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/

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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/

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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/

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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/

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I had another nightmare, the same nightmare, in fact, that had haunted me for weeks. And try as I might, I could not escape that bone chilling breath, or cacophony of illusions that always began in the Victorian gardens, then ended with a massive conflict involving weaponry too fantastic to believe. However, when I awoke, the soft breeze and soothing flower scents wafting up from the garden brought a new clarity. With a heavy sign, I turned to go back to bed, but as I was about to walk away from the balcony, there were cold and gruesome gusts, and a movement in the shadows caused me to jump. At night, a ghostly face peers from the windows and a voice asks irritably, in broken English, “Vhy tont dey come?” The deer used to come within sight of the drawing-room windows, and would browse quite close to the house. The observation tower had been producing apparition. One night, a servant who was in perfect health and spirits, and was singing and whistling up to the moment of the occurrence, was alarmed when near the dark staircase of the hall, where the sombre protraits of ancestor hung who, afflicted with a Family Cruse, step out their frames at the sound of the midnight bell. He thrust at them with his hammer, which struck the door. When on the morrow I saw the unfortunate carpenter in the main drawing room, he testified to having seen them stepping out of the painting, and being alert, and awake, and even had spoken to them. I saw the unfortunate man again on the following day, but changed beyond my recognition. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

In another day or two, the brave and steady carpenter, who usually have unshaken nerves, died—at the presence of a shadow. The carpenter was buried some days later. Whether or not the carpenter died from the effect of seeing genuine apparitions, was never known. During renovation of the tower, one of the mansions oldest sections, it was discovered that behind the painting of the ancient wall was hollow, and upon breaking the wall down, workmen were horrified to discover a room that contained the bones of a woman and a baby. The remains were quickly sent to the cemetery, but that did little to quell the restless spirits. That night we have a séance, and they woman’s ghost conveyed through the medium that they were bricked up and alive and left to die. The woman’s ghostly figure appeared. The apparition. She was holding her child as she moved around the séance room in a state of abject despair. She touched the hair of the nervous and made it bristle as she ran her phantasmal hands their locks. I perceived not how she entered; but, turning my eyes towards yonder corner of the room, I saw her standing in the same form and habit as life. I would have spoken, but had not the power of utterance. She took a little circuit round the séance room, seeming rather to swim than walk. Then suddenly, above the sound of rain and wind, there came to our ears a long low moan, which rose and fell. The medium stopped abruptly. We started to our feet. The moan was succeeded by another—louder, more prolonged, more agonizing. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

It grew in intensity, rose to a hideous shriek, then gradually died away again to a low wailing groan. Shriek followed shriek, shrill and loud—human, horribly human, as a woman in torture, yet unearthly and gruesome. My blood ran cold. The sounds grew nearer and more awful. Then distinctly we heard footsteps, slow, uncertain, and shuffling. They approached. The shrieks sounded close at hand. A clanking jingling sound, like rattling chains, jarred on our ears at each footfall. We heard one of the doors in the séance room grate back upon its hinges, light in the doorway revealed a White Lady, as a grew more piercing, she came towards us walking slowly creating a cold chill in her spectral wake. The medium’s face grew darkly flushed. She was astonished to realize that she was trembling, that a sweat had broken out all over her, and that she was glaring at the apparition as if she meant to strike her. The medium was not one to strike. It seemed latent emotion had overcome her, something inimical to the round childlike face, the clear innocent blue eyes. The medium’s lips moved as if something were just dawning on her, and then she stopped. We had opened a portal to the otherworld through which entities entered into this World. We ran through the exit into my dressing room and what we saw defied logic. There, slowly emerging from the wall was a man—or at least what had the general form and appearance of a human—dressed in blue. He wore a cap, but had no face, no distinct features of a human being. And emanating from his “being” was bluish-gray tinge. And yet, another figure—that of a woman—slowly keeping alongside the man. The eerie could move directly toward the hallway, as they faded away in an eerie blue radiance. In 1885, when workmen were excavating in the cloister, on the other side of the Séance Room, two human skeletons were uncovered, about two feet into the wall. The remains were removed. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

After years of night-duty, of patrolling the estate, one of the guards became acquainted with a Force more supernatural than burglars. In all that while the guard’s ears were assaulted by nothing more awful than demon cries. While standing near the mansion, about midnight, he saw a group of figures coming towards him along one of the walks, and they were howling with great evil. When they had advance within thirteen yards of where he was standing, the entire party of ghouls vanished. “On this particular night,” he said, “I went on duty at the east front of the mansion at ten o’clock , and had to remain there until six o’clock next morning. I was quite alone, and was standing close to the main gates, looking toward the Cupid Fountain, when suddenly I became conscious of a group of figures moving towards me. It is a most unusual thing to see anyone in the garden at that time of night, but I thought it probable that some of the servants in the mansion had gone to a party and were returning on foot. There were howling sounds and what resembled the rustling of dresses. When they reached a point about a little more than a dozen yards from me, I turned round and opened the gates to let them in. The party, however, altered their course, and headed in the direction of the fruit orchards, to the north of the garden. At the same time there was a sudden movement amongst the group; they fell into processional order, two deep, with the gentlemen at the head. Then, to my utter amazement, the whole crowd of them vanished; melted, as it seemed to me, into the air. All this happened within seven yards of where I was standing. I rushed to the spot, looked up and down, but could see nothing or hear nothing to explain the mystery.” #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

Often, works of art can, in and of themselves, invite us to experience it in a temporal way. There is a rather scandalous tell about Saint Anthony. His picture hung in the gallery, titled The Meeting of Saint Anthony and Saint Paul. At night, Saint Paul would descend from the painting at night, travel down the winding hallways of the mansion, and tap at the bedroom doors; When, if any one says “Come in,” in he comes. One of the servants, Linnaeus, suffered from severe gastric hemorrhages, a condition though to be incurable. However, because the unfortunate man endured continual hemorrhages, physicians decided to attempt an operation. Two surgeries were performed but they were unsuccessful, and when an incision on his abdomen opened, Linnaeus’s condition steadily worsened to the point where he collapsed. Desperate to attempt any new therapy, I allowed him to stay in the Crystal Bedroom, hoping that the change of air and locale might help him. However, after a week, the doctor came to check on him and said he was dying. Linnaeus recalled that had been all alone in the Crystal Bedroom when he suddenly heard a knock at the door. He said, “Come in.” He had been lying on his side when he felt someone place a hand on his abdomen. Summoning all his strength, he turned around to see who was in the room with him, and he saw Saint Paul standing beside his bed. Linnaeus recognized him easily. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

In a quiet yet authoritative voice, the ethereal image of Saint Paul, spoke words of great comfort: “Brother, you have called to me so many times, as have so many of the other servants of the Winchester, that you have torn out of my heart this miracle. But now do not fear. You are healed!” The spirit of Saint Paul then told Linnaeus to call his doctors in in the morning so that they could examine him. Just before he vanished, he told Linnaeus to go to his painting and pray. The moment the spirit of the saint disappeared, Linnaeus rose from the bed and was elated to realize he felt no pain. When he summoned the other servants and the doctors into the room, they were amazed to find that the scar on his abdomen, which had been opened and bleeding, was now completely healed. There was, in fact, no longer any scar or any other physical sign indicating that there had been a gaping wound on his abdomen just hours before. Linnaeus was not expected to survive the day, yet that evening he was up, eating supper with the other servants. The miracle healing of Linnaeus by the ghost of Saint Paul occurred in April 1890. Ever since, he has lived a healthy life. This is a phenomenon that can only be explained in a supernatural way. Although, such interventions by spiritual entities have occurred among conventional Christian, and the act is deemed a miracle; this similar phenomena was denounced as the work of the devil by orthodox clergy because I am a member of a spiritualist group. The transient materialization of benevolent spiritual beings is a universal phenomenon reported by members of all religious faith. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

The guardians and benefactors from the spirit World, often materialized to offer guidance and healing. Entities frequently move through space and time. Considerable poltergeist activity has been reported in my home with voices and footsteps regularly heard and furniture being moved substantial distances. Some have reported the unpleasant sensation of being grabbed by unseen hands while others have reported growling noises. My mansion has a thrillful reputation. It rejoices in secret passages and hiding-corners, and has a peculiarly devilish contrivance in the shape of  passage that leads directly, without warning, deep into the fields. In a stately room of my mysterious mansion was an equally mysterious masked lady. A tall, slender gentleman, with lowering and ferocious aspect, having upon him a gun, entered the room with some others, and, taking the newly-born child from her arms, without a word threw it upon a blazing fire in an ante-room and crushed it with his boot-heel into the flaming logs, so that it was entirely consumed. Soon after, he was haunted through the mansion and on the farm and roads by the apparition of a burning babe, which startled his horse so that he was flung to the ground and his neck broken. He is now, in old country lore, an apparition himself, and haunts this mansion indefinitely. The servants believe my home is also haunted by a ghost in a full suit of armor who has been witnessed at night, the light of the moon glinting off his armor, while in the maid’s room, the sound of a crying baby is often heard. Interestingly, during recent renovations to the room, the corpse of a baby wrapped in linen fell from the ceiling, its bones were charred and fractured, which led some to suspect that the baby was the source of the crying. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7

The Winchester Mystery House

The era of haunted houses has long been on the wane, lost to an age which thinks it knows so much more than was known two centuries ago, therefore presumes that it has arrived at a complete knowledge of all there is to know in Heaven, Hell, and Earth. Talk of spirits has become known as “foolishness.” In times such as these, when the traditional Angel topper on the Christmas tree has been banished, and the time-honored, hair-raising stories of ghosts, told by the flicker fire before the lights are lit, no longer a delightfully appetizing prelude to the Christmas dinner; nor, later, send the guests to bed with raw nerves that jump at every shadow. It is a little unfortunate that much of the appropriate setting of ghost stories has been destroyed. There are many blood-curdling legends, but their native homes have largely been demolished, and in some cases rebuilt; and ghosts do not very appropriately haunt houses less than a hundred years old. You require, for the instillation of a ghost, a manor-house, with wine-cellars, a butler, old family portraits (not necessarily those of your own family), and if you can manage mahogany paneling and tapestry hangings so much the better. In the ideal haunted house, the guest, primed with ancestral horror, went to bed with apprehension, leaving the warm dining-room for some vast woebegone chamber, with a like a catafalque and hangings of a bygone age; with mysterious cupboards, and secret passageways, in which a dozen family skeletons might reside, and with a floor whose every board had a separate and distinctive squeak.

Manor-houses we have still with us, but their number, as compared with the myriads of newly built “villas” in the suburbs, is woefully small. You cannot hope to find the ghost of  kitchen maid who fell to her death while carrying a tray of food, nor her ghostly piercing screams. The strange foot steps around the staircase area attributed to the ghostly head cook Maude are absent. In the keep of these new villas the ghost of an unknown woman cannot be heard humming, and there will never been an occasion to witness an apparition standing at the bottom of the stairs. This is very sad, for a family ghost is a possession that in these times, when antiquities are prized, would be greatly welcomed by many estimable folk. The Uncanny and the Inexplicable, seated invisible (but yet making their presence felt) by the hearthstone, would themselves get a cachet of respectability, or, at least, of long descent, to a domestic circle; and so long as they did not play their ghostly parts so earnestly as to send the servants into hysterics and render the house uninhabitable, would thus be prized possession. There would be nothing, for example, to fear from the gentle spook or spooks who, on the impeccable authority of Mrs. Sarah L. Winchester, used to share residence of The Winchester Mansion, and only make its, or their presence known by stertorous breathings, rustlings, and scratchings, and by stroking the heads of servants who at last grew quite familiar with, and unafraid of, it and used to call it pet names! Ghost of this kind are the low comedians of the spirit World. Omnipotens sempiterne deus adesto magna pietatis tue misteriis, adesto piss invocationibus nostris ut speculum istud quod in tuo nominee bene dicere facto. Desu qui hooc speculum ex materia fragili. Discendat in hoc speculum virtus spiritus sancti. Discendat in hoc speculum ut supra.

There is more in Heaven and Earth than is dreamt of in The Winchester Mystery House. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

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It must have been years since I had walked back to this wing of my great massive house. It was born more grand, of masonry and trimmed in very fancy ironwork. The classic center hall with the twin parlors on either side; in these rooms the decorative energy come from the square and rectangular shape panels of varied materials that make up the wall surface rather than from the arrangement of discrete objects. The result is a mosaic of shapes held together tenuously in a plane, conveying an implication of flux not found in most of the rest of the mansion. I love the partially covered parquet floors; the three-part walls consisting of strong dark wainscoting, with a middle neutral ground of paper, brocade and leather, and the decorated frieze at the top; the ceiling are paneled in dark wood, and some are finished in plaster; with brass sconces and crystal chandeliers; along with centered, shelf-supporting overmantel with tiles below; there are fine woods and superior wood carving; exquisite hangings of plush and velvet; heavy embroidered portieres; firm but appealing colors—crimson, dead gold, bronze; stamped leather chairs, and on the walls original oil paintings by familiar names of the modern French, German, Spanish, and Italian schools. Although these homogeneous interiors are dark, because of the mahogany paneling, the light that does enter does not lift these interiors but bounces from the exquisitely finished surfaces of the wood and from the scores of well-crafted objects within the parlors. The reflected lights from these objects compete with one another and with the glistening surface panels. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

The chandeliers of these parlors were small, not decorated with gold like the Baccarats of the hall. They only had crystal and glass. I had played the organ in the dark, on winter nights. With the fireplace blazing, I tried and tried to make music. My vision was blurred. The words had been torn from my heart. Playing for spectators, of passing invisible though walls and then coming alive in lurid flaming splendor. That is when a dark-haired, long-robed entity materialized before me. Looking at me, his hair falling down dark and straight on both sides. The two small braids had come undone and mixed now with the longer locks, loose and shining. He broke down on me with all his powers to fright. However, it only brought some old actor’s beauty to mind. His sharp nose and enthralling eyes, he had the dark beauty of George Berrell. I believed him to be the ghost of a Native American. The ghostly adviser told me he had been at my side since I was a school girl. “I know you better than you know yourself,” the spirit chided me. The vapor that surrounded the ghost glowed with a surging life. My ears rand with the roars of the gun shots, the shouts and cries of million who had become locked in mortal combat. Above the sounds of strife, the mysterious voice admonished me to “look and learn.” A vision of my mansion manifested with carpenters expanding the back of my home, and the darkness, ghouls, ghosts, and demons suddenly vanished. As miserable and depressing as conditions could be, the spirit being vanished. I was revitalized in body, mind, and spirit. I rose from my organ, stood motionless. The music moved on. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

 Convinced that I had seen a vision of what I was to build, I was filled with renewed conviction that I would defeat the curse of the Winchester Rifle. Immediately, I had these rooms sealed up and gave the carpenters blueprints of what they were to build. They quickly got to work with their gold-plated hammers. I opened the back doors of the room to the dining room. I could see straight through it and out the back windows of the house, and there the tall cherry laurels were lighted against the pergola, bright leaves, moving as if there were a wind, and I had not—in this big house, haunted as it might be, had not even noticed the wind. Now I heard it tapping the panes, and creeping beneath the floors. Workers complained about strange noises coming from nowhere out in the fruit orchards—orders being shouted by unseen men; bugle calls from invisible instruments; drum cadences tapped out by long dead drummer boys; the strange, hideous thud of lead against flesh, echoes of horrified screams of human beings being slaughtered. Farmers scouted half a dozen miles ahead without seeing any living thing. They kept their Winchesters close and did not shuck anything but their hats. That’s how men lived to the ripe old age of thirty-five on the frontier. But then, on their way back to the mansion, what they beheld sent chills at a fast gallop up their spines. The landscape was alive with Indians! Several figures were silhouetted against a roaring fire about 100 yards from the fruit orchard. The majority of the figures were recognizable as Native American men dressed only in breechcloths. They spoke a language unknown to the farmers. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

When they realized they were hearing Spanish, the farmers rubbed their eyes to make sure they were not seeing an illusion, for there, sitting around a campfire on the estate, were men adorn in the armor of Spanish conquistadores. Lord amighty,” Jones groaned, “there must be five hundred.” “Don’t nobody pull a gun,” said Johnny. “We’re at their mercy.” The conquistadores began to advance toward the farmers, in a blink of an eye the fire went out and the conquistadores completely dematerialized. The next morning, greatly intrigued by the provocative experience, the farmers went out to the fields, three trees they had seen the night before were gone. By nine o’clock, the carpenters were heading home. As they grabbed their tools and were walking down the hallway, they found that their single path suddenly branched out into three. Confused, and believing they had somehow gotten off the main path, they decided they would ask two housemaids who were walking just ahead of them. The women were able to direct the men back to the hallway that led down stairs and out of the mansion. However, that hallway ended abruptly when another hallway intersected it at an angle and led in a different direction. They knew the hallways seemed like a dividing line between sections of patchwork quilt; it chopped off the oak floors they had been walking on. The rooms on the other side of the hallway looked different than anything that had seen before in the mansion. They looked like a dungeon from a 16^th century castle. Stone walls, no windows, and chains hanging from the ceiling. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

The men walked though these rooms and into another hallway. There were stained glass windows and light streaming through, creating cascades of color on the walls, floors, and ceiling. But no more than what seemed like an hour ago, it was night outside. The men also noticed they cast no shadow. Then they aw a man who was sitting with his back turned to them. As the carpenters approached this man, he turned toward them and they gasped at the sight of his face. His countenance was dark, his face was bleeding, and his mouth dropped like a Greek mask of tragedy, revealing an appearance of decay and evil that could not be concealed by staring, sightless eyes. The carpenters were so stricken by this sight that they did not see the other man until he called to them. The gentlemen composed themselves and asked him for directions. As he pointed the way, he spoke with an accent that none of the carpenters grasped. They thanked him, nevertheless. At once the man ran off, disappearing out of a door on the second floor with no stairs. But still the carpenters heard the sound of his running food steps. They started off in the direction their mysterious guide had indicted. Hurrying along a new, narrow hallway, with tiny stairs, that zig zagged, the men finally found themselves near an exit. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

However, a door slammed, and a young man dressed for kitchen work stood before them. He carried a brook and seemed to have stepped out to shake the dust from it. He seemed as surprised by the presence of the carpenters as they were of his. He asked if they were lost. The carpenters refused his offer to show them the way and made their way outside, where they found a wedding in progress. As they stood among the cheerful celebrants of marriage, they carpenters felt a cloud of depression hand been following them. As they wandered the grounds of the estate, the wooded areas closed in around them, the conversation began again, but it seemed the deeper into the woods they got, the further away the sound moved, always staying the same distance from them. Once again, they saw the darkness deepen. The same depression they had felt descended upon them with a cold rain. They puzzled over the activity of men harvesting fruit. Glancing behind them for a moment, when the carpenters looked back the farmers and their wheel barrels were nowhere in sight. Then, an agonized scream pierced the cold darkness of the woods; then sobbing; then a distinctive voice shouting, “Get up, get up, go! Go!” They slowed their walk into the woods, but continued forward, fascinated by and fearful of where they were headed. The horrible screams continued as well as the sobbing. Then a voice called out, “Charge!” The carpenters looked at each other, confirming that each had heard it. They were hoping to get out of this other-Worldly place as quickly as possible. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

The clouds seem to lower and the rain became very dense. Grayness was everywhere. Phantom shadows flung here and there and the ground itself appeared to dissolve in grayness and ooze. Fear had some, the dull terrible misery of dread; gloom consumed all hope. The carpenters heard metal rattling. Thankfully, they reached a clearing with a huge rock in the middle of it. Suddenly there was a loud “crack” to their right. They looked, but saw nothing. And now, it seemed, they had entered into a realm of the supernatural. Though they still could not see any people from who the voices came, the immediate area in which they were standing began to glow, and was illuminated by an odd blue light. The men were cold and shaking uncontrollably. They desperately tried to find their way back to the mansion. After two weeks had passed, no one had seen hide nor hair of them. I was betwixt by telegrams from the families asking if I knew of their whereabouts. I just assumed they quit. Later that evening, there was a curious carriage constructed of bones, driven by a headless driver, seen leaving the fields. The room was filled with a deathly silence. A chill swept over me, and I felt as though I was not alone. For some reason, I opened the drapes. That is when I saw the apparition. Outside of my window, so close that it seemed as if I might be able to touch them if I raised the glass, was a brightly painted Indian on his spirited mount. The warrior bent low over the flying black mane of his horse and looked neither to the right nor to the left. He seemed to be mouthing words of encouragement to the phantom mustang. There was a shimmering light around them. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7

The Winchester Mystery House

People have reported hearing the ghostly sound of horse’s hooves, and visitors have often reported the sounds of children’s laughter from empty rooms. A number of staff have been alarmed by the appearance of a ghostly women around midnight in the room where Mrs. Winchester said her last good-bye.

She suddenly appears by the window, gazing forlornly out at the night sky before turning and walking slowly to the bed where she lies down and clutches her stomach, writhing in apparent agony. Another female figure is also said to appear in the room and stands at the bedside. Investigators have suggested that the woman in pain may have been poisoned sometime in the past and the other woman is a maid, nursing her through her last painful hours. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

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There was no one about. Cold rain, a rain worse to me than snow, was falling heavily and loudly.  I stood watching it fall. There was a great hum, as if this mansion was alive. While I gazed, a feeling of intense cold seized me. An iceberg before me could not more have chilled. I was convinced that it was not the cold caused by fear. As I continued to gaze, I thought that I distinguished two eyes looking down on me. One moment I fancied that I distinguished them clearly, the next they seemed gone; but still two rays of pale-blue light frequently shot through the darkness, as from the height on which I half believed, half doubted, that I had encountered the eyes. I strove to speak—my voice utterly failed me; I could only think to myself, “is this fear? it is not fear! I attempted to rise—in vain, I felt weighed down by an irresistible force. This overwhelming Power opposed any volition I could make. At last, horror—horror to a degree that no words can convey. The light began to slowly wane from the candles; they were not, as it were, extinguished, but their flame seemed, very gradually withdrawn; it was the same with the fire—light was extracted from the fuel; in a few moments the room was in utter darkness. I felt a great sense of dread being in this dark room with something whose power was so intensely strong. I found the strength to rise from my chair. I could see a dim shadow against the opposite wall. Suddenly I saw him directly above me, his eyes huge, his dark robes swirling about him—and in that instant I felt the whole room vibrate sensibly; and at the far end there rose, the ghastly shape of death. #RandolphHarris 1 of 6

On it my eyes were intently fixed, till the eyes grew out of the shadow—malignant, serpent eyes. I felt the clutch of cold soft fingers at my throat. If I gave way to fear, I knew I would be in bodily peril; and I concentrated all my faculties in the single focus of resisting. I turned my sight from the shadow—above all, from those strange serpent eyes. The atmosphere began to redden as if in the air of some near conflagration. A rumbled rolled over the moonlit room, a faint and horrible sound seem to rise out of the Earth itself everywhere; a great sigh seeping from the corners and crannies in my home. A great blast of icy wind froze my skin so that I was aware of every dimension of my body: cold face, cold hands, cold limbs. Outside, I could hear the thundering of carriages and plumed horses galloping before it. Now and then a violent shudder swept over me, stopping me, lifting me for the moment off the balls of my feet so that I would sink down, disoriented. Gradually, all things were shallowed up in the darkness of the murky shadow, as if out of that obscurity all had come, into that darkness all returned. As the gloom recede, the shadow was gone. Slowly as it had been withdrawn, in the fire place the oak and kindling roared into a flame again, light returned to the candles on the table. Nothing changed for the rest of the night. Nor, indeed, had I long to wait before the dawn broke. Though the oppressive air that saturated the house had been lifted, I still felt, as I stood on the floor, the creep of the horror which I had experienced the night before. As I was descending the stairs, I heard a footfall before me. #RandolphHarris 2 of 6

As I opened the door to the parlor, I could distinguish a low laugh. I expected to find a servant playing games, but no one presented themselves. The sitting-rooms were large and cheerful and they and the bedrooms more than ordinarily lofty, the kitchen and servants’ rooms, on the same level, were well and comfortably furnished. The candle had been distinguished, and I was coming up stairs. I had already dismissed my maid, when I was startled by an unnaturally tall figure standing in the library. The light was too faint to enable me to define anything respecting this apparition. A wave of sickness overcame me. I felt something brush close to my left side, and then I was thrown a short distance. The strange, hazy mist levitated slowly across the library, from one side to the other at least ten to twelve times. The pain in my face and in my ears and in my hands was unbearable. How many hours passed, I did not know. When I climbed to my feet, I did so slowly. My hair was a mass of tangles and knots. I shook myself all over. It felt good to be standing on the warm floor. Electric light was streaming through the door way. Something was creeping slowly toward me along the floor. It was something dark and serpentine in shape. I stooped down to examine it with feeling of intense horror and repugnance, and discovered that it was moving toward me from the other side of the wall. My eyes were fascinated, and for the moment I was unable to move. #RandolphHarris 3 of 6

Silently, slowly, from side to side like a thick worm, it crawled forward into the room beneath my frightened eyes, until at length I could stand it no longer, I would not permit it to prey upon me. The passage to the next room was locked. I pushed it as hard as I could and the lock gave way. I fell headlong into the room that was pitch dark and very cold. In a moment I was on my feet again trying to penetrate the blackness Not a sound, not a movement. Not even the sense of a presence. I stood there shivering, cold as ice, starting, shivering listening. Suddenly there was a step behind me and a light flashed into the room, and when I turned quickly with my arm up as if to ward off a terrific blow. Countless thoughts crowded into my head. What was really going on here? No one knew what it was like to witness such horrors. Imagine it. Imagine a house gradually awakening to its own contours as an entity, an entity struggling to grasp that it is possessed by spiritual beings…and besieged by what it can hear but not see and then see but not comprehend….amid a cacophony of vices that never ceased speaking. Imagine living in such a house. Almost every type of haunting phenomena has been observed or encountered in this mansion. Footsteps have been heard in the master bedroom and on the stairs. Windows, even when fastened down with three or four-inch bolts, have mysteriously opened in the middle of the night. There is often the aroma of food being prepared in the kitchens, when no one is around. #RandolphHarris 4 of 6

Screams are frequently heard echoing through upstairs rooms; girlish giggles and rattling of doorknobs are also commonplace. Numerous servants have seen a man hanging from a scaffold on the south side of the mansion. The house is very much alive. Blood. Cold blood. Powerful blood has created this web of spectral energy. It is a formidable place and the walls cast long ominous shadows, which suggest a particularly tragic past. And in this case, the walls do not lie; the mansion dose not disappoint in this regard. Now the Heavens spread out in all their indescribable beauty before me, the stars like diamonds everywhere that I look, diamonds of inexpressible brilliance, shining like gifts in the great black vault of Heaven, gifts from whom or what we may never know. But if there ever was hell on Earth, it was in this mansion. Some evenings, the floors are slick with phantom blood and gore. Wounded ghosts sit along the hallways, doors are magically taken off the hinges. Dark dreams seem to plague sleepers, which have resulted in some staff members vanishing in the middle of the night—with no explanation. Some people want to identify who these ghosts are. However, does it really matter? I bear the Curse of the Winchester Rifle, and I claim no great power for this mighty deed. Preternatural voices sing acclamation in the Grand Ball Room, as blood tears fall from the ceiling. The undead are utterly alive. #RandolphHarris 5 of 6

ASTRACHISO, ASACH, ASARCA, ABEDUMABAL, SLLAT, ANABOTAS, JESUBILIN, SCIOIN, DOMOL, Lord God, who dwellest above the Heavens, whose glance searchest the abyss; great me, I pray Thee, the power to conceive in my mind and to execute that which I desire to do, the end of which I would attain by Thy help, O God Almighty, who livest and reignest for ever and ever. I do conjure thee, O thou Spirit Shan and your 30 Legions of Spirits, by all the most glorious and efficacious names of the MOST GREAT AND INCOMPREHENIBLE LORD GOD OF HOSTS, that thou comest quickly and without delay from all parts and places of the Earth and World wherever thou mayest be, to make rational answers unto my demands, and that visibly affably, speaking with a voice intelligible unto mine understanding as aforesaid. 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 three in the Name of the Mighty living God, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, in addition by these seven great names wherewith Solomon the Wise bound thee and thy companions in a Vessel of Brass, ADONAI, PREYAI, or PRERAI, TETRAGRAMMATON, ANAPHAXETON or ANAPHENETON, INESSENFATOAL or INESSENFTALL, PATHTUMON or PATHATUMON, and ITEMON; that thou appearest here in this mansion to fulfill my will in all things that seem good unto me. You have brought forth the beasts to the field and the creatures of the night! Ahriman with your infernal blessing I ask that you would bring forth the baneful powers of the Wolf kin to fill this oil with their essence that it may be compelled according to my will! #RandolphHarris 6 of 6

The Winchester Mystery House

A materialized ghost may seem as solid as any human. Modern science no longer regards as “solid”; rather, they are understood to be congealed wave patterns. The whole imposing array of subatomic particles—electrons, protons, positrons, neutrino, mesons—achieve particle-like characteristics in a manner similar to the way that wave patterns in tones and overtones produce characteristic sounds.

Ghosts may be made up of transitory, emergent matter that appears and disappears. This matter “can sometimes be seen and felt before disappearing. It behaves like ordinary matter but still has no permanent existence in the framework of our conception of space and time. In fact, after it transitory manifestation, it seems to be absorbed back into another dimension or dimensions. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

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The dawn broke clear and cold, with the sky so intensely blue, the eyes ached, just looking at it. The wind had died, and when the sun rose in golden splendor, its warmth came as a welcome surprise. My home rose in the most delicate and fantastic beauty, and mirrors a dream of richness, pride, and opulence found only in a fairytale. The size is probably unequaled by that of any other edifice in the valley. It is a house known for its artistic treasures, and is easily the most interesting private residence. With the fanciful gingerbread clapboard, multiple planes, balconies, high, gabled roofs, its dizzying array of towers, turrets, and bay windows crowned by finials; gables, cupolas, cornice, spindles, columned portico, pediments, verandas, overhangs, handmade shingles, crests on the roof, domers, and projections, all accompanied by its decorative trim add to the free spirit of Victorian architecture and reflect the moral rectitude and values of the population. The steeply pitched roofs hearken the High Victorian Gothic architecture. Due to the myriad of vertical, diagonal, and horizontal wooden pieces, on the exterior, some believed that English architect and writer Charles Eastlake produced this home. However, its characteristics are more clandestine than one could possibly imagine. The detailing is certainly reminiscent of rustic European architecture. The Brilliant color green was not only selected for it is pleasing to the eye, but for its restful and calming nature. It also introduces color into the landscape, symbolizing prosperity and fertility. #RandolphHarris 1 of 8

The inspiration for such magnificent edifices has virtually no precedent in America; it came instead from the Old-World sources. Sufficient it is now to say that uniformity is the last thing on Earth sought after.  The cornice and veranda are of contrasting shade with the body of the house, while the shutters have a darker tint. The half-timbered motif and symmetrical Renaissance designs embrace the reign of Queen Anne during the 1702-14 era. The architecture is riddled with the shadows of centuries of secrets, forbidden thoughts, psychological romances, which ramble through the labyrinth. The front doors, which welcome guests into the parlor, are made of Santo Domingo mahogany and are emblazoned by art glass windows, giving the allure of encrusted jewels. This catches more of the spirit for the grand drama and noble ceremonies. Cabinetmaker John Henry Belter produced the balloon-shaped chair and sofa with curving edges and detailed carving, it the Louis XV manner, which went along perfectly with the two corner tables supported by gilt cupids. The Sevres vases glisten from the wall-cabinets, genuine Persian rugs of the finest quality and color, and rare old hangings of velours. Heavens, my husband would never forgive me for paying two hundred and fifty thousand dollars last year for an old sliver goblet, but it is part of the motif that makes this a luxurious nook of the house. As guests go up the beautiful mahogany stairs and pass along the gallery, looking down on a hall such as few palaces contain…it puts them in mind of a scene of the most royal and impressive Baroque masterpieces. #RandolphHarris 2 of 8

Goblin tapestries have been brought from France by my ancestors. There are rare and costly pieces of Dutch marquetry, doors of rare East Indian wood, Limoges enamel of extremely rare and exquisite workmanship. The many skylights, not only allow for air and light to flow through the home, but also to give it the feeling of a moonlight ride in a gondola, while Heavenly music flows from the Grand Ball Room. The creatively shaped rooms and appendages of the house fully represent the expanding and diverse nature of American life. Furniture has been imported from Europe, and the Grand Ball Room, made of rosewood, white mahogany, teak, maple and oak, resemble an entire apartment from a palace in Belgium. The Murano chandeliers were replaced by a handmade silver chandelier from Germany.  Of course, I searched beyond Europe to find furniture in Morocco, hangings in turkey, bowls on Mount of Olives and fans in Japan. The artistic unity of my World travel has been dedicated to acquisitive journeys for creating a museum of find the finest artifacts. This home is state of the art, with 13 bathrooms, indoor water closets and hot air furnaces. Nine kitchens, 47 fireplaces, secret passage ways, a nine-story tower, custom made stairs and some of the most creative features the mind can thing. Of course, I have some of the most creative architects. The final gallery culminates with a couple of the finest collections: James Tissot’s splendid oil painting October, featuring an elegant young lady tucked amongst golden autumn foliage, and the hypnotic stare of the little girl in William Bouguereau’s Crown of Flowers. On the opposite side of the elevators from these are two small galleries, the first of which displays a fine collection of Impressionist pieces by Monet, Cezanne, Sisley, and a gloomy Degas along three Renoirs, whose Vase of Flowers overflows with vibrant colors. #RandolphHarris 3 of 8

Rodin’s bronze, The Call of Arms, grabs attention in the center of the room away from the cool forms of his white marble sculpture of The Sirens. The second gallery here hosts art which stands-out by Philippe de Champaigne, Edouard Manet, Diego Velazquez, and Jacques-Louis David, whose The Oath of the Horatii turns one’s face towards the Horatii, the three sons of Horatius of Rome, and shows them swearing before their father to fight to the death of the Curatii, the three sons of Curatius, who have been picked to represent Rome’s enemy, the Albans. And behind the proud father, the women weep. A table made from ebony that had been imported from Africa, and six Italian chairs carved from the same piece of mahogany, along with two white-oak chairs that would not break if thrown from the fourth-floor balcony, were in one of the several dining room, which the frequent pleasant little dinner-parties of four to six couples, where held. The entertaining, and conversation was general, which made my new home the key to serenity and delight. My guests were served caviar, truffles, and pheasant stuffed with pate on gold plates. Bringing together the whole little community were enjoyable amateur dramatic performances, followed by light refreshment and a couple hours’ dancing. My husband had been the owner of one of the most magnificent steam yachts afloat and was a constant party giver. Of course, the resulting satisfaction was continued focus on his business. If man of wealth had any obligation to society, that responsibility was pure and simple efficiency in business. Men who were in the midst of creating their own fortunes, business success was the focus of their entire lives. #RandolphHarris 4 of 8

However, when it came to the Winchester rifle, “The Gun that Won the West,” to a cowman, outlaw, peace officer or soldier, the Winchester was a treasured possession. A man would sell his soul to own one. William had become a recognized model for the strict, no-frills businessman who never borrowed or speculated, who kept all transactions on a cash basis, who held all his associates to a strict meeting of obligations, and who spared no energy from the affairs of his own firm. In this light, Mr. Winchester embodied the virtues that men of wealth respected. My husband was an adequate model of an upper class that welcome wider responsibilities. He bought out and absorbed competitors, improved his products, while at the same time gaining control over the suppliers and distributors. As the foremost public responsibility of the man of wealth was capable management of his own firm, charitable giving followed soon after. And William certainly accepted the obligation, “I consider it just as much my duty to give to benevolent institutions as to pay my butcher’s bill,” he would say. One of his favorite charities, amongst several, was the Winchester Clinic of the General Hospital Society of Connecticut, for the care and treatment of treatment of tuberculosis patients. He also honored Anglo-American literature and aided the poor and printing workers locally. As well as building parks, and teaching low-income workers to save money and become property owners. The rich, the happy the cultured, are put under a conscious moral servitude to every form of distress and accept it with great honor. After the death of my husband, I made it my mission in life to build the most beautiful, orderly, and harmonious house which blossomed out of the most perfect art. The best artists I could find contributed the creations of their genius to the adornment of my home in many other shapes than in that of the oil paintings and in a gilt frame. #RandolphHarris 5 of 8

The most genuine and best mahogany was used creating the stairs, paneling the walls, ceilings, floors and for the fireplace mantels, and the inlaid paneling, painted friezes, rosewood tables, porcelain vases, silver tea sets, brocaded walls, stained-glass windows, and  paintings brought this 600-room mansion alive with the decorative artists movement. However, all this seemed of little importance after six renegades appeared so suddenly. Four housemaids were so startled that they were speechless. Not a word was spoken as the men dismounted. The women were seized, and each was clubbed unconscious with the muzzle of a revolver. Without regard to the cruel horn, each of the women was flung belly-down across a saddle with one of the renegades mounted behind her. The renegades rode off taking the women as captives. I have never seen anything so mournful, so terrifying. The farmers believed it to be a means of drawing some of the men away, so they could attack the mansion. That is when much of the recorded activity began. In the weeks after, strange, loud, indescribable noises began to emanate from the walls and servants felt cold flashes in the house. One December evening, a housemaid was in the attic. Although she was alone in the house, she distinctly heard a voice say, “No, don’t do it!” Then there was a pause, then “Stop!” She called downstairs to see if the carpenters or myself had returned, but got to answer. A few seconds later, the frantic voice came again calling, “Stop!” Although the house was closed up against the cold December breezes, two doors on the floor below slammed shut. #RandolphHarris 6 of 8

A few weeks later, one of the house maids was napping in the afternoon with the shades drawn. She awoke in semidarkness to see what she described as a lady sitting in her rocking chair at the end of her bed, wearing a long, dress with long sleeves and hair done up in a bun. The housemaid gathered enough courage to test the apparition, or perhaps to test her own sanity She asked, “If there is anyone in here besides myself, knock twice.” Silence. She started to breathe a sigh of relief. Then, from somewhere in the room, she heard two, distinct knocks. Again, she asked the question, again no response—just the image of a lady in her rocking chair not four feet from her. the image. Then, after a moment, the apparition slowly faded away into nothingness. She sprinted downstairs, and though the servants tried to calm her down by telling her it was a dream, she knew that she had been fully awake—she had been talking and heard at least one response to her question. The housemaid checked the clock and decided that she would nap for a bit before she returned to work. “I couldn’t have slept more than 30 minutes when I felt what I knew to be the touch of one of the missing women’s lips on my cheek,” she said. “It was a kiss of such sweetness and love that it could only have come from one of them. I opened my eyes and sat up. I had left a small lamp on in the room, and there, in the dim light, I could distinguish a kind of mist that had assumed human shape. Although I could not make out any distinct features, I knew it was one of the missing housemaids I felt a strong emanation of pure love flowing to me from the vaporous form. Then it floated out of sight through the ceiling.” The four women had been found nearly 200 miles away. They had succumbed to their injuries. #RandolphHarris 7 of 8

Throughout the rest of the Winter, strange, unexplainable events continued to occur. Footsteps of an army marching in the rooms could be heard; periodically a whiff of flowery perfume; the front doors would shake violently with no one there. And there were the sightings—one housemaid saw the reflection of a black blob behind her, passing through the closed door of her room and into the hallway. This was possibly one of the shadow people. A male apparition was seen on the first floor, and periodically a water facet was found running in the tub when no one had turned it on. On morning, I was awakened at 2 A.M. by the sound of a large number of horses trotting by the house, but there was no one outside. At that moment, I knew my home was truly haunted. The lawmen hunted down a dozen outlaws and gunned them down. Two immediately five immediately perished. Four of those who rode away were hit. My path led through one of the strange uncanny wildernesses. And then, a I peered, curiously, a new terror came to me; for away among the dim peaks to my right I had descried a vast shape of blackness, giantlike. It grew upon my sight. It had an enormous equine head, with gigantic ears, and seem to peer steadfastly down from the second floor. There was that about the pose that gave me the impression of an eternal watchfulness—of having warded through unknown eternities. Slowly the monster became plainer to me, and I gazed fearfully. I was strangely conscious of something not altogether familiar to me. I was afraid that this creature would devour me, ravenously. #RandolphHarris 8 of 8

The Winchester Mystery House

Strange disembodied voices and cold spots have been reported as well as strange lights that seem to have a mind of their own. There are also the apparitions of four ladies wearing white dresses and that of a soldier. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

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