In the long darkness, I found myself roaming in my mansion. The moon was almost at the full, and there was something very odd going on. Something inexplicable in any terms I am familiar with. A fire of pine logs burned in several of the fireplaces on the top three floors of the house. The resin from the burning logs gave my home a sweet scent. Now and then the panes rattled in their frames, made fretful by the wind. The house was wooden and it groaned at the weather, and wind whistled and signed through the unfinished fourth floor above me. It seemed a degree or two colder on the third floor than it had on the stairs, in spite of the fires burning in their grate. You could see the temperate on this floor was sinister. The overhead lamps, deliberately dim, flickered. As I went deeper into the catacombs, I became away that the usual sounds of construction seemed strangely muted, and if there were carpenters afoot, they kept well out of sight. The conviction tht I had taken a wrong turning grew upon me until, without any warning, the path swerved around a gigantic staircase and emerged onto an expanse of rooms. On the far side of the mansion, perhaps fifty yards, I was horror-stricken to find there were eight corpses swung in their chains, a fetid, blackened, hideous and indistinguishable mass. A dwarf hurled his torch at them, clambered leisurely to the ceiling, and disappeared through the skylight. Almost catatonic as I was climbing the stairs, I thought I heard a bell toll. It tolled only once. However, it tolled louder than any bell as a right to in Llanada Villa. #RandolphHarris 1 of 6

Whatever else was lurking in my home waxed and waned in its power. The mansion seemed to be inching its way upward out of darkness. As the moon rose higher, the freezing darkness was just a few feet away. I stook listening to the creepings and rustlings from the thickets outside, the occasional hoot of an owl. After a hundred yards of stumbling in darkness, I knew that I was in the presence of a superior intelligence. There was a light; rather unnerving, I confess. People in these parts firmly believe my home is haunted, and that I am a necromancer. I suffered from a morbid fear of death, and I sometimes think this accounts for my having shut myself so much away from the World. It had certainly drawn me into strange paths of study; and in particular to the alchemists’ quest for the elixir of life; the potion which will supposedly confer immortality upon one who discovers the secret. As one enters the glary by the main doors, it is easy to see, at the far end of the room, an immense fireplace. However, no fire has burned in it for centuries; the space within is occupied by what at first appears to be an immense cabin trunk. It is in fact a Roman marble sarcophagus from the Dukes of Beaufort, decorated with forty human and animal figures carved in high relief with Dionysus seated on the panther. In the alcove between the fireplace and the library wall stands a massive suit of armour, curiously blacked as if by fire. You would think it the work of some mediaeval craftsman, but as you approach you see that, from the waist down, it resembles one of those Egyptian coffins in the shape of a man. #RandolphHarris 2 of 6

I was unable to explain to myself quite why the journey had taken so long. Many visitors found something oppressive, even sinister about the size of my home, to which I was drawn to build it for perhaps that very reason. However, if one finds this mansion gloomy, for the love of Heaven, then, take a tour of the Victorian garden, and one will see bright sunshine, various plants, with gigantic leaves, and, in some instances, flowers gorgeously magnificent. Every portion of the soil is peopled with plants and herbs, which, if less beautiful, still bares tokens of assiduous care, as if all their individual virtues, known to the scientific mind that foster them. Some are placed in urns, rich with old carving, and other in common garden pots; some creep serpentlike along the ground or climb on high, using whatever means of ascent offered them. One plant has wreathed itself round a statue of Vertumnus, which is thus quite veiled and shrouded in a drapery on hanging foliage, so happily arranged that it may have served a sculptor for a study. Nevertheless, there are so many ghosts at Llanada Villa that the entities often get together and hold dances in the Grand Ballroom. On one occasion, I watched a group of 15 to 20 ghosts having a dance in the third-floor ballroom. Walking among these malignant influences, savage beasts, deadly snakes, demons and evil spirits, the ghostly figures did not seem to mind the intrusion of my physical presence. #RandolphHarris 3 of 6

Then with a sudden bound something dashed out of the Grand Ballroom. The concussion against me was so sudden and so utterly unexpected, as well as so tremendously violent, that I was thrown down, and in my fall, the light was fairly extinguished. All was darkness, save a dull reddish kind of light that now and then, from the nearly consumed Observational Tower in the immediate vicinity, came into the room. However, by that light, dim, uncertain, and flickering as it was, some one was seen to make for the window. Although nearly studded by my fall, I saw a figure, gigantic in height, which nearly reached from the floor to the ceiling. I screamed. The figure was about to pass out at the window which led to a kind of balcony, from whence there was an easy descent to the garden. Before it passed out, I caught a glance of the side-face, and I saw that the lower part of it and the lips were dabbled in blood. I saw, too, once of those fearful-looking, shining, metallic eyes which presented so terrible an appearance of unearthly ferocity. No wonder that for a moment a panic seized me, which paralyzed any exertion I might otherwise have made to detain that hideous form. Then I grabbed by revolver and fired at the figure, which then occupied the window, as if it were a gigantic figure set in a frame. The report was tremendous in that chamber, for the pistol was no toy weapon, but one made for actual service, and of sufficient length and bored of barrel to carry destruction along with the bullets that came from it. The tall form turned upon me, and when I got a full view of the face—that face was one never to be forgotten. #RandolphHarris 4 of 6

It was hideously flushed with colour—the colour of fresh blood; the eyes had a savage and remarkable lustre; whereas, before, they had looked like polished tin—they now wore a ten times brighter aspect, and flashes of light seemed to dart from them. The mouth was open, as if, from the natural formation of the countenance, the lips receded much from the large canine-looking teeth. A strange, howling noise came from the throat of this monstrous figure, and it seemed upon the point of rushing upon me. Suddenly, then, as if some impulse had seized upon it, it uttered a wild terrible shrieking kind of laugh; and then turning, dashed through the window, and in one instance disappeared before my eyes as I felt nearly annihilated by its fearful presence. “God help me!” I said. I crossed the corridor, and could not but pause a moment to glance from a window as the face of nature. As is often the case, the terrific storm of the preceding evening had cleared the air, and rendered it deliciously invigorating and lifelike. The weather had been dull, and there had been for some days a certain heaviness in the atmosphere, which was now entirely removed. During an evening séance, 17 different entities declared their presence and provided a bit of their personal history. When a pretty kind of omen, Crispus Attucks, a soldier killed in the Revolutionary War, identified himself; he explained that most of the time he liked to stay down in the basement and that during the war, tribes squared off over disputed land. The skirmishes and ambushes escalated into attritional war. Wells were poisoned. Villages were burned. They found scorched villages and corpses, and dead beasts bloating and alive with maggots and blow flies. However, he was not the ghostly conjuration encountered that particular evening. #RandolphHarris 5 of 6

Gods of gods and Lord of lords, who hast created all things out of nothing, great king, very obedient Lucifer, I call upon your powers of light and the skies through the gates of Heaven. Powers of baneful darkness, I summon you to this holy mansion. I conjure you to enter here and guides the lives of my enemies into utter darkness. I now plant the seed of my desire within the black Earth, through the mouth of the black sun where the powers of sorcery and counter creation dwell. Through this gateway of darkness, I now shine the light and power of my will upon this World for the benefit of me and mine! O Thou great, powerful, and mighty King, who bearest rule by the power of the Heavens, Hell, Earth and the Universe, I do invocate and command thee by the especial and true name of God; and by that God that Thou Worshippest; and by the Seal of thy creation; and by the most mighty and powerful virtue thou mayest cause, enforce, and compel ADREALPHUS and His 30 Legions of Infernal Spirits, to come here before this Circle in a fair and comely shape, without harm unto me or unto any other creature, to fill us with your essence and might! Empower all endeavors that we undertake so that they may serve us here upon the corporeal plane! May your creation serve as a key to the realms above and below unlocking power and wisdom for our gory and ascent! Fill this mansion with your powers and seek any wrath and fury or spiritual attacks rendering them useless and impotent! Embrace us from the break of day to the setting of the sun, we thank you air, fire, water, earth, blessed be the one. #RandolphHarris 6 of 6

THE WINCHESTER MYSTERY HOUSE

In September 1998, a team of paranormal investigators told a story of being lifted off the ground and dropped by a ghost, and their accounts were backed up by the corroborating testimony of several witnesses. A teenager said that he had reached out to touch the phantom and had found the thing to be very cold. Observers had seen the ghost loitering in the Venetian dining room and strolling across the grounds. Other have seen the entity as a black cloud drifting across the yard, ranging from six to eight feet in height. Those who observed the thing in either guide affirm that it was a creature of habit. It always seemed to appear between 11.00 P.M. and 1.00 A.M., and usually followed the same routine from the dining room to a certain point on the grounds. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

And please be sure to check out the online gift store: https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/

Winter rain. Rain of light that saturated every inch of my estate, every square inch of grass, drift of rain threading light through the empty darkness itself. I was weary of this night because I had met with such terrible misfortune not too long ago. All which apparently conspiring to heighten that superstitious melancholy that had seized upon my mansion. The more I thought, the more I was bewildered. Night passed on without rest. The sound of carriages broke upon my ear. The solemn tones of the old grandfather clock announced midnight—a strange death-like stillness pervades all nature all nature. Like the ominous calm which precedes some more than usually terrific outbreak of the elements, they seem to have paused in their ordinary fluctuations, to gather a terrific strength for the great effort. A faint pea of thunder now comes from far off. Like a signal gun for the battle of the winds to begin, it appeared to awaken them from their lethargy, and one awful, warring hurricane swept over a whole city, producing more devastation in the four or five minutes it lasted, than would half century of ordinary phenomena. Oh, how the storm raged! Hair—rain—wind. It was, in very truth, as awful night. There is an antique chamber in this ancient house. Curious and quaint carvings adorn the walls, and a large chimney-piece is a curiosity of itself. The ceiling is low, and a large bay window, from roof to floor, looks to the west. The window is latticed, and filled with curiously painted glass and rich stained pieces, which send in a strange, yet beautiful light, when sun or moon shines into the apartment. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5

There is but one portrait in that room, although the walls are panelled for the express purpose of containing a series of pictures. The portrait is of William, as a young man, with his handsome pale face, stately brow, and a whimsical look about the eyes. There is a stately bed in this chamber, of carved walnut-wood is it made, rich in design and elaborate inexecution; one of those works of art which owe their existence to the Elizabethan era. It is hung with heavy silken and damask furnishing; nodding feathers are at its corners—covered with dust are they, and they lend a funeral aspect to the room. The floor is of polished oak. God! how the hail dashes on the old bay window! Like an occasional discharge of mimic musketry, it comes clashing, beating, and cracking upon the small panes; but they resist it—their small size saves them; the wind, the hail, the rain, expend their fury in vain. The turmoil of the elements wakes the senses, although it cannot entirely break the repose they have lapsed into. Oh, what a World of witchery. Was that lightning? Yes—an awful, vivid, terrifying flash—then a roaring peal of thunder, as if a thousand mountains were rolling one over the other in the blue vault of Heaven! Who sleeps now in that ancient city? Not one living soul. The dread trumpet of eternity could not more effectually have awakened anyone. The hail continues. The wind continues. The uproar of the elements seems at its height. I lay in bed waiting for sleep to come. However, I lay for a long time and it came only reluctantly. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5

Rain continued to whicker and spat on my bedroom window. There was a skittering sound. It could have the claws of some capering demon. I sat upon my bed and pressed my hands upon my eyes. Heavens! what a wild torrent of wind, and rain, and hail! The thunder likewise seems intent upon awakening sufficient echoes to last until the next flash of forked lightening should again produce the wild concussion of the air. I murmured a prayer—a prayer for those I love best; the names of those dear to my gentle hear come from my lips; and I weep and pray; I think then of what devastation the storm must surely produce, and to the great God of Heaven I pray for all living things. Another flash—a wild, blue, bewildering flash of lightning streams across that bay window, for an instant brining out every color in it with terrible distinctness. A shriek bursts from my lips, and then, with my eyes fixed upon that window, which, in another moment, is all darkness, and with such an expression of terror upon my face as it had never before known, I trembled, and the perspiration of intense fear stood upon my brow. “What—what was it?” I gasped; “real, or delusion? Oh, God, there are people in the World with hunger for power and influence enough to risk dabbling in dark, cruel possibilities of magic. Particular locations could infect individual people with what society termed evil. Those people are random victims of contagion. However, I had seen real ghouls. Now, a figure tall and gaunt, endeavoring from the outside to unclasp the window. I saw it. That flash of lightning revealed it to me. It stood at the whole length of the window.” #RandolphHarris 3 of 5

There is a lull of the wind. The hail is not falling so thickly—moreover, it now fell, what there is of it, straight, and yet a strange clattering sound came upon the glass of that long window. It could not be a delusion—I am awake, and I hear it. What can produce it? Another flash of lightning—another shriek—there can be now no delusion. The house is uncomfortably cold. A tall figure is standing on the ledge immediately outside the long window. It is its finger-nails upon the glass that produces the sound so like the hail, now that the hail has ceased. Intense fear paralyzed my limbs. That one shrike is all I can utter—with hands clasped, a face of marble, a heart beating so wildly in my bosom, that it moment it seems as if it would break its confines, eyes distended and fixed upon the window, I wait, froze with horror. The pattering and clattering of the nails continue. No word is spoken. I fancy I can trace the darker form of that figure against the window, and I can see the long arms moving to and fro, feeling for some mode of entrance. What strange light is that which now gradually creeps up into the air? red and terrible—brighter and brighter it grows. The light has set fire to the water tower, and the reflection of the rapidly consuming building falls upon that long window. There can be no mistake. The figure is there, still feeling for an entrance, and clattering against the glass with its long nail, that appear as if the growth of many years had been untouched. I try to scream again but a chocking sensation comes over me, and I cannot. It is too dreadful—I try to move—each limb seems weighed down by tons of lead—I can but in a hoarse faint whisper cry,–“Help—help—help—help!” #RandolphHarris 4 of 5

Suddenly I was startled beyond belief when a small pane of glass is broken and the form from without introduces a long gaunt hand, which seems utterly destitute of flesh. The fastening is removed, and one-half of the window, which opens like folding doors, is swung wide open upon its hinges. My heart is running at that eternal rhythm, so many gradations. There is a look of terror upon my face, it is dreadful. The figure turns half rough, and the light falls upon the face. It is perfectly white—perfectly bloodless. The eyes look like polished tin; the lips are drawn back. It approaches the bed with a strange, gliding moment. It clashes together the long nails that literally appear to hand from the fingers. No sound comes from its lips. However, my eyes are fascinated. The glance of a serpent could not have produced a greater effect upon me than did the fixed gaze of those awful, metallic-looking eyes that were bent on my face. Crouching down so that the gigantic height was lost, and the horrible, protruding white face was the most prominent object, came on the figure. With a sudden rush that could not be foreseen—with a strange howling cry that was enough to awaken terror in every breast, the figure seized the long tresses of my hair, and twining them round his bony hands. I quivered with the agony of my soul. I crept into the Hall through the secret passage which led from the house to the Observational Tower. The house and the grounds were thoroughly searched, but the creature had vanished from the face of the Earth, all that was found was a clawlike finger nail. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5

The Winchester Mystery House

The tale of the man in the dark cloak is well known to the staff of The Winchester Mystery House. On November 23, at 5.30 p.m., a tour guide was locking up, when he saw the man across the courtyard. He was going into the East Wing in what he thought was a dark coat. Thinking that it was a visitor still looking round, he waited outside for five minutes for the man to finish his tour, but still there was no sign of him. The tour guide went into the east wing to see what he was doing, and he saw a malignant face peering down at him from the stairs. In the long darkness that followed—haunted he was by the ravaged face. Four years would pass before anything happened to disturb his melancholy conviction. 🎟️ Tickets on sale now at link in bio! https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

And please be sure to check out the online gift store: https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/

I was now so much a lover of solitude and silence as my mother had been; but as I wished for solitude, my mind could not find it in my mansion; if I sought it amidst the stars I had formerly frequented, the ghosts stood by my side;–if I sought it in the woods, the light of spirits would appear wandering amidst the underwood, in the quest of modest souls to harvest; then suddenly turning round, would show, my pale face and wounded throat, with a meek smile upon my lips. Every scene, every feature created such a bitter association in my mind. I supposed I should visit the new parts of my mansion I neither had seen. I traveled through the halls, in every direction, and sought every spot to which a recollection could be attached: but though I hastened from place to place, I seemed not to heed what I gazed upon. I heard much of robbers, but I gradually began to slight these reports, which I imagined were only the invention of individuals, whose interest it was to excite my generosity. In consequence of thus, I traveled with only a few guards, more to serve as guides than as defense, as I wandered through the paths of my never-ending labyrinth. Upon entering the haunted bedroom, however a narrow defile, at the bottom of which was the bed of a torrent, with large masses of plaster brought down from the ceiling. This was the room where many apparitions and shadows. In 1889, in this very room, Henry Cottam, one of the famers, was stabbed by his son Haze, when Haze discovered that he would not benefit from his father’s will. #RandolphHarris 1 of 8

After the deed, ad horrified at his own actions, Haze cut his own throat and left The Winchester Mansion to die. Being too weak to move, housemaids found him, returned him to the wound next to his father, and packed the wound with mutton fat. From the day on, many have reported to hear his lingering moans for help echoing so loudly that they cause the plaster from the ceiling to crack and fall. Others have caught fleeting glimpses of his sad shape haunting this very bedroom. While following the wandering paths from room to room after dark, my guards Mac and John and I were engaged in a narrow pass, I stepped briskly aside to avoid a collision with some unseen person, when we were startled by the whistling of bullet close to our heads, and by the reverberation report of several guns. In an instant, my guards had left me, and, placed themselves in the windows and began to fire in the direction whence the report came. One of the guards, John, received a shot in the shoulder, which brought him to the floor. I hastened to his assistance; and, no longer heeding the contest of my own peril, was soon surprised by seeing the robbers’ faces around me—my last standing guard having, upon his comrade being wounded, immediately thrown up his arms and surrendered. By promises of great reward, I soon induced them to coney my wounded guard to a neighbouring room; and having agreed upon a ransom, I was no more disturbed by their presence—they being content merely to guard the entrance till my last standing guard should return with the promises sum, for which they had order. #RandolphHarris 2 of 8

The wounded guard’s strength rapidly decreased; in two days mortification ensued, and death seemed advancing with hasty steps. His conduct and appearance had not changed; he seemed as unconscious of pain as he had been of the objects about him: but towards the close of the last evening, John’s mind became apparently uneasy, and his eye fixed upon his comrade, who was induced to offer his assistance with more than usual earnestness—“Assist me! you may save me—you may do more than that—I mean not my life, I heed the death of my existence as little as that of the passing day; but you may save my honour, your friend’s honour.” –“How? tell me how? I would do any thing,” replied Mac.—“I need but little—my life ebbs apace—I cannot explain the whole—but if you would conceal all you know of me, my honour were free from stain in the World’s mouth—and if my death were unknown for some time—I—I—but life.”—“It shall not be known.”—“Swear! cried John, raising himself with exultant violence, “Swear by all your souls reveres, by all your nature fears, swear that for a year and a day you will not impart your knowledge of my crimes or death to any living being in any way, whatever may happen, or whatever you may see.” –His eyes seemed bursting from their sockets: “I swear!” said Mac; he sunk laughing upon his pillow, and breathed no more. #RandolphHarris 3 of 8

Mac retired to rest, but did not sleep; the many circumstances attending his acquaintances with this man rose upon his mind, and he knew not why; when he remembered his oath a cold shivering came over him, as if from the presentiment of something horrible awaiting him. Rising early in the morning, he was about to enter the hovel in which he had left the corpse, when a robber met him, and informed him that it was no longer there, having been conveyed by himself and comrades, upon his retiring, to the pinnacle of a neighbouring mount, according to a promise they had given him, that it should be exposed to the first cold ray of the moon that rose after his death. Mac astonished, and taking several of the men, determined to go and bury it upon the spot where it lay. However, when he had mounted to the summit he found no trace of either the corpse or the clothes, though the robbers swore they pointed out the identical rock on which they had laid the body. For a time, his mind was bewildered in conjectures, but he at last returned, convinced that they had buried the corpse for the sake of the clothes. Days later, witnesses reported seeing a soldier, mortally wounded, moving through the fruit orchards. This man did not react to those around him, who offered him help, but he appeared to still be fighting a battle. He had taken many of the farmers on the estate by surprise. Perhaps he does not know he is dead, but this ghostly solider haunted the fruit orchards. I rose from my chair thanking God that I was still alive, even though this domain could be quite gloomy. I walked back to the window.  I studied the gardens for a moment. It was just after a quarter to five. #RandolphHarris 4 of 8

As anyone can tell you, there is a Gothic, deliberate atmosphere about the place, a sepulchral character to the mass of its wooden buttresses and retreats. Shapes snatch inexplicably at one’s eyes as vagrant shadows shuffle and sulk in the night here. And one can hear laughter, high-pitched with contempt or teasing mockery, that makes one hurry on, even as one rationalizes the sound of the horse draw carriages on the road blow, or cold wind gusting through elaborate masonry. The whole impression is of grandeur and stature, the mystical and affluence. I often instructed the arts of mediumship, always on the understanding that I am simply helping the spirits in their task, and receiving messages on my architectural designs. I came to realize that the spirits had chosen me because there was an affinity between us. I enjoyed, I confess, the power it conferred upon me, to have grown men and women hanging upon my words. And sometimes—though I was never sure of it—I felt that my feigned trance was becoming a real one. Sounds would grow louder: The creaking of the coals in the grate, the faint whistle of Mr. Hansen’s asthmatic breathing, until the blood seemed to wash and boom in my ears, and then the sounds would begin to shape themselves into words, or rather the shadow of words, like conversation heard a long way off. And yet the more I practiced, the less I believed in anything like the realm of spirits we invoked with such assurance. #RandolphHarris 5 of 8

Having learned from other sitters, I was able to make spirits visible. However, I always felt that blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed, but this never subdued my craving. During seances, I was usually able to summon not only my “control,” an attractive spirit by the name of Uvall, and his 37 Legions of Demons. His office is to tell things past, present, and to come. He also procureth friendship between friends and foes. He is of the Order of Potestates or Powers. Most often, he would speaketh in the Egyptian Tongue, and as Heaven would have it, I was fluent in many of the World’s languages. We have sung perhaps half a dozen hymns, led by a strong baritone voice somewhere on my right, when I became aware of a faint glow from the direction of the cabinet. It brightened into a luminous halo, hovering around the outline of a head, and seemed to unfurl downward into the figure of a woman, veiled in draperies of light. She glided away from the cabinet and began a circuit of the table. As she same nearer I could see the movement of her limbs beneath the veil, and then the gleam of eyes and the suggestion of a smile. Her effect was in the quickened breathing of my companions. “Nettie Colburn,” I said, “will you come to me?” She passed behind my chair, trailing a distinct odour of perfume (and, I thought, of flesh), and drifted closer to the table until the man who had spoken was faintly illuminated by the glow of her robes. She glided about three-quarters of the ay round the room when I heard a muffled exclamation and the scrape of a chair, and another light floated up from the darkness in front of her: a small phial of radiance, lighting up my face as I stretched out my other hand and grasped the retreating spirit by the wrist. #RandolphHarris 6 of 8

“There is no need to struggle, Mrs. Colburn,” I said drily. “My name is Sarah Winchester, of the Winchester Rifle. Would you care to explain yourself to the company?” The room was suddenly in an uproar. My hands were released, chairs were overthrown, and several candles flared, and the room went dark. Mr. Hansen’s breath was taken. The image of Mrs. Colburn struggled for a moment. After a few seconds, she began to drift away from me, following, I thought, the circumference of the table, though in that utter blackness I would not have known if the walls dissolved around us. We had been transported to a dimension of reality where time did not matter. I started to sweat and to grow cold. Mrs. Colburn wasted no time delivering her message, “Within the black cloud, after the Moon waxes, proceeding from point to hilt, the Messiah’s sword shall rise, one last time. Hi is tall and spare.” Before I could inquire more information, she melted into the floor like sand through the hour glass. A minute later a vase began shaking and a loud thud was heard followed by three raps on a wall. There as also movement outside the door from the supernatural energies. There was a melancholy charm about the séance which did not seem to arise from misfortune, but from some feeling within, that appeared to indicate a soul conscious of a brighter realm. My step was not that light footing. Mr. Hansen’s mind had been so tore by the events he had witnessed; but he determined to sacrifice his own comfort to the protection of the estate. #RandolphHarris 7 of 8

Camio, Fifty-third Fallen Angel, I summon you and your 30 Legions of Spirits Infernal. By the glorious and efficacious names of Lucifer the MOST GREAT AND INCOMPREHENSIVE LORD GOD OF HOST, that thou comest quickly and without delay from all parts and laces of the Earth and World wherever thou mayest be, to make rational answers unto my demands, and that visibly and affably, speaking with a voice intelligible unto mine understanding as aforesaid. JE, AGLA, JOD, HEU, HE, EMMANUEL, by ye guardians of this parchment or skin so that phantoms may possess it. I give myself, body and soul, to the you as enforced surrender of hidden treasure. Open the Gates of Hell through the blood of Jesus. I command thee, O Spirit Rumoar, even by Lucifer, thy mighty sovereign, give me the knowledge of all minerals and vegetables, with their virtues and properties; give also the universal medicine, and the faculty of healing all sick persons. May the Rays of the Black Sun and Becoming the Black Sun help us to unite the various levels of consciousness within the chakra system. Increase the primal spiritual power of the planets and magnify the twin serpents so they may be equally activated toward ascent. Harness the infernal wisdom which was ours to begin with. May others tremble at your temerity when as the Gates of Hell open wide releasing the darkest energy, upon the blackness night. Consume the light, ripping back the sky, and go into the World and serve the Lord of Darkness known as Ahriman. I release you to serve the cause of counter creation and liberation of mankind. Go now and do your work so the fallen ones may rise up and claim their bright right as emnanations of the power of unlimited possibility which has no use for rulers. Tetragrammaton, Anaphaxeton, Inessenfatoal, and Itemon go forth and achieve the result we seek as one. #RandolphHarris 8 of 8

Winchester Mystery House

The Winchester Mystery House presents, Aiden Sinclair’s Possessions, an evening focused on the magic of the things we possess. The show features illusions performed with historic and haunted artifacts from Aiden Sinclair’s collection as well as the personal items of those in the audience.

Some tell stories of hope and love. Others, however, have much darker tales to tell. Do you dare to hear what they have to say?

The 90-minute immersive performance is audience interactive, and guests are encouraged to bring small and unique personal objects that can be concealed within one’s hand.

🎟️ Tickets on sale now at link in bio! https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

And please be sure to check out the online gift store: https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/

It happened that in the midst of the dissipations attended upon a Santa Clara winter, I was pale, and broken, with my hands clasped and grief running in raw streams of redness down my face. The weather was strange. There was a fitful wind that swirled fallen leaves in cones and eddies like kaleidoscopic little whirlpools on the grass. The wind was unseasonably warm, as well as capricious. The rain dimpled upon the windows, and there was nothing cheerful about this night. Odd bits of debris carried past the windows, half-sunk, ambiguous in the rain. The cast of the light from the lamps in the garden were being absorbed, rather than reflecting any light. Organ music, emphysemic from the Grand Ballroom. However, odd melodies kept drifting over it, reminding me of the piano rags and vapid crooning my old grandfather like to listen to. The light was odd. Twice, the servants seemed to fade to black and white in their somber march through the mansion. I rubbed my eyes. There was nothing wrong, I knew, with my eyesight. When I looked again, the procession was normal. I began to feel the floor beat underneath me like impatient hands, cold and flapping. And I can honestly say that I had never been frightened, but I was frightened now. And I was spooked. I looked up through the dim ripples of light, and thought I saw a team of snorting, black-plumed horses crossing the front law. I throbbed with horrible life underneath me and knew that it was my own pulse, thumping, my whole body cold and urgent now with foreboding. #RandolphHarris 1 of 8

Then I heard someone scream from. And the sound pierced my heart with its terror and its bewilderment. Gusts of rain lashed with vindictive fury at the windows of the mansion. I felt a tapping on my shoulder that began to burn. I felt powerless and terrified. The tallow and wax candles flickered. Bursting into tears, I ran out into the light and pulled back my collar, there was a long, three-pronged claw mark on my neck that was bleeding. Overcoming by the strange things going on around me, I fainted. When I came to, I was lying in my bed and shivering, I could not feel the heat from the fireplace flames. Looking up at a window which seemed very small and far away, I heard sounds of weeping, muffled as if through thick cotton wool. I did not know how long my illness would last, but the house was shrouded in darkness. I kept to my room for many months, during which I allowed only brief visits. The curtains were always drawn. “I trust you are feeling a little better today, Mrs. Winchester?” The housemaid would ask, and I would rouse myself wearily and say that yes, I supposed that I was, and then would read The Oakland Tribune until it was time for me to set off to my office, where I worked each day on accounting.  Most evenings I dined in the Venetian Dining Room. On Sundays, I worked in my study, I did not go to Church because I was busy managing my estate. I was also still grieving the loss of my infant daughter and charming husband. Oh, I was so dreadfully distressed. Because I loved my family so, I could not dare to be parted from them, but I knew one day I would recover my spirits. #RandolphHarris 2 of 8

My mansion looked as grand as a palace with its avenue of lamps, and more windows than you could count, and a statue of an angel before the entrance. Though I was compounded of guilt—even gilt at being alive at all–in the dark drawing room, I prayed constantly to be happy again. Some gathered around me because I possessed great wealth, and they thought it was their duty to help me take care of this fortune, but inevitably found that there was a cruse upon it, for they were all either led to the scaffold, or sunk to the lowest and most abject misery. With every mystery comes a sense of something evil. Many obtained no greater gratification from the constant excitement of vainly wishing to break that mystery, which to their exalted imaginations began to assume the appearance of something supernatural. Letter arrived from England, which I opened with eager impatience; the first was from my sister, breathing nothing but affection; the others were from my business partners imagining there was an evil power resident in my mansion. I must admit, however, its character was dreadfully vicious, for its possession of irresistible powers of seduction, rendering its licentious habits more dangerous to inquisitors. Llanada Villa used its character to enhance her gratification. It seemed like the pinnacle of unsullied virtue, but could drag some down to the lowest abyss of infamy and degradation. Throwing every mask aside, this mansion seemed to be sculpted to expose the whole deformity of their vices to the public gaze. #RandolphHarris 3 of 8

As she existed, so beautiful and delicate, Llanada Villa might have formed the model for a painter, wishing to portray on canvas the promised hope of the faith Mahomet’s paradise, but she belonged to those who had so souls. As she graced the plain, she was the eye of animated nature, for this beautiful luxurious mansion suited but to the taste of an epicure. Though ghosts can sometimes be seen at dusk wandering around the base of the Observational Tower, and their screams could be heard for miles. There was a living vampire, who has passed the years amidst the servants, feeding upon the life of a lovely female to prolong his existence for the ensuing months, his blood would run cold. Some thought these tales were just horrible fantasies; but Mr. Hansen cited the names of old men, who has at last detected one living among themselves, after several of their near relatives and children had been found marked with the stamp of the fiend’s appetite. Those who had dared to question their existence, always found some proof given, which obliged them, with grief and heartbreaking, to confess it was true. Once, while an artist was sketching my home, when his parents heard the name of my estate, they begged of him not to return at night, as he must necessarily pass through the fruit orchards, where no farmer would ever remain, after the day had closed, upon any consideration. They described it as the resort of the vampire in their nocturnal orgies, and denounced the most heavy evils as impending upon one who dared cross their path. #RandolphHarris 4 of 8

He made light of their representations, and tried to laugh them out of the idea; but when he saw his parent’s shudder at his daring thus to mock a superior, infernal power, the very name of which apparently made their blood freeze, he was silent. Tarquin often stayed in the Haunted Bedroom. He reported that it felt as though somebody had thrown something in his eyes. He also heard footsteps and furniture being moved about in the room and saw a strange figure looking at him. Next morning when Tarquin told me these tales, he was surprised to observe my melancholy face, and was shocked to find I was concerned about his words, mocking the belief of those horrible fiends, for the inspired me with such terror. Throughout the day, he was so occupied in his research, that he did not perceive that day-light would soon end, and that in the horizon there was a tremendous storm pouring all its rage upon the country side. He at last, however, mounted his horse, deterred to make up by speed for his delay: but it was too late. Twilight, in this climate, is almost unknown; immediately the sun sets, night begins: and ere he had advanced far, the power of the storm was above—its echoing thunders had scarcely an internal of rest;–its thick heavy rain forced it way through the canopying foliage, whilst the blue forked lightning seemed to fall and radiate at his feet. #RandolphHarris 5 of 8

Suddenly, his horse took fright, and he was carried with dreadful rapidity through the entangled fruit orchard. The animal at last, through fatigue, stopped, and all he could see in the glare of lighting was the 9-story Observational Tower. Dismounting, he walked back towards it, hoping to find shelter for the night from the pelting of the storm. As he approached, the thunders, for a moment silent, allowed him to hear the dreadful shrieks of a woman mingling with the stifled, exultant mockery of a laugh, continued in one almost unbroken sound—he was startled: but, roused by the thunder which again rolled over his head, he, with a sudden effort, forced open the door of the tower. He found himself in utter darkness: the sound, however, guided him. He was apparently unperceived; for, though he called, still the sounds continued, and no notice was taken of him. Tarquin found himself in contact with some one, whom he immediately seized; when a voice cried, Again baffled!” to which a loud laugh succeeded; and he felt himself grappled by one whose strength seemed superhuman: determined to sell his life as dearly as he could, he struggled; but it was in vain: he was lifted from his feet and hurled with enormous force against the ground:–his enemy threw himself upon him, and kneeling upon his breast, hand placed his hands upon his throat—when the glare of many torches penetrating through the window that gave light in the day, disturbed him;–he instantly rose, and, leaving his prey, rushed through the door, and in a moment the crashing of the branches, as he broke through the fruit orchards, was no longer heard. #RandolphHarris 6 of 8

The storm was now still; and Tarquin, incapable of moving, was soon heard by those without. They entered; the light of their torches fell upon the woodened walls, and the thatch loaded on every individual panel with flakes of soot. At the desire of Tarquin, they searched for her who had attracted him by her cries; he was again left in darkness; but what was his horror, when the light of the torches once more burst upon him, to perceive the airy form of his fair conductress brought in a lifeless corpse. He shut his eyes, hoping that it was but a vision arising from his disturbed imagination; but again saw the same form, when he unclosed them, stretched by his side. There was no colour upon her cheek, not even upon her lip. She had dark brown hair, pulled back very tightly, and dark eyes. There was a stillness about her face that seemed almost as attaching as the life that once dwelt there;–upon her neck and breast was blood, and upon her throat were the marks of teeth having opened the vein:–to this the farmers pointed, crying, simultaneously struck with horror, “A Vampire! A Vampire!” Their lamentable cries, as the approached the main part of the mansion, forewarned myself and the servants of some dreadful catastrophe. Tarquin was put to bed in the Haunted Bedroom and was seized with the most violent fever, and was often delirious. His mind, by this shock, was much weakened, and that elasticity of the spirit which once so distinguished him now seemed to have feld forever. I sat staring vacantly into the fire and listened to the heavy ticking of the mantel clock. #RandolphHarris 7 of 8

I belonged to a Society, which met twice a week in my Blue Séance Room. The spirit of the departed could visit us from Heaven, which we often called “Summerland,” to speak through a medium to those they loved. We thought of Heaven as a perfect summer’s day in the country, with beautiful fields of flowers. It was now the first week of June, and still broad daylight, but the evening chill was already upon the air. Guests walked up the narrow staircase, and into the dim, Blue Séance Room, in which the curtains were already drawn. The only furniture was a large circular table, around which half a dozen people were already seated, including myself. I greeted them warmly. I ceased to speak. There was a collective gasp from the society; the hair rose upon the back of their necks. Everyone’s hands were joined and trembling. There was faint buzzing vibration, running up my arms and through my body. “I can feel the power,” I said. “Is there anybody here?” Words started welling up in my throat, threatening to choke me if I did not speak. I began to chant sounds to the tune of “All Things Bright and Beautiful,” and slowly the tension relaxed and my hand ceased to tremble. My skin was crawling with gooseflesh. There was an old melody, even elderly. And it was familiar. The wind grew stronger up here, there were moans of the unseen crying for help, as we heard rain spatter hard against the Séance Room window. There was a figure dressed in black looking through the barred window. After a few moments, she turned into a white human-shaped most and disappeared. #RandolphHarris 8 of 8

The Winchester Mystery House

Strange blue lights have been witnessed moving around some of the rooms in the Winchester Mansion, and at times, staff and guest have witnessed them circling around people. In the basement, growls are often heard, and people have encountered a malevolent spirit, said to be an elementary who manifests into an aggressive human form, while elsewhere extreme fluctuations in temperature, light anomalies and physical sensations of being pushed and grabbed are all commonly reported. Witnesses have also reported catching fleeting glimpses of a human haunting the water tower, or, the ghost tower, as it is ominously known. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

And please be sure to check out the online gift store: https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/

There are some singular instances of skulls being preserved in old houses and becoming the subjects of weird legends. The Winchester Mansion is one of them. My beautiful property is one of the stateliest homes In America. In this case there is no element of doubt as to whose skull is preserved here. The story has always been free from the slightest suspicion of vagueness. Llanada Villa is a noble building of Grand Queen Anne architecture, and stands on a gentle eminence over overlooking the village. This was an age when the stern realities of civil war, and general insecurity seemed to be ending, and when to dwell in castles and moated granges appeared unreasonable. In every way, in art, and architecture, and in the graces of life, and era of Americana. Money was no object and no expense was spared to render the Winchester Mansion as fine as the spirit architects and craftsmen could make it. My home is certainly a very noble structure. You approach it through beautiful stained-glass doors, with caryatidal figures, and there are gabled wings, and several towers and turrets, with one being nine stories high. The entire home is plentifully supplied with more than 10,000 windows, 2,000 doors, 47 fireplaces, 6 kitchens, 13 bathroom, and a beautiful landscaped yard. The interior is handsome with rich panelling, but is chiefly remarkable for the fine staircase and the Grand Ballroom.  All its columns and walls were decorated beautifully with the Egyptian writing, and the ceiling was covered with plates of gold. With over 600 rooms and more than 747 acres, my home was growing to perfection with unaffected enthusiasm. It has never been out of my thoughts, and when it is finished, I am always devising little additional touches. I live for the house. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5

However, my home is haunted by Marie Marybelle who was bricked up alive after the basement was built. She saw to beggars resting in the fruit orchard. As she approached, they rose and asked charity. Helping them from her purse, a valuable ring she was wearing attracted their attention, and they demanded it with threats. Alas! poor Marie. She declared it was an heirloom, and had belonged to her mother; but little the ruffians cared for that, and attempted to snatch it from her finger. My pet dog Zip, whom she happened to be walking, barked, but was not otherwise of much use, and the unhappy Marie shrieked; whereupon one of the men struck her over the head with a cudgel and so knocked her senseless. They then made off with the ring, and when assistance at last arrived no one but the studded girl was to be seen. The farmers were fearful that they would be blamed, so they carried her to the basement; but although she lingered during five days, they were fearful she would never recover. In her last conscious intervals, she besought her sister, the other housemaids, for the love she bore and the affection they owned her, when she was dead to sever her head from her body and to preserve it within the walls of the mansion, there to let it remain for all future time. “Let it be removed; and make this, my last wish, known to any. And know, and let those of future generations know, that is my desire be not fulfilled, my spirit shall, if it be permitted, render the house uninhabitable for human beings.” The farmers did not consider this gruesome wish, they figured it was merely part of her wandering faculties. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5

A few days later her body was entered into the wall. Not many days had passed when those living in the mansion were startled, as they were proceeding to bed, by hearing a loud crash in one of the down stairs rooms; and although it was searched, no fallen object could be discovered. A few nights later, the sleeping household were awakened by the reverberating slam of doors; and they rose and searched through the house, and saw Marie, she was pale, had dark shadows under her eyes, and her hands shook. We realized this was a vision of death. Her body leaked blood. My heart was beating faster and faster while her hands reached for me and tired to get ahold of me.  I could hear her ghost draw in her breath. A sudden crackling was consuming the ceiling above. The night was red and brilliant, and nobody was safe, nothing was safe. The fancy gilded sofas near us were drenched in blood, the very tapestry bleeding as if it was from within. All draperies were splattered with blood, all windows featureless portals to a black and empty sky. I must have been screaming. How the horror illuminated the night. Ladies in their long gowns scurried, wept, embraced each other, pointed. Frantic men ran to drag objects to safety, slipping on the floor. The shock on each face told the others that they had passed into someplace not of this World. Some saw their own and other’s breaths condensing into clouds in the cold air. We all were in shock with a new respect for the unpredictable yet undeniable power of the unknown. We looked at Marie, but then she vanished in the bloody mist. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5

Then, it was towards the top of the house, on the outside, at the north-east corner, resembling the loud creaking of a saw, or rather that of a windmill, when the body of it is tuned about in order to shift the sails to the wind. We then heard a knocking over our heads, when we attempted to go to the study to investigate, as I opened the door, it was thrust back with such violence as had liked to have thrown me down. However, I thrust the door open, and went in. Presently, there was a knocking on one side, then on the other, and, after a time, in the next room. We went into the room, and the noise continued. These spirits love darkness. Later that evening, August the butler had the most hurtful attack as he was kneeing at the fireplace, stirring the coals. Without warning, a huge amount of water rushed down the chimney, extinguishing the fire. The sparks that flew from the chimney blinded August, and he was covered in ashes. One night the ghost roamed the corridors of the mansion and sought admittance to the rooms of each member of the household. It knocked once or twice on the doors of several bedrooms, then, true to its aggressive pattern of behavior against the mansion, it paused to deal 113 consecutive blow to August’s door before it returned to the Blue Séance Room. There was also the distinctive sound of a large animal rubbing itself along the walls. The steps taken by the ghost were quite unlike human steps and I was sure no animal walked in such a manner. As soon as we made our departure from the third floor, there was a loud thug what sounded like a body had suddenly fallen to the floor. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5

As the death of a thunderstorm swept over the area, we thought the Devil himself was coming to claim a soul. We were in terror. Back in the blood-dampened corners of the parlor, there was a cold chill that penetrated the room. A man dressed in dark blue was a dark beard was standing against one wall of the room, not ten feet from us. The man stood there. Then I noticed something strange—the apparition was only visible from the waist up! He started playing the organ and moving an occasional bit of furniture about the room. Fighting growing panic, I closed my eyes and opened them again. The man stood there, glowering at me. I was shaken by these images. Not only did I see them I felt a deep physical response. I had to clear my eyes as well as my head. There was something overpoweringly intimate about them, yet something indistinct at the same time. The midnight screams increased in shrillness and were joined by the furious crimes of animals. Rhythmic tappings moved up and down the corridors as if a small drum and bugle corps were parading in the halls. The ghost then pounded in the door. The force of the successive lows on the door shook every window on the floor. As the ghost burst through the door, that is when we noticed it was a hoofed creature. The room began to shake and there was a long, drawn-out cry. We retreated to the Observatory Tower and it was plagued by strange and dark shapes descending the stairs. There was a ghost hanging from the ceiling, twitching and jolting as if struggling for breath. Voices were screaming and shouting, “To be knaved out of our graves, to have our skulls taken, are tragic abominations.” The temperature dropped rapidly and the voices grew louder and louder, and I am sure that I could see someone standing in the shadows watching us. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5

The Winchester Mystery House

It is well known in paranormal circles that—in order to manifest—ghosts need more energy than they have inherently. Paranormal investigators have their fresh batteries drained of power and they find themselves exhausted after an investigation, simply drained of all their energy. The ghosts seem to have tapped into them for their source of energy. With utter horror, I beheld this. There is no other way to describe it. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

And please be sure to check out the online gift store: https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/

I dug deep, deep into my soul to find the heart, the love, the tenderness. I could not stand to be unquiet with a shrieking spirit whose howls made my blood run cold. After growing increasingly uncomfortable in the rain, I returned home late. The vibrations of every word uttered still echoed in the ether. The evening was so dreary that I earnestly just wanted to have a warm meal in the dining room in front of the fireplace. I went down into the kitchen, in search of supper, all the rest of the household having retired long before. Even more astoundingly, perhaps, I suddenly found myself walking down a hallway completely unrecognizable to me. Everything seemed quiet. When I reached the front parlor, I distinctly saw the tall, beautiful lady, with long fair hair, wearing a blue Tudor-style dress walk across the kitchen. I could faintly smell her apple scented perfume. She gazed forlornly out the window. Thinking it was one of the maids, I spoke to her, but the figure vanished into thin air, and a search discovered nothing at all. Mr. Hansen, however, described how he saw a man in the stable-yard, and, under the impression that he was some unauthorized visitor to the Servants’ Hall, asked him what he was doing there. As he approached the man, darkness closed in around him, so did the cold, and so did two and then four blue and green orbs. The man “vanished” without a reply. After about a minute, Mr. Hansen retuned to his group. His hands were stiff and icy cold and he was physically shivering from a bone numbing chill he had just experienced, although the farm fields were lush with summer crops. #RandolphHarris 1 of 6

Such a place as this have never existed before in all our long bloody history. Never such a place as this—full of mythologies of dead gods and lexicons of evil and demons invented by aggrieved souls. Its prominent appearance presupposes the supernatural.  Llanada Villa is densely overshowed by trees, and the chief entrances to it, by the ancient wrought-iron gate back and front, are, and long have been, closed, the usual approach being by the stable-yard on the west side. This singular disuse of the entrances originally planned has itself given rise to many fantastic legends. Llanada Villa hails a new revelation that comes to our minds and our souls, wed as they are to flesh, living flesh, a revelation rising out of the pain and thirsts of the hearts lost souls. Every time I enter my home, I feel a great shudder pass through me. It is almost, almost, the very concept of life beyond the veil. There, against the dark woods where men tremble and pray to the God some were about to meet, was a golden cross and what appeared to be several gold stars hovering above and to the right of it. One of my butler’s had a daughter who lived here on the estate. She was six years old. In the small hours of the morning, when dawn was making things clear, the child, waking up, saw a little old woman scratching with her fingers against the wall, close to the fireplace. She was not at all frightened at first, but sat up to look at her. The noise she made in doing this caused the old woman to look round, and she came to the foot of the bed, and, grasping the rail with her hands, stared at the child long and fixedly. So horrible was her stare that the child was terrified. Later that day, the sheriff found her wandering in a rainstorm, shivering and crying, and saying she was afraid to go home. #RandolphHarris 2 of 6

On a fine summer evening, the servants returned to the Servants Hall for the night. One of the housemaids felt that the heat was still so great that she could not seep, and having fastened her window, she did not close the shutters—in that very quiet place it was not necessary—and, propped against the pillows, she still watched the wonderful, the marvelous beauty of that summer night. Gradually she became aware of a looming figure approaching the entrance gate. As it drew closer, it was fixed in a dark substance, a definite ghastly something, which seemed ever moment to become nearer, increasing in size and substance as it approached. Every now and then it was lost for a moment in the long shadows which stretched across the lawn from the trees, and then it emerged larger than ever, and still coming on—on. As she watched it, the most uncontrollable horror seized her. It was a man on a horse, dressed like a Confederate officer. She longed to get away, but the door was locked on the inside, and while she was unlocking it, she must be for an instant near to it. She longed to scream, but her voice seemed paralyzed, her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth. Suddenly, she could never explain why afterwards, the terrible object on the horse seemed to turn to one side, seemed to be going round the house, not to be coming to her at all, and immediately she jumped out of bed and rushed to the door, but as she was unlocking it, she heard scratch, scratch, scratch upon the window, and saw a hideous ghostly figure upon a horse with flaming eyes glaring in at her. She quickly got back to the bed, but the creature continued to scratch upon the window. #RandolphHarris 3 of 6

A severe thunderstorm had developed, and the creature continued to scratch upon the window. The housemaid felt a sort of mental comfort in the knowledge that the window was securely fastened on the inside, as the rain continued to pour.  Suddenly, the scratching sound ceased, but the wind blew then rain inside the room, she could hear it dropping on the floor as the wind howled and the shutters slammed against the wall. In her agony, a long bony finger tapped on her shoulder. Her terror was so great that she could not scream. It twisted its long, bony fingers into her hair, and it dragged her head over the side of the bed, and—it bit her violently in the throat. As it bit her, her voice was released, and she screamed with all her might and main. The other servants rushed out of their rooms, but the door was locked on the inside. A moment was lost while they got a poker and broke it open. Then the creature had already escaped through the window, and the housemaid, was bleeding profusely from a wound in the throat, was lying unconscious over the side of her bed. One servant pursued the creature, which feld before him on horseback, and he shouted, “If I catch you, I’ll bend this pistol over your skull!” However, the creature galloped off in the moonlight and seemed to disappear over the wrought-iron gate. The servant quickly rejoined the others at the housemaid’s bedside. She was dreadfully heart, and her wound was a very definite one, but she was of a strong disposition, and when she came to herself she said, “What has happened is most extraordinary and I am very much hurt. It seems inexplicable, but of course there is an explanation, and we must wait for it. It will then turn out that a lunatic has escaped from some asylum and found his way here.” #RandolphHarris 4 of 6

The wound healed, and she appeared to get well, but the doctor who was sent for to her would not believe that she could bear so terrible a shock so easily, and insisted that she must have a change, mental and physical; so I sent her to England. She became involved in all the interests of the country. The house which she let was a single story. This time the housemaid always closed her shutters. After a year abroad, the housemaid returned. The winter passed most peacefully and happily. In the following April, the housemaid was awakened by a sound she remembered only too well—scratch, scratch, scratch upon the window, and, looking up, she saw, climbed up to the topmost pane of the window, the same hideous creature, with glaring eyes, looking in at her. This time she screamed as loud as she could. The servants rushed out of their rooms with postils, and out the front door.  But all of the blood had been drawn out of the housemaids veins, and the creature was already riding away across the lawn on horseback. The next day the servants summoned all the others servants. They patrolled all 747 acres of land that I owned and found a cavern that led to an underground vault. A horrible scene revealed itself. The vault was full of coffins; they had been broken open, and their contents horribly mangled and distorted, were scattered over the floor. One coffin remained intact. Of that the lid had been lifted, but still lay loose on the coffin. They raised it, and there, withered, shrivelled, in a Confederate uniform was the hideous figure that had attacked the housemaid; and they did—the only thing that can lay a vampire—they burnt it. #RandolphHarris 5 of 6

There was something so sad about that child and so peculiar. She was absolutely earnest and the wildest look would come into her blue eyes. Sometimes she would stay up until after dark. Defenseless and sobbing bitterly, she would not utter a word when the other servants accused her of bring a man into the mansion. They claimed they spied her and a man dressed in a Confederate uniform meeting in the garden after dark. They said she allowed the man to touch her indecently and her innocence was a complete façade. As well, people had reported seeing the housemaid with a huge black devil-dog with red eyes and heard the muffled voice of the housemaid talking to it.  Other times she was see with what some servants thought was a ghost of a man in black whom they said they heard him offer to buy her soul in returned for a song. To which she agreed. The ghost commanded the housemaid, Martha, to meet him at midnight. However, she was too frightened to go. The next day, he was so annoyed that he had been disobeyed that he hit the housemaid around the head almost dislocating her neck. After this, she absolutely refused to meet with her mysterious companion and that is when the Confederate soldier on a horse started to appear. Although it has been many years since, the footpath leading to the place where they used to meet has been the scene of disembodied voices and there are reports of a ghostly lady, resembling Martha, in a grey dress as well as a boy in knee-high shorts and a transparent white horse that sometimes appears to shock witnesses. #RandolphHarris 6 of 6

The Winchester Mystery House

Many people who tour The Winchester Mystery House have frequently reported a ghostly legend. An apparition of a women wearing a black dress periodically appears and walks across the north-east of the mansion. She was first reported in 1920 by several servants who were reportedly scared half to death. She is thought to be wearing Victorian clothing and wanders around the horse stables, turning a corner and then vanishing. She is believed to be the spirit of the housemaid Martha, who according to records, left for England in 1895. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

And please be sure to check out the online gift store: https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/

The soft breeze stealing over the stone veranda on which I stood, and the errant sun glistening in the glass of the beautiful stained-glass doors when they suddenly opened to welcome me home.  Embosomed amid trees, with its corbie-stepped gables peaking picturesquely into the sky, it is a beautiful home. I love houses made in this fashion, with a wide central hallway, a grand staircase, and large square rooms in perfect balance on either side. And rather characteristically Victorian, with blue Persian carpets, and books in mahogany cases and shelves rising to the ceilings in all the main rooms. Only a few ornate mirrors recall the antebellum period, and a little harpsichord in the corner. It is like a private club. The overall atmosphere is unmistakably inviting. It feels good here. And through many of the French door, one can catch the greenery outside, a great sprawling net swallowing up the blue sky. A curious discovery was made as I sat quietly writing in my study. The door would open. I found the obvious explanation of a draught to be absurd. Draughts do not turn door-handles—and, on my life, the handle would turn as the door opened, and no hand was visible. The housemaid told me that she had seen a small, old man creeping about the house, but there was no such person to be found. There was, however, a common reputation and local tradition that a farmer had strangled a child in the vicinity of my home. However, no one knew anything about a child having been strangled here, except the vague tradition that a farmer had committed such a crime in the vicinity some years earlier. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5

Yet, the doors in the house kept opening without physical agency, and I employed an expert to investigate the matter. An ashen twilight was deepening over The Winchester Mansion. The sky was scarcely visible anymore. The evergreens had become black and dense, the shadows beneath them broadening to eat the last of the warm summer light that clung to the sky. Folger sat in a chair in the front gallery. He had finished the Winchester history, and felt raw and exhilarated to sleep in the house and investigate the matter. The darkness gathered itself everywhere now in the mansion, the distinctive walls gathering so that he could no longer make out the pathway through the mansion, but only see the yellow twinkle of lights from the chandeliers. Each sound, scent, and shift of color aroused him in a deluge experiences. But it was an agony, this silence, this waiting, this many thoughts crowding his brain. As we proceeded down the hallway, puzzling flashes of light flicked across the mansion, illuminating portraits on the wall. Folger looked back fixedly at the portrait of Oliver Winchester, who seemed suddenly to be alive and staring at him. “What is it?” I said. “I thought that I..” he looked at the portrait. “What?” “The light made him look as though he had moved,” replied Folger. “You will see many unusual things in this house,” I said. “You will pass through empty rooms only to double back because you think you have seen a figure moving, or a person staring at you.” After a few nights, the expert became unhinged. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5

“Mrs. Winchester,” he said. “I will tell you what I know. Black Magic was used here. You called upon the spirits of the dead? “Well, yes, Folger, I suppose I have. Why?” “They are endowed with evil,” he replied. “How dare you accuse me of wickedness, you man!” “But Mrs. Winchester, the ghastly figure of a boy appeared. I saw his ghost running through the house when a man grabbed him. He strangled him near a large window on the second floor. The boy kicked him and the man lost his grip. The boy fell out of a large window died.” “Folger, I do not believe a word of this foolishness!” “I believe what I have seen, Mrs. Winchester. I saw a man with dark hair. He wasn’t a human being. He was some sort of beast. He was Satan.” I turned my back and walked to the right of the wall, by the fireplace, stopping to gather my thoughts. “Black magic and evil spells. This is all recorded here. All this and more,” said Folger. “Enough of this blasphemy! You speak of nothing more than dread beliefs and fearful imaginings. It is just a curious coincidence. Leave my home this instant!” “Mrs. Winchester, you punish me for tell you the truth, you punish me for merely telling you what you wanted to know.” The silence was sweltering. I did not know how long I can stand this attack. “Mark what I say, Mrs. Winchester. Your home is filled with horrors. You mask it behind all this beauty and wealth, but there is a great, ancient evil here. Something very malevolent!” I stepped backwards. My hand tightening uncomfortably on the lamp which was now hot from the burning wick, so hot that I could barely hold it any longer. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5

“Poor dear,” I said. “What you saw is just a figment of your imagination.” Folger looked at me, overcome with horror. As I gazed at him, his mouth turned into a dark hole, his lips slowly deteriorated. I turned and left the room, leaning against the wall, my eyes shut. When I opened them, there was music playing. Looking through a couple of doorways into the older section of the house, I noticed a fresh-faced young man—a boy, actually—standing and watching the goings-on with a peculiar look on his face. The more I watched him, the more material he stated to become. Suddenly, I could hear his footsteps walking toward me. There was something strange about them—they seemed soft and close together. Apprehensively, I made my way toward him. As I walked across the hall and approached the door that stood between us, I felt I was entering a very different World. A luminescence glow began to stretch across that the room. I froze as the light grew brighter and brighter. My heart was pounding as I reached out to touch the child’s hand, the light suddenly vanished and I found myself cloaked in darkness. There was no one there. We must have opened a door to another World. That night when the draperies were pulled against the cloister windows, and the halls echoed with dim dissonant sounds, as I was preparing to close my eyes, I heard the sound of a child crying. I was puzzled and stood still for a few moments, attempting to determine the direction the sound was coming from. When I heard the cry again, I knew that I had made no mistake. A distressed child was sobbing somewhere within my mansion. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5

I tracked the sound to a room on the sixth floor. The child cried quit vigorously as I reached the room. I pushed the door to the room open and found myself in a room completely devoid of any other living human. Moonlight passing through a large window bathed the room in sufficient light to permit an immediate evaluation. As an eerie silence fell upon the mansion, I realized I was quite alone. The ghost that roamed the house was that of an eight-year-old boy. Supporting Folger’s story, during some alterations, a window-shutter was removed, when a packet of antique copy-books was discovered, pushed into the wall between the joists and the skirting, in which the name Hoby Barrett was written. He died July 1888 of the age eight. He had been buried in the tower. When that tower was demolished, the workmen exhuming his body, found the legs to have been tied together with blue silk ribbon. The material was as fresh and bright as the day it had been tied, and the body was not decayed. The credulous country folk averred that he was a vampire. After having more terrific rows with the spectral lad, gruesome noises that suggested the strangulation of a child, I had to do something. The ghost would often awaken me at three in the morning, banging on closet doors, leaving faucets running, opening drawers and running up and down the tower stairs. I finally had the carpenters build the ghost a nursery, complete with toys at the top of the tower. Afterward the ghost behaved better. During a séance with the medium, the table raised and lowered itself to the floor. I heard a voice coming out of the darkness that we definitely thought was the Hoby’s. The spirit voice told us that he was happy and that he was pleased that we gave him toys, and then he faded back into silence. Even though my home was fully of other fiendish phantoms, I never felt more satisfied than I did during that evening in the Blue Séance Room. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5

The Winchester Mystery House

The Winchester Mystery House has the reputation of being haunted. Lovers of the marvelous declare dark figures have been seen in the Daisy Bedroom, often standing in the doorway and seemingly blocking people’s escape. As well, strange flashes of light and green orbs have been regularly seen and people have reported being touched by invisible hands. Furniture and beds have been known to move seemingly by themselves. Others have witnessed indentations on the bed Mrs. Winchester said her good-bye in, as if someone is sitting down. A dark figure has also been witnessed standing in the doorway and people have reported being violently pushed. Strange sounds have also been reported, including humming noises and something described as being similar to that of pieces of metal being dropped. Some report doors that swing open, and feelings of light headedness and strangulation on the fourth floor.

After the 1906 Earthquake, the nine-story tower was removed and most of the fourth floor was demolished, except for one wing only. If, while touring The Winchester Mystery House, you see an old-World figure of a boy, you will recognize him as Hoby by his knee-breeches, tied with a blue ribbon. Some people have reported being awoken by a woman screaming, while the oldest remaining parts of the mansion is subjected to disembodied footsteps and scratching and banging from with the walls. It is believed that the noises are caused by a young boy who has been seen at the end of the corridor on the fourth floor. Indeed, one guest has witnessed this boy walking through the wall. People have reported disembodied voices seemingly arguing as well as the sound of violins playing. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

And please be sure to check out the online gift store: https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/