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It Was Years in Agony—It May Have Been Only Minutes of Time
It had been raining hard since 3 three o’ clock in the morning. I was thinking about the secret passages and rooms. In the beginning, I did not believe in ghosts. However, when night fall, when I was alone in the dark, I feared what I might find. The Winchester Mansion loomed out of mist and murky sky, not only was it dark and formless, it was also huge and supernatural. I have heard that there is an old story, told amongst the country people, to the effect that the devil built this place. I had, at least on a dozen occasions, perceived, vaguely, things that puzzled me, and, perhaps felt more than I had ever imagined. Then, as the years pass, I became more often aware of something unseen, yet unmistakably present, in the rooms and corridors. Every part of my home is laden with symbolic meanings and every domestic object is haunted by mysterious and sometimes fatal powers. It is a true labyrinth vessel of desire and of terror. Some of my ancestors had been executed for witchcraft. Some could not see why people wanted to be wiser than their ancestors, and believed it was the old way of selling oneself to the devil. Though what the devil wants with some of these souls is one point in his character that I have never been able to understand. It is a weakness on his part—I am afraid it is a weakness. When I hear all those worthy people mumbling their sing-song formulas, without attaching any meaning to them, and chanting forth vague curses into their air, I close my eyes, and can sometimes almost fancy myself on the Brocken, in the midst of the Witches’ Sabbath. #RandolphHarris 1 of 6
I had just received news that a farmer, working late one night, had been killed. Folke Swedenborg’ death was rather mysterious. Folke had gone out for a late walk, taking his gun with him, as was custom. He had walked along the line of the fruit orchard, and then turned off into the country. I have some many acres of land that one could walk for miles. As he did not come back at his usual time, two of the servants had gone out to look for him, and found him lying on his back in a path, quite dead. His throat was fearfully torn, but there was no other wound on him. There had been no struggle, and the gun was still loaded. Footprints of some animal were observed in a patch of soft ground nearby, but it was not certain whether this was the beast the had killed Folke; for what footmarks were like those of a small cat, the wound seemed rather as if inflicted by the teeth of a bear. A hunting party had searched for miles without funding any dangerous animal. I simply could not get it out of my head and it made me very gloomy and depressed at the dinner-table. I suddenly heard a crash of thunder across the sky. Then, as I listened, came a faint sound of footfalls rapidly growing louder, as if something was coming down the stairs. I did not stop to face whatever this might be; but I did not pause to think what I should do. In a blind and fortunate impulse of overpowering terror, I ran to the door of the dining room and flung the heavy door to, plunge the key into the lock and as I was opening the door, something came against the opposite side of the door with a thud that almost shook the hinges loose. Then there was a moment of quite, and I, listening behind the door, could catch a quick, hoarse, heavy panting, as of some beast of prey. #RandolphHarris 2 of 6
Then came another great shock, and another; and at every blow the good door, creaked and shook, but it held firm. Next there was a grating, rending sound, as if teeth and claws were tearing at this last obstacle between my life and its destroyer. Zip was laying, sleeping near my chair. Without warning, the flames in the fireplace glowed with a strange, heavy, crimson twilight that gave the shadows behind the chairs, and tables a deeper depth of blackness; and wherever the light struck, it was as though luminous blood had been splashed over the room. The plaster and floorboards shook with terror. Down on the floor, I heard a faint, frightening whimper, and something pressed itself in between my two feet. It was Zip, cowering under my dressing gown. However, he was usually as brave as a lion! I began to fear that I might live through this night. I was certain that I was surrounded by the spirits of those who had left their corporeal form behind but had not yet been admitted through the pearly gates of Heaven and so were left to haunt my mansion, crying aloud, desperate to be heard, causing disarray and torment wherever they went. Transfixed with horror, as in a nightmare, expecting to feel the fangs of the unseen demon close through my throat. It was years in agony—it may have been only minutes of time. To feel that something fiendish, brutal and merciless was slowly tearing its way its way to me. The frozen blood coursed through my veins. Jitters crawled down my spine. I tried to settle back and relax, but the air felt heavy. #RandolphHarris 3 of 6
When I looked to the right, I saw an intolerable blackness inside of my home, pierced by a remote twinkle of light. The atrocious darkness seemed to creep into my soul, filling me with despair. The door to the altar room opened. The darkly paneled bedroom was immense. I could see nothing distinctly—only a shadow with glowing blood red eyes. Suddenly, I became conscious that I was no longer in their chair. I seemed to be hovering above it, and looking down at something, huddled and silent. In a little while, a cold blast struck me, and I was levitating, floating like an angel, up through the darkness. As I moved an icy coldness seemed to enfold me, so that I shivered. As I hovered there, the end came. The noise ceased. I turned and saw the demon was gone. Then every tense fiber of my body seemed to give way, and I fell like one dead on the floor. I was wakened from my swoon by thunder at the door, and the sound of human voices. “Mrs. Winchester!” cried Harvey. “Thank God are alive! We had been so frighted about you.” I told him that I had fainted. I could not yet speak of what I had gone through. “Well, do you know,” he said, as he took my arm, and helped me up the stairs, “we had such a scare upstairs! Just after you sat down for dinner, something smashed through an upstairs window, and over when a few books, and we were in the dark. And when we got light again, you never saw such a scared set as we were; but there was nothing to be seen. Did you have a terror, too?” “Something did come down here,” I managed to articulate; “but don’t ask me about it—not tonight. I want to sleep first.” “I think we all want that,” Harvey said.” #RandolphHarris 4 of 6
The next day, Hicks and Guthrie went out for more firewood, but their luck rand out. The ominous clouds drifted ever closer, pushing before an increasingly chill wind, and before the sun was noon-high, it was swallowed up in a rolling gray mass of clouds. Sleet rattled off the wagon canvas like buckshot, and the only thing favoring them was the wind on their backs. The mules needed no urging, voluntarily picking up their gait, while braying their discomfort. The rain began to turn into hail. Their situation was worsening by the minute. “Ain’t no more than two more miles,” Guthrie shouted, veering his mule to the left. They faced the storm-bred wind with their hats pulled low. The wind howled across the plain, and the temperature dropped even more. There were many standing dead pines whose bark had peeled off, leaving them gaunt and naked among their more fortunate companions. Quickly the men dismounted, and swinging their axes, felled a number of the dead pines. The wind tugged at their hats, blew it frigid breath beneath their coats, and numbed their hands and feet. The men looped their lariat over the butt end of a fallen tree, dallied the loose end around their saddle horn, and hauled it back to the Winchester Mansion. But suddenly Hick’s mule nicked and reared, and he fought the reins, trying to calm the animal. When Hicks had brought the frightened mule to trembling standstill, the other mules were equally spooked. In the vain the men looked for the cause, but could not see more than a few feet in the heavy rain. “I’ll lead ‘em the rest of the way, Guthrie shouted. Like phantoms, the prairie wolves swirling rain. Guthrie drew his Colt and shot one of the brute, missing another when his mule spooked. His companion feared no better, as his mule reread and plunged. A spewed anger and horror. One of the wolves sank its fangs deep in Hicks thigh, and he smashed the beast’s skull with the muzzle of his Colt. The vicious attack ended as abruptly as it had begun. Three wolves lay dead, while three more vanished. #RandolphHarris 5 of 6
I adjure thee, Emperor Lucifer, as the agent of the strong living God, of His beloved Son, and of the Holy Ghost, and by the power of the Great ADONAY, ELOIM, ARIEL, and JEHOVAM, to appear instantly. I do conjure thee, O thou Spirit Caim and your 30 Legions of the Order of Angels, and your 30 Legions of Spirits Infernal. Though the oppression of tyrants attempts to encompass me, the blackened fire of spirit and sorcery works through my mind to impose my desire upon the corporeal realm of stasis and limitation. Aum mani padme hum. May the power of darkness eternal be revealed through me now! Uiciamhak ihsav iamhay iamha adzam ahgnanam utnal ohsoares uhov ioh ta idhzic mutar hsibmuha mad iom arhtic itnhe ioy ahgnes iop awht aj-merhterev ek. It is the daeva yasna who stands victorious and reveal the teachings of that which is hidden! Let it be known that it is I whom am creator and consumer of Worlds! May evil mind and evil speech guide this power according to my will through the essence of Angra Maniyu and the nightside of my eternal soul! Uhob mesha acahzi hsitiamra ay acsamen, ehahsa hsitiavtsa ahteag hsiniacnerem am eheysan-apa erdexapa esaniv hsxurd apa aravd hsxurd apa esan hsxurd apa, itiadarf-ovead esan ethsrakarf-ovead esan erhtic-ovead esan hsxurd ivead esan ascatneps achsitiamra acsadzam iriap tatnayhsibt on-atap. I devour the limits of the enemy Mazda and the Amesha Spenta from this mansion of sorcerous power! Perish now influence of Spentas! Perish now brood of the tyrant! Perish now creation of stasis and imposed limitation! Rush away Spentas of Ahura Mazda for I exorcise thy limits which enslave! I now banish and tear the powers of spiritual limitation from imposing its limits upon this mansion, expelling them from the Winchester Mansion in the name of eternal darkness and all of its power and glory! #RandolphHarris 6 of 6
In August of 2003, a talk dark figure was seen by a witness who became extremely distressed. Another witness reported hearing “footsteps behind me and (I) looked around and in the shadows I saw a hooded figure that said in no uncertain terms, ‘Get out!’” Oddly enough, a couple visiting the mansion earlier that year reported that, “My husband and I were walking around the door-to-nowhere when, without warning, it went icy cold all around us and we both heard a voice, in whisper rasp say, ‘Go away!’”
Paranormal experts had suggested that the solid foundation and thick walls might account for the high level of supernatural activity. However, Mrs. Winchester had also experienced heartbreak, joy, sorrow, and tragedy, so it was not surprising that some of these feelings would linger on. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
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This Darkness Haunted Me
The wisteria had grown enormously. Its trunks were not wooden and now quite thick. And the great stretch of lawn was plush and emerald green, the old boxwood hedges were growing tall. I loved it. I loved the old trellis in the back, leaning under the burden of tangled vines. And that is where the shadow always stood. The figure appeared frozen, wide-eyed, violently alert, and focused on my home. The emptiness was terrifying. This darkness troubled me. The silence was so deep. I was so alone in this dark abyss. My heart was knocking against my ribs threatening to break inside of me. A hand reached out, no more than a streak of white in the shadows. I opened my eyes and closed them. Only to find myself gazing into the darkness that extended to infinity in all directions, yet it was confining as a prison. I had long kept my spiritual hungers and physical hungers completely separated. I had been buried alive by demonic energy in my own mansion, yet I was free to move around as I pleased. It is ominous. Its very perfection is unnatural, the silence not of deserted places, but of an ancient, hidden evil. Nothing could efface the shame and guilt I felt for having burdened my soul with these mysterious problems that were just about more than I could handle. The antiques, the art, numerous collections, china, stained glass windows, sliver, solid gold dinner service, were tempting to larcenous souls. But the various shades of darkness frightened away humanity. These phantoms were not in my imagination. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
In the morning when I awoke, I could not stay alone in this house. William had left his warm imprint on everything. I could hear the timbre of his voice, his laughter, see his enormous blue eyes looking at me lovingly, and feel his hands upon my shoulders. I could hear the cry of our daughter, and smell the sweet scent of lilac on her skin, but they were long gone. I was not dreaming. I could find no explanation for what I felt. A delicious thrill passed through my body. Something moved in the corner of my eye. I did not turn to stare at it. I could not move at all, but was unable to suppress my cry of horror. It sounded loud and terrible in this empty house. The immense panes of glass rattled. My stomach muscles were fluttering and skin clammy with cold sweat. I felt dizzy. It seemed as if I was actually two beings—one, the main part of me, was concealed somewhere deep within; the other, my physical body, was external and less significant. I was being drawn somewhere by an irresistible force. Very slowly I turned my head and looked behind. I could see my physical body lying there on the floor in the dark parlor. Suddenly, I was surrounded by a throng of hideous beings, evil spirits who looked at me with iron-cold fury. My shattered spirit was beseeched with sadness. This was some form of illusion I thought. But their dark eyes looked at me with suspicion. Furious at my defenselessness against these demons, I drifted down into a profound slumber. What must have been several hours later, as I sat down at the dinner table, I saw, sitting opposite of me, an exact replica of myself. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
This astonishing doppelganger repeated every move I made during the course of the meal. I reached out to touch the double and the image reached out to touch me. I could actually it touching me. This spectral woman then got up and moved against the lace curtains. Unprepared and quite enthralled, I was quite enchanted by her face. Her glittering eyes had an uncommon depth. They were almost as haunting as mine with a childlike vulnerability, a winsomeness. She was wearing a sapphire-blue silk dress and a pair of supple elbow-length gloves. The sweet scent of fine perfume came wafting ethereally toward me. It was one of my favorite scents. She was quite a vision. Her hair black was brought up and back from her forehead to descend in deep waves on either side of her temples before being swept to the wreath of braids behind her head. These brains were exquisitely threaded with pearls, and diamonds dangled from the pendants in the lobes of hear ears. She was an ornament that only a goddess possess. Then that gorgeous aura went transparent and dissipated. I was scared. I went into the crystal bedroom, locked the door behind me, locked the door of the closet, and closed the door of the bathroom. After fluffing the pillows on my bed, I placed a revolver under than. A ghost, I thought. I lay there snuggling into the warm pillows, in my dimly lit bedroom, I pulled the quilt over my head until I fell into an exhausted sleep. Many often wondered how I could have changed so little over the years? How could I be there one moment and gone the next? #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
As I have said, my home is a center for a lot of ghostly phenomena, such as doors opening and closing, the footsteps of unseen guests, and the manifestation of spectral beings. When the first light came in the morning, on the eastern horizon, tendrils of gold would creep across the gray Heavens. The rattle of wagons could be heard for a great distance in the early morning air. One morning, I got an odd story from a carpenter, who assured me he did not believe in ghosts. The carpenter, Jones, explained that he had been outside on the porch, cutting interior trim. Jones said that he approached the door and started adjusting the load. Suddenly, the door swung open on its own. Jones stepped into the kitchen and turned to close the door, but instead, the door closed on it own. Jones had such a stimulating and delightful day, and he felt he could work through the night. About seven o’clock, he was working in the basement when he glimpsed something white on the table in front of him. Upon closer examination, the object proved to be a large, extremely pale hand with dark blue veins across its back. Putting his saw and wood down, Jones turned around and was surprised to see a tall, solidly built man, who seemed to be studying his tools. The man seemed completely unaware of his presence. Jones never imagined than man to be anything than another carpenter, but he thought it was most peculiar that he had not met this carpenter before. How had the man entered the basement and be working at the same table so silently? It was not until then man vanished before his eyes that Jones realized he had been visited by a ghost. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
There was more to it than that. Jones still had to tend to the mules, and fill the water kegs, so they could take them to other workers who were miles away on the estate. He walked over to the stables where he met with Hicks. “They’re stubborn varmints,” said Jones, “but they’re smart enough not to drink until they’ve cooled off enough not to founder. A damn shame horses don’t have that kind of smarts.” “Yeah,” Hicks replied. “You’d better tie that jug-head of mine to a wagon bow, or he’ll slide into a ditch. By the time we get the teams unharnessed, they should be ready to drink.” Swiftly they unharnessed the mules, and by the time the animals had drunk their fill, Hick’s horse had rested enough to drink safely. “Now”, said Jones, “Let’s hitch up the mules, back this wagon as near the water as we can, and fill those water kegs.” They were soon sweating, wrestling the filled kegs into the wagon. Finally, there were only the empty kegs mounted on either side of the wagon box. “Some of the best water I ever tasted come out of Mrs. Winchester’s well,” said Hicks. Despite it being late September, the sun was hot, and they were forced to rest. “I believe we’ll meet our outfit before sundown,” said Jones. “Maybe,” said Hicks, “but if we don’t, we’ll have to keep goin’ until we do, because they’ll be hurtin’ for water. Slowly the sun slipped toward the western horizon, and when it was but an echo of dusty rose, Jones and Hicks stopped to rest the teams. Quickly the Earth cooled, as a breeze crept in from the northwest, caressing their sweaty faces. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
They listened, for the wind could also bring the welcome rattle of approaching wagons. However, they heard nothing. Wearily they resumed their journey, as the first twinkling stars became distant point of silver in the purple vastness of the Heavens. Down came a shower of black dust, as if the sky had commenced raining gunpowder! The atmosphere was as hot as the inside of an oven. The wagons rumbled to a halt. The sweating mules stood there in their harness, too scared to move. Their sweating hides trembled. Hicks got down from the wagon, and seized his Winchester, when something unnatural seeming—holds him in spot. It was then the strange apparition was most closely scrutinized; Jones was shivering in his stirrups—through sheer terror, incapable even of though! And after gazing a moment with wildered eyes—wondering what abnormal monster thus mocks his intelligence. “Great God! What could it be?” Shouted Hicks. There was but little time to philosophize—not enough to complete a careful scrutiny of the unearthly apparition, which both men present, with hand spread over his eyes to shade them from the dazzling glare, was endeavoring to make. “Is it a phantom? Surely it cannot be human?” said Jones. Wheeling suddenly round—his horse at the same time sending forth a scream that caused the Earth to tremble—the monk galloped away. They could only see it was a black monk and a spectral horseman that startled them. Nobody said anything, but strong on their minds was the possibility that their companions had met with foul play and lay dead on the barren portion of the estate. There was no conversation, for as long as they did not speak their fears aloud, there was always hope that they would not become cold, hard reality. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
Spirits of the Winchester, I awaken the powers of darkness which dwell within you by the power of the three headed Dragon Zohak that you may serve to empower the great work of this estate. Through serving the greater cause of dark magick which break the shackles that bind the Blacked spirit, may you be uplifted and liberated! Awaken and empower the forbidden rites of Angra Mainyu! Awaken to empower the great work of counter creation as an Apostle of the Lord of Darkness enteral and as a warrior of the Path of the Underworld. I command and I adjure thee, Emperor Lucifer, as the representative of the mighty living God, and by the power of Emanuel, his holy Son, who is thy master and mine, and by the virtue of His precious blood, which He sehd to redeem mankind from thy chains, I command thee to quite thine abode, wheresoever it may be, swearing that I will give thee one quarter of an hour alone, if thou dost not straightway come hither and communicate with me in an audible and intelligible voice, or, if thy personal presence be impossible, please dispatch me thy Messenger Astarot in a human form by ADONAY, ELOIM, ARIEL, JEHOVAM, TAGLA, MATHON, ALMOUZIN, ARIOS, PITHONA, MAGOTS, SYLPHAE, TABOTS, SALAMANDRAE, GNOMUS, TERRE, COELIS, GODENS, AQUA. Your power now flows through this Nexion of Infernal Power, the very gateway to counter creation! Infernal power Incarnate! Awaken all creation to reveal that which is unknown so that this age of enslavement shall come to an end! I stir the power of the Divs within to unlock the doors, empower this work, and manifest glory of unlimited possibility! #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
This is a World in which ghosts and goblins exist. Many men and women who were granted the blessing of seeing the ghostly image of their loved ones pass to the “other side,” or who received messages of comfort from recently deceased individuals, have often told us that those souls were met by angelic beings or more advanced spirits who assisted them in evolving to higher planes of awareness. As these souls progressed, all of their ties to their prior physical existence faded into irrelevance. Some memories of their previous material life were forgotten.
However, on occasion, it seems that something goes wrong on a soul’s evolution into the light. Spirits of the dead can take over the minds and bodies of people who are emotionally or physically weak, there also appear to be discarnate entities that have never been human but who strongly desire to occupy a body of a man or woman. Nonhuman entities want to feel the emotion and sensual expressions that are unique to human experience. These beings very often identify themselves as agents of evil. Traditionally, they have been called demons, and they have the ability to seize the controlling mechanism of a host body, undermine the victim’s will, and direct the enslaved human. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
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Ghosts are Always Hungry
I began a journey that would change the face of history forever. The chasm was merely one of the orifices of that pit of blackness that lies beneath us, everywhere. I blinked a few times, gazing around the hallway, sure I had seen something. Maybe it was a shadow, or nothing at all? I set off across the hall to the parlor when I felt a strange tingle that made me stop. It felt as if I had touched something—or something had touched me. The sensation was like that nail of a small finger brushing across my back. With a chill up my spine, I turned. To see only the doorway and the empty landing. My home was isolated by several hundreds of acres. It was a stunning and imposing fortress of wood, some called it a “ladies castle.” Then sun shone merrily through high wispy clouds and the day was warm. The scent of spring wafted pleasantly past my nostrils and small sparrow like birds twittered incessantly in the bushes and hedgerows. The estate was down a path that winds it ways through stunning gardens of beautifully manicured lawns, regimented hedges, and stately trees. The many fountains balled their way through this wonderful landscape. I had come to the end of the passageway, and sorted through my collection of keys in order to open the third and final door. I found the right key and slipped it noisily into the antiqued lock. As I pushed the door opened, the room was in darkness, but despite the fact there was a warmth in the air; at least in contrast to the chill of the passageway. Yet, it felt significant. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5
Starting into the darkness, enjoying the slight rise in temperature, there was illumination spilling from the passageway behind me to light the threshold. I started up the beautiful mahogany staircase. Then, as I walked through the dinning room, I looked in the china cabinet mirror for a few seconds, and in back of my reflection, there was something pale and shadowy. It was a strange moment; an illusion surely. It took me a little time to shake off the oddness of it. Through the tall Victorian windows, sunlight spilled onto the wall showing shadows of wind-blown tree branches with leaves that were moving across the wall. Then I heard something. The air seemed suddenly colder. Nervously, I went to the window, gripping the frame tightly with one hand. A chill swept over me and I felt literally pinioned by an inexpressibly oppressive weight. Suddenly, just few feet away, I saw a shroud of whitish gray begin to form. In the portion of the shroud that would normally contain a head, I saw fierce, fiery eyes that were filled with hatred. I sensed a tortured, aggressive, malevolent, and demonic spirit, and realized intuitively that the spirit might attempt to possess me. The entity had a long, sharp, aquiline nose, severe cheekbones, a thin mouth, and angular features that culminated in a pointed chin. Wisps of gray bred hung to the thing’s chin like Spanish moss on a tree. There was a long sigh against my right ear, followed by a caress that reached across my shoulder and down onto my throat. It was like a mother’s caress. I screamed. This ghoul extended his arm toward me. I lunged for the door. Even before I reached it, I was struggling to find air. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5
By the next breath I was hyperventilating—inhaling too rapidly for enough oxygen to enter my lungs. Staggering to the door, I opened it, crawling into the corridor. “Help! HELP!” I cried. The words barely emerged. Dark clouds raced across the sky, with the moon a dim halo behind them. My breathing was erratic. As I eased over onto my life side. I sensed something in the hallway. As I turned, a white, elongated hand appeared. The hand reached for me, and then pulled the rest of my body into the room. I stifled a shriek. It was a ghost. It rose rapidly up, drifting toward the ceiling, and it took all my self-control not to run. Drawing closer, the ghost glided across the ceiling until it looked, hovering, directly over me. Then it rotated and lowered itself as slowly as a mote of dust toward the floor. A great shiver passed through my body. The ghost was floating six inches off the ground. The butler Guthrie, “Mrs. Winchester,” he said thrusting himself into the room. “Are you okay?” I said nothing, still recovering from the thoughts of how close I had been to death. A quietly confident smile broke over my face. I settled once more on my feet, grinning at him. “My dear Guthrie, I am fine. I just had a little fright. That is all.” “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” “It does not matter,” I said dismissively. “I forgive you. Let s talk no further.” I sat down in my arm chair, too disappointed to say more. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5
When suddenly there was a knock at the back door. Guthrie went to answer it and in walked a tall boy with hair as blonde as I ever saw. He had a broad back, and carried a large bag of flour over one shoulder. “Hello, Nelson,” said Guthrie. “Put it down, my man, but not on the counter.” In the next few days, Guthrie and Nelson took care of chores around the mansion. Guthrie and Nelson were somewhere in from the of mansion, raking and bagging some lawn clippings that [they had] cut. The heat was intense, and they were soaked with sweat. They had a bright idea to sneak into the basement to cool off, for that part of the mansion was always the coolest in the summer. [All of the doors to the basement were locked], so they had to ask other people to open the door. On their way out, Nelson placed a twig in the lock to the basement. When [no one was] looking, [Guthrie and Nelson crept back to] the basement. From the windows looking out onto the front law, they could see the servants working in the sun. They stood there laughing and joking about how they got out of the hot labor. Suddenly, an old lady dressed in a long white raincoat that came down to her appeared. Nelson then realized that she was not walking but gliding. He and Guthrie watched her float towards them, passing right through the broiler. They decided to give chase; however, as they got close to the strange apparition, it drifted through the brick wall. To their astonishment, the body of a black figure manifested. Guthrie and Nelson were trembling in terror. Some of the farmers claimed that they could hear weird rumbles and groans coming from the basement. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5
Servants were startled to find the men struggling on the floor in various stages of nervous collapse. But the determined men pulled themselves together. Worse, a light breeze brought the taunting smell of dutch-oven biscuits, as the women prepare supper. When the men began cooking their own meal, they made an alarming discovery. They had failed to bring any coffee. That same breeze that tortured them with freshly baked biscuits added to their misery by wafting the odor of strong, black coffee. “Damn it,” said Guthrie, “in the morning, I’ll ride back to town and get some coffee.” “But I want coffee tonight, and in the morning,” Nelson said. “So do I,” said Guthrie. “Hell,” said Guthrie, “I’m going to go to the servant’s kitchen and askin’ them females fer some coffee. All they can do is say no.” Taking his tin cup, Guthrie headed for the kitchen. Not to be out done, Nelson took his tin cup and followed. As they walked into the kitchen, they saw a spectral dog disappearing into the wall. Nelson laughed, while Guthrie got them both steaming cups of coffee and fresh dutch-oven biscuits. “Tarnation,” Nelson growled, “how’d you manage that?” “I told ‘em we didn’t have any coffee,” said Guthrie, “an’ asked if we could have a cup of theirs. They said we can have some more at breakfast, an’ we got biscuits, too.” “But I can see there are dangers such as we never imagined,” said Nelson. “Hopefully we don’t get burned at the stake, or spread-eagled naked, on the ground, and a fire built in our crotch,” replied Guthrie. Some have speculated that the dog may have been cursed in some way and as such is doomed to haunt the mansion forever. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5
Interestingly enough, a tour guide was touching objects in Mrs. Winchester’s bedroom in an attempt to experience events from another time. After a short period of receiving no impressions, she reported that the room suddenly changed, losing its modern, comfortable appearance and becoming cold and bare. The carpet disappeared and there were now logs burning on the fire, while a tall woman in a white dress was walking up and down the room; her face appearing to be in deep concentration. Not long after, the room returned to its original state.
However, perhaps the most frightening report came from some security guards who were on a nightly patrol. Security staff at the mansion have long reported many strange things, such as unexplained sounds, bangs, and disembodied voiced. However, one night a guard was coming to the end of his patrol when his dog stopped and quickly backed up, growling at something in front of him. Then, as the guard tried to calm the dog, two large shadowy figures appeared before him. Terrified, he immediately ran in the opposite direction to escape whatever it was.
When photographs were allowed in the Winchester Mystery House, a guest, unaware of it at the time, took a picture what appeared to show something out of the ordinary. He was surprised to find what looked like a hovering hand with a long finger apparently pointing to one of the exits in the Blue Séance Room…the one with the drop into the kitchen sink. In the Blue Séance Room, there was also a mist hovering around, and the guests could feel an unknown force pulling them through the dressing room closet. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
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The Highway Between Two Mighty Forces—Heaven and Hell
It is only natural the Winchester Mansion is haunted. It is in the most beautiful county in California. It has been the home of dozens of races, including humans, spirits, demons, angels, ghouls, and the battle ground of scores of wars. The bones of Roman legionaries have given calcium to its soil. The sarcophagi of crusaders are in caverns underneath the mansion. The Winchester people carry more than a curse, in their blood is an atavistic stoicism in the presence of death, fortified by a practical faith in a life beyond the grave. And the past intrudes itself upon them subconsciously in the thousand mysterious relics that cling to my home in successful defiance to time and the elements. I live on a brink of a sort of military volcano that erupts periodically and with dire results. Sword and gun, pestilence and famine, and the constant influx of rival races over one frontier or the others by turns decimated and reinforced the population. Its national language swung from one dialect to another. Its racial characteristics changed with each succeeding epoch of wars. That is the price my family must pay to live on the highway between two mighty forces—Heaven and Hell. Shortly after I broke ground to expand my mansion, Santa Clara Valley became the strategic center of the West, the gateway by which the tribes of the half-starved North and East might enter the fertile fields of the South and West, and, since a gate swings two ways, a similar convenience for the men-at-arms of Southern conqueror. Age has not lessened the grandeur nor dimed the glory of the Winchester Family. And if ghosts must walk the Earth, they could find no spot on the globe where their appearance would be more natural, or better understood than my home. #RandolphHarris 1 of 8
The Winchesters sprang from the Aryan stock. It appears that we are the Germanic tribes, little brothers and sisters of Angels,–honest, intelligent, and chaste; great warriors, and souls of a marvelous simplicity. It has been pointed out by interested persons that the Winchesters are something of politicians, and might have attributed all attainable virtue to the science by way of proving that this fine family had dropped some distance from the fundamental civilization of savagery. The Winchester men feared nothing, these brave men. They sang as they marched into battle and perhaps to death. They shot arrows at the Heavens when it thundered; they laughed when they saw their own hearts’ blood gushing fourth. And yet they were plain and simple in their manners; open and generous, docile and grateful, strangers to low cunning and deceit, so hospitable that they hailed the arrival of each fresh guest with joy and festivities, so warm hearted that they were never more pleased than when they could bestow kindness. They worshipped one God, and prayed to him in the open air; and they believed in a Heaven, in a hell and in the immortality of the soul. The Haliurunas witch, a necromancer of great power and deep divination, caused an uprising. Throughout the spring and summer, ghosts appeared at various times and in various places in the mansion, outside in broad daylight, and in the darkness of the wee hours. #RandolphHarris 2 of 8
However, in was December 5, 1889, that the children and servants brought their complaints to me. For several nights they had been hearing mysterious sounds in their rooms. In addition to those frightening manifestations, they also heard the sound of footsteps ascending and descending the stairs at all hours of the night. The next night, I was startled when I heard sounds that frightening and aggressively violent that I was forced out of my bed to investigate. The hallways was plunged in darkness, I could hear voices and see shadows gathering and moving toward me. Suddenly, I could hear the front door open and the unmistakable sounds of someone removing a raincoat and shaking it off. Then I heard footsteps begin to ascend the stairway. Curious, and a bit concerned as to who might have entered my mansion, I began to follow the sound at a discreet distance. Mysterious sounds echoed in the darkness. The sound of metal clinking seemed to surround me. I somehow managed to maintain my courage and searched every chamber for the source of the disruptions, but I found nothing. Just then, an invisible power heavily pushed me up against the wall. It was a white ghost, accompanied by a blood-curdling scream. I turned to run, made into one of the bedrooms, slammed the door. However, as I looked up, a human skull appeared in front of me grinning. I could not stand to see this skull peering at me. I quickly opened the door and ran to my chambers and fell fast asleep. #RandolphHarris 3 of 8
Something evil had made its abode in my home. The next day, I had the door to that room bricked up. My depression was enveloping me. The haunting phenomena usually began shortly after I retired for the evening. Laying in bed, I would hear the sound of heavy footsteps walking past my door. On several night, hiding in the darkness with a fireplace poker, I tried to lunge at the invisible being that passed my door, but I was never able to strike anything tangible. Even creeper, there were often voices heard coming from the Grand Ball Room. Many, many years ago, one of the housemaids wanted to be a ballerina. I would let her practice to her heart’s content. After a week of dancing, a feeling of uneasiness and restlessness came over Ingrid, which she could not control. At night she went to bed as usual, but grew more and more restless. At last, seized by an irresistible impulse, she rose from her bed and went straight to the Grand Ball Room. For five or six days, she refused to work and was constantly dancing, day and night. She raved wildly about being a famous dancer and the staff was in great distress. She cried aloud, “What am I to do?” That is when she felt a certain cold chill, standing in the far corner of the Grand Ball Room was the whispy form of a human being. Ingrid felt that feeling of inescapability, as if she was trapped by whatever it was that entered the room. She thought it was a nightmare, buts its cry was so loud and distinct that it had to be real. That horrible, frightening cry made Ingrid feel that death was imminent. #RandolphHarris 4 of 8
The demon then uttered: “Any amount of dancing will be of no use.” Ingrid then asked, “If dancing is of no use, what shall I do?” The demon replied, “Submit yourself to me, and you will be well.” Ingrid knelt down and worshipped the demon, begging it to make her a famous dancer. Thus the matter was arranged. About Midnight, she attempted to leave the Grand Ball Room, but the demon followed her, and brought her back, and bound her to dance. The demon came at intervals, sometimes every few days, sometimes every few hours to make sure Ingrid was dancing nonstop. She danced until she dropped dead. Three months after, we starting seeing her ghostly figure in the Grand Ball Room dancing, from the hall, people can hear tiny footsteps on the floor. The demon kept his promise, she had become famous to us. At this point, the servants and myself were all dealing with feelings of being watched. Sometimes witnesses would see a procession of ghostly men, in gray robs, gliding down the staircase. They appear extremely lifelike but then disappear. During this period, I began having sleeping problems, experiencing what I termed “suffocating dreams.” I would go to sleep, not especially bothered by anything, and I would awaken moments later, paralyzed in my bed. At the point, I gradually arose and expanded myself to the full stature of my regular physical body. I seem to be a translucent, of a bluish cast. I glanced at my body on the bed. #RandolphHarris 5 of 8
As I reached the door, I noted that two servants were standing by the door and that they were completely unaware of my presence. With a great deal of surprise and amusement, I discovered that I could pass directly through the servants; I do so and continued on out the door. Glancing around, I noticed that I was still attached to my body in the house by means of a small cord, like a spider’s web. I found myself soaring high above my mansion, enjoying the aerial view that my unique situation afforded me. However, just as I was relaxing into my newly achieved emancipation from the confines of bodily flesh, a black cloud surrounded me and I found myself back in my bedroom, once again confined to my body. Fully awake, fully conscious. There was no fuzziness in my thinking, no debate about whether or not I was dreaming. I was not dreaming. I spent a lot of time trying to figure things out. I watched myself. I started to delay my bedtime, and was happy to catch a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. It was not long before I began to feel somehow ashamed about what was going on in the house. I was frightened that there might be something wrong with me, something almost humiliating. When I lost a night’s sleep to unrelenting suffocating dreams, when I lay awake listening to unseen footsteps until the wee hours of the morning, I wondered if perhaps I was under too much stress. Maybe enduring the loss of my infant daughter and husband might be proving too much for me. I did not feel crazy, but I was concerned. Mr. Hansen listened to me with a great deal of interest. He felt something was going on inside of the house. #RandolphHarris 6 of 8
A few of the carpenters and servants moved into my home to work overnight and keep an eye on things, so I could rest easier. Emil and Folke were working on additions for the third floor. They knew the mansion was a gathering place of entities, fabulous legends and curses. Frequently, the third floor would be illuminated at night by the apparition of a ghostly figure, and the carpenters would hear the breathing of an unknown entity near an unoccupied rocking chair in the attic. One night, Emil was sleeping after finishing his work, when he was awakened by ghostly hands pulling him from his bed. The apparition then snuck up behind him and this would be his last move if he made a bad move. The following evening he slept on the porch. However, later that night, Folke kept his room on the third floor and became abusive when he was awakened by Sheriff Addison. “I won’t be pushed around by a hick-town sheriff,” he bawled. “I represent the Winchester Mansion, and I’ll telegraph—” “You won’t have to telegraph,” said Montgomery, who had accompanied the sheriff. “We just talked to a friend of yours—an hombre named Emil—who claims you’re behind his trying to steal some gold from Mrs. Winchester. I’m going to speak to Mrs. Winchester about his account.” “Damn you,” Folke bawled, “I had nothing to do with this. I know nothing about it.” “Then how did Emil learn of this gold?” Montgomery demanded. “He’s a locksmith,” said Folke. “That’s why he looks familiar,” Sheriff Addison said. “I go to the bank of Italy occasionally, and I’ve seen him there tending to locks.” “But that doesn’t mean Folke’s telling the truth,” said Montgomery. #RandolphHarris 7 of 8
“From what Mr. Hansen said, word of this gold has been kept quiet, except for a leak to the newspaper in New Haven. I think we need to play Mr. Folke against Emil, and see who’s the most willing to talk. Emil don’t seem like the kind who’s willing to risk court-martial, if he can talk his way out of it.” “Whatever he says, he’s lying,” Folke cried desperately. “We’ll get some answers in the morning,” said Sheriff Addison. “Folke, if you got ideas about running, just bear in mind that the law considers that an admission of guilt.” “I’ll be here,” Folke said grimly. He slammed the door and bolted it, leaving Montgomery and Sheriff Addison in the hall. I was awakened in the night by the sounds of horses pawing the ground and snorting outside. When I went to the window to see who it was taking a horseback ride in the middle of the night, I saw neither the Sheriff nor Montgomery. Going back to bed, I was puzzled. The next day, the staff kept a discreet distance—unless summoned. A phantom horse rider had been reported galloping across the fields and is presumed to be the Sheriff. I gazed out the window at the lush green lawns and mature trees that sit serenely in the warmth and sunlight of an early summer. Turning around, I feel as if someone or something is in the room with me, as if watching quietly from a corner, unseen and unheard. But of course, there is no one there, and soon my serenity is broken by the sound of hammering and sawing. The moment is gone, whatever ghosts that haunted this room have gone. #RandolphHarris 8 of 8
In December of 2016, it was reported that a ghost, or what seemed to be a ghost, was caught on camera at the entrance of the historic mansion. In a clip that lasts just over a minute, a dark wispy figure can be seen slowly walking across the entrance before disappearing; however, what makes it even more fascinating is the fact that the camera also picks up a bemused security guard as he searched for the figure. There is also a Blue Lady who lures people into various parts of the mansion until they become lost. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
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They Feel an Unusual Calmness in Her Presence
It is a stunning and wonderous sight sitting on over 700 acres of grounds and containing priceless works of art, ranging from paintings and furniture, tapestries and stained glass, to sculptures and carvings, as well as heraldry and armor. In the light of a warm summer day, it does not appear haunted in any way. However, this is not the case. Having purchased the eighteen room farmhouse for myself, I turned it into a palace. Years of extravagant and expensive refurbishment grew the mansion into one of the finest and largest homes in the West. The program included four stories, a nine-story observation tower, tennis courts, bowling alleys, lavish gardens, nine kitchens, as many as 600 rooms, and several dining rooms, a fruit orchard and a park. Still, there have been a number of strange and disturbing events. Oddly enough, one evening, there were a couple of dozen people in the Grand Ball Room. However, there was no sound. I was astonished because I had not invited any guests. As I went to inquire as to what the occasion was, the figures seemed to glide rather than walk, then they just melted into the walls. Gracefully, insidiously, I was quick to retire that evening. I arose sleepily from my bed. It was 1.13 A.M. I looked out over the moonlit farmyard and listened to the night noises. It was an especially hot summer; I had been working hard and not able to catch up on my sleep. While in a blissful dreamlike state, I walked out on the balcony for bit of fresh air. The fragrant air was full of the scent of lilac and jasmine. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5
As I returned to bed, I was startled to see myself already in bed fast asleep. The form was unmistakably my own body. But how could I be in two places at once? I felt a tingle of fear…a strange tugging sensation…then I jerked away with a jolt of lightning. A dream? It has all been a bizarre dream? But the balcony door was open. It would see that my soul separated itself from my sleeping body. Not only had I freed the spiritual essence from within my physical body, I was able to see my own ghost. That same night, the servants, while working on renovations, saw a woman dressed in white floating down the gallery towards the door-to-nowhere. Shocked, Buck said to Erik, “No use blamin’ it on the whiskey. We was cold sober when we decided to come here. If any of us had the sense God gave a goose, we’d of rose out of Santa Clara and went home when we was paid off at the end of the day.” That is when they sighted a large hooded figure with a deformed face lurking in the doorways. “Well, I’m damned if I’ll swamp a saloon again, even for the grub,” Erik replied. “I reckon we can all agree that we need work,” Buck said. “Oh, I reckon we have work here,” replied Erik. Other curious events happened in my home. Occasionally, the housemaids and the farmers sometimes fell in love. Yngvild loved her Ansgar more than life itself. She was terrified when he told her that he was leaving the estate to help care for his mother. He promised to marry her when he returned to work. However, she could not dissuade him, so she dressed in er prettiest white gown and wept her tearful good-bye. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5
Weeks turned into long months. Word rarely came from Ansgar. The little notes were proof that he had recently been alive. As such, they were read and reread and wept over. Yngvild lived for the day when he would return. Despite sharing her fears with me, Yngvild felt alone. Her entire life was suspended until Ansgar returned. As the months dragged by, Yngvild lost hope that she would see Ansgar ever again. She sat alone in the observation tower with her letters and waited. And when the letters stopped, she began to walk for hours on end. In the observation tower, Yngvild waiting night and day to see if Ansgar was approaching. One day, she dressed in the same white dress that she had worn to see Ansgar off. She sat in the tower quietly all day. The carpenters inquired if they could help her, but Yngvild needed no help. Each day, she sat in the observation tower dressed in the same white dress and spoke to kindly carpenters. I simply could not make the heartbroken dear work in such a state and could not let her go, so I kept paying her not to work. Gradually Yngvil slipped away from reality. She thought she saw Ansgar floating outside of the tower with a ghastly look of despair. At last word came that, although Ansgar had his 1873 Winchester .44 U.S. Army Colt, while he was on the train, the Earth shook with force of an explosion. There was an immediate blast of the locomotive’s whistle and a grinding, shuddering sensation as the brakes were applied. When the locomotive had ground to a halt, it just as suddenly reversed, but he was shot and killed by outlaws who had galloped after the departing train. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5
A gang of outlaws blew the track. Ansgar’s sister brought the telegram to Yngvil. If looks could kill, Yngvil slowly turned away from Ansgar’s sister and began talking to me about her Ansgar. She told me she was waiting for Ansgar to return so that they could marry. Slowly Yngvil began to waste away. She took little food and seemed to need nothing. The housemaids brought the frail young girl food, but she barely noticed the food as she ate it. One night, she committed suicide, throwing herself off the tower after losing the love of her betrothed. On moonlit nights, she can be seen wandering around the tower. Weeks later, a couple of the farmers were sleeping in their Victorian cottages with their Winchesters handy. The mansion was said to be haunted by a black devil-dog that prowled the mansion at night as well as the grounds of the mansion. Also know as a Hell Hound, among other names, these dogs are essentially a nocturnal specter and its appearance is often regarded as a portent of death. In general, they are much larger than a physical dog and are quite often reported as having large, glowing eyes and a silent gait. Seeing one three times will result in the witness dying an untimely and suspicious death. Not surprisingly they are often associated with moors, lonely back roads, and crossroads and in this case, the mansion. “We figure if these owl hoots are that damn determined, we’ll have to fight ‘em sooner or later,” said Buck. “I reckon there’ll be plenty of shootin’ if one of those bothersome Hell Hounds attacks me under the cover of darkness,” said Erik. That night, Erik chased and killed what he thought was a Hell Hound. He later tragically discovered that it was in fact his own son he had killed. As a result, his remorseful ghost is said to wander the grounds. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5
Some people passing my home at dead of night have reported the distinctive sound of spectral revels emanating from inside. Others have told of hearing strange oaths and foreign-sounding songs. Outlaws had conspired to steal weapons and ammunition from my homes. They spent weeks planning to take them. People would do anything for the loot. “There are ten men guardin’ the Winchester Mansion,” said Cort, “and from what I’ve been told, they’re a salty bunch. Four of ‘em have been deputized by Sheriff Addis. I reckon we’ll have to deal with them all, and the sheriff, too, if he gets froggy.” “I reckon we understand one another then,” said Hicks. “We don’t leave nobody behind that’s got sand to come after us.” “My sentiments exactly,” Cort replied. “We won’t move in until after midnight, so Sarah and her staff will be mostly asleep.” There was no room, and it being past midnight, they rode in from the east. There was only an occasional distant light. By the time they were within half a mile of my mansion, the night wind brought them disembodied voices, along with an unexplained drop in temperature. Then they heard a loud scream and gunshots. Thoroughly convinced that they were under attack, Cort and Hicks ran for cover. Two sets of footsteps came toward them. “Drop the guns, amigos. You’re covered.” But the challenge went unheeded. There was a roar, followed by an answering blast, as the Sherriff fired at the muzzle flash. An agonized groan told them what they wanted to hear, and Cort and Hicks eased the down the hammers on their colt. Finally there was the distant sound of galloping horses. “The bastards,” grunted the Sherriff, “they’re…runnin’ out…on me.” #RandolphHarris 5 of 5
The Winchester Mansion has many ghosts. One of many is Mrs. Winchester herself. She has been described as having long brown hair and wearing a Victorian-style dress, and has been seen walking along corridors and even through the walls. She is known to be a friendly spirit and those who have encountered her remark that they feel an unusual calmness in her presence. In October of 2013, a ghostly figure was captured on CCTV while security staff reviewed surveillance footage. After investigating and securing some open doors, security staff returned to inspect surveillance footage. On the first occasion, the door-to-nowhere flew opened without any sign of anyone opening it.
However, on the second occasion the next day, the staff was shocked to see a figure, in what appeared to be Victorian attire, appear and then close the door-to-nowhere. This patten was repeated on the third day, but the ghostly figure was absent. Then Winchester Mansion is known as being a very, very spooky place at night. A security guard was called out shortly after 1.00 A.M. to accompany an engineer to check a fire alarm. A thermal camera detected an elevated temperature, in one of the fireplaces, in the Hall of Fires.
As the they approached the room, they both heard the sound of footsteps running away up a flight of stairs, although the thermal cameras did not detect anyone in the building, other than the two security guards. However, there was a little heat in the fireplace, but no signs of anything devious. It is not uncommon for staff to report a feeling of being watched or having doors inexplicably slam behind them when there is no one around. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
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The Feeling of Being Watched and Impending Danger Gradually Increased
Shortly before nine o’ clock, a butler, dressed in an azure tailcoat and navy-blue breeches, escorted Me to my estate. A coldly sumptuous hall, it was the first point of entry to the 600-room mansion. Rows of muskets, taller than a man, and hundreds of swords, their blades sharp-edged and glinting lined its walls. From the vaulted ceiling hung several beautiful chandeliers. Directly in front of them, a magnificent staircase swept to the state rooms on the upper floors; and yet, as the butler led me across the hall, he veered to the right, heading for its farther corner. There, he ushered me through a discreet swing door. We had stepped into the “invisible World.” Behind the secret door, the entire ground floor was devoted to privacy. A magnificent hinterland of fifty rooms, some cavernous, some no larger than a closet, it was where many of the servant lived and worked. From here, a network of passages coursed through the mansion: hidden routes, which spiraled up the narrow turrets and towers to the splendid rooms above, enabling the servants to carry out their duties unobserved. One might ask, why was I touring the part of my home? It was through this labyrinth of passages, deep in the servants quarters, where the rooms were subjects of wild speculations, fueled by servants’ fears that someone had come back from the dead. It seems a few of the servants had been thinking of ways to make money. One of the servants, Olov told Stellan about a plan to end their money troubles. The scheme was simple. Each of the men would take a life insurance policy out of another one of the servants, twenty-year-old Leif Titus. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
They would say that they had helped raise and support Leif in his life and were looking for reimbursement for their help upon his death. There was nothing illegal about that. Then they would wait awhile before killing Leif, collect on the policies, and all of their money troubles would be over. Stellan asked who would kill Leif. “That’s the beauty of it,” Olov told his friend. “We each kick in a percentage of the policy money to pay an assassin so none of us has to do the killing.” Stellan was quiet for a moment, and then he nodded. They could get someone at the tavern to do it. Olov arranged for a meeting with Duke. They worked it all out the details of the murder plot and agreed to execute the plan. The other men paid Duke $400 to arrange and carry out the murder. This was a lot of money, so Duke agree to do the deed. June 6, 1890, was just another day to Leif Titus as he went about his work on the estate. He was not surprised when Olov told them that their friend Duke had come by to see if he might want to go for a drink later that evening. The two men had hung out at the tavern from time to time, so he readily accepted the invitation. The two men set off after work. It was after dark and Leif and Duke rode horse back to the tavern. However, before getting their Duke fired his rifle, Leif horse was scared, threw him from the saddle. He fell off the horse, hitting his head on the cobble stones and his life had been snuffed out for $9,000 in life insurance policies. It was the perfect crime, or so it seemed to the men. They said that Leif fell off his horse and died on the way back from the tavern. And they seemed to have gotten away with it. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
Saturday night, Olov arrived back to my estate, and went to his room to lie down on his bed. He had not been there long when he heard noises. As he was just involved in a plot that robbed another man of his life, he became quite nervous. That night, there were doors opening and closing, footsteps of unseen guests. As he got up to go investigate, Olov felt a strange touch at his back; then a tug; then he felt the back of his sweater pulled several inches away from his back. He turned to look over his shoulder and wondered how, without moving, he could have hooked his sweater on something. However, there was nothing upon which his sweater could have been stuck. Just then he saw Stellan, eyes wide with astonishment. He blurted out to Olov, “I just saw the back of your sweater pull out all by itself!” Later the following evening Olov was closing up the mansion for the night, at about 9.00 P.M. Like all Victorian homes, “The House Built by Spirits” has its share of creaks and groans. Creaks and groans are one thing—but witnessing something supernatural is another thing entirely. He was turning out the lights. The house, as the light are slowly being extinguished, does have a certain “feeling” to it: as it grows dark, one gets the inkling that one need to hurry, that someone—or something—cannot wait for you to leave so that they may get on with their existence—if that is what one could call it—in peace. Moving from the parlor to the morning room, he casually looked into the darkened stairwell. His eye was caught by the manifestation of a spectral being. A strange man with long hair appeared in the morning room. Olov mistake this spectral man for a servant. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
When he realized his mistake, Olov hurried forward to see who the person was. As he watched the figure, the long-haired man moved out of the morning room, he followed him. Just as the icy fingers of fear had begun to trace a slow, deliberate path up the length of his spine, the figure floated the through the mahogany wall and disappeared. Stellan arrived to find Olov in a near state of panic. While in the servants’ quarters, he had been sitting in a chair with his back to the door. He heard the door open and close and the sound of footsteps enter the house and approach the spot directly behind his chair. Imagine the horror when he turned around and saw a misty figure take the form of a tall man all in gray. The ghost, wearing a tattered Revolutionary War uniform, looked unkempt with long hair and a grizzled appearance. Olov screamed, but it was only second before the specter faded away. When Stellan reached him, his was quivering and inconsolable. Stellan then figure it would be a good idea for the two men to quit their jobs and move north. After all, they now had the money to do so, they were rich. On that evening, Olov wandered into a dark and deserted section of the mansion. This was the most active area of the mansion and too dangerous to inhabit. The stairway to the attic was narrow and winding. Suddenly a shrill scream came from the attic. Stellan ran to the fourth floor where Olov was discovered lying on the floor, stabbed through the heart. He was dead. Stellan figured the men had been hexed, and he would be the next one to die. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
Stellan went into a secret room under one of the kitchens through a trap door—a secret room that house Mrs. Winchester’s magic. He was looking for her book of spells in the secret room. However, there was someone in that room, perhaps waiting for a century or more, for someone to open the trap door. Walking through the small, arched doorway, the room was furnished and there were antique carpets near the alter. He heard music and instruments. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure of a small woman, seemingly cloaked in a long, dark, flowing dress with a wide-brimmed, black hat, standing in the corner. He stood for a brief moment, seeing her out of the side vision, afraid to look directly at her, since he realized that entities can sometimes only be seen through peripheral vision. Indeed, when he turned to confront the dark lady, he was struck on the head with a piece of stove wood, killing him. The story of a mysterious man in the servants quarters had spread throughout the estate, as we were touring the room that belonged to Leif, we herd the sounds of horses hooves and whips. Then sudden sound heralded the appearance of a bright figure we immediately recognized of Leif. He told us how he had died and how his poor mother was near a breakdown; after someone had dug up bushes in her yard, she took it as a sign that Leif’s body would also be dug up. He had him exhumed and reburied in the flower bed outside her house. Here she piled a huge mound of stones over his grave. Vowing to get revenge, she would sit up nights watching for grave robbers and crying for her lost son, until she died from a broken heart. And from beyond the grave, she had discovered who took the life of her son and returned the favor. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
Through the years the servants on occasion have hear Olov’s shrill last crimes repeated over and over again. The antique carpets in the secret alter room were cleaned, but the bloodstain frequently reappears. One of the servants mentioned that he saw an injured man, blood, and a woman in a dark dress in the alter room, leaning up against the walls, exhausted, dirty, bloody, smelling like sweat and fear. After hearing the specter’s story, I was trembling. I said nothing for a second or two, trying to find the words. Nothing ever came to mind. It is when things are busiest in their dwelling-places that the spirits are most active. Already disposed once out of their bodies, they react when they are again dispossessed of their homes. There was a great deal of strong, negative energy coming from this particular corner of the room. From the moment on, I closed off this section of the house and had Mr. Hansen build Victorian cottages for the servants to live in and increased their pay three times more than the going rate. The servants were good and faithful people. Perhaps these ghosts and restless spirits return to remind mortals of the evil that can be done in the name of good. Many people whisper that no one can make it through this area of the mansion. It is said that strange fear grips people as they approach the servant’s wing. As they pass through the threshold, they feel that they should turn back. A feeling of being watched and of impending danger gradually rises as they wander deeper and deeper into this wing. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
O thou great and powerful King AMAYMON, who rulest by the power of the Supreme God El, over all Spirits, superior and inferior, but especially over the Infernal Order in the Dominion of the East, I invoke and command thee by the particular and true Name of God, and by the God whom thou dost worship, by the Seal of thy creation, by the most mighty and powerful Name of God TETRAGRAMMATION, who cast thee out of Heaven with the rest of the Infernal Spirits, by all the other potent and great names of God, Creator of Heaven, Earth, and Hell, of all contained therein, by their powers and virtues, and by the Name PRIMEMATUM, which commands the whole host of Heaven. Do thou force and compel the Spirit ADONAI, king of Kings here before this circle, in a fair and comely shape, without injury to myself or to any creature, that he may tide and time receive our wish, and grant us new beginnings so that we may accomplish our desires, whatsoever the be, provided that it is proper to his office, by the power of God, EL, who hath created and doth dispose of all things, celestial, aerial, terrestrial, and infernal. ASTRACHIOS, ASACH, ASARCA, ABEDUMABAL, SLLAT, ANABOTAS, JESUBLIN, SCIOIN, DOMOL, Lord God, who dwellest above the Heavens, whose glance searchest the abyss; grant us, we pray Thee, the power to conceieve in our minds and to execute that which we desire to do, the end of which we would attain by Thy help, O God Almighty, who livest and reignest for ever and ever. Amen. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
Our technology tells us that fluorescent lamps do not continuously provide light, but are actually flickering on and off at a rate that is just too fast for us to discern…reality at large is really a frequency domain, and our brain is a kind of lens that converts these frequencies into the objective World of appearances…there may be all kinds of things out there in the frequency domain that we are not seeing, things our brains have learned to edit out regularly of our visual reality. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
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By the Terrible Torment of Demons
Here haunts eternally the curse of the Winchester fortune; here lives the mysteries of the fruit orchards, harbinger of spirits; many voices may echo, among the Queen Anne Victorian mansion, but perhaps none more curious than the mischievous demons. No region in the West is richer in legend than my home. The tales of The Winchester Mansion range in subject-matter from buried treasure to black arts, secret passageways and portals to other Worlds. An opening into a mysterious passageway may be seen behind one of the 47 fireplaces. However, where the tunnel leads in its subterranean wanderings none can say, for its walls have caved in not far from the entrance and its secret is buried. I had this tunnel as an emergency entrance and to my mansion. I kept my horses there shod backward to deceive the foeman who might study their tracks. The ghost of this spot is the specter of a huge dog with wolfen teeth, glittering eyes, and a jet coat that here comes back from a dog-pound beyond the grave to plague the servants at midnight. Inside the gate of my estate is the undying spell of blooming roses, plush green trees, emerald green lawns, flowers the color of gems, elegant statues, and the sun makes a dazzling spectacle of the sea green mansion. The orchards are abloom with the promise of a fruitful harvest, but at night, one passes through the gate into the twilight of the great shadowy mansion and its encircling walls, and one feels ice cold hands taking hold of them, a certain death none can excel, as the door is opened to Heaven or Hell. #RandolphHarris 1 of 6
People wander through the doors to areas where visions of spirit orbs and spectral children dwell; where long dead residents or perhaps soldiers, true to their duty unto death (and beyond) still practice their lives and manifest themselves by talking, touching and interacting with employees and visitors alike. Once a tunnel ran from the nine story observation tower to the basement. Thence it led to the fields. Its entrances were eventually blocked by fallen stone. I have led guest to the well beneath the observation tower and pause impressively to drop a stone into it. Long afterward the faint tinkle of a splash comes echoing back. The shaft of the surface is far below the surface. The mile-long tunnel was cut deep in the rock by men with considerable patience and ingenuity. As you enter the house, it certainly does not look haunted, but in that first room a number of dark, unexplainable, paranormal events have occurred. One night I was alone in the house. The place was quiet…until I heard something entirely out of place. Echoing softly from the dark stairwell across the room—and apparently across decades of time as well—came footsteps. I herd them lightly descend, one step at a time, and could actually follow the sounds, as the footfalls came slowly down the stairs and stopped at the bottom. I peered into the darkened hall, but saw no one. I bravely walked around the desk and cautiously peeked around the corner to the foot of the stairs. No one—at least no one visible—was there. #RandolphHarris 2 of 6
Two hours later, my eager ears detected nothing ghostly or grisly in the unseen aura. There was the soughing of the pines, the solemn organ tone of the mountain breeze and a faint whistle of an air current somewhere. Letting my mind wander a bit, unknowingly putting my mind in a state where it was more receptive to the supernatural. Slowly from the darkness at the bottom of the stairs, out of nothing, there materialized a small boy age 6 or 7. He had blonde hair, and was wearing a light shirt with dark pants and suspenders. He stood there, looing into the front room, at the oddly out-of-place (at least to him) desk. Then, as suddenly as he had entered this strange World, he left it, before my eyes could pick up any more detail of what was clearly an impossibility anywhere else but in “The Winchester Mansion.” At night, the silence is engendered by the ghostly sounds of a phantom horn and the eerie baying of the devil’s bloodhounds. For many years, a ghostly man on a horse has been riding through these shadowy glens and over the fields, scarcely an arrow-shot ahead of the hellhounds that seek his soul. And the wild chase must continue until Judgement Day. One evening when I was in the restroom, no sooner than I entered, the handle of the door began to rattle and squeak. As I stood there, rinsing my hands and watching it, the knob of the sink began to slowly and methodically twist. After I dried my hands and threw open the door to discover the perpetrator–no one was there. #RandolphHarris 3 of 6
My home, The Winchester Mansion, was still considered as a mythical abode of devil-nurtured nightriders. The stern tower that crown the mansion act as monuments to a great house. The spirits that dreamt of them were imaginative and resourceful, as were the carpenters who built the historical achievement. Might has been sculptured in their designing and they suggestive a glorious wealth. The mansion stands intact, a splendid mass of wall and buttress, rampart and turret, crowing a gentle slope in the middle of a peaceful valley, like a living illustration of royalty. But sometimes the spirits play sad havoc with treasures. Here is a wreck of a broken crystal from a massive chandelier, rotting leather, tattered and faded tapestry. The echoing of smashing glass as one walk the otherwise well-kept corridors sounds like a demonic war long ago. My homes has become qualified in some special way to form a link between the living and the dead. I see more than dreamlike apparitions, I hear voices, and receive visions of truth. More than that, my soul sometimes leaves my body to go wandering. I have assembled a séance room for the opportunity of hearing messages from departed loved ones. During séances, I have made contact with the spirits of deceased men and women in another World. However, the concept of an eternal soul is steadily eroded by an emphasis on brain cells, conditioned responses, and memory patterns that could exit only while the body remains alive. I have conducted many séances and eternal life has been proved to me. #RandolphHarris 4 of 6
During one séance, I sensed the presence of a spirit. The room was by no means dark. A few candles gave enough light for me to clearly distinguish the shape of a small girl materializing beside me. The spirit girl came up beside me and grabbed my hand. Her flesh was somewhat cooler than that of a living human. She reminded me of my precious Annie. I touched her silken hair, and was able to hear her heart beat. When I asked the spirit girl what the spirit World was like, she did not respond to any of the questions. However, when I asked if she missed and loved her mother, the rapidly responded with “Yes.” This caused me to weep. It was such a deeply emotional moment. After what seemed like just a few moments, the spirit girl, whom I believed to by my precious daughter Annie, began to fade back into her ethereal state. Moments later, I froze, for I saw an image of a woman, and she was throwing herself at the door. I could hear a crash as she would hit it. Suddenly the door exploded into pieces. This led me to be overcome with information that there was great danger in my home. After the spirit in the séance room had demonstrated such an incredible explosion of energy, she was suddenly gone. The ghosts of the ancients sit in the councils of their descendants. The spectral guardians of the illustrious Winchester Mansion gather on this estate. People have made trek for many years to my estate to glimpse the specters rising from the Earth on moonlit night. Let the dead rise from the tombs. #RandolphHarris 5 of 6
I cite, require, and command thee, Human Spirits, who frequentist this place, and in thy life has has interred by treasure herein, who also of recent time, to wit, in the day or night of May 8, 2023 and the hour of thirteen hundred hours, show thyself in the form of spirit at this spot: I conjure thee by God the Father, by God the Son, by God the Holy Spirit, by the most glorious and Holy Mother of God by the mot holy wound of our Savior, by all miracles performed through His Divine sorrow, passion, and tears, by His material death, by His descent into Hell, by Hi triumphant Resurrection, by His most glorious ascension into Heaven, by His sitting on the right hand of God the Father, giving rule to His angels from thence over the whole Earth, I conjure thee by the terrible Day of Judgment, by the power and virtue of St. John the Baptist by all the martyrs, apostles, and prophets. Come to me. I adjure and beseech thee by the terrible, ineffable, and Divine Names inscribed on this sheet, and in reverence and cosign, visible, without lightning, without thunder, without noise of dread tempests, without causing fear or trembling, harm to body or soul, or annoyance of any kind. But do thou perform my will in all things, even as I shall command thee, by the virtue of the one stupendous and holy Name, which even the adverse and inferior powers of the Abyss do venerate and adore, ever confessing the Almighty, whose creatures we all are. Incessantly do I call, adjure, conjure, ordain, and require thee, Human Spirits, by the Most Holy and Undivided Trinity, by the immortality which cometh after death, by the power and victory of Hell, by the bearer of the Seven Swords, and by the terrible torments of demons. #RandolphHarris 6 of 6
Although there remain 160 of approximately 600 rooms, only 110 are open to guests. Areas of the house are off limits to visitors for very good reasons. Fifty of these rooms have revealed childlike, ghostly, spirit orbs playing games and taunting one another, and unseen hands playing tricks on employees. True, documented events have happened and continue to happen within the walls. Many people have come away from The Winchester Mansion with their own stories to tell, but we caution anyone attempting to visit here to do so only with respect. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
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Dabbling in its Dark, Cruel Possibilities
It was one of the brisk winter mornings that begins in a fog, promising the cold to come. A mist was rising from the fruit orchards as I dropped down the hill into Llanada Villa in the valley below the mansion. It was a fair-tale mansion, all turrets and towers, stained glass and plush Victorian gardens, sitting majestical on the most valuable plot of land. As I entered my home, I heard the music playing softly from the morning room. I sat sipping coffee at nine thirty, glad it was Saturday. I knew that life was going to be vastly more complicated now. Well, it was going to be more dangerous, too. Overhead, the morning sky had turned a vivid blue, intersected by fading vapor trails. It was bright enough blue, the sky. However, it had a depth and stillness suggestive of the steady retreat of sunlight and a slight warmth. I have seen real ghouls in my home, and I knew that magic was something that could be harnessed and exploited and there were people in the World with hunger for power and influence enough to risk dabbling in its dark, cruel possibilities. The whisper of water dropping on to leaves as the rain began to fall could be heard. The lights flicked on and off. I looked around, half-waiting for the sound to stir again. The rain strength. I heard drops begin to fall on the roof. For many years the staff reported hearing a little girl crying. She has been seen on occasion, and is described as about seven years old. She has been seen in the house at the main stairwell, on the lawn, and on the third floor. I passed on through the passages of crystal and rooms of silver—spacious chambers, empty and silent. #RandolphHarris 1 of 6
This house felt older than the memory of man. It was an accursed mansion. There were strange noises in the mansion. Every night the wailing of a woman could be heard above the moaning of the wind. If ghost must walk the Earth, they could find no spot on the globe where their appearance would be more natural, or better understood. The staff tells tales of disembodies footsteps, lights that switch themselves off and on at will, and objects moving. The Daisy Bedroom has lights that switch themselves on and off after dark and phantom footsteps are often heard in the hallway near the room. One day a housemaid was speaking to a guest as she served dinner downstairs. To everyone’s surprise, the serving tray sitting on the table picked itself up and tipped itself upside down. The tray was filled with plates of hot foot that went everywhere. The sacrificial stones of the Druid priests, oriented after the fashion of the ruin of ruins of Stonehenge, the blood-vats, imperishable adjuncts to human sacrifice, have stood through the ages, grim guardians of the mysteries of the haunted fruit orchards. If someone were to tell me that the fruit orchards at Llanada Villa echoed nightly with the shrieks of sacrifice and that the ghost fires of forgotten priestcraft still glowed in the morning, I would find it hard to disbelieve. That ghastly curse remained on my family and fortune. The mansion has picked up a few permanent guests. One evening, from the observation tower, I saw a huge black figure gliding along the grounds. It could not be human because of the rate of speed it was going. I felt not just fear, but absolute dread. I experienced a bone-chilling could throughout my body. I ran down nine flights of stairs, while crying uncontrollable and my heart was pounding. #RandolphHarris 2 of 6
Only in the understanding of the stock from which the Victorian mansion’s ghosts are sprung can one appreciate the immortality with which long-accepted tradition has endowed them. Ghostly itself is the history of the Winchester Mansion. While the carpenters were painting on the fourth floor, one of them was startled to see the word MURDER appear in the freshly rolled paint, as if written with someone’s finger—only the words were backwards, as though being written from the other side of the wall. One of the painters explained: “We were quite surprised when a shadow started moving towards us.” As they realized that the “shadow” was approaching them, they also realized that area of the mansion was a very lonely place, especially at night. Not many people ventured up there. And although in their haste to leave, they could only give brief glances at the dark figure, they were sure of one thing: “The only outstanding feature was the outline of a wide brim hate.” Another evening while the carpenters were painting, they heard a quiet creaking emanating from the wood floors. They steeled their nerves before investigating. That is when they saw a young woman sitting in a chair directly behind them. The woman was there for just a moment before disappearing. Later the evening as the farmers were picking fruit in the fields, the dark figure “floated” diagonally across the field. It drifted rapidly to a clump of trees with two flat rocks near by and disappeared over a slight drop-off beyond. #RandolphHarris 3 of 6
One of the farmers screwed up his courage and, in spite of the bizarre, dark figure’s mysterious and even menacing appearance, volunteered to walk down to the spot where the apparition disappeared. After five minutes of observation, he returned, like an efficient scout, with his report, unsettling as it might be. He said when he reached the far side of the hill there were two “soldiers-dressed” figures stilling on the two flat rocks near the clump of trees. Neither one spoke to the other; nor did they acknowledge the other’s presence. Instead they just sat, seemingly rigidly fixated, staring down into the field. Other ghost haunting the mansion include those of two little boys, who have been heard running on the second floor. One night, while I was preparing for company, I found two sets of muddy boot prints coming from the door to nowhere and crossing the room. When I told Daisy about the boot prints. She said they must be made by the same boys who keep coming in the door the opens to the wall, and we had locked them out. Looking toward the door she said, “It’s OK, if you prefer this door, go ahead and use it.” Immediately the door swung open. Needless to say cold chills ran through both of us. We never worried about the door that opens to the wall again. My idea for the mansion was not only to create a place for the spirits, but also to build an estate that would inspire awe. The gorgeous series of fields gardens, forests, and grassy acres are as fascinating as they are beautiful. However, when the sun goes down, the shadows creep and spread, giving the Victorian Mansion an entirely different look and feel. #RandolphHarris 4 of 6
With grounds lit by a full moon hanging low in the sky, just to the side of the columns of the mansion, one begins to ponder the many mysteries surrounding the Winchester Mansion. One night I was putting out a candle when I heard the sound of a singing voice. At first I thought: “Oh, that sounds nice.” However, then I wondered what it was and where I could be hearing singing from. After all, the staff was asleep and there was no one around, and the sound definitely was not coming from outside. It was frightening, but it was not explainable. It was just a couple of phrases of singing and it took me by surprise. I could faintly see the hazy shape of a woman moving down what the hallway. One night, a group of farmers were packing up for the evening. A they looked around with a lantern for their tools, they were shocked to see what appeared to be the black form of a man moving toward them. The figure was larger than human and had no features—it was a black mass that seemed to sway toward them in the bright light. The man wielding the lantern quickly put it out and they all ran away. For weeks the men thought about what they had seen; they just could not forget it. They spoke to other servants about the vision or sighting. They were quite disturbed and unable to let the subject drop. #RandolphHarris 5 of 6
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Take heed! Come, all Spirits! By the virtue and power of your king, and by the seven crowns and chain of your Kings, all Spirits of the Hells are forced to appear in my presence before this circle of Solomon, whensoever I shall call them. Come, then, all at my order, to fulfil that which is in your power, as commanded. Come, therefore, from the East, South, West, and North! I conjure and command you, by the virtue and power of Him who is three, eternal, equal, who is God invisible, consubstantial, in a word, who has created the Heavens, the sea, and al which is under Heaven. I conjure thee, Lucifer, by the living God, by the true God, by the holy God, who spake and all was made, who commanded and all things were created and made! I conjure thee by the ineffable name of God, ON, ALPHA, and OMEGA, ELOYM, YA, SADAY, LUX, MUGENS, REX, SALUS, ADONAY, EMMANUEL, MESSIAS; and I adjure, conjure. I command you, O all ye demons dwelling in these parts, or in what part of the World soever ye may be, by whatsoever power may have been given you by God and our holy Angels over this place, and by the power Principality of the fernal abysses, as also by all your brethren, both general and special demons, whether dwelling in the East, West, South, or North, or in any side of the Earth, and, in like manner, by the power of God the Father, by the wisdom of God and the Son, by the virtue of the Holy Ghost, and by the authority I derive from our Savior Jesus Christ, the only Son of God. #RandolphHarris 6 of 6
The idea that we survive physical death, that some part of our being is immortal, profoundly affects the loves of those who harbor such a belief. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
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Hallowed by the Life of Blood
The rain lashed with vindictive fury at the windows of my mansion. My skin was crawling with gooseflesh, listening to the mournful recording crackling with static under the needle of the gramophone as the song grew louder through the rain. There is an eerie undocumented history that simmers below the surface and appears periodically to frighten and confuse people. The last thing I wanted to do is see whatever sight might accompany it. The wind was strong up here on the fourth floor and I could hear rain spatter hard against the sitting-room window. I walked on into the room, past the beckoning Hall of Fires, looking out and down at the night. I could see the dome to the nine-story observation tower through the stir of trees surrounding it. A swath of rain bleared the glass in front of my face and made me blink and recoil slightly. “Hello, Aunt Sarah.” The voice of my niece Daisy. “What I have to say concerns this mansion.” A few items of lovely furniture occupied the room. Two of these were armchairs. Daisy sat in one of them. She had paused, perhaps for effect. “I’m sorry to intrude on you. But there really isn’t a choice. A visitor, strolling along the ground near the fruit orchard, heard wisps of strange tunes. Listening more closely through the dusky evening, he was lured inside of the mansion. And he is now dead.” I took my head into my hands. “Aunt Sarah, I need you. There is no time for prevarication on this.” “Daisy, I will meet you in the Venetian Dining Room this evening,” I replied. I rose from my chair thinking that God had very little to do with anything that ever occurred within the grounds of the walls of my mansion. From wars to executions, to suicides and untimely death from injury, plague, or disease, Victorian mansions are, for all their majesty and splendor, tragic places where death stalked the cold lonely corridors. These are the places of the bloodiest history, whether it be a place raided by the unlawful, or a battle for ownership. With such a history of violence and tragedy, it is little wonder that this mansion is regarded as haunted? #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
I walked back to the window. It was a quarter to six. Strange noises and an occasional sighting of the larger-than-average soldiers with the oddly pointed hats have been seen roaming the grounds. Any attempt to speak with them or approach them, they simply vanish into the mansion. Odd doors and gated entrances punctuated the length of the mansion. There was a Gothic, deliberate atmosphere about my home, a sepulchral character to the mass of its wooden buttresses andre treats. Geometrical shapes snatched inexplicably at the eyes. And often one could hear laughter, high-pitched with contempt or teasing mockery that made one hurry on, even though it may be rationalized as the cold wind gusting through the elaborate masonry. The wind whistles in the trees and leaves and wisps of thick mist blow across the farmland. With the trotting of horses and constant sounds of construction, the heart is suddenly racing, and one thinks they hear something behind them. After all, this is an ancient land, a house built by spirits, occupied by ghosts, pixies, goblins and all sort of mythical creatures of the night. Anything is likely to happen. Looking around the interior of the estate, one can discern a deep, foreboding blackness that seems to be following one, as if it is alive and in pursuit. Stepping out into the fruit orchard, the wind suddenly drops and one’s senses are heightened. Indeed, one can hear one’s very heart beating in their chest as they continue to canter forward into the night. The mist becomes thicker, darker, and as one glances furtively from side to side, the darkness of shadows of the orchards hides their secrets, but perhaps you are not alone. Sometimes I tell myself that the scraping sounds at the window is simply a branch being blown in the breeze and the footsteps heard in the hallway are old timbers creaking and groaning with a change in the air or weather. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
If there was something serious going on, the housekeeper and the butler would try to keep it quiet. They might talk together, but they would be tight-lipped in front of me. The clock struck seven. I met Daisy in the dining room. “Aunt Sarah, we all talked. We weren’t meant to,” Daisy said. “We were all talking about it. We didn’t know what to make of it. The body was found on a cold stone passage, that was said to lead directly into the opulent state rooms where you normally conducted meetings.” Not a moment too soon, five housemaid trooped into the dining room. Taking off their white starched aprons, they formed up in a line. The room, echoing with their footsteps and voices, as in a church. The mahogany floor, almost three thousand square feet of it had to be hand polished. It was an onerous task, one of the housemaids least like doing. Bending down, they placed their tins of wax of the floor. “Daisy, it looks like we will have to continue this conversation later,” I said. “Goodnight, Aunt Sarah,” she replied. The maids stooped on their hands and knees, their long black dresses spread out around them. Working in union, they dabbed their clothes in wax; then they rubbed the floor vigorously in quick tight circle. The observation tower staircase was the place the servants feared most. The observation tower sits ominously over the mansion, along with sever distinctive turrets jutting proudly into the skies. Sweeping down to the Guard Room eight floors below, it was the main thoroughfare in the tower. Family portraits adored its walls. The steps, of bare stone—framed by a wrought-iron balustrade, topped by a mahogany rail—were wide and shallow. “We were all scared of the tower’s stairs,” said Elsa. “I was coming down them one evening, halfway down, I felt somebody push me. They were behind me, trying to push me down the stairs. I turned round, and of course there was no one there.” The Winchester Mansion is a land of appealing features seemingly embedded in the sense of a deep-rooted and permanent history that emanates from almost every corner of the land. It has rustic grounds and quaint gardens, a hulking mansion with many towering features, having been fostered over decades to create a comfortable and pleasing landscape that guests recall like their favorite arm chair. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
A number of the male servants, skeptical of ghost as they were, had experienced a similar sensation. “I used to keep an eye on the mansion,” Edvin recalled. “I would walk around the dark with the dogs, no lights on, no torches, or anything. One night, I was coming across the first floor of the tower—and I got up to the stairs and felt hot breath on the back of my neck. I turned round. There was nobody there. But the dogs wouldn’t go any further, their hackles went right up. It was ages before I could get them to move.” I often examined the possibility of evil. I had a notion that evil was communicable. Something that can, as it were, contaminate. However, one must not confuse evil with manifestations. My secret rooms, by their very nature, held the servants in thrall. It was an area that they never entered, never saw or ever knew what went on. It was a place of mystery. The rooms were subjects of wild speculations, fueled by the servants’ fear of me, and their knowledge of my eccentric interests. My servants knew I was fascinated by the occult and this played to their fears. They knew the mansion was haunted and I often had the mediums in. However, they never whether any ghosts or sprits were actually summoned. It went on behind closed doors. Of course, they knew of the ancestral curse. It had been cast in the mid-19th century by a coven of witches. The curse had also been cast over future generations; aimed at Winchester heirs; it determined that the children would die before they reached the age of thirteen and those who survived would be haunted by ghosts and demons. For decades, it had seemed to me and my servants that this was a cruse from which the family could never escape. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
One night, it was shortly before three o’clock in the morning when a shadowy figure, dressed from head to foot in back, crossed the landing of the staircase. The night was cloudless, the moon almost full. There was a blackout and the mansion was shrouded in darkness. The light from the moon set tiny point of balance dancing in the darkened windows. I could hear footsteps moving stealthily across the floor and the occasional cry of an animal from the fields. A headless horseman was riding near the tower. I got out of bed, and turned the corner into a passage in one of the parlors. As the men worked in the hallways, they froze. Coming down the hallway was a pair of green eyes belonging to a child. The eyes were about two or three feet up from the floor, leading me to believe that child was three years old. They eyes simply floated up the hall, and then turned into one of the maid’s room where we lost sight of them. That night I also saw dark shapes. There was a dark shadowy thing flying from the Grand Ball Room to the and down the hallway. Then above the chandelier there were several dark shadowy things. They flew outside, barely illuminating the background of the trees and then were blocked out by an even darker shadow, moving slowly, methodically along the tree line. Meanwhile another shadow ran through the hallway, it was tall. The carpenters looked at each other in suspense. Closing the heavy steel door behind me, I had left the Grand Ball Rom to find my way long the labyrinth passages. A long passage reached into the distance. It was gloomy, lit by only the strip lighting in the display cases that ran along with wall. Ahead was a solid oak door, carved in the Gothic style. Another passage led off to my right, I could see that it branched in two. One end led into a small hall. It was in darkness. “No one goes in there,” a mysterious voice whispered. The spirit gave me a fright. Everyone, it seems, even hardened sceptics and disbelievers, has seen a ghost. For some reason, in the back of their minds, ghosts may be real. Everyone has known the feeling of their heart racing for a second when they see a shadow moving in the corner of their eye or they feel some sort of presence standing over them. Or worse still, a tortured face in a window that paralyses their body and retards their breathing to the point that they can hear the blood pumping around their own body. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
I took the left passage. I went on some distance ahead, there was a kink in the passage. A man emerged from it and started waling me. He was wearing knee breaches and a nineth-century coachman’s jacket. As we drew level, he stopped. “Mrs. Winchester, those rooms are forbidden,” he said, “What are you doing in this part of the house?” Once again, he repeated, “Those rooms are forbidden.” I did not want to stop and talk; I was anxious to get back to my room. I assumed that the servants were being proprietorial. Finally, I had made it to my destination sometime later. The bedroom was not dark, because the bright light of a full moon entered through the window. I had just lain down, ready to go to sleep, when I suddenly noticed that I was not on my own. I heard a rasping breath in the darkness only a few feet away. Right in front of the wardrobe and looking directly at me was a middle-aged man, dressed like a Catholic priest. I rubbed my eyes and pinched my arms to make sure I was fully awake Yes, I most certain was. Was I having hallucinations? The priest was still standing there, looking at me. He was a rather frail man with hollow cheeks. His face showed traces of a hard life and illness. If he had any hair at all, it was covered by his hat. He looked so real, not like a ghost. I was not a bit scared, because he radiated vibrations of utter peace and tranquility. There was nothing to be afraid of, so I decided to talk to him keeping my voice as low as possible. “Hello, Father,” I said. “God bless you.” “And God bless you, my child,” came the priest’s prompt reply. He was well-spoken, his voice was soft. His English accent was not hard to distinguish. After giving me a few personal messages and stressing the point that there is survival after death, he told me who he was. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
His name was John Ogilvie, and in had lived in Scotland from 1580 to 1615, he wanted hanged at Glasgow Cross for his faith. When I remarked that at the time of his hanging, he was only 36 years old, he confirmed this. After quietly talking about religious matters for a few moments, he bade me farewell and disappeared. It seems that he refused to pledge allegiance to King James, and it was for this crime that the was tried, found guilty and hanged. After his execution, his followed were apprehended and put in jail. If this was not a genuine case of a visit from beyond the grave, what is it? Most of the time, the mansion is benign. Unfortunately, sometimes people find exactly what they are looking for. I had been in bed half an hour when I heard the music playing softly from my sitting room next door. I listened to the same, faintly relentless song. Starting to sweat and grow cold in bed, I recognized the song. Or I thought I did. And it continued. It wavered through the wall and door frame in strained, distended chords, and choruses, swelling and facing, ragged and persistent. The door was to my right. I pulled back the duvet and got out of bed and walked through the door to the sitting room. Where the music was louder. The must persisted, repetitious, frighting me. As I turned the corner, I discovered that Gerhardt hanged himself from the cross beams. Badly wounded, Mr. Hansen carried to the attic to await medical attention, but he died there. Since that time people have claimed that he haunts the attic room. He has been seen and heard there from time to time. Servants have reported hearing the creaking of a rope and the soft thud of a body swaying against the wall. Though they often look for the source of the sound, they never find it. There is a disheveled, aged specter, bound at feet and hands and rattling chains haunting the basement. A journey through my mansion is a passage through history. A real history, one that you can live and breathe, one that you can feel and be part of. You can walk serenely miles through my mansion, it is a place that inspires contemplation and wonderment. It is a living history, of memories as far back as history recalls. It is a place of myth, legend, of ghosts and ghouls, of giants, and dwarves, mermaids, cupid, another other half-remembered, half-whispered-about creatures. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
If a sudden, horrifying death is what it takes to make the spirit linger, surely, this place—is a candidate. Certainly, where men grappled back and forth, engaged not only in the struggle for their own precious lives, but for the life of their respective countries, where in the balance was the future of the very world, and this place produce the mechanism of defense, if that does not qualify for the lingering-place of souls wondering for eternity the outcome of their struggles, then we cannot name a place. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
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We All Know What Ghosts Look Like, Right?
Without saying a word, I rose from the sofa and walked straight to the kitchen. As I drew near a soft of mist seemed to pass before me; and as I looked at it, I saw William. I said to myself, “Poor William!” Daisy looked up. She feared something unimaginable had happened. “Are you okay, Aunt Sarah? Is anything the matter?” And when she drew near, she touched me as if I were as fine as a fabric. Her little hands hovered for a moment on my shoulders. “My dear; nothing is the matter. I simply had a thought of your uncle William and could not think of the pain and discomfort he had gone through. A supernatural breath of cold showed me his icy apparition,” I explained. “Aunt Sarah, I think it was very imprudent to sit with the window open. I will see to it that we light a fire to keep you warm,” said Daisy. Oh, she was lovely, and innocent, so sheerly innocent, her large dark eyes gazing at me as if I were a child. Life was hard in the valley even without the threat of Indian raids, hostile whites, and animal attacks. The women worked from dawn to dusk washing clothing and linen, preparing food, cleaning, tendering the gardens. It was such a large house that I had built. One could walk for days and not see the same room twice. Two of the servant women, Tindra and Sibylla, were comely with beautiful long dark hair that they would let loose like curtains of darkness across their shoulder. They did not have fancy jewelry. If they were vain about anything, it was their pretty hair. One afternoon the girls took the laundry down stairs. It was a pretty day. While they washing the clothes, hostile eyes were watching them from the shadows. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
They belonged to a war party they had broken into the mansion. The hatchet-hard faces of the natives, daubed with red and black war paint, were ferocious to behold. Their hair was shaved along the sides and stood up in cockscombs on the top of their heads. They knew that they had found easy prey. Suddenly from downstairs came terrible cry and the girls looked behind them in terror. The sound was unmistakable to them. They dropped the laundry and gathered up their skirts to run. From the hallway ran demonic-faced, tawny figures. The girls fled like deer, but not fast enough. Within moments the terrible deeds were done and the two girls lay mangled and broken not far from the Venetian dining room. Their beautiful hair was gone, carried away to be sold and traded. Hours went by before anyone discovered the girls. They were found not far apart bloodied and their beautiful hair scalped. It was a tragedy that played out all too often in the valley. The girls were buried but not soon forgotten. It was not long until people began to claim that the girls, with their bloody scalped heads, were seen wandering the halls of my mansions. It was believed that they girls could not rest because their hair was taken. They had comeback to find their beautiful hair. On January 7, 1892 Ansgar Bergstrom, a farmer on the estate, died as the result of a fall. Although Ansgar was survived by his widow and four sons, the will that had been duly arrested by two witnesses on March 13, 1875, left all of his property to the third son, Olsson. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
One night in August 1894, Svensson Bergstrom, the farmer’s second son, saw the spirit of his father standing at his bedside, while he was staying in one of the guest rooms in my home. The specter told him of the existence of another will. According to Sevensson, his father appeared before him that night as he often had in life, wearing a familiar black overcoat. “You will find the will in Mrs. Winchester Bureau,” the spirit said. The next morning Sevensson arose convinced that he had truly seen and heard the spirit of his father, and that the spirit had visited him for the purpose of correcting some error. After breakfast, he located the Bureau, and found inside a will. In this testament, the farmer stated that he desired his property to be divided equally among his four sons with the admonition that the provide for their mother as long as she lived. Although the second will had not been attested, it would be considered valid if it could be proven that it had been written entirely in Ansgar Bergstrom’s own handwriting. Olsson Bergstrom, the sole beneficiary under the conditions of the original will, had passed away with a year of his father. Olsson’s widow and son prepared to contest the validity of the second will, and the residents of the county anticipated a long and bitter court battle between members of the Bergstrom family. At that moment, an Indian appeared, telling the Bergstrom family to share the wealth or they would be doomed to wander Eternity. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
The Bergstrom family proceeded with the court battle. That evening, an Indian woman broke into my home, where they had been staying while contesting the will. With knives, she sliced their thighs so they could not walk through the afterlife; decapitated them so they could not function headless; and copped off their feet so they could not return home. My horses were torn to pieces, and some ran wild. It was a ritualistic mutilation, but no bloody hand prints nor footprints were found. I did not believe these immortal deeds were done by mortal men. I have seen and heard a number of mysterious, unexplainable things in my home, but this was by far the most gruesome. There were often phantom sounds of people cheering from the fruit orchards, to gun fire echoing off the nine-story observation tower in this distance. However, perhaps the eeriest occurred only at certain times—after a thunderstorm of during full moon when the shadows dance a mournful waltz in the Grand Ball Room. Along the darkened and dismal skyline, one could often see a lone figure moving in the observation tower, then bending low, as if he knows he has been spotted and is hiding. By dusk, everything sounded like noise. I was quite disturbed and could not work anymore. The house was full of busy servants and clerics. I knew something was not right when I stepped into the parlor. The Cardinal was dressed for ceremony and duty, a silver crucifix gleaming on his chest. The city was filled with rumors about the number of people who had lost their lives in the tragedy. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
Some thought that everyone, including myself, had been slaughtered. There was a rare light to the expression of the Cardinal, an innocent exuberance. “Sit down, beautiful one,” he said. He told his attendant to go out. The door shut; the quiet seemed to close around them like water washing back from a shore. I looked up with just the slightest hesitation; I saw the Cardinal’s green eyes were filled with an infinite patience and wondering, and I felt the pang of warning. A dull sense of finality slowly came over me before the Cardinal spoke. “Come here to me,” The Cardinal whispered as though summoning a child. I had slipped far, far away into some realm that was not even thought, and I rose slowly and approached the Cardinal, who had risen from the chair. We stood almost eye to eye. “Mrs. Winchester,” he said softly, confidentially, “it is obvious that this is a return to ancient pagan practices, and witchcraft.” I smiled, “I believe that you are mistaken.” I cast one glance at the door—it stood wide open. “Look here, Cardinal,” I said, all of a sudden; ‘life’s not child’s play. That door is the trouble you have now to face, and you must face it.” The Cardinal sighed. He seemed lost in his thoughts for a moment, and he and his men escorted themselves off of my estate. It was not anger I felt so much as astonishment. He and his men haunted the valley and mountains and saved families from Indian attacks. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
The Cardinal killed Indians whenever he could and always protected settlers. The Cardinal and his men eventually faded from the lands. Still, he was said to be a nomad who could not rest. You see, one day the Cardinal went out hunting, and came back to find his home on fire. He rushed into the house and immediately realized that Indians had attacked his family. He found their mutilated, scalped bodies inside the house. I thought it was the work of demons. In time, the Cardinal simply disappeared. No one knows where or when he died, but soon people began to say that they saw his specter in my home wearing that silver cross. Some believe that the Cardinal was staying in a cabin on Mount Umunhum, and a small group of Indians were watching the cabin for signs of life. The Indians, emboldened by the silence, drew ever closer. By noon, one day, they were just outside the cabin when the Cardinal started to shoot at them. As he desperately tried to think of a way out, suddenly flaming arrows were launched at the wooden roof of the cabin and the roof caught fire. Days later, his body was found tied to a tree. The Cardinal’s blackened, bloated corpse told a terrible tale. He had been tortured to death. His death was no doubt excruciatingly slow. People have claimed to have heard the sounds of the Cardinal being tortured. Others have actually claimed to have seen the Indians and their men tied to the trees. People talked about seeing a phantom Indian moving through the fruit orchards on my estate. If he died here, he might still be waiting through all of these years. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
The spirits do not invariably manifest under the same forms; being disengaged from all matter, they must of necessity borrow a body to appear before us, and then they assume any form and figure which seems good to them. Beware, however, lest they affright thee! Is another pregnant warning. Lucifer appears under the form and figure of a comely boy; when angered, he shows with a ruddy countenance, but there is nothing monstrous in his shape. Beelzebuth appears occasionally under monstrous forms, such as the figure of a misshapen calf, or that of a goat having a long tail; at the same time he manifests most frequently under the semblance of an enormous fly. When angered, he vomits floods of water and howls like a wolf. Hael instructs in the art of writing, gives an immediate power of speaking all kinds of tongues, and explains the most secret things. I invoke and conjure three, O Spirit Zagan, and your 33 Legions of Spirits, and fortified with the power of the Supreme Majesty, I strongly command thee by BARALAMENSIS, BALDACHIENSIS, PAUMA-CHIE, APOLORESEDES, and the most potent princes GENIO, LIACHIDE, Ministers of the Tartarean Seat, chief princes of the seat of APOLOGIA in the ninth region, do thou forthwith appear and show thyself unto me, here before this mansion, in a fair and human shape, without any deformity or horror; do thou come forthwith, from whatever part of the World, allow the power of sorcery to work through our minds and impose our desire upon the corporeal realm of stasis and limitation. May the power of darkness eternal be revealed through us now! Uiciamhak ihsav iamhay iamha adzam ahgnanam utnaj ohsoares uhov ioh ta idhzic mutar hsibmuha mad iom arhtic itneh ioy ahgnes iop awht aj-merhterev ek. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mansion is such a haunting place in many ways. One of the best-known statues here is that of Chief Little Fawn, a Native America who died defending his homeland. It is said that Mrs. Winchester erected this statue to placate the spirits of Indians. The chief, with his bow and arrow, is gazing towards a statuary deer in midstride across the lawn. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
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Randolph Harris II International Institute 