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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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A Collection of the Most Rare Secrets
The rites of Transcendental Magic are divine and religious rites, and the counsels, spiritual and moral, which are found in its instructions are, in their way, the counsels of perfection, whatever element of puerility may radically obtain in its experiments. It is not to do outrage to God in the interests of diabolism, but to derive power and virtue from above for more successful control of Evil Spirits, and this obtains indifferently whether the purpose of the operator be otherwise lawful or not. One should put all one’s hopes in God before one makes pact with Satan; that, in a word, one should be good in order to do evil. Demons of the Solitudes stand guard over the Winchester Mansion and its secrets even when human ghosts have ceased to walk in the neighbourhood. And little do people know, that the habitual practice of Black Magic at the Vatican can be easily proved. Seemingly insignificant decisions in our lives set us on irreversible courses; that we were born when and where were, that we choose to live here or there, seem to set us on a track from which there is only one detour, only one escape. Sarah L. Winchester paused on her doorstep. Dark had descended on the brilliancy of the afternoon of April in 1888, and the grinding and building of the mansion was at its highest. She turned her back on it, standing for a moment in the old fashioned, marble-flagged vestibule before she inserted her key in the lock. The sash curtain drawn across the panes of the inner door softened the light within to a warm blur through which no details showed. It was an hour when she had most liked to return to that quiet beautiful house. The contrast between the soulful stillness of Santa Clara Valley, and the mansion with its devouring blaze of lights, always stirred Mrs. Winchester profoundly. In the very heart of this 600 room labyrinth she found her joy. #RandolphHarris 1 of 8
In the hall hung Leonardo da Vinci, Madonna of the Rocks, Artemisia Gentilechi, Judith and Maidservant with the Head of Holofernes, Sanford R. Gifford, October in the Catskills, Georges de La Tour, Joseph the Carpenter, Diego Velazquez, Las Meninas and other fine works of art. There was also the grand staircase, and on the right her library, full of books and inviting Victorian Renaissance Revival arms chairs. How Mrs. Winchester loved that room! Then, upstairs, her own drawing room, in which her niece Daisy loved to sit and soak up the sun. The Hall-of-Fires was one of Mrs. Winchester’s favourite rooms because had five fireplaces, and three connecting rooms. In fact, this is where she hastened back at dusk on winter days, where she sat reading by the fire, or answering notes at the pleasant roomy desk. Sometime friends dropped in; sometime—oftener—she was alone; and she liked that best. The housemaid, Hilda, tried her best to ignore the eerie noises that she heard coming from the room that possessed the door-to-nowhere. Each night when she was left alone to mop the floors, she would hear the sounds—dull, heavy treading, like someone slowly pacing back and forth and the door opening and closing. Finally she decided that she had enough of the strange sounds thar so disturbed her. She was convinced that a ghost occupied that room. In a state of nervous agitation, she asked to be discharged from her service in the Winchester Mansion. Mrs. Winchester saw no reason why she should attempt to talk the woman into saying with her. She was obviously a highly imaginative woman who had frightened herself by supposing that she was being visited by supernatural beings. #RandolphHarris 2 of 8
Through it all, Mrs. Winchester heard Hilda’s soul weeping in agony; it was an echo of her own, soul broken from a course of great hope. It was not before long, however, before Mrs. Winchester and the other servants also heard the sound of heavy feet in the room with the door-to-nowhere. Although puzzled by the treading of invisible feet, Mrs. Winchester and the servants convinced themselves that there was undoubtedly a natural explanation for the strange sounds. In spite of their refusal to believe that there was a supernatural element to the noise, Mrs. Winchester purposely omitted any mention of the disturbed room when she hired a new housemaid. However, it was not before long that Magda realized something was wrong. In addition to the sounds of thudding feet, the ghost has soon acquired fists with which to pound on walls and added bed-lifting to it repertoire of supernatural phenomena. The invisible force manifested under the bed of the Magda and began to raise the mattress higher and higher, until she finally cried out. Next, the thing hoisted the mattress of the bed. Magda described the sensation as feeling as if a large man were underneath the bed, pushing it up with his back. Later, the haunting developed an ability to whistle, talk, and materialize into a number of grotesque phantoms. Mrs. Winchester was awakened one night by a loud shriek that emanated from under her bed. Upon investigating, heard an odd moan coming from somewhere in the room. The bed began to move. Mrs. Winchester switched bedrooms, but her relocation did not spare her the torment of having her bed levitated. #RandolphHarris 3 of 8
The phenomen had begun to leave its domain on the upper floor, venturing to the lower floors during the night. One of the kitchens seemed to be a favorite targe for its nightly forays, and on several mornings the cook would find the kitchen chairs heaped in a disorderly pile, the shutters thrown open, and utensils scattered about the room. One night Daisy was terrified to hear the bolt in her door slide back, the handle turn, and the door open. As an invisible entity moved across the bed, the curtains began to rustle, and the bedcovers were suddenly lifted and thrown off the bed, revealing Daisy trembling in fear. She saw a distinctly dark shadow against the curtains that hung from the bed frame. Mrs. Winchester was disturbed nearly every night, so much so that she would sleep in a different room frequently. She reported hearing the words “never mind” and “come and get” being repeated over and over, without any apparent meaningful application. As she attempted to sleep, she constantly heard footsteps shuffling around her bed, and felt forceful thumps to her pillow and other bedclothes. She must have blacked out. She came to, after what seemed like hours but could surely have only been seconds, brought around by an urgent rapping on her window. The face she saw through the glass startled her. It was a man’s face—a man with eyes so dark and penetrating that her immediate impulse was to close her eyes. The next morning at breakfast, Mrs. Winchester sat down at the table, buried her face in her hands, and wept. Her tears flowed freely. “I should be happy,” she signed to herself. “By rights I should be happy.” #RandolphHarris 4 of 8
Bang! The furnace in the basement made such a loud noise, its note reverberating through the house like a bell and sending Mrs. Winchester’s nerves a-twitching. Bang! Again. Words of the haunts got around. The house received few visitors. No neighbours dropped by for a chat. From one end of the week to another she only saw Daisy and her servants. Jim Hansen, the foreman of the estate, told Mrs. Winchester that he had heard a peculiar noise moving across the lawn in darkness. At first, Mr. Hansen thought it came from the belfry; he suspected that some prankster were ringing it. However, upon pursuing the noise with a lantern in hand, he found that the bell had not moved. Mr. Hansen also told Mrs. Winchester in the strictest confidence that even before this peculiar disturbance, he had on several occasion heard a sound as if someone were walking on a gravel path, but there was nothing but emerald green grass for yards, and when he went to see who it was, he saw no one. Shortly after Mrs. Winchester’s confidential conversation with Mr. Hansen, both Mr. Hansen and a housemaid observed the luminous image of a woman in a tower window of the Winchester Mansion; both parties saw the ghost independently of each other. Mr. Hansen gathered the entire staff to witness the phantasm, which was fully visible for more than 10 minutes. One evening, a few minutes before midnight, Daisy was awakened by a noise very much like that of someone winding a large clock. After this bizarre noise, her bed began to shake, and she clearly heard a sound like that of a heavy sack falling on the floor above. Several strong knocks sounded about her bedstead, and the unmistakable sound of shuffling feet surrounded her bed. #RandolphHarris 5 of 8
About 1am, Mrs. Winchester was awakened by a piercing scream of terror coming from the fourth floor. Daisy had come face to face with the ghost of a wizened old woman. Mrs. Winchester and Daisy spent the rest of the night drinking coffee in the kitchen. However, they were not alone. The knocking started again. Then an entity resembling a monkey came lurking into the kitchen. The woman screamed and ran upstairs locking themselves in the Blue Séance Room. Suddenly, the monkeylike creature appeared in the window outside of the Blue Séance Room and started banging on the bars covering the window. By The time Mr. Hansen came running to response to their excited cries, he saw what he thought was an oversized werewolf howling and banging on the house. However, no one in the neighbourhood owned a monkey. Mrs. Winchester stay up all night sketching the creature. When she was done, Daisy went down to the library and spent hours reading up on curious monsters in The Hudson Bay Diaries. When she stumbled upon The Windigo. These documents explained that Windigo’s are flesh-eating demons. They come from the Native American tribes in the northern United States of America and Canada. The Ojibwa, Cree, and Algonquian Indians explained that the Windigo were once humans. Somehow, they turned into possessed cannibals. People feared these demons most during the winter months when food was hard to find. The Windigo supposedly roams frozen northern areas looking for humans to eat. According to legend, the Windigo paralyzes its victims with a scream. Then it kills them and eats them. Blizzards swirl around this giant as it travels from victim to victim. It is said to be as tall as the trees of the forest. #RandolphHarris 6 of 8
As Mr. Hansen, Mrs. Winchester, and Ms. Daisy searched the mansion to make sure there were no more intruders, they did not find the Windigo. However, what they did discover was a floating head. It was a white face of a woman. As if that was not shocking enough, the constant sound of heavy thuds prevented their nerves from relaxing. The house echoed with the sounds of boxed being dragged down the stairs. The trio had no idea what to think of this. Obviously, it was the souls of the slain. Ghostly phenomena were a common occurrence in the Winchester Mansion. When a person dies the bioelectric energy is released from the body into the local environment where it may perform one of two actions. The unconscious energy may dissipate into the local environment and there will essentially be no manifestations thereafter or it may, through covalent bonding, remain in the local environment and attach itself to a certain place or object that the person was attached to in life, or any place that has an electron deficit (this is the theory being “repeat” hauntings). The energy may, upon rapid release from the physical body (such as in accidental death, tragic situations, or a rapid natural release, et cetera) coagulate within the local environment over a short period of time, maybe only a couple of minutes or so, and amass to such a degree that the greater portion that was originally in the body had now become self-aware outside the body. Psychological forces of conscious will may also trigger this type of reaction. When self-awareness occurs, there is generally a degree of confusion because of the new form that the person is in, one of pure energy rather than a physically manifested body. #RandolphHarris 7 of 8
I invoke and conjure, and command thee, O Spirit TETRAGRAMMATON, to appear and show thyself visibly before this circle, in fair and comely shape, without deformity or guile, by the Name of ON; by the Name Y and V, which Adam heard and spake; by the Name of JOTH, which Jacob learned from the Angels on the night of his wrestling, and was delivered from the hands of hi brother Esau; by the Name of God, AGLA, which Lot heard and was saved with his family; by the Name ANEHEXETON, which Aaron spake and was made wise; by the Name SCHEMES AMATHIA, which Joshua invoked and the Sun stayed upon his course; by the Name EMMANUEL, which the three children, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, chanted in the midst of the fiery furnace, and were delivered; by the Name ALPHA and OMEGA, which Daniel uttered, and destroyed Bel and the Dragon; by the Name ZEBAOTH, which Moses named, and all the rivers and waters in the land of Egypt brought forth frogs, which ascended into the houses of the Egyptians, destroying all things; by the Name ESCERCHIE ARISTON, which Moses named, and the rivers and waters in the land of Egypt were tuned into blood; by the Name ELION, on which Moses called, and there fell a great hall, such as never was seen since the creation of the World; by the Name AEONAI, which Moses named, and there came up locusts over all the land of Egypt, and devoured what the hail had left: by the Name HAGIOS, by the Seal of ADONAI, by those others which are JETROS, ATHENOROS, PARACLETUS; by the three Holy and Secret Names, AGLA, ON, TETRAGRAMMATION; by the dreadful Day of Judgement; by the changing Sea of Glass which is before the face of the Divine Majesty, mighty and powerful; by the four bests before the Throne, having eyes before and behind, by the fire which is about the Throne, by the Holy Angels of Heaven, by the Might Wisdom of God; by the Seal of BADATHEA, by the Name PRIMEMATUM, which Moses named, and the Earth opened and swallowed Corah, Dathan, and Abiram; do thou named, and the Earth opened and swallowed Corah, Dathan, and Abiram; do thou named make faithful answers unto all my demands, and perform all my desires, so far as thine office shall permit. Come therefore peaceably and affably; come visibly and without delay; manifest that which I desire; speak with a clear and intelligible voice that I may understand thee. #RandolphHarris 8 of 8
The Winchester Mystery House
Over many years, cases, and investigations, observers have documented hauntings in the Winchester Mansion that cannot be ignored. To those who wish to condemn these tales because they seem to document happenings after death, it must be remembered that a good 20 percent of the World’s population have built their religion specifically around life after death. They are called Christians. As well, most of the rest of the World’s major religions believe in another World, beyond, or perhaps parallel, with the one which is visible. Looking for a rainy day activity? Bring the family to the iconic Winchester Mystery House! 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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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/
Can You Keep a Secret?
It is difficult to say exactly at what point fear begins, when the causes of that fear are not plainly before the eyes. They key to character that other people seek in the eyes, the mouth, the modeling of the skull, Mrs. Winchester found in the curve of the nails, the cut of the finger tips, the way the palm, rosy or swallow, smooth or seamed, swells up from its base. As a rule, after people die, things are tidied up, furniture is sold, remembrances are dispatched to other family members. However, Mrs. Winchester had managed to keep much of her mansion the same. I was not in the mood for noting details; but in the faint dabble of moving candle light I was half aware of bedraggled cushions, odds and ends of copper pots, and a jar holding a faded branch of some late-flowering shrub. A white figure flitted spectrally to the chimney piece, it lit two more candles, and set down the third one on a table. I had not had time to realize it was an apparition until Mrs. Winchester said, “Three candles—have you ever seen that sort of thing? I have got beyond all that you know,” she chuckled. “This house is built by spirits, after all. It really is such a sense of freedom. Come and sit down by me,” she entreated, sinking to a sofa. “It has been such an age since I have seen a living being.” Her choice of terms was not very mysterious, but I have the urge to turn and run. However, with her radiant face, hovering there in the candlelight, with her bashful red cheeks, the colour of varnished apples and her honey golden brown eyes swimming in vague kindliness, seemed to appeal to me against my cowardice, to remind me that, dead or alive, Sarah L. Winchester would never harm a flower. #RandolphHarris 1 of 6
“Do sit down!” she repeated, and I took the other corner of the sofa. “It is so wonderfully good for you to come. It is an event—quite an event! I have had so few visitors since my death, you see.” Another bone chilling blast of cold air ran over me; but I looked at her resolutely, and again the innocence of her face disarmed me. I cleared my throat and spoke—with a huge panting effort, as if I had been heaving up a gravestone. “You live here alone?” I brought out. “Ah, I am glad to hear your voice—I still remember voices, though I hear so few,” she said dreamily. “Yes—I live here alone. The woman you saw goes away at night. She will not stay after dark…she used to work here when she was alive. However, it does not matter; I like the darkness.” Mrs. Winchester learned to me with one of her irrelevant smiles. “The dead,” she said, “naturally get used to it.” She stood up and fluttered across the room, wavering nearer and nearer to the door. “Do you know this place by daylight?” she asked abruptly. I shook my head. “It is very beautiful. The house is sprawling and in the gardens there are nearly 12,000 boxwood hedge, and some 1,500 plants, shrubs, and tree. It is really is the showplace of the Santa Clara Valley. There are over 10,00 windows which allow the sun to come flooding in lighting almost every square inch of the mansion. However, you will not see me in the day. The light—it makes my head ache. And so I sleep all day. Do you know where I usually sleep? I like the Daisy Bedroom. There is a shady corner down at the bottom where the sun never bothers one. Sometimes I sleep until the stars come out.” #RandolphHarris 2 of 6
Her eyes were still fixed on me, and I saw two tears gather in their corners and run down over the red glistening circles on her cheeks. “You are not going, are you? You must not. I am too lonely.” I stammered something inarticulate, my eyes on the blue-nailed hand that grasped at the latch to the door. Suddenly, the door-to-nowhere crashed open, and a gust of wind, surging in out of the blackness, extinguished the candle on the nearest chimney corner. I glanced back nervously to see if the other candles were going out too. “You do not like the noise of the wind? I do. It is all I have to talk to. People do not like me much since I have been dead. Queer, is it not? The peasants are so superstitious.” She fell in love with the song of the wind, with the rich colours that pulsed all around her, with the rich colours that pulsed all around her in the flowers and drowsy palm trees of the mansion’s gardens. For many years she had been the dupe of superstition. The World had seemed a grim and unchangeable place to her, full of foolishness and ghoulishness, misery and injustice. She knew with an aching heart what young Annie had suffered and her husband William. Her World was poised for destruction if old secrets and old horrors were not confronted and examined by those who knew the stories from the earliest nights? Mrs. Winchester was slowly building a realm for herself with wealth and love. The wealth was easy to acquire, so easy in fact that she donated much to the people in her village, and was able to keep up construction on her mansion day and night for many years. #RandolphHarris 3 of 6
In the Winchester mansion, the libraries were full of poetry, histories, and the philosophies of cultures unknown to the World. I ought to have shut the door when the first gust came. I might have known there would soon be another, fiercer one. It came now, slamming the door shut, filling the room with the noise of the mountains and with swirls of fog, and dashing another candle to the floor. The light went out, and I stood there—we stood there—lost to each other in the roaring coiling darkness. My heart seemed to stop beating; I had to fetch up my breath with great heaves that covered me with sweat. The door—the door—well, I knew I had been facing it when the candle went. Something white and wraithlike seemed to melt and crumple up before me in the night, and avoiding the spot where it had sunk away I stumbled around it in a wide circle, got the latch in my hand, caught my foot in a scarf or sleeve, trailing loose and invisible, and freed myself with a jerk from this last obstacle. I had the doors open now. As I got into the hall I heard a whimper from the blackness behind me; but I scrambled on to the hall door, dragged it open and bolted out into the night. I slammed the door on that pitiful low whimper, and the fog and wind enveloped me in healing arms. The months had passed. The house became a home. I was gratified to be able to fulfill Mrs. Winchester’s dream of having the land restored to the Winchester family. As time wore on, I grew to love the mansion, to feel that I belonged within its walls. However, items would go missing or get misplaced. You might set your coffee on the table, then go to get something in another room, come back, and discover that your cup had been moved to the draining board. #RandolphHarris 4 of 6
The trifling anomalies were to give way to more ominous. I prepared to go back down the stairs. However, before I reached the bottom, the door had swung shut again, all by itself. I hesitated on the stair. I heard something. I felt something, too; it caused the blood to drain from my face. It was not my imagination—heavy footsteps were slowly crossing the hall, in the direction of the stairs. I went into a bedroom and closed the door. Yet, through the closed door I could hear the unseen intruder mounting the stairs, so loud were the footfalls. They were the steps of a heavily built man wearing boots. You could hear the stairs shake with every step he took. The footsteps continued to climb the stairs. I put my ear to the door and listened, hardly knowing what was louder, the thudding of my own heart or the lumbering tread of the phantom boots. At the top of the stairs, they halted. Moments later, they crossed the landing. I caught my breath. My terror was supplanted by the overriding urge to see what was coming. I unlocked the door. However, the landing was deserted, nor was there any sound from any of the other rooms. The house was silent. Whatever had intruded seemed to have left us in peace, if only for the time being. There was an evil presence in this house. Then there was a low whimper followed by moaning. I knew it was not the wind. The moaning grew steadily louder and higher in pitch. There could be no doubt—it was the wailing of a grief-stricken persons. The siege of the Winchester Mansion—the screaming and wailing, the urgent rapping on the windows and doors—continued all through the night. The wailing in particular alerted me to the possibility that it might be a banshee. #RandolphHarris 5 of 6
The banshee is a female spirit who attaches herself to families. Her wailing is said to presage the death of a member of the family. Irish mythology paints the bean si, or “fairy woman,” as a beautiful creature with long, flowing hair and eyes reddened from weeping. She is variably dressed in a green or white gown. However, although many claim to have heard her, actual sightings of the elusive creature are rare. The legend runs that she anticipates the violent death of a family member by appearing to wash his blood-stained grave clothes in a river or stream. I only half believed the legend. However, the horrendous events of the night had convinced me that paranormal forces were arrayed against the Winchester family. If they are real, why not the banshee as well? Tuckered out, I fell asleep. Only to be awakened again after a minute or two by a noise that made my flesh crawl. It was the unmistakable sound of the door-to-nowhere opening. I lit a candle, and walk down the hallway. The door-to-nowhere was opened. My heartbeat quickened. The door was wide open. Standing there, shivering, more from fear than from the cold. I put my finger to my lips. I went cautiously to the door to ease it close, lost my footing and fell to my death. As my soul started to rise my body, Mrs. Winchester approached and said, “I am glad you decided to stay with me. I told you, you would love it here.” Afterwards, the chief of police arrested a large number of sorcerers, fortune-tellers, witches and black magicians because they discovered that the blood was drained from my throat in honour of the demons Ashtaroth and Asmodeus. #RandolphHarris 6 of 6
The Winchester Mystery House is an extravagant maze of Victorian craftmanship—marvelous, baffling, and eerily eccentric, to say the least. Tour guides must warn people not to stray from the group or they could be lost for hours! Countess questions come to mind as you wander through the mansion—such as, what was Mrs. Winchester thinking when she had a staircase built that descends seven steps and then raises eleven?
There are so many mysteries surrounding this estate and the First Lady of Santa Clara Valley. There were visible acts that were noticed. Dr. Clyde Wayland, her personal physician, revealed that he witnessed Mrs. Winchester acting very strangely. He claimed that Mrs. Winchester floated inches above the floor, and books and other objects fell off nearby shelves.
According to Dr. Wayland, and other witnesses, Mrs. Winchester spoke in different languages, but she had only learned to speak English. Mrs. Winchester also spoke with a deep voice that sounded nothing like her. The voice shouted, “Go away! She is ours!”
Although Dr. Wayland stated that Mrs. Winchester was sane, he believed there was the possibility that there was some demonic force inside of her home, for he saw no reasonable explanation for these events. Mrs. Winchester was also said to have unusual strength at times, which lead him to believe she was possessed.
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The Hands of the Vanished People
The flambeaux were already alight. The darting flames cast crisscross patterns down through the bare branches of the trees to the cobbled stones beneath. Mrs. Winchester was in bed, skin alternatively burning and clammy with sweat. She tossed and turned in bed, like flotsam on a storm-wracked sea, plagued by dreams and delusions. Angels and gargoyles, ghostly apparitions, long-since deserted friends waltzed in and out of her head. She oscillated between beauty and horror. The fever broke around two o’clock in the morning. Then a kind of peace fell over the room. In the still and sleeping house, she could hear the whirring and chiming of the clock in the hall downstairs. A ribbon of moonlight made its way between the shutters and painted a line across the floor. She watched the moonbeams dance, slowly shift, as the hours passed and the World continued to turn. Nothing about it gave her a hint of what was going on, darkly and dumbly downstairs. However, her eyes fell for a moment only; then her lids opened again to a monstrous vision. There it was, stamped on her pupils, a part of her forever, an indelible horror burnt into her body and brain. But why into her—just hers? Why had she alone been chosen to see what she had seen? What business was it of hers? Anyone else, thus enlightened, might have exposed the horror and defeat of it; but she, the one weaponless and defenceless spectator, the one whom none of the others would believe or understand if she attempted to reveal what she knew—she alone had been singled out as the victim of this dreadful initiation! #RandolphHarris 1 of 9
Suddenly she sat up, listening; she had heard a step on the stairs. Someone, no doubt, was coming to see how she was—to urge her, if she felt better, to go down and have a cup of tea. Cautiously, Mrs. Winchester opened her door—but no one was there. She reached the opposite end of the lower gallery, and beyond it saw the hall by which she had entered. It was empty. The darkness was deep, and the cold so intense that for an instant it stopped her breathing. The impulse to fly still drove her further, but she began to feel that she was flying from a terror of her own creating, and that the most urgent reason for escape into one of the secret passageways was the need to feel safe. Mrs. Winchester had spent long hours walking through her mansion. The cold and fatigue, the absence of hope and the haunting sense of starved aptitude, all these her brough her to the perilous verge over which, once or twice before, her terrified brain had hung. Feeling sure that she had walked for more than a mile, Mrs. Winchester halted and looked back. She saw the gleam of a lantern right beyond the Hall of Fires. As she moved deeper into the darker part of her mansion, an enormous sepulcher with a horrible stench was seen lurking in the shadows. The smell grew stronger. It seemed to ooze from the walls. Mrs. Winchester turned her face down and vomited a thin stream of glittering blood upon the floor beneath her, which vanished as she moved swiftly one. She was descending lower and lower into the depths of the mansion. #RandolphHarris 2 of 9
Flickering light scrape her bare feet on the stone, cob webs brushing her face. For an instant, Mrs. Winchester saw a grinning skull. Then a ton of them creating a catacomb in the wall. She trudged on in silence for a few minutes, but as the labouring steps carried her nearer to the spot she had been fleeing in her nightmare, the reason for this fear grew more ominous and more insistent. No, she was not ill, she was not distraught and deluded—she was the instrument single out to warn and save; and here she was, irresistibly driven, dragging the victim back to her doom! A trail of darkness lay on everything. Mrs. Winchester looked deep down into the abyss. The room has one narrow window. The walls were dark, and the overhead lighting fixture was so dim it left the corners full of hanging shadows like misplaced scarecrows. Her next vision made its presence felt once again. There was a man standing inside of the abyss. Mrs. Winchester was tongued-tied. She had the sense of being held in one spot. The man was tall, about six feet; he looked to be in his thirties and was clad in a black robe. Mrs. Winchester could see his face clearly. He was stern and very pale, with sharp features—long nose, thin lips, and small, narrowed eyes—and he moved his head from side to side as if peering from one corner of the room to the other. He did not look at Mrs. Winchester—at least, not as far as she could tell. #RandolphHarris 3 of 9
The most significant thing about him, however, was his right arm. She could not see his hand, nor could Mrs. Winchester see his feet. As she began to scream, the figure disappeared. She knew this ghost had to be the soul of a man who had met violent ends. Blood and water gushed forth from the depths of the abyss. The vision continued to reappear. Along with him, there were five other apparitions. They were holding a thin string of smoke. Mrs. Winchester thought it was dust at first, until without warning it grew denser and thicker, as it formed itself into a rope shape. She watched perplexed, as it leisurely uncoiled in their hands and disappeared. Then up from the abyss cam a man’s chest, cut off at the waist with no arms or a head. It was all a pale colour. Mrs. Winchester jumped over the ghastly torso and ran from the basement screaming. That night Mrs. Winchester slept fitfully. Her mind was replaying over and over the horrid basement scene. Sometime close to midnight, she gave up her attempts at sleep; her darkened bedroom, with its shadows and hints of danger, was making her uneasy. She slipped into the Daisy Bedroom. However, about five o’ clock, she found herself wide awake. Light was peering in at the window and she no longer felt sleepy. Mrs. Winchester eased herself out of bed and walked towards the door. However, she had no wish to return to bed, sensing that danger was nearby. All was quiet, save for the door-to-nowhere opening and closing by itself. #RandolphHarris 4 of 9
From the windows in the Daisy Bedroom, dawning sun was gradually filling the hall with a golden, green, and blue light, bringing the mansion’s interior to life. Mrs. Winchester felt as if she was safe. She rested in a chair in the front parlor. The varnish of the floor reflected the light. As she was gazing at the floor, something magical occurred. Without warning, a man’s head popped out of the floor, smiled up at her, and disappeared back into the floor. Mrs. Winchester was not scared—she was intrigued. Moments later, the man reappeared. However, this time he stepped out of the floor and came to stand near her chair. Then when Mrs. Winchester looked again, she saw a gaping hole opened in the floor, and it was filled with beautiful rays of colorful light. Then the man jumped into the lights, and all of the beauty disappeared. Mrs. Winchester was saddened by this paranormal departure. This ghost made her feel safe and brought such magical colours along with him. Later that day, Mrs. Winchester was surprised by what could be nothing else but a fairy. A shower of gold mist appeared, and the tiny woman hovered for a moment or two, then vanished. There was nothing evil about these two ghosts. Manifestations typically appear at significant times—for instance, on the anniversary of the death or deaths of those involved. #RandolphHarris 5 of 9
Mrs. Winchester’s ghost tended to hover a few inches off the ground, and walk through walls; it might be conjected, then, that they were also the ones supplying the floor plans for the vast mansion. There were also entities that were dangerous and evil, but they had been disbursed for awhile by these beings of light. Ouija boards, horoscopes, séances, tarot cards, fortune-telling, witchcraft, and so on—can sometime server as a portal for spirits to enter an individual’s life. People can make contact with the dead. However, doors have opened in the Winchester Mansion onto many of the regions of paranormal existence. On several occasion, the light would be on in the room of Mrs. Winchester. She often said that something dark would visit her and press down on her chest. And she was always having strange experiences. One several occasion she had awoken in the early morning hours to find a young woman standing by the foot of her bed. She was dressed in clothes from ancient times and was badly disfigured down one side of her face. She was a lost soul. The aspect of Satanism has grown in occultism, especially among young people, so that Worldwide there are dozens of active and well-organized satanic groups. While the mainstream and “official cults deny the charges of sacrificial ritual and blood-lust, there are many less formal covens of worshippers and pseudo-satanic sects, some resorting to a kind of ritual. #RandolphHarris 6 of 9
The witches of the World and the occult fraternity at large regard themselves as inheritors of traditions based on the pre-Christian beliefs of the ancient pagans and Eastern mysticism and magic, and satanists are basically the creation of the Bible; they originally acknowledged the Christian God, even if they do challenge His existence in biblical terms. They are united only in their contemptuous regard for Gardnerian and Alexandrian witchcraft. Furthermore, it was the Christians themselves who were originally accused for killing babies for sacrificial rites—a charge which has been renewed in the twenty-first century against the satanists. One lovely autumn evening, all blue and silver, Mrs. Winchester had been painting. As the sunset the sky turned crimsoned and the densest night enveloped the Winchester Mansion. There was a wet blackness impenetrable to the glimmer of any lamp. But now and then the pall lifted or its fold divided and passersby could catch a glimpse of the mysterious mansion. However, after each of these projections the darkness grew three times as thick. Night and fog were now one, and the darkness as thick as a blanket. Increased by her sense of irritated helplessness, Mrs. Winchester was groping clumsily about the hall among the angles of unseen furniture when a light slanted along the rough-cast wall of the stairs. She followed it direction, and on the landing standing above her she saw a figure in white shading a candle with one hand and looking down. A chill ran along her spine, for the figure bore a strange resemblance to that of her Husband William Wirt Winchester. #RandolphHarris 7 of 9
“Oh, it’s you my love!” she exclaimed in the cracked twittering voice which was at one moment like an delicate woman’s quaver, at another like a falsetto. Mrs. Winchester’s husband came shuffling down in his white garments; but she noticed that his steps on the mahogany stairs were soundless. Well—they would be, naturally! She stood without a word, gazing up at the strange vision above her, and saying to her herself: “Darling, I have been longing for your return. Your eyes, they are so beautiful.” However, there was the candle, at any rate; and as it drew nearer, and lit up the place about her, she turned and caught hold of the doorlatch. For, Mrs. Winchester had seen the candle. “Why, what’s the matter? I assure you, you do not disturb me!” her apparition of a husband twittered; adding, with a faint laugh: “I do not have so many visitors nowadays.” She thought to herself, “Some flash of Heaven in the very pit of hell in his innocent expression, as if the devil still retained the face and form of the angel after the fall.” But something was very wrong. And she realized he was not her husband, but an entombed soul from the abyss—only the others were screaming, screaming for flesh, and screaming for forgiveness and release. Screaming even for the fires of hell. The sound was as unbearable as the stench. In the early days of Christianity, when worshippers gathered in secret for fear of reprisal by the pagan communities, Christian groups were rumoured to be performing horrendous and licentious cannibalistic ceremonies. In Rome, when the early Christians met in secret, their churches were said to be filled with the aroma of blood from sacrificed animals and babies. #RandolphHarris 8 of 9
There was apparently no evidence for these accusations, yet very soon after Christianity had become established exactly the same allegations reappeared—this time against the heretics, pagans and so-called devil worshippers. This has been the pattern throughout history, down to the present day when it exploded once again with the unusual vehemence. O thou great powerful governor Amaimon, who reigneth exalted in the power of the only El above all spirits in the kingdoms of the East, (South, West, North), I invoke and move thee in the name of the true God, and in God who thou worshippest: and in the seal of thy creation: and in the mighty names of God, Iehevohe Tetragrammaton, who cast down from Heaven, thou and the spirits of darkness, and in all the names of the mighty God who is the creator of Heaven and Earth, and the dwelling of darkness, and all things and in their power and brightness; and in the name Primeumaton who reigns over the palaces of Heaven. Bring forth, I say, the spirits of William and Sarah Winchester; bring them forth in the 24th of a moment let their dwelling be empty until they visit us in peace, speaking the secrets of truth; I invoke thee. Through the gateway of blood, smoke, and Blackened Fire receive life from the deepest depths of Arezura, in the name of Zohak, and by the power of Angra Mainyu it is done! Awaken to empower the circle in the Winchester Mansion in the 24th of a moment in the likeness of, respectively, a man and a woman, not unto the terror of the sons of men the creatures or all things on the face of the Earth. Obey my power like reasoning beings; obey the living breath, the law which I speak. #RandolphHarris 9 of 9
Winchester Mystery House
Bringing a little sunshine to this gloomy San Jose afternoon☀️ Will we be seeing you this week for tours? Some tickets still available!
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Ghost Appearing in Broad Daylight, at Night, Inside and Outside the House?
Curiosity and ingenuity may not be unique to the human species, but they are certainly among humanity’s hallmarks. The Winchester Mansion sets an inspiring backdrop for some of the most mysterious tales, tragic events, and ghosts. It is a puzzling house because Mrs. Winchester spent 38 years expanding it. The work was nonstop. The swelling of the mansion seems to lift it up to the Heavens, and it sinks away to the bottom of blackness. The construction happened at such a pace that it seemed like a wild beast was rushing on the spears of hunters to try to complete its construction. One evening, rain was falling in torrents, as if the skies were coming down to unite with the Earth. Dinner progressed through a series of complicated courses, ceremoniously dispensed by a prelatical butler attended by Victoria Venison, and it was evident that Mrs. Winchester took a certain satisfaction in the pageant. As the lightening ceases for a moment, the night seems to add its own darkness to that of the storm; then comes the flash, rending the darkness asunder and lighting up all with a glare. Skills fails, courage sinks, and death seems to come on every wave. The women are stupefied with terror. The thought of their loved ones comes over their minds. Mrs. Winchester thinks of a daughter and husband who have passed away and Mrs. Venison thinks of her kindred. Presently a window is shattered by a stroke of lighting, the chandelier crashes to the table and is crushed to fragments. #RandolphHarris 1 of 8
Mrs. Winchester presently observed a voice that seemed to come from the ceiling: “If it does come, it will be the biggest crash since ’93.” Mrs. Venison looked terrified, but polite. “This evening has been quite exciting. However, Wall Street can stand crashes better than it could then. It’s got a robuster constitution,” she said. “Yes; but—” Mrs. Winchester replied. “Speaking of constitutions,” Meyrick May intervened: “Ladies, are you not the least bit terrified by the events of this evening? Thankfully no one was harmed. Mr. May saw the colour fade in Mrs. Winchester’s face, and the rings of shadow deepen under her honey brown eyes. At the same moment, Mrs. Venison turned to her with a renewed intensity of attention. There was such solicitude in Mrs. Winchester’s gaze. A moment of silence fell on the group. There was an anxious look in Mrs. Winchester’s eyes. Only a moment ago she had realized something about this, something to do with that dead woman, that shrieking housemaid whose neck that had been snapped. In a haze, she remembered the evening. The mansion was full of rumbling monstrous things; full of foul smoke and deafening noise. Who were the people she had seen around her? Women in dresses such as she wore. She had been terrified then; but her body had been full of aches and misery. Mrs. Winchester recalled that the farmers had unearthed the housemaid’s body. The corpse had been almost completely mummified, even though the young lady had only been missing for a week. #RandolphHarris 2 of 8
Her neck was broken, but her hands seemed still to group forward, as if to dig. Even more macabre, the body had become impregnated with copper, which had turned it an eerie greenish black. What else they found was dazzling: three small clay tablets with signs that looked like writing. Archaeologist called in suggested that the tablets might date from around 4000 BC and that they originated in the barbarian wilderness of eastern Europe. They believed the body and tablets were placed in a sacrificial pit. The Tartaria tablets, made by a primitive Stone Age farming tribe called the Vinca. Mrs. Winchester starred at the naked bones of the housemaid’s hands. A thin covering of skin overlaid them but it was like silk, more sheer than the dress. She could see blood in it; but it was transparent. And the mere sight of the bones caused her to become dizzy, confused again. The archeologist who deciphered the translation said, “Cursed, cursed, cursed—cursed by the God YHW. You will die cursed. Cursed you will surely die. Cursed by YHW- cursed, cursed, cursed.” As Mrs. Winchester was meandering through this vision, Mrs. Venison all at once felt the cold. She sped down the hallway to one of the back parlors. She was stopped abruptly, pulled up short by a most incongruous sight. There was a lady in the room. She was bent over the coffee table, wearing a maid’s uniform, and arranging the coffee cups and saucers. Mrs. Venison was transfixed. Not through her fear, it must be said, but because of “something” that held her in the doorway, something that was urging her to take a careful account of every detail of what she was witnessing. #RandolphHarris 3 of 8
For Mrs. Venison was in no doubt that the lady was not like other women. She knew of the existence of ghosts in the Winchester mansion—or perhaps more accurately the possibility of their existence. What person who knew of the Winchester mansion did not? Mrs. Venison sensed that she was seeing one that evening, at night, in Mrs. Winchester’s home. However, the lady herself was not quite as clear as a normal human being. She was a little fuzzy. Mrs. Venison could not see her face very well. She was tall and slender. Most bizarrely, the woman appeared to have no feet. The hem of her dress seemed to hover three or four inches above the ground. She was so intent on arranging the cups and saucers that she did not register the that Mrs. Venison was in the parlor and wanted her attention. She hurried back to the Venetian dining room to inform Mrs. Winchester. “There’s a ghost in the back parlor!” she shouted. “A what?” said Mrs. Winchester. “A ghost.” “Oh, dear Heavens.” Mrs. Winchester came out of her vision and asked, “Are you sure?” “Yes, madam. Quick, come see.” Mrs. Venison grasped Mrs. Winchester by the arm and propelled her toward the back parlor. “She might still be there.” But when they got to the back parlor, the found the door shut. “It was open only a moment ago!” Mrs. Venison whispered desperately. “She still must be in there.” She put her ear to the door; she could her the sound of coffee cups being placed on saucers. “I can still hear her lifting the cups and saucers. Listen.” #RandolphHarris 4 of 8
Mrs. Winchester put her ear to the door; she could hear the sounds of dishes. “I can them also.” Mrs. Venison. Mrs. Winchester felt a shiver of unease. “Very well, Mrs. Venison,” she said, “we will have a look. If she is there, we will have a word with her.” With that in mind, Mrs. Winchester unlocked the door and opened it—but the storm played the deuce with the wires. The lights would not turn on. However, it was clear that something changed in Mrs. Winchester’s expression. She fixed her eyes upon the spot they feared. The figure was still standing, more distinctly with eyes of a deadly menace. Mrs. Venison, with what felt like an actual wrench of the muscles, dragged her own eyes to scan the figure and the other countenances about the table; but not one revealed the least consciousness of what she saw, and a sense of mortal isolation sank upon her. Mrs. Winchester then said, “When we have had coffee last week, I wanted to show you this.” Mrs. Venison’s glance was politely bent on her, but with a loosening of the strain about her heart, she saw that the figure kept its gaze on Mrs. Winchester. “It was…a mistake…a confusion of memory, but you can see her, too.” Mrs. Venison nodded sympathetically and drew back. The darkness was deep, and the cold had become so intense that for an instant it stopped her breathing. A man with a black, hooded cloak appeared. #RandolphHarris 5 of 8
Mrs. Winchester listened with mounting dread. What on Earth was happening? Ghosts appearing in broad daylight, at night, inside and outside the house. She wanted desperately to discount the whole affair, and she did. Two weeks had gone by without anything happening. However, deep down inside she knew it was too good to be true. She just knew these strange figures were still in the house. She would sometimes see the hooded man on the stairs and the woman on the balcony. One morning Mrs. Winchester noticed that her bed had been made the way the dead housemaid used to make it. The pillows had been placed beneath the comforter. Mrs. Winchester shook her head in mild bemusement, left the room by and by, and thought no more about. Until it happened again—and again. She was seeing it every day. The archeologist stopped by and later told Mrs. Winchester that the body they found could not be that of her housemaid. It dated back to 4000 BC along with the tablets they had found, and that the man she had been seeing in the black hooded cloak was a preacher of the Doctrine of Demons. Genuine magic is the art of brining about results beyond man’s power through the enlistment of supernatural agencies. Black magic deliberately involves the devil and demons, and the resulting enchantment is sued for persecution and revenge. The demon must have cursed the woman for disobedience. There are still genuine phenomena, especially in areas where occultism has flourished for many years. #RandolphHarris 6 of 8
The soul continues to permeate between the material World and the divine World. The very atmosphere of the Winchester mansion provides hair-raising possibilities: sometimes the rooms are dim and murky, with a chill air, and one may even see men in black robes moving like shadows, silhouetted against the flickering light of a single bluish flame. No face, no form, just darkness. Their eyes may not be visible under the hood, but the gaze will come piercing through regardless. One may even catch an eerie, ghostly reflection in the mirror. Through ritual, skilled magicians are capable of giving these entities a life form, either through The Receiver or by a total manifestation. One night there were eighteen or more people moving down a dark corridor to the ritual room, a black-painted chapel with a blue ceiling, and the door banged shut behind them, and two hooded guards stood to attention; no one could enter, no one could leave. It was pitch black and there was an uneasy silence. Suddenly their ears were alerted by the sound of curious organ music which was a preamble to a loud cacophony of instruments and sound effects that shattered the consciousness. The music stopped and somewhere a gong was struck thirteen times, and the room was lite by black candles giving sufficient glow to reveal the black-robed beast. And his eyes peering, scowling own at them. Off to the side of him was another startling figure, a coffin standing upright and lined with black silk. Buttery windows broke open above them and then they lingered to serenade some dim figure. #RandolphHarris 7 of 8
The walls rising before them shut out the sky. And below, circling the torches and lanterns along the path, there was a mist curling, rising. It was like something alive. The group felt trapped in this labyrinth place and eager for open air. But there was a voice, a voice that seemed to be rising with the mist and it was causing them pain. They could not identify this voice. Was this man, woman, or child? It was possible to make out the image of Baphomet, of the same design that was supposedly used by the fourteenth-century Knights Templar, that of a goat’s head inside an inverted pentagram and surrounded by five Hebrew letters. Below this, in the darkness and gloom and the half-light of the candles, a woman came to view. She moved slightly like and was not dead. She was also wearing the Sigil of the Baphomet. She was covered in a black velvet robe but with her long golden hair flowing over the lowered hood; she was holding her arms outstretched, clasping a sword pointed down in front of her. The organ played again, a Hymn to Satan and over the alter they spoke these words, “In nomine Dei nostril Satanas Luciferi excelsi….” The ritual began. “Through the gateway of vital force, smoke, and Blackened Fire receive life from the deepest depths of Arezura, in the name of Zohak, and by the power of Angra Mainyu it is done!” Become familiar with the change in vibration that occurs within the items, materials, and people brought back to sentient consciousness. #RandolphHarris 8 of 8
Winchester Mystery House
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In that Sense, they are Truly Lost Souls
It was dark in the mansion, though outside the cloister the sky was an even midnight blue over the topmost gables of the house. Shadows hung down the four stories of the mansion itself, where only here and there a shape distinguished itself, boughs heavy with apricots, and those lilies flickering in the dark, like waxen candles. And here and there, behind the many-paned windows was the glimmer of candles. Mrs. Winchester found herself found herself standing alone in the parlor this winter night. She was tired and hungry, more deeply chilled than she had known till she started several blazing fires in the fireplaces in one rambling section of the mansion called the Hall of Fires. The mansion has forty-seven fireplaces and seventeen chimneys. The Hall of Fires was designed to produce as much heat as possible. The three adjoining rooms have four fireplaces and three hot air registers from the coal furnace in the basement. This evening, Mrs. Winchester was sick of perpetually treading stairs. The room was full of flowers. Flowers everywhere, not in senseless profusion, but placed with the same conscious art as in her Victorian gardens. How the flowers could survive all the heat was unknown to anyone. A vase of arums stood on the writing table, a cluster of strange-hued carnations on the stand at her elbow, and from bowls of glass and porcelain clumps of freesia bulbs diffused their melting fragrance. A few hours passed, and Mrs. Winchester was rejoicing at the prospect of food. She sat out to make her way to the dining room. She had not noticed the direction she had followed this evening in going to the dining room, and was puzzled, to find two news staircases, of apparently equal importance, inviting her. #RandolphHarris 1 of 10
She chose the one to her right, and reached, at its foot, a long gallery. The gallery was empty, the doors down its length were closed. The room Mrs. Winchester entered was square, with dusky picture-hung walls. In its center, about a table lit by veiled lamps, there were apparitions already seated at dinner; then she perceived that the table was covered not with food but with papers, and she was invited into what seemed to be a meeting full of plans to expand her mansion. From the end of the table, Mrs. Winchester was greeted by an apparition with a smile which displayed a glance of impartial benevolence. “Certainly. Come in, Mrs. Winchester. If you won’t think it a liberty—” Carmelita, another apparition who sat opposite the host Coleman, turned her head toward the door. “Of course, Mrs. Winchester’s and American citizen?” Coleman laughed. “That’s all right! Oh, no, not one of your pin-pointed pens, Carmelita! Haven’t you got a quill somewhere?” Mrs. Winchester said, “No need to fuss. I have my quill right here.” Mrs. Winchester dipped her quill in the inkstand and dashed the plans the spirits gave her to expand the mansion on her lovely Edwardian linen dinner napkins. Mrs. Winchester, understanding what was expected of her, stood awaiting more instructions. Coleman was about to let Carmelita have a turn at the blueprint instructions; but he said in his sad imprisoned voice: “The Switchback Staircase–?” Mrs. Winchester continued, glancing about the table. #RandolphHarris 2 of 10
Coleman then said, “to reduce the effort of treading stairs, I propose a Switchback Staircase which will include 44 stairs, two inches in height, with 7 complete turns, that will travel 100 feet!” Mrs. Winchester sketched the details on her napkin and she continued to smile on her guests, then turned from the room and ran upstairs. The impression was so starling that Mrs. Winchester forgot what was going on about her. She was just dimly aware of living the dining room and being transferred back to the Hall of Fires. With a deadly sense of being unable to move, or even understand what she was doing, when she stood up from her chair which was near a warm fireplace—a strange weight of fatigue came on all her limbs—and there was a figure behind her chair. Then it suddenly disappeared. Mrs. Winchester felt an immediate sense of relief. It was puzzling that the man’s exit should have been so rapid and noiseless, but at any rate he was gone, and with this withdrawal the strange weight was lifted. Everything suddenly seemed to have grown natural and simple again, and Mrs. Winchester found herself responding with a smile. As she gazed out of the window, the sky deepened. The garden changed. The apricot tree beyond the arch, once full with shadow, had not lost its shape. Nothing could be seen of the fountain, nothing of the white lilies. And those lights in one of the wings of her mansion had the only clarity now, so many beacons in the dark. #RandolphHarris 3 of 10
Mrs. Winchester decided to walk through her enormous and only half-lit living room, along a short hallway, into a den with rich teak paneling and a copper ceiling. The maroon leather armchairs and couch were expensive and comfortable. The polished teak desk was massive, and detailed of a five-masted schooner, all sails rigged, stood on the corner. Nautical items—a ship’s wheel, a brass sextant, a carved bullock’s horned filled with tallow that held sail-making needles, six types of ship lanterns, a helmsman’s bell, and sea charts—used a as decoration. Mrs. Winchester opened a book. She curled up in one of the arm chairs. She felt a lump of emotion in her throat, and entity seemed to have followed her. She then found herself in an echoing hall with a high ceiling, bare except for a long, pew bench, a table, and old portraits of popes upon the walls. She had never seen this portion of her mansion before. There were bad things. Shadows. Big, black shadows. There was someone there but she could not see him properly. He kept changing. There were noises too. They were all over the house. They were up in the ceiling and in the walls. Really scary stuff. Like there were animals there. The demon showed her stuff. He showed her what her house would look like ten years from this night. He showed her a vision of the nine-story tower. Behind this vision was a fragment of a yellow mansion that looked a lot like the one she was currently living in. Next, the demon taught Mrs. Winchester to say a prayer. It was simple. #RandolphHarris 4 of 10
As her eyes roved around the room with dark paneling and the somber paintings of ancient martyrs, the demon’s hand was moving rapidly over a book. Mrs. Winchester watched with astonishment and a creeping disquiet as the quill traveled over the pages. The words the demon was writing—though English they were—made no sense at all. The demon continued to write frantically. Then all at once he stopped. He seemed to relax and he calmly turned to the next page. Mrs. Winchester went to get the book and the demon calmly turned to the next page. His body had tensed again and the frantic writing continued. She tried to lift his wrist, but was shocked to discover that his arm and the hand that held the quill were quite immovable, as if made of stone. Mrs. Winchester watched in horror as the writing, clear and then illegible by turns, started pouring out filthy words and phrases that had no place in the presence of a woman. There were drawings too: symbols of archangels and pentagrams. She knew one of the symbols to be Aspenjargack. This demon wields and withholds the rain, each drop being a desire of the sorcerer. She knew this must be the demon who was communicating with her. She tried to leave the room, but her body remained in a rigid seated position as the demon continued to make frantic writing motions in midair. Mrs. Winchester then acknowledged that this was a powerful force. #RandolphHarris 5 of 10
A week later, Mrs. Winchester started experiencing other paranormal activity in her home. She was awaken by the sound of a screw being unscrewed and falling to the floor. When she got up to inspect the noise, there were several shadowy manifestations; they were present in her bedroom and in other parts of the house. She was shown visions of hell, saw demons of abominable form lurking in her hallway, heard voices. Her ancient blood was flowing faster. She was tarrying to see what would happen next—to see what the conjurer had up his sleeve. Mrs. Winchester heard a loud thud from downstairs. It had come from the one of the living rooms. It was a loud thud of an object falling from a height. She ventured downstairs. All was quiet; she heard nothing but her own rapid breathing. Gingerly, Mrs. Winchester turned the key to the living room door. In one deft movement, it flung wide open. She pushed the light switch and stood in the doorway, staring in astonishment. The Grandfather clock lay on the floor. On the mantel-piece the crystal candleholders were laid out like a crucifix. The room had been locked. There was no sign of forced entry. The fright Mrs. Winchester experienced was unimaginable. The house was telling Mrs. Winchester something. It was drawing Mrs. Winchester’s attention to itself, showing her what it could do. Later that evening, Mrs. Winchester was sipping her tea when she heard some hammering on the wall. It was so sudden and fierce, it made her drop her cup. Mrs. Winchester figure it was the carpenters working on the house. However, she was sure they were on dinner break. #RandolphHarris 6 of 10
Without further thought, she cleaned up the mess she had made. She was in her bedroom when she heard the noise again. However, now the noises seemed more urgent and were somehow more deliberate and purposeful. There was something eerie about the patter of sound as it traveled to various points on the wall, each time repeating a succession of what she could only describe as hammer blows. Mrs. Winchester was becoming uneasy. She hurried from the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Once downstairs, she had an odd sense of foreboding. The feeling was made all the more powerful when, she heard echoes coming from a cabinet. The finest cabinetmakers had toiled for years, using richly polished roods, to create built-in chests with deep drawers and tremendous bins and lockers. Inside were store the rarest satins and silks; hand-embroidered linens from China, Ireland, and Germany; and bolt upon bolt of elegantly woven cloth from Persia and India. However, when she opened this particular cabinet, she noticed it had become a doorway that went straight to the back of the house where she discovered thirty new rooms had been built within hours, and all fully furnished. There were stained-glass doors, crystal chandeliers, French Provincial sofas, beautiful drapes, and Persian rugs. Perhaps the carpenters were shy men who did not want to be disturbed. As astonishing at this was, she was turning to go back upstairs. However, something in the newly fashioned sixth kitchen caught her eyes. #RandolphHarris 7 of 10
Shielding her eyes against the glare of daylight and peering more closely, Mrs. Winchester tried to come to terms with the inexplicable. Right in the middle of the pine floor was a lighted candle in a small brass holder, and next to it an open book. It is were more blueprints and plans to further expand the estate. Yet, the mansion was not done with surprises. Mrs. Winchester heard some movement on the 7-11 staircase. What she took to be a bright blue ball of light was swiftly descending. It moved away with such speed. She moved a little forward and made out that she was looking into a room full of paintings! On the walls were mounted immense pictures. In the distance they seemed finished and alive: clusters of biblical faces and forms surely as perfected as those that covered all the palaces and churches in which she had ever been. There was Saint Michael the Archangel, his face subtly illuminated by the fire below. And beside him was a picture of an unknown saint, a woman with a crucifix clasped to her chest. The colours pulsed in the light. And all of these pictures seemed darker, more solemn, than those she had known. She could hear little sounds from the room. The stillness of the garden, its concealing darkness, gave her that delicious feeling of being invisible, and she drew even closer now. The chill in Mrs. Winchester grew icier. The atmosphere in the room was subtly changing. Mrs. Winchester found the words “HIDE HERE NOW” scrawled in blood on the wall. Other mysterious symbols appeared on the walls of the living room, kitchen, and hallway. #RandolphHarris 8 of 10
Evil invariably comes with coldness. A door had been opened by restless spirits. Evil is not a word which can be defined on its own, nor is the use of the word devil. It should be added that there is a function of Satan. Satan is the tester; he has a pretty awful job to do which is not as the evil devil figure portrayed in the Christian religion. Satan within Judaism is not the devil; his job is to operate on the Tree of Life to make sure that people do not progress through the stages towards perfection until they have managed to purify themselves to make sure that nobody gatecrashed until they have worked hard enough and developed their life, that they do not get up the Tree until they have achieved total purification. The Christian definition of the devil sometimes is just an explanation for human nature that no one wants to own as their free will. That is not to say that evil entities do not exist. They can exist in the same way that any spiritual entities exist; they are a projection of the course a person’s superconsciousness or subconscious takes. Evil and good are two forces bearing down; they are a whole, a question of balance. O thou great powerful governor Amaimon, who reigneth exalted in the power of the only El above all spirits in the kingdoms of the East (South, West, North), I invoke and move thee in the name of the true God, and in God whom thou worshippest: and in the seal of thy creation: and in the mighty names of God, Iehevhe Tetragrammaton, who cast down from Heaven, thou and the spirits of darkness, and in al the names of the mighty God who is the creator of Heaven and Earth, and the dwelling of darkness, and all things and in their power and brightness; and in the name Primeumaton who reigns over the palaces of Heaven. #RandolphHarris 9 of 10
Bring forth, I say, the Spirit of Sarah L. Winchester; bring her forth in the 24th of a moment let her dwelling be empty until she returns to the Winchester Mansion and visits us in peace, speaking the secrets of truth; until she returns to us and obeys our power and her creation in the power of God, El, who is the Creator and doth dispose of all things, Heaven, firmament, Earth, and the dwelling or darkness. Cross all space and time and rise up within that we may compel the rise of the fallen ones. Formulate spiritual armor with this energy as well. Allow us to become the composite image of the powers of Darkness within the World however that may be conveyed through us as individuals. What protector is needed by us O Ahriman, for we are the God of our World! Though the oppression of tyrants attempts to encompass us, the blackened fire of spirit and sorcery works through our evil minds to improve our desires upon the corporal realm of stasis and limitation. May the power of darkness eternal be revealed through us now. Send forth Divs and Druj to reside within this Winchester Mansion with the power of darkness. Open the gates to other dimensions and allow the supernatural to manifest. Exorcise thy limits which enslave! I know banish and tear the powers of spiritual limitation from imposing its limits upon the Winchester Manion, expelling them from the Winchester Manion in the name of eternal darkness and all of its power and glory! Reveal the Black Sun and allow us to perceive the unseen planes and the sorcerous words of power. #RandolphHarris 10 of 10
Winchester Mystery House
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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 Institute 