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When Everything Gets in the Way, Seems You Cannot be Replaced

We live in a World where many look on the marketplace as a ruthless arena where the buyer must beware, where no one is obligated to do more than the law requires, and where fraud is not fraud unless you can prove it in court. However, as American citizens, we must have a higher standard. Some seize wealth by trafficking in illegal drugs, or by carjacking. Carjacking is defined as the theft of an automobile by threat or force. Despite its growing reputation, little is known about the thoughts and behaviors of persons who turn to this hybrid form of violent crimes. To this end, we draw upon interviews with twenty-eight active offenders to illustrate how they engage in the planning, enactment, and aftermath of carjacking events. Offenders are described as opportunists who rely on carjacking as a source of reputation enhancement and income. The data show that stolen cars are sometimes used for short-term transportation but eventually get converted to cash through the use of a third party (id est, chop shops) or by personally selling off in-demand accessories (id est, rims, stereo components) on the street. A variety of internal and external pressures are shown to shape carjacking motivations. Offenders may choose to engage in the crime in response to peer pressure, boredom, or a perceived need for money, drugs, or transportation. The term “alert opportunism” refers to those theft in which the offenders do not actively seek to steal a car but take advantage of a soft target. #RandolphHarris 1 of 25

Conversely, the term “motivated opportunism” is used to describe a predatory state in which the offender actively seeks out potential targets. These findings demonstrate a loose rationality behind carjacking, one that is fueled by an ongoing need for cash and status, and leads to a number of patterned behaviors. With the exception of homicide, probably no offense is more symbolic of contemporary urban violence than carjacking. Carjacking, the taking of a motor vehicle by threat of force, has attained almost mythical status in the annuals of urban violence and has played an undeniable role in fueling the fear of crime that keeps urban residents off of their own streets. What is more, carjacking has increased dramatically in recent years. There is an aggregate annual average of 35,500 carjackings per year. Offenders used a weapon in 77 percent of all attempted and completed carjackings. Carjackings are most likely to occur in the evening and at night away from the victims home. Twenty-nine percent of carjackings took place in a parking lot or garage, and 45 percent occurred in an open area, such as on the street. Eighteen percent occurred at or near the victims home. Although carjacking has been practiced for decades, the offense first made national headlines in 1992 when a badly botched carjacking in suburban Washington, D.C., ended in a homicide. Pamela Basu was dropping her 22-month-old daughter at pre-school when two men commandeered her BMW at a stop sign. In full view of neighborhood residents, municipal workers, and a school bus driver, the two men tossed her daughter off with Mrs. Basu’s arm tangled in the car seat belt. She was dragged over a mile to her death. #RandolphHarris 2 of 25

This incident focused a nationwide spotlight on carjacking and legislative action soon followed with the passing of the Anti-Car Theft Act of 1992. Carjacking was made a federal crime punishable by up to a 25-year term in prison or—if the victim is killed—by death. Like other forms of robbery, carjacking bridges property and violent crimes. Although a manifestly violent activity, it appears often to retain elements of planning and calculation typically associated with instrumental property crimes such as burglary. Unlike most robberies, however, carjacking apparently is directed at an object rather than a subject. Mot of the research on carjackings is based on official police reports or large pre-existing data sets such as the National Crime Victimization Survey. From this research, we know that carjackings are highly concentrated in space and time, occurring in limited areas and at particular hours. These studies also indicate that carjackers tend to target individuals comparable to themselves across demographic characteristics such as race, gender, and age. We know that weapons are used in 66-78 percent of carjackings, and tht weapon usage increases the chance that an offense will be successful. Finally, these studies suggest that carjacking is often a violent offense; approximately 24-38 percent of victims are injured during carjackings. Despite these studies, much about carjacking remains poorly understood. #RandolphHarris 3 of 25

By their very large-scale nature, such studies are incapable of providing insight into the interaction between motivational and situational characteristics that govern carjacking at the individual level. What is more, they overrepresent incidents in which the offenders and victims are strangers. Recent literature on the nature of acquaintance robbery and drug robbery suggests that this limitation may represent a crucial gap in our understanding of the social and perceptual dynamics associated with carjacking. If, for example, offenders target victims who they know or “know of,” the chance of serious injury or death may increase because within-offense resistance and post-offense retaliation both are more likely. We conducted a field-based study of active carjackers, focusing on the situational and interaction factors (opportunities, risks, rewards) that carjackers take int account when contemplating and carrying out their cries. Drawing on a tried and tested research strategy, we recruited 28 active offenders (with three asked back to participate in follow-ups) from the street of St. Louis, Missouri, and interviewed them at length about their day-to-day activities, focusing on the motivations, planning, execution, and aftermath of carjackings. This methodological strategy allowed us to examine the perceptual links between offenders’ lifestyles and the immediate situational context in which decision to offend emerge, illuminating the contextual uses that mediate the carjacking decision. #RandolphHarris 4 of 25

Interviews focused on two broad issues: motivation to carjack ad vehicle/victim target selection, and aftermath of carjacking offenses (including vehicle disposal, formal and informal sanction risk management, use of cash, et cetera. The issue of how carjacking occurs (id est, offense enactment) is covered across the discussion of these two broader themes, because enactment represents a behavioral bridge that unites them. Thus, the procedural characteristics of carjacking naturally emanated from discourse regarding motivation, target selection, and aftermath. In area of motivation, our interviews focused on the situational and interactional factors that underlie the decision to commit a carjacking, and the transition from unmotivated states to those in which offenses are being contemplated. On its face carjacking seems risky. Why risk a personal confrontation with the vehicle owner when one could steal a parked car off the street? Respondents felt that car theft was more dangerous because they never knew if the vehicle’s owner or law enforcement might surprise them. Low-Down: “I done did that a couple of times too, but that ain’t nothing I really want to do ‘cause I might get in a car [parked on] the street and the motherfu*ker [the owner of the vehicle] might be sitting there and then it [might not] be running [any] ways. I done got caught like that before, got locked up, so I don’t do that no more. #RandolphHarris 5 of 25

“I can’t risk no motherfu*king life just to get into a car and then the car don’t start. That’s a waste of time. I would rather catch somebody at a light [or] a restaurant drive-thru of something like that.” Throughout the interviews, two global factors emerged as governing motivation, planning, and target selection: the nature of a given carjacking opportunity (that is, its potential risk and rewards) and the level of situational inducements (such as peer pressure, need for cash or drugs, or revenge). When these factors, in some combination, reached a critical minimal level, the decision to carjack became certain. Scheming promoters with glib tongues and ingratiating manners deceive their neighbors. Unlike carjacking, difficulties of proof make fraud a hard crime to enforce. However, the inadequacies of the laws of man provide no license for transgression under the laws of God. Though their method of thievery may be immune from correction in this life, sophisticated thieves in white shirts and ties will ultimately be seen and punished for what they are. Most of us can be relatively comfortable when a message on the Golden rule in the workplace uses examples like illegal drugs and theft by deception. What follows is more challenging. And it should be. If we measure our conduct against the Savior’s command, “I would that ye should be perfect even as I” (3 Ne. 12.48), we cannot be comfortable. To following the footsteps of the only perfect person who ever lived, we must expect to stretch our souls. Followers of Christ have the moral responsibility of earning their livings and conducting their financial transactions in ways that are consistent with the principles of the gospel and the teachings of the Savior. #RandolphHarris 6 of 25

Yes, evil spirits are at work today. The control of spirits over the bodies of those they possess is seen in several Gospel cases. The man with the legion was not master over his own body or mind. The spirits would “seize him,” “drive him” Luke 8.29, compel him to cut himself with stones (Mark 5.5), strengthen him to burst every fetter and chain (v. 4), “cry out” aloud (v. 5), and fiercely attack others (Matt. 8.28). They boy with the dumb spirit would be dashed to the ground (Luke 9.42), and convulsed; the spirit forced him to cry out, and tore him, so that his body became bruised and sore (v. 39). Teeth, tongue, vocal organs, ears, eyes, nerves and muscles are seen to be affected and interfered with by evil spirits in possession. Weakness and strength are both produced by their working, and men (Mark 1.23), women (Luke 8.2), boys (Mark 9.17), and girls (Mark 7.25) are equally open to their power. That the Jews were familiar with the fact of evil-spirit possession is clear from their words when they saw the Lord Christ cast out the blind and dumb spirit from a man (Matt. 12.24). It is evident also that there were men among them who knew some method of dealing with such cases (v. 27). “By whom do your sons cast them out?” asked the Lord. That such dealing with evil spirits was not truly effective may be gathered from the several instances given, where it appears that alleviation of the sufferings from evil-spirit possession was the most that could be done: exempli gratia, the case of King Soul, who was soothed by the harp playing of David; the sons of Sceva, who were professional exorcists, yet who recognized power in the name of Jesus which their exorcism did not possess. #RandolphHarris 7 of 25

In both these cases, the danger connected with the attempted alleviation or exorcism, because of the power of evil spirits to resist, is strikingly shown in contrast to the complete results achieved by Christ and His apostles. David playing to Saul is suddenly aware of the javelin flung by the hand of the man he was seeking to soothe. And the sons of Sceva found the possessed man leaping upon them, and overpowering them, when they used the name of Jesus without the divine co-working given to all who exercise personal faith in Him. Among the heathen also—who know the venom of similar wicked spirits—the best that can be accomplished is ere propitiation and the soothing of the spirits; hatred, by obedience to them. The language of theology consists of symbols and ontological terms. In a very strict sense, myth and symbol are not the language of theology, but of religion, id est, of man’s encounter with the holy. The task of theology is to interpret the Christian symbols of this encounter in relation to the existential situation and in ontological terms. In brief, theology speaks ontologically about Christian symbols. Symbols, therefore, necessarily enter into the theologian’s vocabulary and method. A sign—for example, the red light on the street corner—is an arbitrary convention that does not participate in the reality signified, while a symbol—for instance, the king of a country—does participate in the power and meaning of the reality symbolized. Symbols open up levels of reality that cannot be attained in any other way. #RandolphHarris 8 of 25

And corresponding to levels of reality, levels of the soul are also opened up by symbols. A watercolor, a poem, or a symphony mediates something for which another mode of expression or even another painting or sonnet is utterly inadequate. Thus symbols are irreplaceable; new ones cannot be invented. They are born out of the “collective unconscious” which produces or at least accepts them. They die when they no longer respond to the “inner situation of the human group.” When it comes to religious symbols, the level of reality they open up is the depth dimension, the ground of all reality, being-itself or the ultimate power of being. In the soul they excite the experience of this ultimate reality, of the holy. But caution must be hastened. Although symbols participate in the holy, they are not identified with it. The constant danger of symbolism is demonization. There are two levels within all religious symbols. The transcendent level goes beyond the empirically encountered reality and includes the idea of God, his attributes, and his acts. The immanent level is encountered within empirical reality and includes incarnation and sacraments. Now, we must consider the truth of religious symbols. Their truth is their adequacy to the religious situation in which they exist. They cannot be proven wrong or “killed” by historical and scientific criticism, but they die when they no longer mediate the religious experience of a community. Such was the case of the symbol of the Blessed Virgin Mary which died among Protestants because of their loss of the ascetic ideal of virginity and because of their rejection of any mediator between God and man. #RandolphHarris 10 of 25

However, the external criterion of all religious symbols which guard them from being demonized is the cross of Christ, for he who embodies the divine presence sacrificed himself so as not to become an idol. The theologian has in his hands the rich treasure of Christian symbols. How is one to interpret them? The method of correlation directs one to begin with an existential analysis of the religious situation. This analysis reveals that the questions asked are ontological ones, questions of being and non-being, of ontological anxiety, and of the ambiguities of life. Consequently, if the Christian symbols are to be relevant to the situation, the answers must also be in ontological terms. However, there now arise the serious objection that ontology is alien to the biblical message and that to use it is to betray the very source of theology. Biblical religion is characterized by its personalism, for, in the Bible, God appears as a person in the I-Thou revelator encounter. Ontology, on the other hand, asks the question of being-itself, describes the structure of being, and searches for ultimate reality. The extremes of these definitions serve to highlight the conflict: a concrete person versus abstract being-itself. One finds the same opposition in other concepts, for instance, faith. Biblical faith is passionate, confident, and committed, while ontology is detached, questioning, doubting. Each of the biblical symbols drives inescapably to an ontological question and answers are given by theology necessarily contained in the ontological elements. There is a hidden but close correlation between biblical imagery and ontological concepts once one probes beneath the surface. #RandolphHarris 11 of 25

China’s economic and military transformation has the potential to rival that of America. China is starting to pursue differentiation of their products: both low-tech and high-tech. One of their most popular tools to achieve this goal is buying the brands of internationally famous Western companies, along with acquiring their product departments, initiating tie-up arrangements, or, more and more often, acquiring them altogether. The trend gained strength in the 2000s. Lenovo became famous for its acquisition for the PC department of IBM in 2004. It made its own name recognizable all around the World and effectively contributed to the establishment of the Lenovo brand associated with an attractive cost-quality mix, dynamism, entrepreneurial spirit, newcomer’s aggressiveness (in the positive meaning of the word), quick learning, desire to innovate, openness, and readiness to integrate different business culture. Having invested more than $500 million, the country’s second largest TV maker TCL established a joint venture with the French electronic giant Thomson and became its majority partner. Thompson also owns the World-famous American brand RCA. The tie-up opened the way for producing under both Thompson and RCA brands and was also used to promote products under the brand of TCL itself, though mostly in the developing nations. Then, through its subsidiary, TCL also acquired the cellular phone business of Alcatel. Pearl River Piano, controlling 60 percent of China’s piano market, acquired a small British maker exporting pianos under the German brand Ritmuller. #RandolphHarris 12 of 25

However, buying the brand is not at all an easy and not necessarily a successful game. Its costs are very high—especially as Chinese firms usually target famous but ailing companies or poorly performing product divisions their Western counterparts are eager to sell. Thus, as a rule, Chinese acquirers have to bear a heavy financial burden without any guarantee that the company or the division they have purchased will be put back on track. TCL’s venture has been in the red from the very start. Lenovo’s profit margins are extremely low, and it is pressed back by Dell, HP, and Acer. In 2006, due to it poor performance, the Hong Kong Exchange removed it from the list of companies included in the key Hang Seng Index. In another development, step-by-step, slowly but surely, a cohort of domestic companies is gradually establishing international brands of their own, without embarking on costly acquisitions. For instance, sports apparel maker Li Ning is challenging Nike and Adidas in terms of design and product selection. In January 2010, it opened its first retail store in Portland, Oregon. Furthermore, it started design operations near Nike’s headquarters in Beaverton, Oregon, hiring American personnel. Tsingtao Brewery has become a popular name in many countries of the World as one of the symbols of the Chinese taste. Other examples of increasingly recognizable Chinese brands include air-conditioner producer Midea, telecom equipment maker ZTE, car marker Chery and Geely, clean technology company LDK Solar, and so on. #RandolphHarris 13 of 25

In the West it is often argued that, with a few exceptions, Chinese companies are lacking brand-building capabilities. Sometimes it is even considered proof that China is not an economic superpower. This argument is not convincing. True, China’s progress in this area is much slower than in others. However, besides the evidence of progress already achieved, we have to take into account the fact that most Chinese companies that are seriously working on differentiating their products are establishing brands in their own way, going through several stages. They start not from America, Europe, or Japan, but from China itself: the most rapidly expanding and the most familiar market in the World. Then they move or will move on to other developing countries, taking advantage of the markets’ dynamism and comparatively weak competition from other brand-builders. In the Third World they can also capitalize on their still relatively low production and sales costs. And only after that, having acquired brand-building skills and experience, some of them will go to America, Europe, Japan, and other developed states. The interviews conducted by the China Market Research Group with several hundred senior executives of Chinese consumer goods-making companies, showed that over 50 percent of the respondents expected to enter the United States of American in five years, but only after they target their home market and regions like Africa and the Middle East. If they realize their plans, in the second half of this decade Chinese and Western brands will start genuinely competing in the U.S.A. territory. #RandolphHarris 14 of 25

For instance, MINISO USA, a Guangdong-based seller of toys and household products, opened a flagship store in New York City’s SoHo in February of 2022. MINISO USA’s estimated annual revenue is currently $49.2M per year. MINISO USA has 156 Employee, and grew their employee count by 5 percent last year. When considering diversity, one of the characteristics of the Dark Age village was extreme xenophobia—hatred for the newcomer, or sometimes recent immigrants have hatred for established cultures (recent immigrants can be naïve for a city, for instance, but a high influx of them may migrate to a region where their culture is not dominant and create culture shock for the established culture). With the coming of the smokestack era, individual and mass loyalties were gradually transferred from village to nation. However, xenophobia, chauvinism, hatred of the outside, the stranger, the greenhorn, continued to be a tool of state power. Today’s shift to a knowledge-based economy requires more cross-national interdependence than the smokestack economy it replaces. Inevitably, this restricts the range of independent action by nations. This, in turn, leads to a xenophobic backlash in everything from commerce to culture. Today, governments throughout Europe are bracing themselves for an onslaught of imported culture, primarily television and movies, because of the integration of the European market. They are especially jitter about the packaging of news by newcomers. Le Monde charges that the EC’s plan for Television Without Frontiers “risks accelerating the implantation of Anglo-Saxon producers and distributors who have taken a decisive lead in the creation of all-European networks.” #RandolphHarris 15 of 25

Europeans were nervous about plans for a Moroccan network to begin satellite broadcasts in Arabic to Europe’s 44 million or more mainly Islamic immigrants. And they are projected to compose 8 percent or 58 million by 2030. Concerned has deepened as Muslin fundamentalists scored voting success in secular Algeria. This, however, is only a portent of things to come. Satellite technology and other new media tools are cracking open national cultures. In the opinion of satellite expert Dan Goldin of TRW, the day may well come when home satellite receivers can sold for a fraction of their already low price, and millions around the World will be able to pick up transmission from abroad—a Brazilian variety show, a Nigerian newscast, a South Korean drama, a Libyan propaganda program. This cross-communication, however, threatens the “national identity” that governments seek to preserve and propagate for their own self-serving purpose. When fears of culture deracination are intensified by large-scale immigration, identity becomes and explosive issue. The promoters of a European single-market, urging open borders for capital, culture, and people, seek to displace traditional nationalist sentiment with “supra-nationalism” instead. However, precisely because the new economy is becoming more globally integrated, exporting joblessness, pollution, and culture along with products and services, we see a mounting backlash and the revival of nationalism in the high-tech World. #RandolphHarris 16 of 25

The Le Penist movement in France, with its viciously anti-Arab propaganda, led by a former legionnaire who terms the Nazi gas chambers “a minor point,” appeals to the knee-jerk xenophobic emotions. His party holds tend seats in the European Parliament. The Republikaner Party in West Germany, formed by an ex-Waffen-SS non-com, Franz Schoenhuber, attacks not merely Turkish migrant workers but even ethnic Germans immigrating from Poland and the Soviet Union who are allegedly taking jobs, housing, and pensions away from “real Germans.” With links to the Le Penists in France and extremist parties elsewhere in Europe, the Republikaner won eleven seats in the West Berlin legislature in 1989, and six in the European Parliament. Under banners proclaiming “Germany first,” Schoenhuber, like Mr. Hitler after the Versailles Treaty, portrayed Germany—now one of the World’s richest countries—as a “victim” nation. Schoenhuber, according to the respected German analyst Josef Joffe, writing in The Wall Street Journal, has issued a “call to arms against the rest of the World, which seeks to oppress Germany by shacking it to the past”—meaning that the World will not let Germany forget Mr. Hitler’s ravages. (Schoenhuber has since quit they part, terming it too extremist.) Any country continually cudgeled for the sins of a much earlier generation can, of course, expect an eventual backlash, a reassertion of national pride. However, pride about what? Instead of urging Germany to become a World leader in developing a more advanced, 21st-century democracy, the neo-nationalists appeal to many of the anti-democratic pathologies of the German past, thus providing neighboring countries good cause for not wanting Germany to forget its alleged crimes. #RandolphHarris 17 of 25

With the Berlin Wall down and the de facto reunification of Germany well advanced, what happens in Bonn and Berlin has ramifications throughout Europe, and many all over the continent are watching the Republikaners carefully. However, similar nationalist movements are found all over Western Europe, from Belgium to Italy and Spain, wherever free-flowing culture and communication and border-crossing migrants threaten the old national self-conceptions. The resurgence of flag-waving xenophobia, however, is not limited to Europe. In the United States of America, too, there is a growing nationalist backlash. Fed by a fear that America is in economic and military decline, weary of being told they are too imperialist, materialist, violent, uncultured, et cetera, et cetera, even normally apolitical Americans are responding to nationalist demagogy. Anti-immigration sentiments runs hot, encouraged by eco-extremists who claim the influx of Mexican immigration is damaging to the U.S.A. environment. This born-again nativism, however, is only one manifestation of a new flag-waving nationalism. The 1990 ruling of the Supreme Court that burning the flag is a form of free political expression, protected by the U.S.A. Bill of Rights, led to an outpouring of high-octane emotion. Radio call-in shows were besieged by outraged callers. The White House instantly proposed changing the Constitution to ban the practice, which is something many Americans would still like to do to this very day. Another indication of the new mood is Japan-bashing, a popular sport these days among protectionist and ordinary Americans worried about the trade imbalance and the Japanese buy-up of U.S.A. companies and real estate. #RandolphHarris 18 of 25

In Japan, meanwhile, a parallel ultra-nationalism is spreading. Resurgent nationalists call for changes in the constitution to permit a more aggressive military buildup. Japan, they say, did “nothing to be ashamed of” during World War II—a view that upsets China and other nearby countries invaded by the Japanese. For suggesting that Emperor Hirohito may have shared responsibility for World War II, the then mayor of Nagasaki, Hitoshi Motoshima, became the victim of an attempted assassination. A leading daily Asahi Shimbun, one of those whose reporters had previously been murdered, presumably by nationalists, warns that such violence “will lead to fascism.” The ultras claim, moreover, that Japan has a national “soul” and language different from and superior to that of any other nation. The cult of “Yamatoism,” which promotes this concept of unique superiority, is called upon to offset a loss of national identity resulting from postwar Westernization. Having been treated patronizingly by the United States of America since the way, and sick of being criticized by others for economic policies that have brought it tremendous success, some Japanese are willing to listen to the nationalist pitch. This patriotic hubris comes hand in hand with extraordinary financial clout on the World scene and a fast-growing military capability, and is associated with the most anti-democratic forces in Japanese society. Finally, what makes the widespread resurgence of nationalism truly extraordinary is its reemergence as a powerful political force in the Soviet Union and Eastern European countries. #RandolphHarris 19 of 25

In fact, rather than democratic uprisings, the upheavals in Eastern Europe could equally well be described as nationalist uprisings among nations bent for nearly half a century to Soviet will. Reframing the concept of “nation” is one of the most emotional and important tasks to face the World in the decisive decades before us, and maintaining national control over certain functions, rather than allowing them to be either localized or globalized, is essential. However, blind tribalism and nationalism are both dangerous and regressive. And when linked to the notion of racial or God-conferred superiority, they gave birth to violence or repression Significantly, in the U.S.S.R., where ethnic passions rocked the state itself, they are often linked to both environmentalism and religious fundamentalism. Ecological themes are exploited to arouse ethnic sentiment against Moscow. In Tashkent a movement called Birlik, which started up to block the building of an electronics plant, has taken on an Islamic fundamentalist coloration. Even more significant than the mounting demands of ethic minorities in the Baltic regions, Armenia, Azerbaijan, Georgia, and other parts of the U.S.SR. for autonomy or independence is the upsurge of ethnicism in the dominant Great Russian population. Writing about Tolstoi, the historian Paul Johnson described Russian nationalism in words that could apply today. It was, Mr. Johnson says, a “chauvinist spirit, the conviction that the Russians were a special race, with unique moral qualities (personified in the peasant) and a God-ordained role to perform in the World.” #RandolphHarris 20 of 25

This attitude is expressed in extreme form in today’s anti-Semitic, anti-foreigner Pamyat organization, which claims thirty branches around the Soviet Union, 20,000 members in Moscow alone, and has strong links to both the military and KGB, as well as best-selling authors and cultural figures are members. Pamyat, now facing criminal prosecution for spreading hate, resembles the Black Hundreds moment, which organized pogroms under the Tsar at the turn of the century. Pamyat and similar groups themselves as merely interested in preserving ancient monuments, or repairing the environment, but has as their goal the re-creation of the same village-based society that the Green fundamentalist exalt. Some call for a restoration of the Tsarist monarchy, linked to religious orthodoxy. Like Mr. Schoenhuber in Germany, who disclaims anti-Semitism but mouths Hitler-era propaganda about Jews, Pamyat claims innocence but issues virulent diatribes against “International Zionism and Freemasonary,” and its members threaten pogroms. A pamyat manifesto lashes out at all who have “reduced our churches, temples, monasteries, and graves of national heroes of our Motherland” and who have “reduced the ecology of the country to a catastrophic state.” It urges a massive return to the land—“Down with the giant cities!”—and a revival of the “centuries-old institution of the ploughman.” Here, then, we find xenophobic ethnicism explicitly linked to religious fundamentalism and eco-medievalism—all three in a single Dark Age package. #RandolphHarris 21 of 25

It is a combustible convergence of forces that could blow up in the face of democracies wherever they now exist. In its worst case, it conjures up the image of a racist or tribal, eco-fascist, theological state—a maximal recipe for the suppression of human rights, freedom of religion, and private property as well. Such a state seems hard to imagine—except, perhaps, as a result of some immense crisis and tragedy, an eco-spasm combining ecological upheaval with vast economic crisis, terror, or war. However, one need not imagine the worst-case scenario to feel a chill in the bones. It is not necessary for such movements, or a convergence of them, to seize control of a state in order for them to savagely restrict or destroy a form of democracy that, even in the high-tech nations, is already fragile because it is increasingly out of sync with the emerging economy and society. Governments controlled or heavily influenced by extremists who put their particular brand of religion, ecology, or nationalism ahead of democratic values do not stay democratic long. The system of advanced wealth creation now spreading around the Earth opens expanded opportunities for democracy. For the first time, as we say, it makes freedom of expression not just a political good but an economic necessity. However, as the old industrial society enters it terminal tailspin, counterforces are created that could destroy both democracy and the option of economic advance. To save both development and democracy, political systems need to leap to a new stage, as the economy itself is doing. Whether that enormous challenge can be met will decide whether the ultimate powershift tht approaches will protect or enslave the individual. #RandolphHarris 22 of 25

In the Powershift Era ahead, the primary ideological struggle will no longer be between capitalist democracy and communist totalitarianism, but between 21st-century democracy and 11th-century darkness. The three-way duel—three antagonists, Larry, Mo, and Curly, are engaged in a three-way duel. There are two rounds. In the first round, each player is given one shot: first Larry, then Mo, and the Curly. After the first round, any survivors are given a second shot, again beginning with Larry, then Mo, and then Curly. For each duelist, the best outcome is to be the sole survivor. Next best is to be one of two survivors. In third place is the outcome in which no one gets killed. Dead last is that you get killed. Larry is a poor shot, with only a 30 percent chance of hitting a person at whom he aims. Mo is a much better shot, achieving 80 percent accuracy. Curly is a perfect shot—he never misses. What is Larry’s optimal strategy in the first found? Who has the greatest chance of survival in this problem? Although backward reasoning is the safe way to solve this problem, we can jump ahead a little by using some forward-looking arguments. We start by examining each of Larry’s options in turn. If Larry shoots at Mo, what happens? If Larry shoots at Curly, what happens? If Larry shoots at Mo and hits, then he signs his own death warrant. It becomes Curly’s turn to shoot, and he never misses. Curly will not pass at the chance to shoot Larry, as this leads to his best outcome. Larry shooting at Mo does not seem to be a very attractive option. #RandolphHarris 23 of 25

If Larry shoots at Curly and hits, then it is Mo’s turn. Mo will shoot at Larry. [Think about how we know this to be true.] Hence, if Larry hits Curly, his chance of survival is les than 20 percent (the chance that Mo misses). So far, neither of these options looks to be very attractive. In fact, Larry’s best strategy is to fire up in the air! In this case, Mo will shoot at Curly, and if he misses, Curly will shoot and kill Mo. Then it becomes the second round and it is Larry’s turn to shoot again. Since only one other person remains, he has at least a 30 percent chance of survival, since that is the probability that he kills his one remaining opponent. The moral here is that small fish may do better by passing on their first chance to become stars. We see this every four years in presidential campaigns. When there is a large number of contenders, the leader of the pack often gets derailed by the cumulative attacks of all the medium-sized fish. It can be advantageous to wait, and step into the limelight only after others have knocked each other and themselves out of the running. Thus, your chances of survival depend on not only your own ability but also whom you threaten. If the stronger players kill each other off, a weak player who threatens no one may end up surviving. Curly, although he is the most accurate, has the lowest chance of survival—only 14 percent. So much for survival of the fittest! Mo has a 56 percent chance of winning. Larry’s best strategy turns his 30 percent accuracy into a 41.2 percent chance of winning. #RandolphHarris 24 of 25

Today’s duels are more likely to be fought between takeover specialist T. Boone Pickens and the target management over who will end up with control of the board of directors. However, if you do not think far enough ahead, things do not always come out as planned. Throughout my life I has associated with all classes of people. I have few prejudices and my greatest wealth lies in the fact that I have dear, true, faithful friends in all classes. Some of the wealthiest down to some of the poorest are my friends. I am proud to have these friends and proud of the fact that I can talk to them and speak out my heart to them, thus assisting them in some way. However, until now I could never help myself. I wanted to feel free but I never have. Every door I ever entered led to frustration sooner or later. I always got the feeling that I did not “belong.” When I made new friends and found new and interesting things to do I was happy for a while but soon I would become frustrated. I cannot control myself when it comes to spending money. I seem to always be in debt. I always seem tied down. I have always felt as though I were searching for a star that never existed. I have already been lonely! However, I have been given confidence in myself and confidence that I can help others. I consider every human being a sacred thing. Many do not. That is my greatest complaint against the World in general. What can I do to create a stream of sensitivity in the hearts of those around me so that they might consider others? #RandolphHarris 25 of 25


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The Fear Was Terrible

In was December. The air was ripe with the promise of the new year. The estate was full of life and sound. After the years of supernatural violence and denunciation, it seemed the demons had set their sights elsewhere and, for a while, we were at peace. There were, of course, the usual shadows lurking about. As we walked about the gardens, a boy came running out of the orchards. He was in a state of shock, swallowing his words and talking too fast for me us to hear what he was saying. Ms. Daisy managed to calm him and, with great patience, coax out of the terrified child that there had been massacres. That villages lower down the road had been put to the torch. If old men, women, cut down where they stood. Children, too. I turned cold. “Oh, dear Heavens.” We had no ways of knowing if the report was true. True or false, his testimony would spread panic and alarm. Far better to wait until to verify the stories and then decide what action to take. When I arrived at dinner, everyone was in good spirits. Living as we did, to come together to celebrate, with food enough for everyone and in the warmth, my heart wept at the knowledge that in a matter of hours, all this might be lost. So I sat, knowing what I knew and yet having to conceal it. And all the time, I was watching the door, waiting for my niece, Ms. Daisy. Later I learned she had questioned the boy further and was satisfied that she was telling the truth without embellishment. I instructed the servants to be on alert. My head was spinning with so much information. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

I instituted a search of the house. I sighed as I sat down in my chair. It was a grueling day. It was the middle of winter and the wind howled down the chimneys. Shuddering, I pulled my chair a bit closer to the fireplace. Listening to the domestic sounds from the kitchen made me smile. I was home and warm for the night. Tomorrow’s problems were not yet to be faced, and the warmth of the fire slowly lulled me to sleep. The sound of knocking at my front door startled me awake. The sounds seemed a bit faint, but they were persistent. I hurried to the door, wondering who could be out on such a bitter evening and what emergency would I find on the other side. I flung open the door and at first thought that no one was there, but then I was shocked to see a thin little girl no more than nine or ten years old, standing just before me. She was woefully underdressed for the blustery night. She wore thin shoes, a tattered dress, and a blue shawl that she had pulled tightly around her tiny shoulders. I wondered how the child stayed upright against the wind that buffeted her. The little girl did not wait for me to speak. “Mrs. Winchester, you must come, my mother’s sick bad and she won’t make it through the night without your help. Hurry!” Something about the wispy child and the intensity of her pleas moved me to action. “Some in my child, come in at once,” I said and shut the door. I quickly gathered my coat and scarf, pulled on my gloves and hat, and grabbed up my bag. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

We moved swiftly to one of the Victorian cottages on my estate. She ushered me into her home. Her mother was one of the housemaids. She was normally a sassy lass, but now she was reduced to a skinny rack of bones. Her body was woefully undernourished and she was indeed extremely ill. Upon closer examination, she was gravely ill. Indeed, the lass would not last through the night without quick intervention—she was suffering from pneumonia. As I tended the fire, I talked to the woman. I told her that she would be all right and that and that my servants were coming with medicine. I also spoke to her about the brave little girl who had come to fetch me. I inquired as to the child’s whereabouts. The ill woman looked at me with honor. “My daughter died a month ago. Her shoes and shawl are there in the little cupboard.” The woman broke off with a sob. I felt compelled to look in the close. Inside hung the little blue shawl that I seen the little girl clutching earlier. Her shoes lay on the shelf. I reached out to feel them and they were dry. It would have been impossible for those articles to have been worn that same night. I tended to the woman for a bit longer. As soon as the servants arrived, I ordered the cottage searched for the child I had seen. No child was found. I was amazed at the power of human love and the lost child who reached beyond the grave to save her mother from death. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

I returned home. The evening was nearly over, when I noticed a dark shadow to my left. However, when I focused my eyes directly on the spot, I could see nothing. I decided that perhaps my eyes were undoubtedly becoming tired. It was, after all, nearly midnight. A few moments later, I saw the shadow again. This time it crossed directly in front of me, moving toward the sofa. However, once again, when I focused directly on the thing, I saw nothing but the shadows of the dark room. I shrugged, distracted from the heading to bed. “Are you a ghost?” I asked, speaking toward the area in front of the sofa where I had last seen the shadow. There was no response. I went upstairs to bed. By the morning I had forgotten the entire episode with the mysterious shadow. Several moments later, a peculiar sound caused me to raise from my slumber, and I was surprised to see the shadow again. It crossed in from of my bed, then sat on an arm chair. Sometime between two and four in the morning I was awakened by the sound of artillery firing from the fields. It sounded like cannons firing one-at-a-time. I could hear there reloading between the shots. The fire lasted about ten minutes, then faded out, back into some mysterious fold of Time. Frightened, I did not look outside. I work my niece Ms. Daisy in the middle of the night to ask if she heard it. Unfortunately, she had been sound asleep and did not. However, I did not believe the sounds were figments of my imagination. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

My mansion served as the venue for a most remarkable connection between the dead and the living which seems to spanned the ages. I tried to sleep, but there was another odd noise that echoed across the fields of my estate. Faint at first, the sound was soon recognizable: drumbeats. I finally fell asleep, never understanding the source of the sound. Once again, I was awakened by bone chilling cold, so cold it sent me running from my room. There was an icy apprehension as I ran forward, as if I was running for my life. I came to a new pathway in my mansion and entered it. I felt the sharp coldness of the air, but I knew I had to keep going. The fear was terrible. As I came around a curve, blood ran through the corridor like water. A strange haze formed. The haze was a visage of a young man with brown hair and a moustache, sideburn in front of his left war, with his eyes gazing to the right. Then a woman walked through the streams of blood, she was moving at a fast walk. She had blonde hair and seemed in a hurry. As I moved down the pathway, she vanished, but there, hanging on the wall, was a shriveled, mummified, human arm. The hand was a contorted claw. I was also astonished to see, floating before my eyes, a white, glowing, disembodied arm pull back and vanish into darkness of the room. The pathway severed never-ending abyss of darkness and horrors than any human being could imagine. A strong hand grabbed me by the shoulder and shook me so violently that I passed out. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

I forced my eyes open once more, and I saw a pair of wooden clogs. I was lying on the fell, which was covered in blood. I struggled to push myself into a sitting position, dragging my legs round from under me, then tried to stand. “Let me help you,” an apparition said. The ghost’s strong hand was under my elbow, guiding me back to a parlor on the second floor. “Here.” I slumped down and leaned forward, elbows on my knees, waiting for the spinning to stop. I looked around the room. Clearly, it was morning. Everything was bathed in a flat, white light. The fire had burned out, leaving a pyramid of soft, gray ash in the grate. “We were concerned when you did not come down to breakfast, Mrs. Winchester. Why are you covered in blood? Have you been injured,” the butler demanded. “No. I slipped and fell in a puddle of blood in the new pathway recently built,” I said. “But Mrs. Winchester, the entire estate is as clean as we left in yester evening.” I frowned, trying to get the sequence of events clear in my mind. I had taken a bath, come back to the room, and enjoyed a cup of tea. Then I heard a cat in the room. As I looked around the room, there was nothing there. Within a short while, the tea cups started dancing about the table. Extended across the table, just inches from me and draped with what looked like some lacy fabric, was a woman’s arm, from the elbow down, the pale fingers eerily entwined in the tea cups. I screamed. The butler came running and saw the phantom limb. “What is it, devil is it Mrs. Winchester?” “There are forces in this house. Such power does not come from the devil. Do you see those books around you? They are full of stories of such persons, called in one place sorcerer, and in another witch, but what has the devil to do with such things? If you have such powers, what can and can they not do?” #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

The butler’s eyes grew large but his face was hard. His hands tightened on the arms of the chair and he cocked his head to the left as he looked the room up and down. I saw the look of fear coming to his face. The housemaid whispered: “She is reading our thoughts, Morgan, she can hide her own thoughts from us.” “Morgan,” Mrs. Winchester said, “what you have witnessed is terrible. I can see spirits. I have powers.” Morgan’s face was transformed from cold suspicion to sudden contempt. “Ah, witch!” he cried. “Why did you not tell me? Your house is full of witches! You are an order of Satan. This house is expanding so quickly because you have the power to stop time.” And then as tears poured down his face, I sobbed. He wrapped his arms around me. “We are all damned,” he said, “and you hide here in this mansion where they can’t burn you! Oh, clever, clever witch in the devil’s house!” “Wicked am I? A witch am I? Stopper of time? I will not have you speak to me in that manner!” Mrs. Winchester moved into the very center of the room and looking up and out the window, it seemed to the blue sky, she cried: “Come now Caim and you 30 Legions of Spirits Infernal! I entreat thee to favor me in the adjuration which I address to thy might minister LUCIFUGE ROFOCALE! Come hither to speak with me.” And at once a great dark shadow appeared in the window, as if the spirit upon whom she had called condensed himself to become small and strong within the room. “Damn you into hell, witch. I shall not be your warlock,” Morgan cried, and as the books began to fall around he, he feld the mansion, and the door slammed front doors shut after him and no one could pry it open ever again, try as they might. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7


Phantom limbs hovering over us, or playfully touching, or roughly shoving us. What could it be that allows the many manifestations of an active, viable, yet impossible World, sometimes seen, more often unseen, that apparently exists right next to us? What aberration in Time or Physics or Mass or Energy reveals to us this other land, usually unheard and invisible, that seems the dwelling place of the dead? https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

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I Did Not Come this Far, Just to Come this Far, and Not be Happy!

With few exceptions, the decision to commit a robbery arises in the face of what offenders perceive to be pressing need for fast cash. Eighty of 81 offenders who spoke directly to the issue of motivation said that they did robberies simply because they needed money. Many lurched from one financial crisis to the next, the frequency with which they committed robbery being governed largely by the amount of money—or lack of it—in their pockets: “[The idea of committing a robbery] comes into mind when your pockets are low; it speaks very loudly when you need thing and you are not able to get what you need. It’s not a want, it’s things that you need,…things that if you don’t have the money, you have the artillery to go and get it. That’s the first thing on my mind; concentrate on how I can get some more money. I don’t think there is any one factor that precipitates the commission of a crime,…I think it’s just the conditions. I think the primary factor is being without. Rent is coming up. A few months ago, the landlord was gonna put us out, rent due, you know. Can’t get no money no way else; ask family and friends, you might try a few other ways of getting the money and, as a last resort, I can go get some money [by committing a robbery]. This is why a lot of people are not judgmental of people who post content on sites like onlyfans. Some of them make more than doctors and the money is legal. Not that I am advertising for the site, nor encouraging people to use it, I am just saying it my decrease the crime rates for people who are desperate for money to pay rent. Of course, it is not an option for everyone. #RandolphHarris 1 of 18

Nonetheless, many offenders appeared to give little thought to the offense of robbery until they found themselves unable to meet current expenses. “[I commit a robbery] about every few months. There’s no set pattern, but I guess it’s really based on the need. If there is a period of time where there is no need of money…, then it’s not necessary to go out and rob. It’s not like I do [robberies] for fun.” The above claims conjure up an image of reluctant criminals doing the best they can to survive in circumstances not of their own making. In one sense, this image is not so far off the mark. Of the 59 other offenders who specified a particular use for the proceeds of their crimes, 19 claimed that they needed the cash for basic necessities, such as food or shelter. For them, robbery allegedly was a matter of day-to-day survival. At the same time, the notion that these offenders were driven by conditions entirely beyond their control strains offenders were driven by conditions entirely beyond their control strains credulity. Reports of “opportunistic” robberies confirm this, that is, offense motivated by serendipity rather than basic human need: “If I had $5,000, I wouldn’t do [a robbery] like tomorrow. But [i]f I got $5,000 today and I seen you walkin’ down the street and you look like you got some money in your pocket, I’m gonna take a chance and see. It’s just natural…If you see an opportunity, you take that opportunity…It doesn’t matter if I have $5,000 in my pocket, if I see you walkin’ and no one else around and it look like you done went in the store and bought somethin’ and pulled some money out of your pocket and me or one of my partners has peeped this, we gonna approach you. That’s just the way it goes.” #RandolphHarris 2 of 18

Need and opportunity, however, cannot be considered outside the opened ended quest for excitement and sensory stimulation that shaped much of the offenders’ daily activities. Perhaps the most central of pursuits in street culture, “life as party” revolves around the enjoyment of “good times” with minimal concern for obligations and commitments that are external to the…immediate social setting. While the offenders referred to such activities as partying, there is a danger in accepting their comments at face value. Many gambled, used drugs, and drank alcohol as if there were no tomorrow; they pursued these activities with an intensity and grim determination that suggested something far more serious was at stake. Illicit street action is no party, at least not in the conventional sense of the term. Offenders typically demonstrate little or no inclination to exercise personal restraint. Why should they? Instant gratification and hedonistic sensation seeking are quite functional for those seeking pleasure in what may objectively be viewed as a largely pleasureless World. The offenders are easily seduced by life as party, at least in part because they view their future prospects as bleak and see little point in long-range planning. At such, there is no milage to be gained by deferred gratification: “I really don’t dwell on [the future]. One day I might not wake up. I don’t even think about what’s important to me. What’s important to me is getting mine [now].” The offenders’ general lack of social stability an absence of conventional sources of support only fueled such a mindset. #RandolphHarris 3 of 18

The majority called the streets home for extended periods of time; a significant number of offenders claimed to seldom sleep at the same address for more than a few nights in a row. Moving from place to place as the mood struck them, these offenders essentially were urban nomads in a perpetual search for good times. The volatile streets and alleyways that crisscrossed St. Louis’s crime-ridden central city neighborhoods provided their conduit. The open-ended pursuit of sensory stimulation was but one way these offenders enacted the imperatives of street culture. No less important was the fetishized consumption of personal, nonessential, status-enhancing items. The unchecked pursuit of such items—like anomic participation in illicit street action—emerges directly from conduct norms of street culture. The code of the streets calls for the bold display of the latest status symbol clothing and accessories, a look that loudly proclaims the wearer to be someone who has overcome, if only temporarily, the financial difficulties faced by others on the street corner. To be seen as “with it,” one must flaunt the material trappings of success. The quest is both symbolic and real; such purchases serve as self-enclosed and highly efficient referent systems that asset one’s essential character in no uncertain terms. “You ever notice that some people want to be like other people…? They might want to dress like this person, like dope dealers and stuff like that. They go out there [on the street corner] in diamond jewelry and stuff. ‘Man, I wish I was like him!’ You got to make some kind of money [to look like that], so you want to make a quick hustle.” #RandolphHarris 4 of 18

The functionality of offenders’ purchases was tangential, perhaps irrelevant. The overriding goal was to project an image of “cool transcendence,” that, in the minds of offenders, knighted them members of a mythic street aristocracy. Obviously, the relentless pursuit of high living quickly becomes expensive. Offenders seldom had enough cash in their pockets to sustain this lifestyle for long. Even when they did make the occasional “big score,” their disdain for long-range planning and desire to live for the moment encouraged spending with reckless abandon. That money earned illegally holds “less intrinsic value” than cash secured through legitimate work only fueled their spendthrift ways. They way money is obtained, after all, is a “powerful determinant of how it is defined, husbanded, and spent.” Some researchers have gone so far as to suggest that through carefree spending, persistent criminals seek to establish they very conditions that drive them back to crime. Whether offenders spend money in a deliberate attempt to create these conditions is open to question; the respondents in our sample gave no indication of doing so. No matter, offenders were under almost constant pressure to generate funds. To the extent that robbery alleviated this stress, it nurtured a tendency for them to view the offense as a reliable method for dealing with similar pressures in the future. A self-enclosed cycle of reinforcing behavior was thereby triggered. #RandolphHarris 5 of 18

In manufacturing output, the shift of global power balance is drastic. In this sector the West has lost its dynamics, and all the growth energy has gone to China and other emerging economies. China’s manufacturing output for 2021 was $4,865.83B, a 26.04 percent increase from 2020. However, the U.S.A. manufacturing output from 2021 was nearly half as much at $2,497.13B, with only an 11.55 percent increase from 2020. Perhaps, to bring our jobs and factories back from China and become a manufacturing nation again, we need to decrease the value of the dollars below the Chinese yuan. I am sure this would hurt in the short term, but in the long term it would help us and it would be better than going bankrupt. If not dominant, China has emerged and consolidated its position as the World’s largest, producers of a wide variety of manufacturing goods, often leaving all other contenders far behind. In contrast, the range of major manufacturing items whose production is led by Western countries has significantly narrowed. If current differentials in the growth dynamics are preserved, already in the second half of this decade China’s production of manufactured goods will be greater than that of the United States of America and Japan combined. Besides, as in the case of GDP, comparisons based on the national currencies’ exchange rates have to be treated with caution: Their results may be biased in the West’s favor because one and the same product is usually less expensive in China than in the West. #RandolphHarris 6 of 18

China is also exceeding predicted figures, they were only expected to account for 25 percent of the World’s total exporting, but are nearly at 30 percent. Since the early 1980s, China has at least doubled its share of the World’s merchandise exports every ten years, so this is something we should be very concerned about. As it stands, the United States of America has a 16.8 percent global manufacturing output. True, the best Western manufacturers are raising productivity and sharpening their competitive edge. However, the circle of these strong players is quite limited. They agony of weak manufacturers exacerbates the situation at the labor market: People losing their manufacturing jobs, even if they find a job in the service sector, often have to accept lower pay, worse working conditions, and less employment stability. Today, because the Law of Ubiquity has not yet completed it action, high-tech societies, and especially the United States of America suffers from a maldistribution of information—an “information divide” as deep as the Grand Canyon. A seemingly intractable problem in many of the high-tech nations is the existence of what has come to be called an “underclass.” The presence of this underclass is not only a moral affront to affluent societies but a menace to social peace, and ultimately a threat to democracy. It is simple-minded to assume that all those in the underclass are “victims” of society or unemployment. Many, perhaps, most are there for other reasons. #RandolphHarris 7 of 18

What is increasingly clear, however, is that work requires higher and higher informational skills, so that even if jobs are available, most of the members of this group cannot match the knowledge requirements. Moreover, the knowledge needed goes beyond task-specific job skills. To be truly employable a worker must share certain implicit cultural understandings about things like time, dress, courtesy, money, causality, and language. Above all, the worker must be able to get and exchange information. These generalized cultural skills cannot come out of textbooks or training sessions alone. They presuppose a familiarity with how the World-beyond-one’s-own-street functions. That kind of knowledge comes increasingly from the media environment. It is from the media that people infer both social norms and “facts” about how things work. The nature of the media, the pictures they deliver, the groups they target, and the feedback they permit are directly related, therefore, both to employment and to the problems of the underclass. Furthermore, the cultural divide between the underclass and the mainstream society actually widens as the new media system spreads. National College Television (NCT) which uses satellites to distribute specialized programming to college students for forty-two hours a week, claims a student audience of 1,000,0000. Ranging in age from eighteen to thirty-four, these are citizens today and potential leaders tomorrow. If anything, they represent the polar opposite of the young people in the underclass. #RandolphHarris 8 of 18

The U.S.A. college population of today probably includes within in it two future Presidents, a hundred senators, and thousands of corporate CEOs. Today’s college student of age 20 is the most video-sophisticated audience in history…Forty years ago Sesame Street went on air, specifically designed to educate infants and pre-school children with sophisticated television techniques including short (90-second) segments, dazzling video effects, interactive involvement, new heroes, easy daily access, et cetera. This audience migrated [as it grew older, to other programs like] Electric Company, Zoom, to Nickelodeon, MTV—each a move representing an inexorable progression…The audience created by Sesame Street now reshaped all of television! The TV programs are either all shown on the public—id est, educational—network or on cable channels, rather than on the major Second Wave networks. One of my favorite cartoons was Beverly Hills Teens. The term screenie is used to describe this video-drenched generation, which has digested thousands of hours of television, imbibing its “video-logic.” To that must be added, for many of them, more hours of interactive video games and, even more important, of work on their own personal computers. They not only follow a different logic, but are accustomed to make the screen do things, thus making them good prospects for the interactive services on the market today. Above all, they are accustomed to choice. #RandolphHarris 9 of 18

The vast divide between the youth of the underclass and the screenie, which now characterizes the United States of America, will widen in Europe, Japan, and other high-tech nations, too, unless steps are taken to bridge the informational Grand Canyon. In a knowledge-based economy the most important domestic political issue is no longer the distribution (or redistribution) of wealth, but of the information and media that produce wealth. This is a change so revolutionary it cannot be mapped by conventional political cartography. The new wealth-creation system will compel politicians, activists, and political theorists—whether they still regard themselves as left-wing or right-wing, radical or conservative, feminists or traditionalist—to rethink all political ideas developed during the smokestack era. The very categories are now obsolete. Social justice and freedom both now increasingly depend on how each society deals with three issues: education; information technology (including the media); and freedom of expression. In case of education, the reconceptualization now required is so profound, reaching so far beyond questions of budgets, class size, teacher pay, and the traditional conflicts over curriculum, that it cannot be dealt with here. #RandolphHarris 10 of 18

Like Second Wave TV networks (or for that matter all the smokestack industries), our mass education systems are in need of some fine tuning. Exactly as in the case of the media, education, however, will require a proliferation of new channels and a vast expansion of program diversity. (However, with the Internet, there is no reason only 30 percent of students are reading at their grade level and only 32 percent are performing in math at their grade level because there are free online tutors and examples to help them.) That was one of my concerns, is America becoming overpopulated with people who have intellectual disabilities? While China has students excelling in all fields. If schools are to prepare for economically productive roles, a high-choice system will have to replace a low-choice system. And students are going to need more guidance to help them find the resources they need to excel in school. The links between education and the six principles of the new media system—interactivity, mobility, convertibility, connectivity, ubiquity, and globalization—have scarcely been explored. Yet to ignore the relationship between the educational system of the future and the media system of the future is to cheat the learners who will be formed by both. Significantly, education is no longer merely a priority for parents, teachers, and a handful of education reformers, but for the advanced sectors of business as well, since its leaders increasingly recognize the connection between education and global competitiveness. #RandolphHarris 11 of 18

The second priority involves the speedy universalization of access to computers, information technology, and the advanced media. No nation can operate a 21st century economy without a 21st century electronic infrastructure, embracing computers, data communications, and other new media. This requires a population as familiar with this informational infrastructure as it is with cars, roads, highways, trains, and the transportation infrastructure of the smokestack period. Not everyone, of course, needs to be a telecom engineer or a computer expert, just as not everyone needs to be a auto science engineer. However, access to the media system, including computers, faxes, and advanced telecommunications, must be as free and easy as access is today to the transportation system. A key objective of those who want an advanced economy, therefore, should be to accelerate the workings of the Law of Ubiquity—that is, to make sure that all citizens, poor and rich alike, are guaranteed access to the widest possible range of media. Finally, if the essence of the new economy is knowledge, the democratic ideal of freedom of expression becomes a top political priority, rather than a peripheral matter. The state—any state—is in business to stay in power. Whatever the economic costs to the rest of us, it will seek ways to harness the latest communications revolution to its purposes, and it will set limits on the free flow of information. When the industrial revolution brought mass media into being, just as the state invented new forms of mind control, it will search for new tools and techniques to retain at least some control over the images, ideas, symbols, and ideologies reaching its people through the new electronic infrastructure. #RandolphHarris 12 of 18

Enthusiasm over the way the media were used to overthrow totalitarian regimes in Eastern Europe should not blind citizens to the more sophisticated mind manipulations that governments and politicians will attempt in the future. No society can tolerate total freedom of information. Some secrecy is necessary to all social life. Total freedom of information would mean total lack of individual privacy. There are moments of extreme crisis, moments of “clear and present danger,” when absolute freedom invites bad behavior contagion to spread across peaceful lands. Absolute freedom of expression is, therefore, no more possible than absolute anything else. However, the more the society advances toward a super-symbolic economy, the more important it becomes to permit an extremely wide range of dissent and free expression. The more any government chokes off or chills this rich, free flow of data, information, and knowledge-including wild ideas, innovation, and even political dissent—the more it slows down the advance of the new economy. For the vast extension of the global neural system coincides with the most important change in the function of free expression since at east the French and American revolutions. In the agrarian past, new ideas were often a threat to survival. In communities living on the thin edge of subsistence, using methods honed over the centuries, any deviation was dangerous to an economy that lift little margin for risk. They very notion of freedom of thought was alien. #RandolphHarris 13 of 18

With the rise of science and the industrial revolution, a radical new notion came into being: that minds free of state or religious shackles were necessary for “progress.” However, the population to whom this applied was a fraction of the total. With the revolutionary rise of the new wealth-creation system, it is not a fraction of the working population but a substantial and ever-expanding number whose productivity depends precisely on the freedom to create everything from new product designs to new computer logics, metaphors, scientific insights, and epistemologies. Super-symbolic economies grow from cultures constantly provoked by new, often dissenting ideas, including political ideas. The fight for free expression, once the province of intellectuals, thus becomes a matter of concern to all who favor economic advance. Like adequate education and access to the new media, freedom of expression is no longer a political nicety, but a precondition for economic competitiveness. This discovery lays the basis for an unusual political coalition of the future—one that brings together two groups who have, since the early days of the industrial revolution, been frequent adversaries: intellectuals, scientists, artists, and civil libertarians, on the one side, and advanced managers and even shareholders and capitalists on the other, all of whom will now find that their interests depend on revolutionizing the education system, widening the access of the entire population to computers and the other new media, expansion of free WiFi, and protecting—even extending—freedom of expression. #RandolphHarris 14 of 18

Such a coalition is the best guarantee of both intellectual and economic advance in the economies of the 21st century. For Mr. Marx, freedom was the recognition of necessity. Those who wish to build 21st century economies could find that necessity is the mother of freedom. Now, the principle behind the efficient contract is to get firms to take into account the costs they impose on others by their actions. When each firms pays the other’s cost, they are each motivated to announce the truth and make an efficient go-ahead decision. However, this leads to a problem with budget balancing. So instead of paying the actual costs of the other firm each can pay the expected or statistical average of the costs its actions will impose. When each firm declares a low cost, this increases the chance tht the project will proceed and correspondingly the chance that the other firm will have to bear some production costs. To make each firm take into account the average externality it will inflict on the other type of firm, it should receive the statistical average of the project’s operating profit minus the average of the costs of the other type of firm it will be dealing with when the project goes ahead. If the firm inflates its own costs, it risks canceling the project more frequently and getting smaller receipts, while if it deflates costs this leads to a higher “externality” payment for the expected costs imposed on the other firm. #RandolphHarris 15 of 18

The Lord did not spend time attempting to convince the Pharisees of His claims as the Messiah; nor did He take the opportunity of alluring the Jews people by yielding to their desires for an Earthly kind. Is tht not striking? His one mission in this World was manifestly to conquer the satanic prince of the World by death on the cross (Heb. 2.14) and thereby deliver the devil’s captives from his control. He had come to destroy the works of the devil and his invisible hosts (1 John 3.8). The commission He gave to the twelve, and to the seventy, was exactly in line with His own. He sent them forth and “gave them authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to heal all the manner of disease” (Matt. 10.1); to “first bind the strong man” (Mark 3.27), and then to take his goods; to deal with the invisible hosts of Satan first, and then to “preach the gospel.” From all this we learn that there is one Satan, one devil, one prince of the demons, directing all the opposition to Christ and His people; but myriads of wicked spirits called “demons”—lying spirits, deceiving spirits, foul spirits, unclean spirits—are subjectively at work in men. What is their form, and whence their origin, none can positively say. That they are spirit-beings who are evil is alone beyond all doubt; and all who are undeceived and dispossessed from satanic deception become firm witnesses, from personal experience, to their existence and power. They know that thing were done to them by spirits, and that those things were evil. Therefore they recognize that there are spirit beings who pervert, and know that the symptoms, effects and manifestations of demonical possession have active, personal agencies behind them. #RandolphHarris 16 of 18

From experience they know that they often have been hindered by these beings. Therefore, reasoning from personal facts, as well as the testimony of Scripture, they know that these malevolent spirits are tempters, liars, accusers, counterfeiters, cruel enemies, haters, murderers, and wicked beyond all the power of man to know. That is why sometimes people say, “How could a human do something like that?” perhaps the human was possessed by a demon. The names of these evil spirits describe their characters, for they are called “foul,” “lying,” “unclean,” “evil,” and “deceiving” spirits, as they are wholly given up to every manner of wickedness, and deception and lying works. Historical theology closely related blocks of source material: the Bible, church history, and the history of religion and culture. This threefold source may cause some Protestant and Catholic eyebrows to rise, but we must reject the assertion of neo-orthodox biblicism that the Bible is the only source. For the Bible can be understood only in the context of past religions and cultures, and it conveys a message to us only because the church experiences and participates in that message. Still, the Bible remains the basic theological source since it is the original document about the events of sacred history that led to the foundation of the Christian church. It is inspired in the sense that the inspiration of the biblical writers is their receptive and creative response to potentially revelatory facts. The Bible is a revelation according to which no revelation takes place unless someone receive it. This the act of reception is part of the revelatory event. #RandolphHarris 17 of 18

The theologian must also employ the history of religion and culture, because one’s spiritual life, one’s thought patterns, one’s education, and the very language one speaks is conditioned by religious and cultural antecedents. The link between the theologian and one’s sources is that experience is the medium through which the sources speak to us, through which we can receive them. For every theologian stands in an existential relation to truth in that one experiences, participates in, the religious power of one’s source before one analyzes them. Experience, as the theological medium, is receptive, not productive. No new revelation is produced, and the unique event of Jesus as the Christ remains at the center of Christian theology. Subjectivity is excluded in the sense that experience is not a source. However, subjectivity is active insofar as the theologian does not woodenly report one’s sources, but is seized by their power. Wise and philosophical ideas give us a better understanding of our soul. Loneliness has a quality of immediacy and depth, it is a significant experience—one of the few in modern life—in which man communes with himself. And in such communion man comes to grips with one’s own being. One discovers life, who one is, what one really wants, the meaning of one’s existence, the true nature of one’s relations with others. One sees and realizes for the first time truths which have been obscured for a long time. One’s distortions suddenly become naked and transparent. One perceives oneself and others with a clearer, more valid vision and understanding. #RandolphHarris 18 of 18


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And Finally the Spirits Drew Blood

Life-changing, miraculous, beautiful—it has been the scene of serious studies by aspiring intellectuals, of raucous parties filled to the brim with youthful enthusiasm. It was also been the dwelling place of Death. There was a persistent malevolent visitor within the walls of the house, who had an agenda of pursuit and manipulation for evil all of his own. By the time they reached my estate, Hendrick had a fairly good understanding of what the Winchester Mansion was, and he had assured Mr. Hansen that he would keep confidential forever what he was about to read in the files. Henrick loved the idea of the Winchester Mansion, the flashing, sparkling panorama of Santa Clara Valley. However, he grew coldly and unexpectedly calm as he puzzled over the catacombs, and reviewed in his mind all the popular myths he had heard about the apparitions, and this brief interlude of excitement began to fade. “Mrs. Winchester, I have to go on leave,” Hendrick explained. “It’s unavoidable.” How calm his voice sounded as all the color drained out of his face. I insisted that we go at once to a small screened porch off the back of the second story, and there, overlooking a formal garden with miles of green grass and fountains, we could sit down to eat. However, Hendrick insisted that he had to leave at once. Mr. Hansen showed him to the door. The atmosphere began to change. I felt a whisper of fresh air on my face. The floor suddenly veered precipitously upward. Tiny drops of blood began to fall from the ceiling. Rappings shook the walls. Then a large butcher knife appeared and menacingly headed in our direction. When ran into the morning room, and all the chairs therein fell over and danced about noisily. “The spirits are angry,” said Mr. Hansen. #RandolphHarris 1 of 6

I felt light-headed, intoxicated by the danger. There were noises, a myriad of them and terror-filled cries of the wounded and dying echoing long and pitifully into the night; disembodied rumblings from artillery, and even more mysterious, unidentifiable rustling in the darkness just behind my shoulder. Several knives and a large glass paperweight were thrown at us by invisible intruders, narrowly missing our heads. “Do angels really lack knowledge of the heart?” I asked Mr. Hansen as I wept. There was the dark melee, horrifying screams in the night. Night was always a time of icy fear and apprehension. It must stem from our most primal subconscious. It can bring sudden death. And sleep, if it should come, steals consciousness, our last warning system and makes us more vulnerable to Earthly creatures who would do us harm. Or to other entities not of this Earth with perhaps the same ambition. Perhaps sleep was the main portal through which ghosts came into our lives. I felt Mr. Hansen’s brown eyes sweep across my face. He shook his head. There was something about the translucent moon that gave me the impression he was made of air or water, rather than blood and bone. I looked at him more closely, scared that he might have slipped away. But he was still there. “I feared you had…” “Not yet,” Mr. Hansen said, reading my mind. Around and around the room an unexplainable jingling went, pausing first in one corner, then at another wall, until the sound was right next to us. Then it became a plopping sound like water dripping. We were being troubled by entities that seemed set upon us by a curse of black magic. Suddenly, a hooded figure appeared and was moving about the house. It appeared to be the image of a man with thinning white hair on the sides, and bald at the top. #RandolphHarris 2 of 6

There were secret passageways in the mansion, hidden from view. The tiniest opening in the mahogany walls lead to tunnels, hiding places, a labyrinthine sequence of passageways and caverns. As we entered a secret passageway to escape the ghost, I heard a whole bunch of voices whispering, but I could not understand them. They were all jumbled together. As we walked along the pathway, Mr. Hansen said my name right in my ear, and when I turned to look at him, he was gone. The voice was a demon voice: throaty, hoarse and very mean. It said to me, “Sarah, show yourself to me!” I could not actually pinpoint the exact location the voice had come from. But there was a black, floating swirling mass, about four feet high and three feet wide. It unnerved me so much that I feld the catacombs, and as I came out where the dining room was, something hit the wall with such a force that it knocked down several of the paintings. It looked like there had been an earthquake. And I was about to fall. However, something grabbed the collar of my collar of my shirt, and pulled me back to safety. No apparition could be seen, but the collar of my shirt had been pulled back. It was midnight when I went back to my room in the north wing. I rose early the next morning. Drawing back the curtain, then I saw a dark shadow of a woman entering my home. I could hear the dark figure ascending up their stairs and towards my room. The footsteps and voices got louder. The shadow of the woman appeared in the doorway to the room I was in. It disappeared as quickly as it manifested. I felt a cold wind pass by me, and the curtains closed and billowed as a shadowy figure. #RandolphHarris 3 of 6

I decided to stay in my room until I fell asleep. Not only did I lock the door, but I put a chair against the door as an added safety measure from intruders. Late into the night, I was awakened by the loud rattling of the door and the chair. Frighteningly, the sound came from inside the room and not outside the door. It was as if someone was trying to get outside the room, not in. The room was dimly illuminated by a faint, green-glowing light. On the wall hangs a mirror, into which the light casts its luminescence. In a semi-awakened state, I gazed into the mirror and saw the reflected light begin to take the shape of a woman dressed in a beautiful dress. As I continued to stare at the apparition in the mirror, she was suddenly accompanied by a man dressed as a cavalry man, complete with high cavalry boots. How long I had been sitting in bed, I scarcely know; I had been half meditating, half dozing, mixing broken snatches of thought with brief glimpses of dreaming, when I was startled into wakefulness by a sound that was strange to me. As I opened my eyes, the sun risen. I inspected the chair and found that somehow it had been pulled out, away from the door about an inch. I stood transfixed. When suddenly my entire body flew back, and on to the floor. My eyes rolled into the back of my head. Mr. Hansen and Ersula overheard the commotion and burst into the room. “Mrs. Winchester, are you okay, where have you been?!” Ersula demanded as she and Mr. Hansen lifted me off the floor. “You are as pale as a ghost!” he said. “Never mind the sal volatile,” I said at last. “I am not ill; I have been startled, that is all.” Even now, I get the chills thinking about that night. I do believe there was something evil in the house. I have been quite reluctant to tell about the hauntings, for most people just do not want to know the truth about what is out there. #RandolphHarris 4 of 6

The spinning in my head slowed and then finally stopped altogether. As the last chime of the clock struck ten, I came downstair to the reception area. I felt my heart expand with the beauty of the same old World but seen through new eyes. Glancing out the skylight, a white winter sun hung low in the sky and it was bright but cold. A bird was singing. My plans for construction where castles in the air, dreams of sliver days. Places where I could spend countless dusks watching the sun sinking down into the Earth. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something move. A flash of blue, perhaps. I could not tell. A shiver crept down my spine. For a moment, I stood motionless. Everyone looked very dead now, very empty. There was no odor yet, but they were dead. The rigidity of Ersula’s face absorbed me. The body of Hendrick on the floor was dry and wrinkled. Not even murmuring melodies to myself of the songs I most liked to play meant anything to me. In my ears, I heard a din as if the imps of Hell were making a horrid music to drive me out of my mind. I whispered to myself to silence it. Shortly after discovering the bodies, I heard muffled voices and noises on the second floor, followed by a sharp crash. I rushed up stairs to find a large painting in the hallway had been flung violently across the hall into a freshly painted wall. The wall had been damaged by the force of the crash. I was terrified to hear the wails of a baby coming from the wall. Petrified, I remained on the second floor with the terrible cries until carpenters began a search and found me. Nearly incoherent when I was taken to my chamber, I told the carpenters about hearing the baby cry. #RandolphHarris 5 of 6

Emperor Lucifer, Master and Prince of Rebellious Spirits, 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, please appear instantly. I command thee to surrender me the nearest treasure, and I promise thee as a reward the first piece of gold or silver which I touch with my hands on the first day of every month. Such is my demand. Thou shalt purge me with hyssop, O Lord! And I shall be clean: Thou shalt wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. I Do invocate and conure thee, O Prince of the Rebellious Spirits; and being with power armed from the SUPREME MAJESTY, I do strongly command thee, by BERALANENSIS, BALDACHIENSIS, PAUMACHIA, and APOLOGIAE SEDES; by the most Powerful Princes, Genii, Liachidae, and Ministers of the Tartarean Abode; and by the Chief Prince of the Seat of Apologia in the Ninth Legion, I do invoke thee, and by invocating conjure thee. And being armed with power from the SUPREME MAJESTY, I do strongly command thee, by Him Who spake and it was done, and unto whom all creatures be obedient. Also I, being made after the image of GOD, endued with power from GOD and created according unto HIS will, do exorcise thee by that most mighty and powerful name of God, EL, strong and wonderful; O thou Emperor Lucifer. And I command thee and Him who spake the Word and His Fiat was accomplished, and by the names of God. Also by the names of AFONAI, EL, ELOHIM, ELOHI, EHYEH, ASHER EHYEH, ZABOTH, ELION, IAH, TETRAGRAMMATON, SHADDAI, LORD GOD MOST HIGH. Come thou peaceably, visibly, and affably, now, and without delay, manifesting that which I shall desire. #RandolphHarris 6 of 6


Something awakens you from a fitful sleep. You roll over in your bed and there, right at the foot of it, is a misty shape resembling a human. However, its features are hazy, unclear. The dress it wears is recognizable, but from an era long past, and it is tattered, as if it had spent too much time hanging in a closet, or lying in the damp mustiness of a coffin. The figure is, at first, an object of curiosity, since you immediately assume you are dreaming. However, its tendril-like arms begin to wave, to move towards you—no, to beckon you—and the face twists into the mockery of a smile. Now you begin to panic as you realize-despite your hoping it is not true—that you are fully awake, that this is no dream and there is no explanation for the horrid sight before you, except that it is real, in all its dead splendor. It is well known that, possessions, apparitions, and other supernatural intrusions have occurred what is now known as The Winchester Mystery House.
To Where the Damned Have Howled Away their Hearts

I stumbled back against the hall table, sending a crystal vase of red roses crashing to the floor. Water and glass and torn petals all over the rug. The despair threatened to drown out my own thoughts. Softly, gently, Elsa reached out and covered my hand with hers. Her skin was cold, her touch insubstantial, so light, as if she were barely there. But I was overwhelmed by the understanding implicit in her gesture. Grateful for her care. “Mrs. Winchester, we have been seeing some pretty amazing things here in your fabulous mansion lately,” Elsa said, “some true signs from God. I’m talking angles. I’m talking miracles. I’m talking End of Times. Do you believe?” “That is just the point, my dear Elsa. In believing you, what do I have to lose?” I replied. “I’m here to tell you that everything can change for you. I’m here to take you to a place where you can begin to be the person you might have been…if certain things had not happened. I’m here to tell you…” She broke off. We had reached the library. “What, tell me what?” I said. We were eye to eye and Elsa seemed wrapped in a calm that my fear could not penetrate. The library was dark, lit only by a skylight, and the single open door through which we has passed. It was vast and shadowy filled with books and desks and lamps. It was an important place for me, a place that I surely always had a glorious time in. This sense of elation was familiar. It was like the way one feels after being sick for a spell and suddenly a clearheaded good feeling comes over you, and life seems worth living again. Else sat perfectly still beside me and I could see the light in her eyes. #RandolphHarris 1 of 4

“God loves you,” she said softly, almost dreamily. “I’m here to offer to offer you another way.” I went quiet. I saw all of these things suddenly, tumbling through my mind, and that is when the pounding began. The noise was not very loud at first; it sounded as if someone was knocking on the wall with one’s knuckles. I felt along the walls, but it was the strangest thing. The pounding did not really seem to be coming from the walls at all. I could not really tell where the sounds were originating. When the books and the chairs started to move, Elsa began to scream hysterically that she wanted to leave my home. She was in extreme distress. Her face was ashen, and she appeared about to faint. We watched the chair do a complete flip, then gently return to its upright position. “He’s fighting for you hard. He doesn’t want to let you go,” Elsa said. Unable to explain the source of the commotion and thus unable to provide a source of relief for the traumatized young lady, I suggested she show herself the way out. I could feel myself shaking again. I was not afraid. Every ten minutes or so, the entire mansion would seem to tremble, as if we were experiencing an earthquake. The beautiful decorative frescoes and artwork started to fall and crack. I saw a man standing at the back of the library and I approached him to see why he was trespassing. When I drew near to the fellow, he simply disappeared. The man seemed very real and I had not thought about ghosts until he vanished into thin air. As I opened the door to another room on the third-floor and pressed the button to turn on the light, I was astonished to see a strange young woman, standing before the full-length mirror, admiring herself. #RandolphHarris 2 of 4

Before I could ask her who she was or what she was doing, the stranger ran into the closet next to the mirror. I walked over to the closet to find out who this intruder was and what she wanted. I was breathing rapidly, my body carrying the weight of all this, but my mind felt wondrously clear. Opening the doors and sliding the dresses around on their hangers I found nothing. I felt the urge to cry, to dissolve into a state of weakness. Frantically, I shoved the clothes out of my way, even removing some of them and tossing them on the bed. However, there was no one there, and no visible escape route from the closet. “Why? Why have you come here for me?” I asked. My voice broke. I turned my back on the closet. I felt like I was walking into a wall of blackness. It had been a cold winter and a bone-cracking winter wind came sweeping through the room. Even with a fireplace in this room, I could feel the chill. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something at the window. As I turned on the light, I saw a child’s face, hovering outside the window, peering in at me. The strange thing was that the little boy’s face was blue—the odd, pinkish-blue cast taken on by human skin after it has been exposed too long to cold temperatures. Shocked and frightened at a face levitating in the window three stories off the ground, I ran from the room. In the hallway, the words “Help me,” were scrawled on the wall in blood. #RandolphHarris 3 of 4

It was this, I think, the not knowing, that preyed on my mind. Not knowing what happened to him, how he had died, when he had died. Was I scared? I should have been, certainly. In the hall above, women were screaming, and men were shouting, children were crying. The sound of rook splintering and the clatter of metal on metal. Then the door thudded shut at my back and I was plunged into silence. To where the damned have howled away their hearts. One can only imagine the spirits of the Winchester Mansion, ancient dead descending from their graves to my home, the floating along passageways, emerging in this ghost ship, passing through rock and concrete and wood as they are wont to do, and materializing at times of their own choosing. Rising up from the Earth like water that seems to help draw them. Then, as they appear and disappear, sinking back into the labyrinthine. Death, who washes away this worrisome World, has guided countless souls to my home. By the end of the day, the weather had grown threatening, and the wind became aggressive and unpredictable. Windows and doors have been left open to the cold air all afternoon, and after closing them up tight, I built a fire. Without warning, all the lights in the house went out. I became motionless. A dark entity grabbed me. It twisted me around and forced me toward the floor. Gripped by terror immediately I started to have trouble breathing. I was hyperventilating. And I was convinced that the entity would murder me. I struggled, then the entity suddenly vanished. The violence was disturbing. #RandolphHarris 4 of 4


There are Worlds, access to which we are no longer allowed. Worlds just inches from us, as we stand in our own World. Invisible, they contain not only the present, but the past, and, some say, the future as well. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
There Were Omens from the Beginning

That voice. His voice. How could it be? On the fourth floor, the air plays such tricks, distorts and changes perspective, but I was certain it was William I had heard. “It was you,” I said in disbelief, yet knowing I was right. “It was you I heard.” However, I turned my face away, and took the elevator down stairs. There was Mr. Hansen going on construction plans. “Mr. Hansen?” I said urgently. “Was it you on the fourth floor a few moments ago? Was it? Did you see me? Mr. Hansen, please.” Still he did not answer, and I would have pressed him further, except I was suddenly aware the atmosphere in my mansion had changed. The air was suddenly charged with anticipation, with tension. I took my eyes away from Mr. Hansen for a moment. While we had been talking, everything else had receded, my sight, my hearing, my smell. Now, like the lights coming up in the Grand Ball Room at the end of a concert, the World came back into focus. The white sofa was pristine, but there were empty coffee cups, splashes of spilled coffee and crumbs of cookies, prunes and butter. The noise level had dropped. Like the low growl of the sea, the rumbling of voices was constant but muted. Everyone seemed to be speaking in hushed voices. Hooded and watchful eyes, no laughter now. For the first time since sitting down on the sofa, I felt uncomfortable. Mr. Hansen took the leather chair opposite. But he said nothing. Nothing would come out of his mouth. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

The carpet in the room had been woven for the room, an immense sea of dark flowers, banded in gold along the walls and the high polished baseboards. Mr. Hansen has never seen a rug made for a room quite like this one. “Why do you not stop clutching that gun and talk to me?” “I can do everything you’ve asked,” said Mr. Hansen. “I’m eager to do it.” Mr. Hansen was powerfully excited to add an apartment of new rooms to the mansion. But he did not let on. The music in his head would not stop. I knew how excited he was as I watched him. I could see it in his breathing and in the warmth in his eyes, which perhaps he did not notice. “What is it you want for all this, besides money? I asked him. Now Mr. Hansen was startled. And there was a dramatic change in his face. Mr. Hansen noticed it, the blood in his cheeks, and the flash in his eyes. “More work,” said Mr. Hansen. “Lot of it. And the finest tools you can buy.” I shook my head. Then I heard, quite distinctly, the stomp of horses’ hooves outside in the street and the rattle of a harness. I figured it must have been another load of construction materials for the drawing room. However, as the far end of the west wing, an altercation broke out. Voices raised, shouting, the sound of a chair being overturned. At first, I assumed it was some kind of childish play. I turned toward the entrance, and at that precise moment the heavy wooden doors were flung open. Two men strode into the hall. “What in God’s name…” Their faces were concealed beneath square iron helmets and the sunlight shined on their unsheathed swords, sending flashed of silver shining around them like sparks. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

For a moment, nobody spoke. And, just for a moment, I wondered if this was some kind of entertainment. Then a woman screamed and I knew it was not. Panic took hold. I fell against a wall. “Mr. Hansen,” I whispered. A small group of farmers were attempting to drive the intruders from the hall. Some brandished hunting daggers, drawn from their sheaths on their belts. Others grabbed at whatever at rifles. Bullets flew, blades jabbed and sliced through the air, though never connecting. It was an unequal fight for my men were armed. The cry went up to barricade the door. And despite the exhaustions of the long day, despite the fact that it was now evening, I felt suddenly alive. The renovations of the mansion continued. When Mr. Hansen was done with this portion of the expansions, twenty-two rooms with fireplaces had been added. I fulfilled my request and built tunnels in the basement that ran all the way to the fruit orchards so that we could hall the fruit to the basement for storage. A young boy made a home for himself in the tunnels. He was nine years old at the time, when the men were carrying fruit from the orchard to the basement one of them saw a soldier, in a somewhat outdated uniform, standing in the darkened tunnel. “Who’s that man?” asked one of the farmers, surprised and a bit apprehensive to see a stranger in the tunnels. “Oh, he’s all right,” replied the boy who had seen him many times before. Poltergeist most often find their energy center in the psyche of an adolescent, who performs the ghostly effects, both consciously and unconsciously. The adolescent is gifted for the time being with something mysterious. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

The particular direction of this power is always toward the secret or concealed weakness of the spirit. Something is released from the recesses of the soul. The mysteries of puberty, that trance or dozing of the psyche before it wakes into adult life, is a favorite playground for the poltergeist. Ghosts haunt houses, and poltergeist hunts people. The poltergeist is very often not really a ghost but a cacophony of projected repressions. One sultry summer morning the farmers came to complain to the boy for coming in the basement in the middle of the night and eating a huge portion of the harvest. Of course the boy would never steal anything, and so, when he explained this, the farmers were at a loss to determine just who ate the fruit. Some of the farmers who were working to harvest fruit that summer mentioned to the boy that, in the tunnels some places were unusually cold. As well, they complained to the noy about being awakened in the middle of the night by horses pawing the ground and snorting outside. When they went to the window to see who in the World was out riding after midnight, through the fields, they saw no horses or riders. The boy also counted at least eight times that the farmers had queried him about the Confederate soldier they had seen in the tunnels, in the basement, or standing in the one doorway. The boy said that many sightings and noises went on during the harvest season, but at other times when the tunnels were not in use it was a peaceful place to rest. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

That evening, I shut myself away in the drawing room. I could hear Helga and Judit, two caretakers, talking behind the closed door. I pressed my ear against the polished room, praying that they would know I was there and they would come in and comfort me. However, they did not. I sat up straight, my heart pounding as my eyes darted around the room. Despite the darkness, I could see there was a woman wearing a long cloak wandering the hallway. She was easy to see because she glowed softly as she walked along. The woman was crying faintly as she searched for something. Fear throbbed in my veins. As she glided up the stairs, she then hanged herself, but the body and the noose disappeared shortly after. “Where are they coming from?” I wondered aloud. A sick feeling began to brew in my stomach.” “Is anyone there?” I cried. “Did you hear that?” Helga asked. “Hear what?” Judit replied. They were still oblivious to my presence. Blood slammed through my veins. I looked down, trying to shake away the horrible vision I had just scene. Just then a porcelain figurine was lifted from the coffee table and began to float through the air and traveled more than twelve feet before in smashed into the wall. After this demonstration of prowess on the part of the spirits, I decided to retire for the evening. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

But upon entering my bedroom, I found that a heavy bureau has tipped face down on the floor, and a phonograph began orbit around the room. I felt curiously like an intruder in my own home. I paced the corridors, entered many of the other bedchambers and for the most part the doors were closed, and I shut those doors that stood open before making my way to the basement. It had been divided into two sections. On this occasion, I saw a woman at the fireplace in the old section tending food. Quickly I walked to the second basement, which was built in an L shape. It was very dark. I could hear a little girl singing near the tunnel entrance. And there were figures shifting in the dark shadows, as if hiding. Since the caretakers could not hear me, and I was having such a hard time locating them, I figured it would be best to learn to embrace and enjoy the spirits. Feeling unsettled, I walked through the plush gardens. There, under a large tree about a hundred feet away, was a gray, misty figure, seated, resting against the tree. So indistinct were his features that he could not possibly have been real. At a hundred feet or less, anyone with average vision can easily recognize another human being. However, there was something definitely non-human about this human form. I stood there watching him for ten minutes or so, but I was unwilling to examine this apparition more closely to see if it was a fellow traveller in this World, or true ectoplasm. I made my way back to my home with a ticklish feeling on the back of my neck. When I looked behind me, the apparition had vanished. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

ASTRACHIOS, ASACH, ASARCA, ABEDUMABAL, SLLAT, ANABOTAS, JESUBILIN, SCIOIN, DOMOL, Lord God, who dwellest above the Heavens, whose glance searchest the abyss; please grant us, we pray Thee, the power to conceive in our minds and to execute that which we desire to do, the end of which we will attain by Thy help, O God Almighty, who livest and reignest for ever and ever. I conjure thee, LUCIFER, OUYAR, CHAMERON, ALISEON, MANDOUSIN, PREMY, ORIET, NAYDRUS, ESMONY, EPARINESONT, ESTIOT, DUMOSSONT, DANOCHAR, CASMIEL, HAYRAS, FABELLERONTHON, SODIRNO, PEATHAM, by the great living God, the Sovereign Creator of all things, to appear under a comely human form, without noise and without terror. Emperor Lucifer, please respond in a clear and intelligible voice, point by point, to all that we shall ask thee, falling which, thou shall ask thee, thou shalt be most surely compelled to obedience by the power of the divine ADONAY, ELOIM, ARIEL, JEHOVAM, TAGLA, MATHON, and by the whole hierarch of superior intelligences. I command and I adjure thee, Emperor Lucifer, as the representative of the mighty living God, and by the power of Emanuel, His only Son, who is they master and mine, and by the virtue of His precious blood, which He shed to redeem mankind from thy chains, I command thee to quit thine abode, wheresoever it may be, swearing that I will give three 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. COME, LUCIFER. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7


Many researchers have noted that, in addition to the sadistic attacks directed upon authoritarian figures (parents, older siblings, police officers, clergymen), the individual who serves as the poltergeist’s energy center—the psychic “eye of the storm”—may receive wounds that appear to be the effects of stigmata. The individual may also experience painful swelling of the body, and vile and obscene writing may appear on walls or various personal objects. If we only knew more about the nature of energy, perhaps we would understand its relationship to time. Why do we bind, in our reasoning minds, energy within the boundaries of time? There is no law that says energy must start and stop within the certain bounds of time. That is exists in time should be enough.

That it exists throughout time, in one form or another, sometimes recognizable, sometimes not, could explain why some places seem to have an abundance of psychic energy long after the people associated with that energy have gone. There is one law of physics that might apply—that of thermodynamics—which states that energy is a constant in the Universe, that energy can neither be created nor destroyed, but merely changes form. In a liberal interpretation, it could explain a lot. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

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Disturbing the Dead is Never a Good Idea

So time passed and did not move at all. Ten years of voices in my head, of memories that were more real, more vivid, than the World outside my window. Ten years of constant construction. All this might suggest that I was very far adrift from reality, that I was incapable of distinguishing true from false. Were there hideous dream coming in the night? Visitations, or more of glowing, late-night specters suddenly visible just outside my bedroom window? Had I really seen blood ooze from behind the walls? It had got quite dark, as if a sudden storm was sweeping up over the sky. Others were near me, but I could not see them. We were standing by the palm trees at the turn of the drive, and as Mr. Hansen came to me, I passed behind the palm trees and, in the darkness, I hurried back to the house. And a queer thing was that as I reached the door the black cloud vanished, and there was the transparent twilight again. In the house everything seemed as usual, and the caretakers were busy about their work; but I could not get it out of my head that a shadow of a cloud had concealed the sun. I paused for breath, and began again. In the hall I stopped at the annunciator to call for help, but unknown forces seemed to answer my call. A mass fog started hovering at the end of the hall, and out of it came a tall thin man with a pocket watch in his vest and black garters on his arms. He was carrying a lantern down the hall toward me. He was extremely pale as if suffering from a high fever. When the phantasm’s eyes met my own, his features appeared quite tranquil and not at all disagreeable, but I could not help being filled with some sort of nameless dread. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

Suddenly, there came a fierce bombardment of stones against the roof and doors. Fearing an attack by bandits, I ran to grab my revolver, and shouted an alarm. Cautiously looking out into moonlit fields, I saw nothing. No one. Then, as I blinked my unbelieving eyes, the front gate was wrenched from its hinges by an invisible force and tossed high into the air. Venturing out to investigate, my revolver clenched firmly in my hand. A volley of stones was suddenly hurled at me, and I feld back into the mansion. As I slammed and barred the front door behind me, the caretakers shuttered the windows. However, shutters made no difference to the stones. In they came, through glass, through shutters, rolling down the chimney, smashing against the door. Objects in the room began to hurl themselves at me. Candles were blown out. The bars on the doors began to bend under the solid blows of an invisible hammer. A tea cup smashed itself against a wall. Somehow, I managed to survive this night of horror. However, much to my dismay, the stone-throwing spirit had not vanished with the coming dawn and the rooster’s crowing. That day, haystacks in the fields were broken up and the hay tossed into the high branches of trees. As the farmers attempted to go about their farmwork, stones pursued them. This could not be the work of naughty little boys. One of the boys who had been helping put up the hay was struck so hard on the back that he began to cry. This spirit never developed a voice, but was quite proficient at snorting and whistling. It smashed pottery and slammed furniture about the room. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

One night I was standing on the stairs, talking to a stonemason who told me his tools were being knocked out of his hand while he was working by an invisible demon and others went missing. As we were talking, we both caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure floating down towards us carrying the tools. The farmers has also had sickle blades broken by stones, and several rows of corn had been uprooted. If passion, fear, anger or other emotions must be expended to create a haunting, then it should be no surprise that my mansion was host to its share of ghost. Staff often reported hearing what sounded like heated arguments coming from the Blue Séance Room, and the sweet smell of smoking tobacco, despite no one ever smoked in my home. On December 24, 1896, two men using a key opened the safe in the Grand Ball Room and stole over $1,000,000 in money and bonds were removed from the vault, but the bonds were thrown away and they took what gold and silver they could carry without attracting attention. The sheriff was dumbfounded. However, they soon leaned that two locksmiths, Robert and David Bowles had recently changed the locks, so they were arrested. The two of them lived in the attic of my home. There was not enough evidence to hold the men, so the men were set free. They both contracted yellow fever while in jail, and died a week later. Soon after their deaths, reports began to surface that the staff of the Winchester mansion were being haunted by Robert and David. Loud banging or dragging noises came from the attic and the hallway just outside it. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

Since the late 1880s, there has been a persistent sight of a young woman, dressed all in white. We believe her name to be Astrid, she was one of my caretakers who fell in love with one of the farmers Baldur. It seems that they used to meet in the greenhouse, and that his family disapproved of her. However, he was certain their love would prevail, and promised he would be with her forever in marriage, eventually. Their meetings continued, her love growing deeper and deeper for him. But even the strength of love has its limits. He finally told her that it would not work out, the problems that they faced were insurmountable, and that he would have to break his promise that they would be together in marriage. They met in the greenhouse one last time. She committed suicide and died in his arms. Now, whenever a promise is broken, there, among the deep green plants, a pale phantasm hovers in the greenhouse. Forever, mourning a broken pledge, forever haunts the Woman in White. Frequently on Easter Sundays, clocks would move about on the mantelpiece in the Hall of Fires and the room would be lit up by a vibrating glow. I had been naturally a fearless child; now I live in a state of chronic fear. Fear of what? I cannot say—and even at the time, I was never able to formulate my terror. It was like some dark undefinable menace, forever stalking my steps, lurking, and threatening; I was conscious of it wherever I went by day, and at night it made sleep impossible, unless a light and caretaker were in the room. However, whatever it was, it was most formidable and pressing when I was returning from my daily walk. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

During the last few years, and while I waited on the door-step, I could feel it behind me, upon me; and there was any delay in opening of the door I was seized by a choking agony of terror. It did not matter who was with me, for no one could protect me. This species of hauntings lasted seven or eight years, and I was a young lady with long skirts and my hair up before my heart ceased to beat with fear if I stood a minute on the door-step! Then one day, at the very front door, I looked up and saw an officer, dressed in Union blue, tall, gaunt, and apparently a modern re-enactor moving rapidly down the wide open lawn, toward my home. He seemed in a hurry to reach the front doors. I looked away to make sure they were opened, and as I looked back at him, he had completely vanished. I immediately had the front doors sealed so that his soul would rest in my estate. From the day on, the Devil had appeared to me on a number of occasions, the first time offering me a purse of silver. I was lost. Bewilderingly, heart and soul, lost. There was a promise that there was an entire life to be lived if I could only take the chance. I can still recall the sense of possibility that came over me then, a kind of lightness. Every sinew, every muscle, every vein in my body seemed suddenly to vibrate, to be alive. If I could find the courage to speak, people would listen. I took a deep breath and then slowly, steadily exhaled. Finally, I began to talk. I noticed that I could speak in languages that I had never learned. I remember everything about that day. Every tiny detail. The smell and the texture of it, every second before and after the Devil appeared. The purple leaves on the copper beech turning and there was condensation on the inside of the window in the early morning. The fire had been lit for the first time since the previous winter and there was a pleasant smell of pine in the room. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

I did not hear the knock at the door, but I remember being aware of footsteps on the floors in the hall. Even then, I think I knew. There was something in the quality of the silence that shouted out that this caller was unwelcome. I stopped what I was doing and listened, listened to the silence. Then I heard a voice in the hall. I ran. Sending the door flying back against the wall, I ran down the stairs. From the hall below, a sound that tore through me like a butcher’s knife. Not screaming exactly, more a howling, a wailing, the same word repeated over and over, “Mine, mine, mine.” I was struck on the head by a falling hammer. Laying on the floor unconscious, I awoke, and it was the Devil, he told me that I must live and continue to build my estate and that every coin of silver in his purse represented the years I had to live. If I wanted to see my husband and my darling daughter again, it was an offer I could not refuse. When I awoke, my most valued pieces of furniture were rudely destroyed by the violent and unbidden guest, but there were nearly one hundred silver coins in a purse. I had no visible injuries, nor suffered any terrible mental or emotional pain. But there was a piercing scream, followed by a raucous cacophony of voices filling the room. That night as I lay in bed, I thought about seeing my husband and daughter again. I thought about how I would devote this mansion, not only to the spirits, but also to the spirits of my family. My face was stained with tears. I thought about the pact I had made. I got up, put on my clothes, keeping my revolver in my pocket, and went down the steps of my home, past the two caretakers playing cards in the living room. One of the me got up. “Mrs. Winchester, you want something, a cup of tea maybe?” “I need to walk,” I said. No one stopped me. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

I went outside and walked around the gardens. I noticed the lay the leaves looked in the trees that were nearest the lamppost. I noticed how the branches of the evergreen trees were gleaming with dew. I studied the tall steep shingled roofs of the house. I looked at the glint of light in the diamond-paned windows. I listened to the sound of grass under my feet, and came to the cupid fountain that was running in spite of the cold, and watched the water erupt from the jet and fall down in an airy white shower into the basin that boiled under the dim light. The air smelled of pine needles and of burning wood. There was a freshness and a cleanness I had not experienced. There was a deliberate beauty. I made my way back to the house slowly. I could not sleep. Then a strange thing occurred, as I drew near the mansion. From within the house, I heard a subtle stirring music. Surely a window was open to the cold for me to hear something of such tenderness, and subtle beauty. I knew it to be a harp. There was the window up ahead, tall and made of leaded glass and opened to the cold. From there the music was coming: a long swelling note, and then a cautious melody. Finally, the music stopped. I glanced up and saw a black shadow jump out the window toward me. I found myself shaken, frightened without reason by the sound of voices crying out in pain and the echoes of sobbing. Looking over to the nine-story observation tower, there was a ghostly guard walking his eternal watch. My home seems to be a place haunted by shadows and furtive ghosts. It seems to have been taken over by spirits. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7

The Winchester Mystery House

The Winchester Mansion is one of the World’s most haunted places. For more information on the site and the haunted house events, please visit: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

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Haunting Phenomena and Unsolved Winchester Mysteries

As we made our way through the hall, the cold outdoor light flooded the drawing room. The shutters had not been closed, nor the curtains drawn. I looked about me. The room was empty and every chair was in its usual place. My armchair was pushed up by the chimney, and the cold hearth was piled with the ashes of the fire at which I had warmed myself. My home was filled with ancient artifacts and historic pieces. It also housed several spirits. One night, as I sat in my armchair, my fear seemed to take on a new quality. It was like an icy liquid running through every vein, and lying in a pool about my heart. I discovered that there was something wrong with the chair when I felt someone grab my arm in a painful grip while I was resting in. Whatever it was left fingerprint bruises on my arm. I was convinced that a vengeful spirit had grabbed me. It absorbed me so completely that I was not aware how long I rained there. But suddenly a new impulse pushed me forward, and I walk on toward the scullery. I went there first because there was a service slide in the wall, through which I might peep into the kitchen without being seen; and some indefinable instinct told me that this particular kitchen held the clue to the mystery. I still felt strongly that whatever had happened in parlor must have its source and center in this kitchen. In the scullery, as I have expected, everything was clean and tidy. However, a voice was speaking in the kitchen—a man’s voice, low but empathic, and which I had never heard before. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

I stood there, cold with fear. But this fear was again a different one. As I turned to retreat across the smooth slippery floor, halfway through I crashed down on the tiles. The noise seemed to echo on and on through the emptiness, and I stood still, aghast. Now that I had betrayed my presence, flight was useless. Whoever was beyond the kitchen door would be upon me in a second. But to my astonishment the voice went on speaking. It was as though neither the speaker nor his listener had heard me. The invisible stranger spoke so ow that I could not make out what he was saying, but the tone was passionately earnest, almost threatening. The next moment I realized that he was speaking in a foreign language, a language unknown to me. Once more my terror was surmounted by the urgent desire to know what was going on, so close to me yet unseen. I crept to the slide, peered cautiously through into the kitchen, and saw tht it was as orderly empty as the other rooms. I froze when I saw a blue mist coming down their stairs. The mist dispersed before reaching me. I must have fainted them, I supposed; at any rate I felt so weak and dizzy that my memory of what happened remained indistinct. But in the course of time, I walked through the deserted ground floor, up the stairs, and down the corridor to my room. There, apparently, I feel across the threshold, again unconscious. When I came to, I saw a specter wandering the halls and hurrying along through the bookshelves. He literally knocked me out of his way. He plowed over me as he hurried toward the bookshelves. I was a bit flustered by his ungentlemanly behavior. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

I got up and crept silently down the stairs, walked through the hallways. It was a beautiful night, and a full moon was riding high in the sky. I felt quite exhilarated and not at all afraid. All the caretakers on the estate were fast asleep, so there was little chance of meeting anyone on my stroll through my mansion. Enjoying the solitude of my walk, I did not notice how far I had gone. It must have been two or three miles. As I realized that, I start my way back. Looking out the windows, I noticed that sky became overcast, covering the moon and making the night darker and darker. My mood changed to an eerie sort of fear and I kept walking faster and faster. Soon it was so dark that my fear almost became panic, for I could hardly in front of me anymore. At last, I could a candle and lit it. Suddenly I turned my head and looked over my shoulder. There, just a few yards behind me, floating about three feet above the ground, was a boy with blonde hair, following me at the same pace I was walking. He was glowing dully, but shed no light around him or on the ground. Almost as soon as I had seen him, he veered towards the wall, roe a bit, then sailed into the wall and disappeared. This strange boy behaved as if he were intelligent, for he had been following me in a straight line. But as soon as he was discovered, he swerved aside an went into the wall, as if hiding. And had not there been something unnatural about the sudden darkness? #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

Deep within the 600 rooms of my home, the imagination can be filled with bright colors of love and joy and the somber hues of tragic death and heartbreak. Then it came, the next morning while the famers were plowing and planting and caring for the young crops, the estate exploded in a scarlet haze. It was very odd. The sleep field and fruit orchards were littered with pieces of human flesh and cadavers of men and horses. In a few days, the famers found themselves planting quite a different crop around the estate and through the fertile fields. I had never seen anything worse than this vast sea of anguish. The spirits must have been upset. Although I had inherited $20,000,000 and $1,000 a day, I paid for this with my heart’s blood. Later that evening, my home was pelted by a shower of limestone and other debris as I sat reading in the front parlor on the first floor. Believing my mansion was crumbling, I jumped to my feet. Glancing warily toward the ceiling, there were no cracks in the ceiling. How could lime and debris fall on me from the ceiling if there was no hole from which they might drop? I stood up on a chair so that I might better inspect the ceiling. I was unable to detect one single sign of damage, but as I searched the area above me, lime once again began to rain down. I picked up a number of pieces from the fresh fall and they felt very cold to the touch, as if they had come from an outside wall. I continued studying the ceiling for some kind of opening through which the lime might have dropped. When I awakened the next morning, I was greatly disturbed to find the room carpeted by the mysterious lime, but there seemed to be no gaping cracks in the walls or ceiling that would have caused so much lime to fall. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

The following night, I was awakened by the sounds of what sounded like feet slipping across the floor. Then I clear heard a man say, “pardon me.” I lit got out of bed, lit a candle, proceeded down the hallway, and heard what sounded like voices in deep conversation, but no one was insight. I got the feeling of not being alone. As if someone invisible was with me. Walking down to the front parlor, I notice the picture William’s mother had given to us for a wedding present was no longer hanging over the fireplace, but learning against the fireplace screen. Moment later in levitated and hung itself back over the fireplace. The candles in the dining rooms appeared to be lighting themselves. The lights seemed to have a mind of their own. Walking through the house to inspect more rooms, I caught a glimpse of a man coming down toward me. Instinctively, I stepped back at the landing so the man could pass. No one came by and when I turned, I saw that I was alone. Who had been following me down the stairs? This was only one of many encounters with a man on their stairs or in the parlor. Before I removed the mansion, guests would have to go up to the second floor to use the rest room. Several guests were quite startled to see the face of a skeleton looking at them in the mirror rather than their own reflections. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

By the next evening, I had conducted an exhaustive search of all the possible “natural causes” for the disturbances. As the activity began to intensify, it became very apparent that the spirits were angry. Candlesticks flew from one corner of the room to another. When the I sat down to dinner, knives, forks, plates, and food became animated and airborne. Anything movable seemed to be possessed and have the ability to levitate about the room. Later that evening, I retired to the Daisy Bedroom and managed to start a fire in my grate, and after warming myself, got back into bed. The evening passed in a haze of pain, out of which there emerged now and then a dim shape of fear—the fear that I might lie here alone and untended still I died of cold, and of the terror of my solitude. For I was sure by the time that the house was empty—completely empty, from garret to cellar. I knew it was so, I could not tell why; but again I felt that it must be because of the peculiar quality of the silence—the silence which had followed my steps wherever I sent, and was now folded down on me like a pall. I was sure that the nearness of any other human being, however queer and secret, would have made a faint crack in the texture of that silence, flawed it as a sheet of glass is flawed by a pebble through against it. The lovely decorated walls of my gentle home was splattered with crimson residue; the wooden, oiled floors smeared umber from the writhings of the wounded. Innumerable bloated forms and traumatic horrors appeared. Putrefying human gore, and light hovered over the Grand Ball Room from perturbed spirits. And ectoplasm ascended upon the windows. #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 three 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, JEHOVAH, TETRAGRAMMATON, 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 Sarah L. Winchester here before this mansion, in a fair and comely shape, without injury to myself or to any other creature, that she may give us true and faithful answers, so that we may accomplish our desired end, whatsoever it be, provided that it is proper to her office, by the power of God, EL, who hath created and doth dispose of all things, celestial, aerial, terrestrial, and infernal. Welcome, Spirits, welcome art thou unto us; we have called three through Him who created Heaven, Earth, and Hell, with all contained therein, and thou hast obeyed also by the like power. We bind three to remain affably and visibly before this mansion, within the mansion, so long as we need thee, and to depart not without or license, till thou hast truly and faithfully fulfilled all that we shall require. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7


While there may be many instances in which the outbreak of poltergeist phenomena might be associated with the dramatic changes that adolescence brings to a child’s psyche, many of the classic cases of noisy ghosts throwing objects and severely disrupting the normal flow of things occurred where no adolescent was present. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

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Many People are Prepared to Dismiss the Occult World

There was no one downstairs, though the oil lamps were burning. A tall antique-case clock with a mahogany surround stood in the alcove beneath the sweep of the stairs. I looked up at the mottled ivory-colored face, at the slim Roman numerals and delicate black hands. There was a whirring of the mechanism inside the case, then a high-pitched carillon started to chime. I know I had taken my time, but even so, I was surprised that it was eight o’clock already. There was a deep nocturnal silence in the house, in which five caretakers were presumably coming and going about their work. It was certainly strange. I looked out the window, hoping to see someone crossing the court or coming alone the drive. However, no one was in sight, and the rain was still falling, with a business-like regularity, muffling the outer World in layers on layers of thick white liquid velvet, and intensifying the silence within. A noiseless World—were people so sure tht absence of noise was what they wanted? Let them first try a lonely December in a mansion this size! My heart began to hammer. Luckily there was a chair near the fireplace. I sat down to recover my strength—or was it my courage? Astrid the caretaker slept in the nearest wind. It occurred to me that by looking from the window of a neighbouring bathroom I could see the kitchen chimney. There ought to be smoke coming from it at this hour; and if there were, I would be less afraid to go on. I got as far as the front parlor and looking through the window I could see there was no smoke coming from the chimney. My sense of loneliness grew more acute. #RandolphHarris 1 of 9

Whatever had happened below stairs must have happened before the morning’s work had begun. The cook had not time to light the fire, the other caretakers had not yet begun their rounds. I was struggling against my fears. If I carried on my investigations, what next would I discover? I walked along the passage, and rested my hand on a radiator. It was stone-cold. Yet in my well-ordered house during the winter, the central heating was never allowed to go out, and by eight in the morning mellow warmth typically pervaded the rooms. The icy chill of the pipes startled me. No matter, I will just have the carpenters remove this fancy new technology and go back to using the 47 fireplaces. It was Mr. Hansen who looked after the heating—he was too involved in the mystery, whatever it was, as well as the house caretakers. At Astrid’s door, I paused and knocked. I expected no answer, and there was none. I opened the door and went in. The room was very dark and cold. But what frightened me was no so much its emptiness as its air of scrupulous and undisturbed order. There was no sign of anyone having lately dressed in it—or undressed the night before. And the bed had not been slept in. The woman was out, then; had gone out, no doubt, the night before, since the bed was unslept in, the dressing and washing appliances untouched. Astrid never set foot out of the house after dark. I could not believe she had deserted the house on a cold rainy night, while her mistress lay upstairs, suffering and helpless! #RandolphHarris 2 of 9

Why had she gone, and where had she gone? When she was undressing me the night before, taking my orders, trying to make me comfortable, was she already planning this mysterious and dreadful occurred? I took a few deep breaths to steady my nerves. Held in a spell, filling my head with images, with emotions, that had long been absent my eyes filled with tears. My home had suddenly become the scene of virtually indescribable horrors and life-altering (and life-ending) event. Sadly, as I walked into the hallway, I saw wounded bodies laying desperately wounded. Wounded, shattered men and boys by the hundreds were strung about the mansion. The sounds of soft lead being driven into bone made a shattering sound, there were tiny bone fragments. Hundreds of torn bodies pouring into every in of my home. Blood covered doctors were sweating over several hundred filthy bodies with their guts torn open. Sticky gore flung in my sinks, and my morning room transformed into a mourning room, roped-offed for those who had been hit in the head. My former happy, joyous home had morphed into a hospital and cemetery. Suddenly, a choir singing. The reverberation of the plainsong in the upper echelons of the cathedral ceilings of the Grand Ball Room. As I made my way though the hall, time stopped many times. I noticed a lady who looked like Astrid and was on the point of waving when she vanished right before my eyes. A ghost of a man with a bright lantern appeared. He felt neighbourly and hovered in the hallway. He suddenly darted at me. I was absolutely frozen stiff until the light sailed out of sight. #RandolphHarris 3 of 9

As I looked out the window, I could see human tibia, fibula, femur and radius, rings and cuff buttons were scattered on the emerald green lawns. My mansion was filled with groans and sighs and tremors. It was possibly more fearful than the 1906 Earthquake which woke me from my slumber. That was also a strange morning. In the cupola, figures of men—sentinels, paced back in forth, and hovered above the estate and the observational tower shortly after midnight. I always thought the Earthquake was caused by these sentry-spirits, now haunting my mansion, acting out the horrors of the war. In fact, for several night in a row, prior to the Earthquake, I saw a man on the cupola, frantically waving his arms. He was there three nights in a row. He stood, dressed in a blue coat and white pants, looking very pale, within the cupola, waving his hoary arms, back and forth. I called out to him, but he would not answer—just waving motion, back and forth, back and forth. Was he, rapped in more important duties, too busy to answer? Or what he trying to warn me? The thin veil between this life and the next one was sending me messages. And, one evening, there was witnessed an even more bizarre and unexplainable devotion to my estate. Astrid and I had just finished having tea on the 3rd floor. We entered the elevator to take us to the first floor. The lighted numerals in the elevator displayed their descent: “3…2…1…” and continued past the first floor. Absent-mindedly, I pushed the button for the first floor again, wondering why the elevator had not stopped, or perhaps, who in the basement had summoned the elevator. #RandolphHarris 4 of 9

The elevator stopped at the basement level. The doors opened to reveal not the area once cleaned up for storage, but a scene out of time and reason, the blood-stained doctors and orderlies of nearly half a century before, again performing their abhorrent and hideous tasks of slicing sinew and sawing bone and suturing artery and vein and tying ligaments; of carrying armloads of severed limbs to grisly, blood-dampened corners and dumping them there unceremoniously. We have fallen into a ghastly frozen moment, being held captive witness to the scene. One of the harried doctors turned toward us and began to look beseechingly into our eyes for help with the never-ending work, or perhaps for help to find some way out of the subterranean scene where he himself would not be heled in forced incarceration for eternity. As he took a step towards us, finally, slowly, the doors began to close. This latest encounter was a continuation. My mansion echoed with the cries and moans of torn men and boys. All of this tension and blood shed because many leaders were heavily involved in companies that raced to establish claims to millions of acres of western land. The Emancipation Proclamation was but another example of the war’s surprising consequences. On July 3, General Lee sent three divisions, about 15,000 men in all, against the Union center. The assault, known as Pickett’s Charge, was as futile as it was gallant. At 700 yards, the Union artillery opened fire. Pickett’s division just seemed to melt away in the blue musketry smoke which now covered my estate. Ghosts of soldiers straggling to my home, all these years later. #RandolphHarris 5 of 9

Tracing its origins back to 1849, Winchester was the World’s oldest maker of lever-action repeating firearms in the World. I believe Winchester Rifles had been in the Civil War. Thousands of men and horses, dying, stripped and saddle and bridle were killed during the battle of Antietam. That is a reason this estate is also haunted by demonic horses. The Civil War put more men in the field than any previous engagement. On the morning of April 12, 1906, at 5.13 a.m., trapped in the Daisy Bedroom, I gazed out my window and could see a steady stream of men covered with mud, soaked through with rain…pouring irregularly, without any semblance of order, up 13 Palm Drive toward my home. I perceived they belonged to different regiments…mingled pell-mell together…a pale young man who looked exhausted to death and who had lost his sword appeared in my room and rescued me. Then he said, “I know I’m going home. I’ve had enough of fighting to last my lifetime.” More and more the cold unanswering silence of the house weighed me down. I had never thought of it as a big house, even though it had 600 rooms and expanded more than 250,000 square feet, but now, in this devastating moment, it seemed immense, and full of ominous corners around which I dared not look. Every step that I took was increasingly painful; but after being freed from my room, I walked slowly the whole length of the passage, and went down the front stair. I did not know why I did this; but at the moment I was past reasoning, and had to obey my instinct. #RandolphHarris 6 of 9

More than once I explored the ground floor alone in the small hours, in search of unwonted midnight noises; but now it was not the idea of the noises that frightened me, but that inexorable and hostile silence, the sense that my mansion had retained in full daylight its nocturnal mystery, and was watching me as I was watching it; in entering those empty orderly rooms, I might be disturbing some unseen confabulation on which beings of flesh-and-blood had better not intrude. The broad mahogany stairs were beautifully polished, and so slippery that I had to cling to the rail and let myself down tread by tread. And as I descended, the silence descended with me—heavier, denser, more absolute. I felt its just behind me, softly keeping time with mine. It has a quality that I had never been aware of in any other silence, as though it were not merely an absence of sound, a thin barrier between the ear and the surging murmur of life just beyond, but an impenetrable substance made out of the World-wide cessation of all life and all movement. Yest, that is what laid a chill on me: the feeling that there was no limit to the silence. I was lost in time. There was no outer margin, nothing beyond this day. I had reached the foot of the stairs and was limping across the hall to the drawing room. What I found there, I was sure, would be mute and lifeless; but what would it be? The bodies of my dead caretakers, mown down by some attack that shook my mansion for day and days? And, was it my turn next—what if it were waiting for me behind the heavy drapes of the room I was about to enter? #RandolphHarris 7 of 9

Well, I must find out—I must face whatever lay in wait. Not impelled by bravery—the last drop of courage had oozed out of me—but because anything, anything was better than to remain shut up in this house amongst debris, though most of the room were undamaged. “I must find out, I must find out,” I repeated to myself in a sort of meaningless singsong. The cold outer light flooded the drawing room. The shutters had not been closed, nor the curtain drawn. I looked about me. The room was empty, and every chair in its usual place. My armchair was pushed up by the chimney, and the cold hearth was piled with the ashes of the fire at which I had warmed myself before start on my ill-fated walk. Even my empty tea cup stood on the table near the armchair. It was evident that the caretakers had not been in the room since the explosion. And suddenly, an orb materialized, moved about, split into twin spheres, and re-formed in front of me. I was astounded. Then, candlesticks roe in midair and fell to the floor. A lead ball struck me on the chest but it did not harm me. The sound of footsteps began to pad about the room, and my tea cup jumped off the table and shattered against the floor. A hat was floating teasingly in front of me. The hat led me on a merry chase before it finally dropped at my feet. I was so exhausted from what seemed like months of sleep deprivation. I found a bed to lay in and gets some rest. As I drifted into a deep sleep, I was rudely awakened by a large quantity of water being dumped in my face. #RandolphHarris 8 of 9

May people are prepared to dismiss the occult World as insignificant and ignore the possibility that there could well be an element of truth in certain of the allegations. This “otherworld” has never been far beneath the surface in the Winchester Mansion. The gods are everywhere, not only in the garden, where they might take the forms of living creatures, but in the mansion as well. Communication with the otherworld was therefore relatively for Mrs. Winchester and her warps through time and space. The human mind has consciousness that occupies a position between two Worlds: the material and the spiritual. At any time, the spiritual might intrude; it could also be summoned at will, demons and all. The Winchester Mansion operated with many skirmishes with the estate’s sorcerers. The pagan demons were not prepared to go quietly. Some of them were heroes. In Mrs. Winchester’s day, surviving manuscripts suggest that she received extraordinary visions. Mrs. Winchester saw angels who battled demons for possession of her soul. Good triumphed, but not before the saint, Mrs. Winchester, had a vision of the fires of hell. On her return to consciousness, her caretakers observed that she had developed actual burn marks over much of her body—scars that shortly after disappeared. On her death 5 September 1923, her body lay unburied for thirty-eight days and was visited by thousands of pilgrims. Many of whom claimed that Mrs. Winchester showed no decay. #RandolphHarris 9 of 9


A werewolf is typically seen as a noble and honorable warrior. They are of a royal class in their species. Legend had it that Mrs. Winchester had a pack of vicious werewolf guarding her estate. After the death of Mrs. Winchester, a Bloodline Blade with a birch handle and silver blade. The knife had been passed down for a millennium in her family, and was sold at auction. Too bad. It was a priceless artifact and carried withing it the soul of a divine wolf.

I conjure thee, Spirits of the Winchester Mansion, by the great living God, the Sovereign Creator of all things, to please appear under comely human forms, without noise and without terror, to answer truly all questions we shall ask three. Hereunto I conjure thee by the virtue of these Holy and Sacred Names, O SURMY, DELMUSAN, ATALSLOYM, CHURUSIHOA, MELANY, OMOT, and VERMIAS. https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

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