, however, is that occult groups working within the traditions of the Illuminati represent a definite consideration of these events. Mrs. Winchester’s husband, William Wirt Winchester, was a master of mathematics and the possessor of certain secret occult knowledge. He gathered seven disciples around him and went into the World of the brotherhood to perform good works. Staff have described that 120 years after his death, his perfectly preserved corpse was found in one of the many buildings of The Winchester Mansion. Because of the secrecy and the mystery that surround The Winchester Mansion, thousand want to know more and are desperate to visit it. #RandolphHarris 5 of 13
Sometimes the hysteria surrounding The Winchester Mansion morphed into such hysterical proportions that the authorities have had to shut the mansion down for a day or ban people from entering, even though many do not believe that it actually exists. Fans of The Winchester Mansion have sprouted up all over the World. Some people still regard the story of The Winchester Mansion as a fable, but most know it does actually exist and possesses esoteric knowledge of mystery and mysticism. Some the people who were involved in the construction of The Winchester Mansion were magicians, writers, statesmen and novelist. This mansion has quit a following and has collected members through the ages, in positions of far greater power and influence than the Illuminati. Legend has it that descendants from the founding fathers of the Middle Ages are on the board of trustees. The official secret society in control of the estate have connections throughout Europe and the United States of America, whose membership is an indication of the current revival in the mystery religions and semi-secret societies. The mansion alone boasts of some 60,000 members and operates from its headquarters in San Jose, California with affiliated lodges in Britain, France, Germany, Australia and South Africa. The caretakers are preserving the traditional beliefs of the 19th century. A cipher manuscript was found in one of the libraries of The Winchester Mansion. The author of the manuscript was not identified but it was obviously someone with a very intense knowledge of the supernatural, alchemy, astrology and the magical theories of Eliphas Levi. #RandolphHarris 6 of 13
Mrs. Winchester’s mansion and gardens reflect her colourful and ornate rituals and its purpose was “to obtain control of the nature and power of my own being.” The might wings of the mansion outspread dove-like sitting brooding on the vast abyss. What is dark in Mrs. Winchester is to be illumined, what is lose raised and supported; the nine-story tower was constructed so that Heaven could hide nothing from Mrs. Winchester’s view, nor the deep tract of hell. Hell said to be a hideous flaming ruin and combustion in a bottomless perdition, there where Satan dwells in adamantine chains and penal fire. Nine times the space that measures day and night to mortal men, Satan and his horrid crew lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf, confounded though immortal: but his doom reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought both of lost happiness and lasting pain torments him; round he throws his baleful eyes that witnessed huge affliction and dismay mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate: at once as far as angels ken he views the dismal situation waste and wild, a dungeon of horrible. Many leaders of the Church do not preach about Hell anymore because the Church has become a tax-free business and they do not want to hear about where they may go, nor do they want to scare their dirty money away from the Church. As a result of the loss of real churches who teach about Satan and demons, people are all wild and out of control and no longer fear anything and go around sinning like rain in Seattle. #RandolphHarris 7 of 13
On a hot and dry Friday the 13th of June 1890, Mrs. Winchester drifted into an uneasy sleep, but not for long. Half an hour later she was wide awake again. Something was wrong; a change was coming over the bedroom. There was a sense of dread. Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, were peace and rest could not dwell entered. Her home started to feel like a place where hope could not come, and all that did come was torture without end. She sat up, fully alert, straining her ears for the slightest untoward sound, but all was silent except for the little trusted noises the home made during the evening. However, Mrs. Winchester noticed something odd: an unnatural coldness was stealing over the room. It had been a hot summer day. How could it be so cold? She shivered and ducked back under the covers, tugging them more snugly about her. It did not help; the cold kept increasing. She pulled the covers over her head, chiding herself for being silly and willing herself into sleep. However, the terrible dread kept gnawing at her. She tried to think pleasant thoughts, tried to ignore her thudding heart, and tried to pray. Her attempts brought little comfort; the fear continued to build. She sensed that something frightful was about to happen. She held her breath and waited, not knowing what to expect. Before too long, she heard a sound: the unmistakable creak of the doorknob. The spring bolt was sliding back with tiny clicks. Mrs. Winchester froze. Very slowly, the door began to open. Her fear quickened further as she heard the tread of heavy, booted feet approaching the bed. She wanted to call out for help, but was too afraid, as if some force was willing her to silence. Mrs. Winchester was helpless in the face of that power. #RandolphHarris 8 of 13
When she tried to pray, a demon started to speak. “The force of hose dire arms has caused me to fall to a place with floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire. Fierce contention brought along innumerable force of Spirits armed with durst in a dubious battle of unconquerable will, revenge, immortal hate.” Mrs. Winchester was dying and she knew it. This demon had come to claim her soul. She was making gaps, with long spaces between. A perspective of stern and cruel memories stretching away, like its own grey avenues, into a blur of darkness. Certainly no house had ever more completely and finally broken with the present. Mrs. Winchester lit a candle. A little animal stood before her, forbidding, almost menacing: there was anger in his large brown eyes. He came no nearer. As she advanced, he gradually fell back, and she noticed another dog, a vague, rough, brindled thing. At the same moment a third dog, a long-haired white mongrel, slipped out of a doorway and joined the others. All three stood looking at Mrs. Winchester with grave eyes; but not a sound came from them. Zip, had seemed to be observing them with a deeper intentness. Mrs. Winchester endured many long years of the company of many different creatures. They would return again and again. As she was in her morning room, the coldness came back. Her mind was alert but her body seemed paralyzed. The entity seemed to have the power to immobilize her from a distance. She heard the dull footfalls crossing her mahogany floors. There was an evil lurking in her home. Something started pounding on the table. #RandolphHarris 9 of 13
The pounding was so fierce that her cup of tea bounced off the table and fell to the floor. Then it stopped. Mrs. Winchester thought maybe she was having delusions. But whatever it was did not want her to drink the tea. More odd things began to happen—occurrences no one could explain. A malignancy pervaded. Often, people would hear a horrible, mocking, evil laugh. Lights would slicker for no reasons; water taps would turn themselves on, then off. She would find her silverware mysteriously rearranged. On several occasions she discovered her solid gold dinner service hidden in a corner of the room. One night, she had a roaring fire in the fireplace of her bedroom, went to the bathroom, and returned the fireplace totally clean with nothing it in burning. The servants began to complain of hearing mice in the night, but Mrs. Winchester was certain there were no mice in the house. On several occasions, one could very clearly hear the floorboards creaking upstairs, as though somebody was walking about the house. The servants heard the creaking too but, as is often the case with servants, they got used to it, and to the other noises and unexplained presences. Mrs. Winchester urged them no to speak of those things outside of the house. It was bd enough that she was subjected to the disturbances and torment; the last thing she wanted was to attract undue attention to her home. People do not, as a rule, react compassionately to reports of supernatural infestations; many tend to suspect that the victim has somehow, whether by word or deed, “brought it on herself.” #RandolphHarris 10 of 13
At times, Mrs. Winchester felt that the entity was trying to crush the life out of her. She left her light burning all night. Through time, Mrs. Winchester was forced to accept her suffering. There was nothing else she could do. One winter night, one of the butlers was found dead at the head of a narrow flight of stairs leading down from his room. It was Mrs. Winchester who found him and gave the alarm, so distracted with fear and horror—for his blood was all over her—that at first roused household could not make out what she was saying, and thought she was waking from a nightmare. However, there, sure enough, at the top of the stairs lay the butler, stone dead, and head foremost, the blood from his wounds dripping down the steps below him. He had been dreadfully scratched and gashed about the face and throat, as if with curious pointed weapons; and one of his legs had a deep tear in it which had cut an artery, and probably caused his death. Bu how did he come there, and who had murdered him? Mrs. Winchester declared that she had been asleep in her bed, and hearing his cry had rushed out to find him lying on the stairs; but this was immediately questioned. A shadow was rearing up from the body. Mrs. Winchester described it as “a blob, like smoking black cloud, not the shape of a person—just a thing, but a terrible thing. The absolute evil that came from it was overwhelming. I was so gripped with terror, I could not move, and I knew that if it came toward me, I would be swallowed up…destroyed, and that would be the end of me. Imagine what it feels like to know that you are going to be killed, and the specter that is torturing you is deliberately making you suffer beforehand. That is how it was. I felt a level of fear that is beyond words. Then I heard a voice and screamed.” #RandolphHarris 11 of 13
The male voice was hoarse, stertorous, angry almost. “You have left us this our spirit and strength entire strongly to suffer our pains that we my so suffice his vengeful ire, or do him mightier services as his thralls by right of war, whatever his business be here in the heart of hell to work in fire, or do his errands in the gloomy deep; what can it then avail though yet we feel strength undiminished, or eternal being to undergo eternal punishment?” Mrs. Winchester instantly went to sleep—chilling testimony to the control the demon had over her. When she awoke, she was clean, in her sleeping gown, and in her bed. However, it was with the possibility, and the hope, that the end of her long ordeal might well be in sight. Little of the fast-fading sunlight entered the house through the windows, many of which were partly or entirely covered with drapes. However, it was bright enough for Mrs. Winchester to see that the French Provincial sofa’s upholstery was slashed. Shredded wool spilled onto the floor. A solid oak bookcase had been hammered to pieces against the wall, gouging holes in the lath and plaster walls, running the Lincrusta-Walton Wallcovering. Her silver tea service has been smashed, along with a floor lamp. Books had been taken off the shelves, torn apart, and scattered across the living room. Mrs. Winchester lit a candle. It did not shed much light, just enough to reveal more details of the rubble. Looks like somebody went through here with a wrecking ball and scissors, she thought. The house remained silent. Leaving the door open behind her, she took a couple of steps into the room, and the crumpled pages of the ruined books crunched crispy underfoot. She noticed the dark, rusty stains on some of the paper and on the bone-white foam wool stuffing, and suddenly she stopped, realizing the stains were blood. A moment later, Mrs. Winchester spotted the corpse. It was that of a big man, lying on his side on the floor near the sofa, half-covered by gore-smeared book pages, book boards, and dust jackets. Zip’s growling grew louder, meaner. Moving closer to the body, which was just a few feet from the dining-room archway. Mrs. Winchester remembered that John Hansen had lately been making repairs, including a leak faucet and a broken door lock. #RandolphHarris 12 of 13
However, Mrs. Winchester thought because of the way the room looked, he had been killed weeks ago. Her house was so big that it would often take weeks, months, and sometimes years to get around it. Yet, on closer inspection, the corpse proved to be neither bloated with the gas of decomposition nor marked by any signs of decay, so it could not have been there for very long. Perhaps only a day or less. The body had been disemboweled. Zip’s low growling gave wat to ugly snarling punctuated with hard, sharp barks. With a nervous twitch and a sudden pounding of her heart, Mrs. Winchester turned from the corpse and saw that zip was facing into the nearby dining room. The shadows were deep in there because the drapes were drawn shut over all the windows, and only a thin gray light passed through from the kitchen beyond. “Go, get out, leave!” an evil voice told her. It was certainly not the voice of Mr. Hansen. Something in the dining room was moving. There was no doubt of its presence, because it rushed out onto the dining-room tables, and came straight at Mrs. Winchester, emitting a blood-freeze shriek. She saw lantern eyes in the gloom, and nearly a man-sized figure that—in spite of poor light—gave an impression of deformity. Then the demon was coming off the table, straight at her. I Do conjure thee, O Spirit Focalor and your legion of thirty spirits to manifest your spiritual weapon in this corporeal World through my will and might! Empower it so that it may serve me here upon the corporeal plane! May it serve as a key to the realms above and below unlocking power and wisdom for my glory and ascent! Fill this weapon with your powers of wrath and fury that it may seek out spiritual attacks made toward me rendering them useless and impotent! I DO conjure thee Spirit Vephar, pierce the Heavens and cause the seas to be right stormy to cleanse the Earth of sin. Spirit Vizaresh, I DO conjure thee to drag sinful souls into hell, noosing them with the power of their own sins. May the snare be the power of their own evil, words, thoughts, and deeds and let this be you will to drag unwilling souls into Hell. May this cord gain its power through one’s practical application of evil principles. #RandolphHarris 13 of 13
Winchester Mystery House
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Mrs. Winchester never recovered from the 1906 earthquake. Staff said she grew weaker and weaker as the years went by, and that she was often heard talking to her dead husband. The house was already large, but it morphed to be as long as several city blocks and was taller than the tallest trees on the green lawn. I suppose, ultimately, it was the spirits who kept her in this estate by not allowing her to build another one of this magnitude. When Mrs. Winchester passed away in 1922, she left $5,000,000.00 to charity. The mansion is truly special and a national treasure.
Randolph Harris II International 