With the first glimmer of dawn, during the jovial season of merry autumn, the voice of God had sung to me through times and space, and he told me there were things I would know and understand as others could not. He told me that if I opened to him and bult this mansion and never ceased construction that He would give me His strength and secrets. He has been driven to preserve me, and He loved me. There was nothing in the World I wanted more at this moment than to look God right in the eyes and understand Him, but all the gold and diamonds in the nineteenth century could not give Him a face. Curiosity flared up beyond sense and caution, and in my youthful egotism, I fancied God looked like my beloved husband William Winchester. I paced the area between the bookcases and the overstuffed Victorian chairs. I have learned the power of the night, of fear, of blood. Terror, certainly, has a vigour, but it is nothing compared to loving. As I came to the footmark of the staircase, for an instant I gazed at a stranger, on which war, with its fatigues and its wounds, had made a great alteration. A kind of cold face pressed against my own, and moving slowly over it, and of several—I do not know how many—legs or arms or tentacles or something clinging to my body. I screamed out and fell away backward from the step on which I stood, and the creature slipped downwards, I suppose, on to that same step. But the uncertainty last no longer than a few seconds before the visitor vanished. I believe I am acquainted with the extremity of terror and repulsion which a woman can endure without losing her mind. If corpses walked, some, not nearly revived enough, stood in plain view in Llanada Villa. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

Of course, there is also a room in my house in which people spend the night, and in the morning, they are found kneeling in the corner moaning and crying. One of the guests said that she heard a noise in the passing at night, opened her door, and saw someone crawling towards her on all fours with blood on his face and pale unseeing eyes, those of a dead man. I had seen queer things in my parlour. Each night around thirteen o’clock, I would wake up and go downstairs to watch these curious lights that played on my walls and ceiling. One night in particular, I saw a neat, black-clad figure moving with easy grace through the long slanting bars of moonlight. After I starred for a while, he vanished along with the lights. After these odd events, Daisy and I were discussing the occurrences. “What do you think it all means, Aunt Sarah?” she said. I waited a long time before answering. “I feel that someone is trying to contact me,” I replied. “Why?” It seemed like a simplistic question to ask, but Daisy had learned that when magic was involved, sometimes the most obvious questions brought the most interesting answers, so she asked it anyway. “Why, indeed?” I responded. “Maybe someone wants to give me more powers?” Daisy smiled and sipped her tea. She began to shiver a little. “Daisy,” I asked, “what seems to be troubling you?” “Well, Aunt Sarah, sometime after you had gone to bed last night, I remained downstairs reading, and I was going one the stairs, someone passed me. The lights flickering made it hard to see, but I thought it was one of the servants, perhaps. However, this morning I found that it could not have been so, as none of them had been out of their rooms at that hour.” I trembled a little and blinked. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

On the night of November 1, I saw the figure. I heard footsteps outside on the landing at about 3 a.m. I got up at once, and went outside. There was a bright full moon, and the apparition was then at the end of the landing at the top of the stairs, then went downstairs, stopping again when she reached the hall below. I opened the drawing-room door and she went in, walked across the room to the couch in the bow window, stayed there a little while, then came out of the room, went along the passage, and disappeared by the garden door. I spoke to her, but she did not answer. That afternoon I was in the greenhouse, and on my way to the site of the projected rose garden. I did not know much about the conditions most suitable to these nurseries, but I had a great gardener. Collin, my gardener, had disappeared mysteriously about the ground, and I was looking for him to fetch him to tea, and going down this path I suddenly saw him, not hiding in the bushes, as I rather expected, but sitting on the bench in the old summer-house—there was a wooden summer-house here, you know—up in the corner, asleep, but with such a dreadful look on his face that I really thought he must be ill or even dead. I rushed at him and shook him, and told him to wake up; and wake up he did, with a scream. I assure you the poor boy seemed almost beside himself with fright. He hurried me away to the house, and was in a terrible state all that night, hardly sleeping. Someone had to sit up with him, as far as I remember. He was better very soon, but for days I could not get him to say why he had been in such a condition. It came out at last that he had really been asleep and had had a very odd disjointed sort of dream. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

He never saw much of what was around him, but he felt the scenes most vividly. First he made out tht he was standing in a large room with number of people in it, and that someone was opposite to him who was “very powerful,” and he was being asked questions which he felt to be very important, and, whenever he answered them, someone—either the person opposite to him, or someone else in the room—seemed to be, as he said, making something up against him. All the voices sounded to him very distant, but he remembered bits of things that were said: “Where were you on the nineteenth of September?” and “Is this your handwriting?” and so on I can see now, of course, that he was dreaming of some trial: but we were never allowed to see the papers, and it was odd that he would be dreaming of what went on in court. All the time he felt, he said, the most intense anxiety and oppression and hopelessness (though I do not suppose he used such words as that to me). Then, after that, there was an interval in which he remembered being dreadfully restless and miserable, and then there cam another sort of picture, when he was aware that he had come out of doors on a dark raw morning with a little snow about. It was in a street, or at any rate among houses, and he felt that there were numbers and numbers of people there too, and that he was taken up some creaking wooden steps and stoon on a sort of platform, but the only thing he could actually see was a small fire burning somewhere near him. Someone who had been holding his arm left hold of it and went towards this fire, and then he said the fright he was in was worse than at any other part of his dream, and if I had not wakened him up, he did not know what would have become of him. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

A few weeks later, I was coming out of my dormant rose garden, and I walked toward the orchard, when I saw the figure of the ghostly woman cross the orchard, go along the carriage drive in front of the house, and in at the open side door, across the hall, and into the drawing room, I following. She crossed the drawing room and took up her unusual position behind the couch in the bow window. Daisy came in soon after, and I told her the ghost was there. Daisy could not see the figure, but went up to where I showed her the ghost was. She then went swiftly round behind Daisy, across the room, out of the door, and along the hall disappearing as usual near the garden door, we both following her. We looked out into the garden, having first to unlock the garden door, which my niece Daisy had locked as she same though, but we saw nothing of her. After a time, I seemed to hear the stairs and corridors creak at intervals as if with footsteps, and wondered what was going on. There were no voices, however, and it struck me that there was something subtly furtive about the creaking. I did not like it, and debated whether I had better try to sleep at all. Some of my servants were queer people and there had undoubtedly been several disappearances. After a long, dreary interval, and prefaced by a fresh creaking of stairs and corridor, there came that soft, unmistakable sound which seemed like a malign fulfillment of all my apprehensions. Without the least shadow of a doubt, the lock on my hall door was being tried—cautiously, furtively, tentatively—with a key. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

My sensations upon recognizing this sign of actual peril were perhaps less rather than more tumultuous because of my previous vague fears. I had been, albeit without definite reason, instinctively on my guard—and that was to my advantage in the menace from vague premonition to immediate reality was a profound shock, and fell upon me with the force of a genuine blow. It never once occurred to me that the fumbling might be a mere mistake. Malign purpose was all I could think of, and I kept deathly quiet, awaiting the would-be intruder’s next move. After a time the cautious rattling ceased, and I hard the room to the north entered with a pass-key. Then the lock of the connecting door to my room was softly tried. The bolt held, of course, and I heard the floor creak as the prowler left the room. After a moment there came another soft rattling, and I knew that the room to the south of me was being entered. Again a furtive trying of a bolted connecting door, and again a receding creaking. This time the creaking went along the hall and down the stairs, so I knew that the prowler had realized the bolted condition of my doors and was giving up his attempt for a greater or lesser time, as the future would shew. Clearly, some cryptic, evil movement was afoot on a large scale—just what, I could not say. As I stood pondering with my hand on the now useless switch I heard a muffled creaking on the floor below, and thought I could barely distinguish voices in conversation. A moment later I felt less sure that the deeper sounds were voices, since the apparent hoarse barkings and loose-syllabled croakings bore so little resemblance to recognized human speech. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

I could not, I decided, rish an emergence into the corridor; where my footsteps would surely be heard, and where the difficulties of entering the desired room would be insuperable. My progress, if it was to be made at all, would have to be though the less solidly built connecting doors of the rooms. In the passage outside, I saw the figure of a woman, apparently a servant, with grey hair and a white cap, the upper part of her dress being blue and the shift dark. Her arms were stretched out at full length and the hands were clasped. This figure moved with a very slow, furtive, gliding motion, as if wishing to escape notice, straight towards the head of the old staircase, which lead to the ceiling. On reaching it, she disappeared. In the full light of the archway down stairs, I saw the figure of a lady, with dark hair and dress, apparently lost in painful thought and oblivious to everything about her. Her dress was fuller than is the modern fashion and the figure, although opaque, cast no shadow. It moved with a curious gliding motion into the darkness and melted away at the spot within a yard of the place where a doorway, now walled up, led from a staircase to the hall. I saw these figures with such distinctness that I had no doubt at all I was looking at a real person, while, at the same time, although seated in a well-lighted room and chatting with friends, I was conscious of an uneasy, creepy feeling. I tried to see the features, but could not. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7

The Winchester Mystery House

Nineteenth-century America was perhaps the golden age of the ghost. It may have ceased to have any message or any advice for the living, but it was everywhere. The yearnings associated with the Romantic movement of English poetry found fruition in the spectacle of the melancholy ghost. There was much popular interest in spirit-rappings and in spirit-tappings. The fashion for mesmerism, in the middle of the century, provoked belief in some form of a plasma or magnetic fluid that might harbour the forms of spirits. Technological progress also seemed to affirm the existence of spectral bodies, with the appearance of photograph intending to reveal the ghostly occupants of rooms and chairs. The Society for Psychical Research, founded in 1882, lent seriousness and credibility to the quest for spirits. A questionnaire sent out by the society in 1894 revealed that out of seventeen thousand people, 673 claimed that they had seen a ghost in one form or another. It is perhaps curious, however, that the majority of them did not know the identity of the spirit in question. The manifestation appeared arbitrary and purposeless. It is also worth observing that many apparent “sightings” of ghost have been discredited, and that many photographs of spirits are the obvious products of fakery. In the field of ghost-hunting there are many frauds and charlatan, intent of producing a sensation rather than a verifiable record.  

For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase.  https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/

Up to the present day there is much gossip about in Santa Clara Valley about a certain hidden treasure of Llanada Villa, for which my servants have often made search, though hitherto in vain. The story is that I, while yet in the vigour of life, concealed a very large quantity of gold, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, diamonds, and silver somewhere in the mansion. I was often asked where it was, and never disclosed their location. I also adorned much of the mansion with art-glass windows and beautiful carvings in marble. The object which the antiquary had before them was of tracing the whereabouts of my Medieval stained-glass windows of Llanada Villa. Shortly after the German Peasants’ War in 1525, a very large quantity of painted glass made it way from the dissolved abbeys of Germany and Belgium to the Winchester family, which I inherited after marrying William, and may now been seen adorning various rooms in the mansion. One of the main contributors was Cennino Cennini. However, once of my favourite pieces was a panel showing a King from a Tree of Jesse window. The work of art was created circa 1210. Another priceless antiquity I loved dearly was the 36-foot-tall stained-glass window, depicting 36 scenes from the same century, which tells the legend of the Antichrist. These clerestory windows made my home look like some capacious church. At intervals, I had been haunted by the recollection of the gossip about the hidden treasure, but the secret was to be found somewhere in the enigmatical windows of my home. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

One fine autumn morning, I had strolled out before breakfast, as far as the gate of my carriage-drive. The path was a little less than a quarter mile from the front door. All civilization is marked by the touch of the arts. The Victorian Garden not only keeps the blood in a healthy glow, and the brain active in its knowledge, but it also expresses a level of artistic ability. My picturesque garden was ablaze with roses, delphiniums, and hollyhocks. It sparked divinity within me, imagination, and harmony. The well-cut lawn, many fine trees, a shady background, and walks, shrubs, and flowers, were the perfect embellishments and finishing touches to the picture of Llanada Villa. Only the finishing touches—but what a charm of added expression and beauty there is in these perfecting strokes! A verdant gate-way arch frames the common walk into a picture view; the long opening of the lawn gives playroom for the sunlight to smile and hide among the shadows of bordering boxwood shrubs and trees; it is amazing how an opening here, in the shrubs, reveals a pretty vista of another angle of the mansion; a flowerbed there, brightens the lawn like a smile on the face of a beauty; a swing suspended from the strong, outstretched arm of the noble tree attracts the children, whose ever-changing groups engage the eye and interests the heart; a delicate foliaged tree, planted on yonder, glows with the light of the afternoon sun, with an airy undulation trembling against the twilight sky, till it seems neither of the Earth or the sky, but a spirit of life wavering between Earth and Heaven! The Decorative Planting of Llanada Villa is the art of picture making and picture framing, by varied forms of vegetation growth. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

However, there was something peculiar about this day. The air was cool. The leaves of the giant monkey pine tree above me were not rustling as they usually do. Everything was still. Even the birds were quiet. A low thunder came from the west, warning of an autumn storm. I turned my head and looked up and studied my house as it towered over me. This house is more than just bricks and mortar and wood. It has a soul. Years of secrets are hidden within its walls. What would they be, if the house could tell me, if I could hear the words? There was also a gigantic barn and a carriage house and stables and pastures and orchards and, of course, this Grand Queen Anne Victorian Mansion. As I wandered through the rooms this day, looking at the ceilings and out the tall windows, and into the funny little cabinet that were built into the walls that is when I saw an apparition. I had gone up to my room, but was not yet in bed, when I heard someone at the door, and went to it, thinking that it might be the chambermaid. On opening the door, I saw no one; but on going a few steps along the passage, I saw the figure of a tall lady, dressed in black, standing at the head of the stairs. After a few moments she descended the stairs, and I followed her for a short distance, feeling curious about what it could be. I had only a small piece of candle, and it suddenly burnt itself out; and, being unable to see more, I went back to my room. The figure was that of a tall lady, dressed in black of a soft woollen material, judging from the slight sound in moving. The face was hidden by a handkerchief held in the right hand. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

This is all I noticed then; but on further occasion, when I was able to observe her more closely, I saw the upper part of the left side of the forehead, and a little of the hair above. Her left hand was nearly hidden by her sleeve and a fold of her dress. As she held it down a portion of a widow’s cuff was visible on both writs, so that the whole impression was that of a lady in a widow’s weeds. There was no cap on the head but a general effect of blackness suggested a bonnet, with a long veil or hood. She is seldom seen but the rustle of her dress is often heard by servants as she crosses several of the living rooms, apparently searching for her errant husband who seduced and ran off with his wife’s younger sister in the late 1880s, leaving Agnus and her baby girl to seek refuge and employment in my home before disappearing. It is suspected she and her daughter died of poisoning. My silver used to be stored one of the rooms she is seen, and a footman was employed to sleep here and guard it. One night, when the footman had turned in to sleep, he was approached by a very pale-looking lady in black who asked him for some water. Thinking it was one of the mansion guests, he turned to get her some when he remembered he was locked in and no visitor could have possibly entered. When he turned back, the apparition had disappeared. It is thought her longing for water suggest that he was poisoned. During the next two years—from 1888 to 1890—I aw the figure; at first at long intervals, and afterwards at shorter, but I only mentioned these appearances to one friend, who did not speak of them to anyone. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

During this period, as far as we know, there were only three appearances to anyone else. The first, in the summer of 1890, was to my niece Daisy, when the figure was thought to be a housemaid who had called at the house, and no further curiosity was aroused. My niece was coming down the stairs rather late for dinner at 6.30 pm, it then being quite light, when she saw the figure cross the hall in front of her. The apparition said, “You don’t think anything happened to her, do you?” Then she passed into the drawing room. Diasy then asked the rest of us, already seated at dinner, “Who was that chambermaid, whom I just saw going into the drawing room, looking for?” She was told that there was no such person, and a servant was sent to look; but the drawing room was empty, and she was sure no one had come in. Daisy persisted that she had seen a talk figure in black, with some white about it; but nothing was thought of the matter. The second appearance, in the autumn of 1890, was seen by the housemaid about 10 p.m., she declaring that someone had got into the house, her description agreeing fairly with what I had seen; but as on searching no one was found, her story received no credit. On or about December 15, 1890, it was seen in the drawing room by Mr. Hansen and his son. They were playing outside the terrace when they saw the figure in the drawing room close to the window, and ran in to see who it could be that was crying so bitterly. They found no one in the drawing room, and the parlour-maid told them that no one had come into the house. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

There was a dark connection with hidden forces of evil. Certain spots in my home were almost forbidden territory, as many have learned at considerable cost. There were also hints of certain marvellous transformations leading to bodily immortality—of a sort—on this Earth. The halls of the east wind were reputedly connected by hidden tunnel, being thus a veritable warren of unseen abnormalities. The room I entered was darkened against the afternoon sun, an errant breeze scampered through the lounge and was gone. I waited, alert, a grim, sad curve to my lips. There was a soft tread in the dining room, the whisper of cloth against cloth, the quiet squeak of a floorboard. The morning room, at an oblique angle to the foyer and separated from the lobby by an arc, was not touched by a single light that glowed from the front door, and the soft footfalls turned to the morning room from the dining room, seeking the haven of darkness. When the steps were halfway across the room, I snapped on the light. It was soft, dispelling little of the night around it, but to the black-cloaked figure revealed on the edge of its luminescence, it glowed bright as the heart of a star. The first time I spoke to this apparition was on 27 January 1891. I opened the drawing-room door softly and went in, standing just by it. She came in past me and walked to the sofa and stood still there, so I went up to her an asked if I could help her. She moved, and I thought she was going to speak, but she only gave a slight gasp and moved towards the door. Jut by the door I spoke to her again, but she seemed as if she were quite unable to speak. She walked into the hall, then by the side door she seemed to disappear as before. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

During the next few days, the only noises I heard were those of slight pushes against my bedroom door, accompanied by footsteps; and if I looked out on hearing these sounds, I invariably saw the figure. Her footstep was very light, you could hardly hear it, except on the wood floors, and then only like a person walking softly with thin boots on. One evening, I went into the drawing room where Diasy was sitting, about nine in the evening, and sat down on a couch close to the bow window. A few minutes later, as I sat reading, I saw the figure come in at the open door, cross the room and take up a position closed behind the couch where I was. I was astonished that no one else in the room saw her, as she was so very distinct to me. She stood behind the couch for about half an hour, and then as usual walked to the door. I went after her, on the excuse of getting a book, and saw her pass along the hall, until she came to the garden door, where she disappeared. I spoke to her as she passed the front of the stairs, but she did not answer, although as before she stopped and seemed as though about to speak. Furtiveness and secretiveness seemed universal in my hushed mansion, and I could not escape the sensation of being watched from ambush on every hand by sly staring eyes that never shut. I shivered as the cracked stroke of the thirteen o’clock sounded from the belfry. The uncertain hall now before me was known to me haunted, but I took the risk and walked down the south hall where traces of life reappeared. Furtive, shambling creatures stared cryptically in my direction, and more normal ghostly faces eyed me closely and curiously. And the shadows were so hideous and incredible. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7

The Winchester Mystery House

The doctrines of Victorian Times promulgated with the notions of purgatory and its purging fires. However, if there is no such place, then ghost could hardly claim it as their home. That is why there is a strong tendency, among orthodox church people, to dispense with ghost altogether or to treat them as manifestations of the devil alone. Yet they cannot be banished from the Earth. Ghosts are effective in detecting the murderer, in disposing their estates, in rebuking injurious executors, in visiting and counselling wives and children, in forewarning them of such and such courses, with other matters of like sort. The late seventeenth and early eighteen centuries were the periods in which pamphlet were issues revealing the latest ghostly manifestation; they were generally entitled “Strange and Extraordinary News From…” and their content was attested by numerous witnesses. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase.  https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/

In the late 19^th century, the Santa Clara Valley presented sweeping vistas of rural open space. It was a serene setting for me to begin my building project, which I did with steadfast determination. I purchased an eighteen-room farm house, immediately hired carpenters to work in shifts around the clock, and within a few short years my farmhouse grew into a nine-story mansion! The estate eventually grew to 734 acres of farmland, which included orchards of apricots, plums, and walnut trees to supplement my income. I was at first happy in my residence, but soon became alarmed by the frequent opening and shutting of doors during the day and night. The house also seemed to echo a cry when it was sad or injured. However, usually by the next day, damages to the house would remarkable be repaired. I feared that there were “irregularities” on part of the servants, but having made the strictest enquiries I was disabused of that notion. Fearing that a stranger had obtained the keys of those house, I arranged for the key to the massive front door that was made of solid gold and the keys for the other 2,000 doors to be changed. However, the noise of closing, or slamming, door continued as before. There were other unusual events. I saw quite clearly for a moment a vision of a wide, dark expanse at night, with a fresh wind blowing, and in the midst lonely figure—how employed, I could not tell. Perhaps I would have seen more had not the picture been broken by the sudden surge of a gust of wind against my casement, so sudden that it made me look up, just in time to see the white glint of a seabird’s wing somewhere outside the dark panes. #RandolphHarris 1 of 6

“But what is this? Goodness! what force the wind can get up in a few minutes! What a tremendous gust! There! I knew that window-fastening was no use! Ah! I thought so—both candles out. It was enough to tear the room to pieces.” The first thing was to get that window shut. I was struggling with the small casement, and felt almost as if I were pushing back a sturdy burglar, so strong was the pressure. It slacked all at once, and the window banged to and latched itself. Now to relight the candles and see what damage, if any, had been done. No, nothing seemed amiss; no glass even was broken in the casement. The wind went on moaning and rushing past the house, at times rising to a cry so desolate that it might have made fanciful people feel quite uncomfortable; even the unimaginative, I thought after a quarter of an hour, might be happier without it. The light was obscure, conveying an impression of gathering storm, late winter evening, and slight cold rain. On this bleak stage at first no actor was visible. Then, in the distance, two guests reported seeing a bobbing black object appear; a moment more, and it was a man running and jumping, clambering over the floor, and every few seconds looking eagerly back. The nearer he came the more obvious it was that he was not only anxious, but even terribly frightened, though his face was not to be distinguished. He was, moreover, almost at the end of his strength. On he came; each successive obstacle seemed to cause him more difficulty than the last. “Will he get over this next one?” said one of the guests; “it seems a little higher than the others.” #RandolphHarris 2 of 6

Yes; half climbing, half throwing himself, he did get over, and fell all in a heap on the other side (the side nearest to the spectators). There, as if really unable to get up again, he remained crouching under the t, table looking up in an attitude of painful anxiety. So far no cause whatever for the fear of the runner had been shown; but now there began to be see, in the hall, a little flicker of something light-coloured moving to and fro with great swiftness and irregularity. Rapidly growing larger, it, too, declared itself as a figure in a “snuff-coloured” coat; the figure had been glimpsed both inside and outside the house. In addition, the servants, assembled in the kitchen for a mean, observed a woman in a dark dress of silk rushing past them and going out into the yard. A handyman, coming through the door at the same time, had seen nothing. However, there was something about her motion which made the servants unwilling to see her close quarters. She would stop, raise arms, bow herself toward the floor, the float across the room and back again; and then, rising toward the ceiling, once more continue her course forward at a speed that was startling and terrifying. The moment came when the woman was hovering about from left to right only a few yards beyond the floor where the runner lay hiding. After two or three ineffectual castings hither and thither she came to a stop, stood on the floor, with arms raised high, and then started straight towards the ceiling. As the candles blew out, the servants went to relight them. #RandolphHarris 3 of 6

The scrapping of match on the box and the glare of light must have startled something of the night. The guests and servants her claws scurry across the floor from with much rustling. When I tried to question them, they had a kind of obscure suspiciousness, as if there were something amiss with anyone too much interested in the specters. However, they hinted to me an undercurrent of persistent strangeness. Something about them seemed so odd and provocative that I could not put them out of my mind, and despite the relative lateness of the hour, I resolved to gather a brief explanation of the night’s disturbances. The descriptions of the events all hinted of remote secrets and unimaginable abysses in Llanada Villa. I, then, knew that the rumours of devil-worship where partly justified by a peculiar secret cult which had gained force here and engulfed the servants and several of the orthodox churches. Waldemar Eberling, the cook, was numb, unable to walk or even talk. Everything that happened around him was impossible, the stuff of nightmares. The guests and other servants looked like Musselmanner, the walking dead. For days, they shuffled around, already dead in spirit, until they starved themselves to death. I lived with the pain. I imagined that a tiny fire was burning in my abdomen, slowly consuming me. I stared at the paining of a wheat field. Although the sky looked ominously dark, the wheat was brightly rendered in great broad strokes. A path cut through the fields and crows flew overheard. “I like Van Gogh,” I thought to myself, as I tried to detect a rhythm in the surges of abdominal pain. #RandolphHarris 4 of 6

I liked the painting because it was so bright that it was almost frightening. And the road going through the field did not go anywhere. It ends in the field. And the crows are flying around like vultures. This painting, Wheatfields with Blackbirds was metaphorical. It held a special meaning for me. It is thirteen o’ clock and the mansion is death quiet. The sharp shadows seem to the hardest objects in the room. The gasoliers burn steadily in the hall outside. I looked out into the hallway, but I could only see the far green wall. Across the hall, someone begins to scream, and there is a shuffle of servants. The screaming turns into begging and whining. The parlormaid finally comes into the drawing room, says, “Mrs. Winchester, would you like a cup of tea?” “Why does the man across the hall scream so?” I ask, but the parlormaid is already edging out of the room. “It’s just the wind, Mrs. Winchester.” The incessant whining disgusted me. However, the screams of the “wind” recede as I hurtle through the dark corridors of my labyrinth. The huge mansion is cold and dark. Suddenly, I see two entrances before me. As the World melts behind me, I step into the coal-black doorway. In the darkness I hear an alarm, a bone-jarring clangour. A shadow crossed the moon. I reflected upon how so many people said my home was “interesting.” Shaking my head. I recalled how interesting is often another word for dangerous. There is an old Chinese curse to that effect. I stopped walking when I felt something nudge at my shoulder. I glared, but there was nothing there. “You do not know what it is like,” I said to myself darkly. #RandolphHarris 5 of 6

While laying in the Crystal Bedroom, I plainly heard the footsteps of a man, with plodding step, walking towards the foot of my bed. I sprang out of the bed, thoroughly alarmed by the sound, and took refuge in the Daisy Bedroom; I returned to the Crystal Bedroom with a chambermaid, and a light, but nothing could be seen. The sound of plodding footsteps was subsequently heard in my room on more than one occasion; my maid’s room was similarly affected. Another abnormal sound also seemed to emanate from within the house. A hollow murmuring that seemed to possess the whole house; it was independent of wind, being equally heard on the calmest night. On a subsequent nigh I heard the front door being slammed with such a force that the walls of my bedroom—above the hall—shook perceptibly. On investigation, the front door was locked and bolted as usual. The unusual episodes increased in strength and frequency. The sounds began before I went to bed, and with intermissions were heard till after broad day in the morning. The noise now included that of human voices. A shrill female voice would begin, and then two others with deeper and manlike tones seemed to join in the discourse. I was laying on the bed one night, when I heard the most loud, deep, tremendous noise, which seemed to rush and fall with infinite velocity on the lobby floor. This was followed by a shrill and dreadful shriek and repeated three or four times. Still, I harboured doubts about any supernatural agency. For several nights the servants stayed up nights with their revolvers. They stationed themselves in different rooms, and waited. The noises, of shrieks and footsteps, began as before. Both men rushed out of their rooms, pistols at the ready, but nothing was visible. #RandolphHarris 6 of 6

The Winchester Mystery House

Llanada Villa is a haunted mansion which is over 140 years old. Ghost here may be seen as a bridge of light between the past and the present, or between the living and the dead. They represent continuity, albeit of a spectral kind. These ghosts are uncanny. They move through walls, and cannot be touched by sword or spear. These ghosts in Llanada Villa are deemed to be the souls immured in purgatory, pleading for prayers to absolve them from punishment, or to protect the mansion. Some of these ghosts are the spirit of saints sent from God with news of a paradise. They can, in certain circumstances, be the machinations of the Devil. Devils many times appeare to humans and affright them out of their wits sometimes walking at noon day, sometimes at nights, counterfeiting dead men’s ghost. In any event, whatever their origin, they are part of the machinery of theology and of the supernatural; they are emanations from the eternal World of bliss and pain beyond the grave. They are an integral part of the communion of the living and the dead that The Winchester Mystery House represents.

For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase.  https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/

It is truth that there are evil influences from the other World at work on the people in this World. Witchcraft is not easy to define, because it is not, like the major formal religions, a coherent body of belief. However, in Western civilization since prehistoric times there has been a loosely grouped body of magical lore—charms, spells, and so forth—having to do primarily with fertility and infertility, and with health and sickness, as well as a series of more marginal concerns, including foretelling of the future. Early Christians thought of the Devil as the most abominable of all pagan deities; they have him his attributes, his horns, and cloven hooves. That the Devil is an extraordinarily powerful god cannot be doubted. One night, I was sitting in the kitchen, my housemaid Erna, reveled that I was in the clutches of an evil force, and was being shadowed by it in the form of a person. That very night, Erna said, this evil character could not sleep, and would come around my mansion. Two male servants went outside to have a look. There was indeed someone there, who quickly took off Georg said later. The first degree of witchcraft is white magic—charms or spells used for benevolent purposes. Carrying a rabbit’s foot is white magic. Black magic is the second degree of witchcraft. It is used maliciously—and in the seventeenth century black magic was very serious indeed; it was an appeal to the Prince of Evil in order to accomplish evil. The third degree is pact, where the witch is no longer merely invoking the Devil’s assistants through charms and spells, but actually believes one has made a contract to serve him. #RandolphHarris 1 of 8

The following day, I sat in a daze all the afternoon pondering recent events. The papers at my desk formed terrible conjectures. I neither could doubt that something hideously serious was closing in around me. Between the phantasms of nightmares and the realities of the objective World a monstrous and unthinkable dimension was roaring in the twilight abysses. I held back conspicuously from discussing the whole affair, as though I was afflicted by a certain fear. I was well aware that there were evil people who conspired to make their neighbours ill or keep them from getting well. These people were those whose wickedness marked them as “slaves to Satan.” Beliefs that neighbours might secretly conspire to do harm to other neighbour’s (or to those neighbours’ families or farms or livestock) could be found in the valley during these times. Witch beliefs have existed and do exist in many parts of the World, they can take quite different forms, and they often erupt in response to abrupt social change and unrest. What link them is their relationship to matter of intimacy and mistrust. Witchcraft conjures up the danger of treacherous attacks from close by and it warns that seeds of destruction are hidden inside human relationships. They prevail in situations where dramatic change has caused the familiar suddenly to appear strange, and even ordinary occurrences—illness, bad luck, accidents, injuries—to gain graver meaning. A death or injury, coming on the heels of other setback, can be perceived as having been not merely accidental but orchestrated by someone, or a conspiracy of someone’s, in secret, behind the scenes. To be sure, even in times of heightened calamity, not every misfortune will be perceived as resulting from witchcraft. #RandolphHarris 2 of 8

However, widespread mistrust may make it more likely. It seemed that someone in my home has been meeting with subterraneous demons, which fueled these attacks. Although, sometimes witchcraft fears can be seen as a cultural idiom of interpersonal and communal conflict, a way of seeing the World and interpreting what happens in it, a search for causes behind causes. Who caused my child to become ill and die? Who is responsible for the death of my husband? Who is responsible for my hogs dying, my cows not giving milk? Accusations of witchcraft are a language of logic for the misfortune cannot be otherwise clarified. While wondering through my mansion, I notice a rectangle of blinding white light. It looked like a doorway into an adjoining World of brightness. I have glimpsed it before. We should remember also that the seventeenth century firmly believed in a dualistic Universe: in a material or visible World, and a spiritual or invisible World. The screaming white abysses flashed before me, and I felt helpless. There was an acceleration of the vague tonal pattern which seemed to foreshadow some unutterable and unendurable climax. However, all this vanished withing seconds. I was again in my library, with cases of ancient books. I heard sounds of something veritably inhuman, and rushed to turn on the lights. On the sofa was a man who had been racked by some torment beyond description. He was withering under the bedclothes, and a great red stain was beginning to appear on the pillows. I scarcely dared to touch him, but gradually the screaming and writhing subsided. I started screaming when a large ghoul suddenly jumped out from beneath the ensanguined bedclothes and fluttered across the room, through the wall. #RandolphHarris 3 of 8

When doctors arrived and began to pull down those frightful covers, we discovered one of my carpenters Peter Geschiere was dead. It would be barbarous to do more than suggest what had milled Mr. Geschiere. There was virtually a tunnel through his body—something had eaten his heart out. Besides his death, the worst thing for a while, was that the housemaids were constantly whining and muttering about spectral and terrible things. In my time I had seen soldiers lay dying on the field, fire falling from the sky, and many crushed people. God tests people, to see if evil drags them down or if they are steadfast. God and the Devil are personified beings, dueling cosmic personalities. The Devil can come in through a keyhole. I can see when someone is evil. They are uneasy, and got up to mischief. Whole families, entire villages can be evil; evil people make up a kind of army of the Devil on Earth. Though, we could have Heaven on Earth if we all could just have compassion. However, I am sure if Jesus as the Christ were to come back, people would just crucify him again. In our century and in a country at our cultural standards, a person might appear suggesting that health and wellbeing, sickness and death, accidents and catastrophes occur not in accordance with natural laws but re instead determined by demonic, irrational forces, whose bearers are people in the service of the Devil. Still, often times, there is no evidence of any real mental illness in the sense of a psychosis nor is there any organic illness of the central nervous system. In many of these people who have been bewitched, the doctors have found no evidence of brain trauma or any mental damage, or any change in personality resulting from injury. #RandolphHarris 4 of 8

It is not without great vexation that very many persons of both sexes have committed abuses with demons, they have no fear of using their incantations, chants and conjurations and other unspeakable superstitions and acts of sorcery, as well as excesses, crimes and misdeeds to afflict and tore my soul. Workmen found bones—badly crushed and splintered, but clearly recognizable as human in a room that had been sealed from all human access. Careful sifting of the debris also uncovered the mingled fragments of many ancient books from my private library and papers. All, without exception, appeared to deal with black magic in its most advanced and horrible forms. An even greater mystery is the absolute homogeneity of archaic writing found on a wide range of papers whose conditions and watermarks suggest they date back to ancient Egypt. Though, the greatest mystery of all is the variety of utterly inexplicable objects—objects whose shapes, materials, types of workmanship, and purpose baffle all conjecture—found scattered about the room in diverse states of injury. One of these things—which greatly excited me profoundly—is a thin sheet of lead with text scratched on it in tiny letters. The tablet had a curse written on it from the Greco-Roman World. When other walls were torn out, the once sealed spaces between the partition and the house’s east wall were found to contain a ghastly layer of older materials which paralyzed the carpenters with horror. The floor was a veritable ossuary of the bones of small children—some fairly modern, but others extending back in infinite gradations to a period so remote that crumbling was almost complete. On this deep bony layer rested a knife of great size, obvious antiquity, and grotesque, ornate, and exotic design—above which the debris as piled. #RandolphHarris 5 of 8

People around the estate and nearby muttered a great deal among themselves, but said very little to the outer World. Many things had taught them secretiveness, and there was now no need to exert pressure on them. I have been willing enough to stay mute while the affair was fresh and uncertain, even thought I have an odd craving to whisper about those frightful details of Llanada Villa, after the evilly shadowed death and blasphemous abnormality. The mere telling helps me to restore confidence in my own faculties; to reassure myself that I was not simply the first to succumb to a contagious nightmare hallucination. As bleak and solemn as it is one of the farmers Egon Schmidt often worked at night. He believed that in the third quarter there is decreased gravitational pull and moonlight, and this is considered a resting period for planets. As a result, Mr. Schmidt used the night to fertilize, deeply water, prude, and harvest crops. However, he would often catch renegades and often times would execute them. It is rumoured that Mr. Schmidt, was a very skilled farmer, but as an executioner, he was inexperienced and that it once took him thirteen blows to sever a head with an axe. The ghost of one of his victims now haunts Llanada Villa, carrying his mutilated head. Every since the room was excavated, the ghost has been seen carrying his mangled head under his arm, his face bearing the pain and horror he suffered when the executioner delivered the final blow that took his life. As well, the ghost of a woman has also been reported drifting across the mansion’s grounds. #RandolphHarris 6 of 8

According to Mr. Schmidt, this all started when he took a last look before starting homeward. A faint yellow light in the west showed the links, on which a few figures moving toward the mansion were visible, near the miniature Tower of Babel, the lights of the barn, and the fruit orchards. The wind was bitter from the north. One last look behind, to showed him the prospect of company converging on his walk. There was an appearance of them running after him. So, at least, Mr. Schmidt thought, and decided that he almost certainly did not know them and was in danger. In his own words, “Now I saw some very foul fiends coming over the field to meet me. What should I do not?” he thought, “when I looked back, I caught sight of three black figures, and saw that they had horns and wing. I wondered whether I should stand or run for it.” He decided to take a stand. However, it was with some considerable curiosity that he entombed them in my home. Mr. Schmidt had also been driving bargains with the devil and brining imps out of hell to help him with his farming, or had been involved in some Devil worship and awful sacrifices. In fact, a whole legion of devils is seen sometimes at night in the field—sprawled about, or darting in and out of my mansion. But there was talk of his dealing with daemons. It seems he got a queer crowd within these halls, for I have heard voices in other rooms—though most of them are empty—that gave me the shivers. It was foreign talk, but the voice sounded so unnatural—that I did not dare undress and go to sleep. Just waited up until the morning. The talk would usually go on all night. People are always seeking someone stranger than they are, so that they do not have to deal with their own fears or weaknesses. For several days afterward, I wandered about listlessly, oblivious to the stars and whispers that followed me.  #RandolphHarris 7 of 8

I conjure thee, O Guland, in the name of Satan, in the name of Beelzebuth, in the name of Astaroth, and in the name of other Spirits, to make haste and appear before me. Come, then in the name of Satan and in the names of all other demons. Come to me, I command thee, in the name of the Most Holy Trinity. Come without inflicting any harm upon me, without injury to my body or soul, without maltreating my books, or anything which I use. I command thee to appear without delay, or, that failing, to send me forthwith another Spirit having the same power as thou hast, who shall accomplish my commands and be submitted to my will, wanting which, he whom thou shalt send me, if needed thou comest not thyself, shall in no wise depart, nor until he hath in all things fulfilled my desire. I command you, O all ye demons dwelling in these parts, or in what part of the World soever ye may be, by whatsoever power may have been given you by God and our holy Angels over this place, and by the powerful Principality of the infernal abysses, as also by all your brethren, both general and special demons, whether dwelling in the East, West, South, or North, or in any side of the Earth, and, in like manner, by the power of God the Father, by the wisdom of God the Son, by the virtue of the Holy Ghost, any by the authority I derive from our Saviour Jesus Christ, the only Son of the Almighty and the Creator, who made us and all creatures from nothing, who also ordains that you do hereby abdicate all power to guard, habit, and abide in this place; by whom further I constrain and command you, nolens volens, without guile or deception, to open a gateway and act within this World according to my will and purpose! #RandolphHarris 8 of 8

The Winchester Mystery House

If they really want to, it is proverbial that anyone can talk to the dead. The difficult part is getting the dead to talk back. Accomplishing that requires specialist skills, or the assistance of someone who has them—someone who can reach through the veil between the living and the dead, and draw the spirits of the departed back to this World. That someone is a necromancer. Necromancy was once a common form of divination in the ancient World, and if done the right way, by the right people, it was not particularly disreputable. Talking to the dead is not easy and even “respectable” rites become more difficult as the deceased becomes more distant in space and time; necromancy is easiest when the corpse is freshly dead and right in front of the practitioner. From the Greek and Roman point of view, being dead is actually the default condition of humanity. The spirits of the dead are worth talking to because they exist outside of time; to them, the future is as clear as the past, making spirits a useful contact for those seeking to know how their own lives on Earth will turn out. Humans, essentially, are like the gods—immortal and indestructible. The body might die (and it frequently does), but the spirit it contains cannot be destroyed. At any given time, most of the human race dwells among the shadows of the Underworld.

For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase.  https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/

My life had become a tale of dark powers and secret treachery. My youth, beauty, and social station all stood at the brink of unimaginable riches. As my husband and I would enter the church, I would scan the room. Zaiss and Renee were always on the edges of their seats, excitement and greed dancing in their eyes. Ruth usually looked hot and bored, and was disappointed when Victoria would show up without Dieter. Aunt Marriam typically had a frown on her face, her mouth puckered with concern. Service was my favourite, but I could not stand the sickly-sweet lemonade which seared by throat. Church service was always followed with it, along with lukewarm tomato soup, and caviar. However, only at the deaths of my infant daughter and untimely death of my husband did I learn the price for this fortune. Ghostly manifestations have been taking place at Llanada Villa ever since I started expansion. Strange phantoms moved in disturbing fashions through the mansion. These ghosts took the form of a peculiar sound and sensation. Many people had heard the swish of a silken gown as the ghosts approached. However, I freely owned that I did not like careless talk about what some call ghost. A woman in my position could not, I found, be too careful about appearing to sanction the current beliefs on such subjects. Of course, my ears were frequently ringing horribly, as if with the residual echoes of some horrible noise heard in dreams. The halls were often haunted by vast leaping shadows, of a monstrous, half-acoustic pulsing, and of the thin, monotonous piping of an unseen flute—and that was not all. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

There had been soft talking too—these voices were almost an inaudible whisper. They welled up from the floor, while no one appeared to be stirring about. I could not imagine what had set these supernatural creatures gossiping, but supposed their imaginations had been roused by the elaborate construction. I heard sounds in the halls and on the stairs at night. The cults to which many of the witches belonged to in Santa Clara Valley possessed guarded and handed down surprising secrets from elder, forgotten aeons; and it was by no means impossible that they had actually mastered the art of passing through dimensional gates. Tradition emphasizes the uselessness of material barriers in halting a witch’s motions. I was determined to gain similar powers for the picturesque possibilities were enormous. Time could not exist in certain belt of space, and by entering and remaining in such a belt one might preserve one’s life and age indefinitely; never suffering organic metabolism or deterioration except for slight amounts incurred during visits to one’s own or similar planes. One might, for example, pas into a timeless dimension and emerge at some remote period of the Earth’s history as young as before. One evening, I was out of the dinning room and halfway across the lobby when an inconspicuous door on the mezzanine opened and a familiar voice called my name. I looked up swiftly, and turned toward the stairs that led to the mezzanine. The door opened onto one of my smaller libraries, which was comfortably furnished in dark-stained wood and substantial Victorian chairs upholstered in leather. There was one person in the room at the moment, and he smiled as I closed the door. When he spoke, it was not in English. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

He propped his elbows on the arms of the chair and linked his fingers under his chin. His hands were beautifully shaped and surprisingly small for a carpenter. “There is part of the trail to the fruit orchard that is going to need reinforcement before winter or we will have a big wash-out,” I said. He nodded, and went right out to fix it. There was an elegance about him that had little to do with his black clothing. I was noticeably pale the next day as I sat by the fire in my tunic with ruffled neck and hem. I gave a wan smile to the housemaid. “Good morning,” Abagail called as she saw me. “I thought you were still asleep.” “No,” I said hastily. “I have not had much rest. So I decided to get up and do some reading.” “Very well, Mrs. Winchester,” she said. “Will there be anything else for you?” “That will be all,” I said in a politely gelid tone. I stood at the bedroom window looking outside while the sounds of footsteps and trunks being dragged across the floor above came to me. It was still pitch-black outside, without the slightest illumination spilling outside from my room. Quite suddenly I felt vulnerable in the most dreadful way as if dissolution was imminent. Layers of ice formed within me; my teeth began to chatter. The gasolier flickered. My mind became totally possessed with the transient nature of life and the certainty of the grave’s final cold embrace. I was utterly lost, drained of every scrap of hope, afraid for my very soul’s existence. A vision of Annie lying downstairs flashed before my mind. The fear of the light going out and leaving me in total darkness up here suddenly overwhelmed me. A tiny, isolated bit of me listened amazedly to someone whimper—myself—before I turned and fled the icy chamber, padded as fast as I could to the head of the narrow flight of stairs and descended, to hasten in mindless terror back to my chamber. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

With no hope of achieving sleep, I tried to relax to control the endless cycling constructs of my overwrought imagination, to wait out the last long hours of darkness. Gradually warm came to me again and I fell into an exhausted, disturbed sleep just before the first gray light of dawn began to filter through the beautiful windows in the Daisy Bedroom. The sound of knocking alerted me. I tried to place the source of the noise. I felt my mind tinged with that vague sense of anxiety so often associated with the brain’s return to consciousness after an unpleasant dream. The knocking was repeated. My oversensitive ears caught a hideous strangled cry. I opened the door and walked down the staircase; halting only when seized and chocked by the waiting shadow. Growing fright and bewilderment overcame me. On the floor were confused, tiny, muddy prints, but oddly enough they did not extend from the door. The more I looked at them, the more peculiar they seemed. I could form no idea of what happened. Where the crying child could be, or where it came from. When I looked in the mirror, I noticed there were dark, livid marks on my throat, as if someone tried to strangle me. I put my hands up to them, and found that they did not even approximately fit. Abagail came down stairs and inquired about the footprints on the floor and confessed that she had heard a terrific clattering overhead in the dark small hours. However, even in daytime was not safe, for after dawn there had been strange sounds in the house—especially a thin, childish wail hastily choked off. A mood of revolting apprehension had seized me. I could not doubt that something hideously serious was closing in around me. Between the phantasmas of the nights and the realities of daytime, a monstrous and unthinkable relationship was crystallizing, and only stupendous vigilance could avert still more direful developments. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

The hall leading back to the kitchen was long and dim. I stood shuffling indecisively. I tiptoed upstairs up to the closed attic door, but I looked in the rooms off the landing. Two of the doors which I opened stealthily showed me nothing but beautiful floors and flurries of colourful light flooding in from the stained-glass windows. Then landing in from of the third was every more pristine. I pulled it toward me, and entered. Most of it did not seem to make sense to me. It was not as I remembered it. There was a single bed with floral sheets. Against the walls were tables and piles of ancient books. There were black candles and several small trunks. On one of the tables lay a single book. I padded across the Persian rug and opened the book in a thin path of sunlight through the shutters. Inside the covers was a page which I slowly realized had been ripped from this Bible. It was the story of Lazarus. Scribbles that might be letters filled the margin. As I flipped through the Bible, I saw a drawing of a corpse sitting up in his coffin, but the book was all in the language we sometimes used in church: Latin. As I walked down the stairs, something was troubling me. I did not know who had been using this room. I reached the kitchen door when I realized what had been bothering me. When I did emerge from the bedroom the attic door had been open. I looked back involuntarily, and saw a woman walking away from me down the hall. I was behind the closed kitchen door before I had time to feel fear. That came only when I saw that the back door was latched. Then I controlled myself. This had to be a new housemaid, I thought. I opened the door minutely. The hall was empty. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

Halfway down the hall I had to slip into the side room, heart jumping in my chest, for she did appear again from between the stairs and the front door. I felt the beginnings of anger and recklessness, and they grew faster and faster when I opened the door and had to flinch back as I saw her passing. The fingers looked famished, the colour of old lard, with long yellow cracked nails. There was no nail on her wedding finger, which wore a plain ring. She was returning from the direction of the kitchen, which was why I had not expected her. Through the opening of the door, I heard her padding upstairs. She sounded barefoot. I waited until I could not hear her, then edged out into the hall. The door began to fall open with a faint creak, and I drew it stealthily closed. I paced towards the front door. If I had not seen her shadow creeping down the stairs, I would have come face to face with her. I was listening behind the kitchen door, and near to panic, when I realized she was aware of me. She was playing a game with me. At once I was furious. This was my house and who was this old woman to be toying with me? Her body beneath the long white dress was sure to be as thin as her hands, she could only shout when she saw me, should could not harm me. I threw open the kitchen door in anger, and walk gently down the hall. The sight of her picking up a knife broke my stride for a moment. Perhaps she was going to kill me? However, she laid the knife down. I halted in a state of confusion. I was still struggling to react when she turned toward me, and I saw her face. Part of it was still on the bone. I did not back away until she began to advance on me, hair nails tearing new strips into the fine Lincrusta wallpaper I imported from England. All I could see was her protruding eyes, unsupported by flesh. I ran into my Blue Séance Room and locked the door. I would be safe here. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

Emperor Lucifer, Master and Prince of Rebellious Spirits, I adjure thee to leave thine abode, in whatsoever quarter of the World it may be situated, and come hither to communicate with me. I command and I conjure thee in the Name of the Mighty living God, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, to appear without noise and with pleasant scent, to respond in a clear and intelligible voice, point by point, to all that we shall ask thee, failing which, thou shalt be most surely compelled to obedience by the power of the divine ADONAY, ELOIM, ARIEL, JEHOVAM, TAGLA, MATHON, and by the whole hierarchy of superior intelligences, who shall constrain thee against thy will. Venite, Venite! Submiritillor Lucifuge, or eternal torment shall overwhelm thee, by the great power of this Blasting Rod. In subito. I command and I adjure thee, Emperor Lucifer, as the representative of the might and living God, and by the power of Emanuel, his only Son, who is thy master and mine, and by the virtue of His precious blood, which He shed to redeem humankind from thy chains, I command thee to quit thine abode, wheresoever it may be, swearing that I will give thee one quarter of an hour alone, if thou doest not straightway come hither and communicate with me in an audible and intelligible voice, or, if thy personal presence be impossible, dispatch me thy Messenger Astarot in a human form, without either noise and with pleasant scent, failing which smite thee and thy whole race with the terrible Blasting Rod into the depth of the bottomless abysses, and that by the power of those great words in the Clavicle—By ADONAY, ELOIM, ARIEL, JEHOVAM, TAGLA, MATHON, ALMOUZIN, ARIOS, PITHONA, MAGOTS, SYLPHAE, TABOTS, SALAMANDRAW, GNOMUS, TERRE, COELIS, GODENS, AQUA. In subito. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7

The Winchester Mystery House

Present-day scholars of magic—historians, anthropologists, and religion scholars—note that ritual scripts (a category that would include magic books) are sometimes augmented with elements from religious traditions their authors perceive as “exotic.” Such elements can lend authority to magical practice by enhancing what British anthropologist Bronislaw Malinowski, in his famous work on the Trobriand Islanders, called its “coefficient of weirdness.” The vocabulary of Trobriand magic, he observed, was not just any vocabulary, not just any langue. “A spell is believed to be a primeval text, which somehow came into being side-by-side with animals and plants, with winds and waves, with human disease…courage and…frailty.” Why, then, would the idioms of magic “be as the words of common speech”?

Both the potency and the efficacy of magical idioms depend on their being ancient, epic, legendary—and entirely distinct from what their users perceive as ordinary. This is perhaps one reason, among others, that Jewish symbols had so long been perceived in Christian and esoteric history as talismans. Over three late November days in 1956, various experts took the stand to offer their testimony regarding The Sixth and Seventh Books of Moses in a trial in Braunschweig, Germany. The star witness for the prosecution was a professor of medicine, forensic pathologist Otto Prokop. Dr. Prokop—who, like Johann Kruse, was a member of DEGESA—reviled magic books as road maps for mayhem and criminality. In court, he referenced a 1954 case in which three men in Westphalia had committed various crimes while using formulas in the Moses book to conjure the Devil. The Moses book in essence represented a historical stage in the development of early modern German science.

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