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Guilt Goes Away, Being Dead Does Not
The skies were more greyer than gold. As I walked back along the hallway, I was aware of the vapor of my own breath. It must have been 48 degrees Fahrenheit. Closing the door behind me, I paused for a moment and listened. There were voices coming from somewhere. Hushed voices, little more than whispers. “Daisy?” I said softly. “Mr. Hansen?” Silence now. I went to other doors, looked in, searching. They were all empty. I climbed the stairs, taking the opposite direction to one of my favourite bedrooms when I reached the corridor. I stopped outside Daisy’s bedroom and knocked softly. There was no response. I called her name, but still no reply came. I went further along to mount a narrow set of stairs that twisted round to the floor above. In the distant past, the rooms up there had been occupied by my servants, but this was now where my aunt had her living quarters. There were several doors along the rough-boarded corridor, and I tapped on each one. Again, I received no answer. I stood there for a while, in that shadowy place, mystified. Apart from myself, the house appeared to be empty. When I returned to the ground floor, on the last step I came to a halt. I listened intently. One voice this time. A tune being hummed. I took the last step into the hall and walked to its center where I slowly turned a full circle in an attempt to get a bearing on the sound. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
The basement door was ajar. The voice drifted up from its depths. Although my footsteps were soft as I approached the open doorway, the faint humming stopped. I bent close to the gap, waiting, listening, a draft chilling my face. Nothing. I pushed the door further open and felt inside for the light switch I knew was at the top of the basement stairs. The light was poorer than before, casting even deeper shadows. I descended the cement steps. Once at the bottom, I took in the broad, bricked chamber with covered furniture and broken statues scattered here and there. “Daisy, are you down here?” My voice was controlled. It sounded hollow within the confines of the basement. Only silence greeted me. Somehow the silence was mocking. I shivered, feeling the bitter cold. Then I stiffened when I heard footsteps from. They grew louder, descending the steps. Darkness silvered the window and gave me nothing to look at but my own image, but it seemed appropriate to my line of thought. How many people were enemies of that face, of the eyes, of the nose, of the mouth that was soft in relaxation. How many enemies? I mused. A few I could name, others I could guess. Suddenly I was depressed. When I called out to whomever was in the room, I received no reply. Finally, I thought this was odd and went further into the basement, and there, in a hair, I found a man dead. His face appeared to be sinking into a nest of flesh. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
The account had given men a strange chill. It suddenly occurred to me how little I knew about my own home. However, the icy hush that had settled over me was broken when I let go of the chair and turned toward the stairs. Needless to say, I had no visitors from the flesh-and-blood World. The man that was dead in the basement was a carpenter. He came to Llanada Villa to do so building, and someone accidentally killed him and left him in the freezing cold basement. The next morning, my eyes red with exhaustion, I discussed this experience with my niece Daisy. Until now I had been reluctant to draw her into these matters, but the impression had been so overpowering that I just had to tell someone. To my surprise, Daisy was not very upset. Instead, she told me of an account she had. The night before, the figure of a lady in white had appeared to Daisy in a dream, telling her to pack, for she would seen be taking her away! When Daisy had concluded her report, I calmed her as best I could and reminded her that some dreams are merely expressions of unconscious fears. Later that evening, I noticed a bouncing light at the top of the stairs as I was about to go to bed. The light followed me to my room as if it had a mind of its own. When I entered my room the light left, but the room felt icy. I was disturbed by this, but nevertheless went to be and soon had forgotten all about it as sleep came to me. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
Suddenly, in the middle of the night, I woke and sat up in bed. There were footsteps in the rafters over my bedroom. They came across the ceiling from one side of the room to the other. At the head of my bed, I saw a man who was “beige-coloured.” As I stared at the apparition it went away, again leaving the room very chilly. Some restless spirit, freed from the shackles of the body, finally enjoyed his unobstructed power to roam the house and do whatever he pleased. And perhaps he now even enjoyed the vicarious thrill of frightening me, and becoming the stronger party in the house. Without question we were faced with the remains of an unknown civilization older than any dreamed of before, and forming a basis for legends. As a psychic, I can tell you these apparitions are so ancient they frightened me. Discomfort and expectancy were oddly mingled in myself and the servants at lengthen as the days drew on. I felt I had entered the realm of utter desolation. A certain absolute terror grew on me—a terror of course abetted by the fact that my disturbing dreams and pseudo-memories still best me with unabated force. There was a distinct trace of evil—and my hands trembled as I recognize the diabolic scheme through years of tormenting nightmare and baffling research. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
The deeper—and the farther north and east—we expanded my estate, the more apparitions we found; through we still failed to discover any trace of their source. Mr. Hasen was appalled at the measureless number of the spirits and how the caused the walls to curve and floors to slant. We also found traces of symbols which fitted darkly into certain medieval legends of infinite antiquity. They affected me queerly and disagreeably. They seemed, after a fashion, to dovetail horribly with something which I had dreamed or read, but which I could no longer remember. There was a terrible pseudo-familiarity about them—which somehow made me look furtively and apprehensively over the abominable, sterile terrain toward the north and northeast wings of the mansion. I developed an unaccountable set of mixed emotions about that general northeasterly region. There was horror, and there was curiosity—but more than that, there was a persistent and perplexing illusion of memory. I tried all sorts of psychological expedients to get these notions out of my head, but met with no success. Sleeplessness also gained upon me, but I almost welcomed this because of the resultant shortening of my dream-periods. I acquired the habit of taking long, lone walks through my labyrinth late at night—usually to the north or northeast, whither the sum of my strange new impulses seemed subtly to pull me. Sometimes, on these walks, I would stumble unto nearly hidden rooms of ancient masonry. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
Fog spread over throughout the air in a thick paste, casting a dank pallor over the sprawling hallways and legion of rooms. My home was terrorized by a mysterious society known as “The Goats.” These wretches met at night in a secret room, and partook in the most hideous festivities, which included paying of divine honours to Satan and other demons of the Sabbat, they donned masks fashioned to imitate goats’ heads, cloaked themselves with long disguise mantles, and sallied forth in bands. This is typically when the fog rolled in. Through the mansion, we would often see people wearing hideous black masks with huge horns which it is death for the uninitiated to see. The Devil started up himself in the Pulpit like a mickle black man, and calling the row, everyone answered here. The first thing he demanded was whether they had been good servants, and what they had done since the last time they convened. The witches adored Satan, or the Master of the Sabbat who presided in place of Satan. In solemn bows and seemly courtesies, the worshippers of the Demon approached him awkwardly, with mops and mows, sometimes straddling sideways, sometimes walking backwards. The witches who resorted to the Sabbat approach the throne with their backs turned, and worship him…and then, as a sign of their homage, they kissed his fundament. An indication of my poor nervous health was caused as a response to these odd discoveries which I made on my nocturnal rambles. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
Often times, I would run for safety at top speed. It was a wholly unconscious and irrational flight, and only when I felt I was close a healing room did I fully realize why I had run. Then it came to me. The queer dark ceremonies were something which I had dreamed and read about, and which was linked with the uttermost horror of the aeon-old legendary. Things festered in Llanada Villa’s nether abysses and against whose wind-like, invisible forces the trapdoors were sealed. I remained awake all that night, but by dawn I realized how silly I had been to let the shadow of a Sabbat upset me. One night, after a windy day, I retired early but could not sleep. Rising shortly before midnight and afflicted as usual with that strange feeling regarding the northeastward wing of the mansion, I set out on one of my typical nocturnal walks. The moon, slightly past full, shone through the skylights and drenched the hallways with a radiance which seemed to me somehow infinitely evil. There was no longer any wind. “Tonight,” whispered an apparition, “all the evil in the World will be let loose. You will be at the mercy of forces you never dreamed existed.” I screamed in terror. “Mrs. Winchester,” she said, “for the sake of your soul always continue building this fortress.” “I will,” I said in a quiet voice. Although I shivered, I told myself that such fears were merely absurd superstitions. At about 3.30 A.M., a violent wind blew, waking everyone in the mansion. The sky was unclouded, and the fireplaces still blazed. And yet, everyone seemed to feel something sinister in the air. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mystery House
A family ghost, built up through generations of psychic reconstruction, can almost become an independent mental mechanism. Whether the ghost actually whispered, or Mrs. Winchester’s heightened psychic sensitivity allowed her to feel the presence of the ghost prior to its actual materialization makes for interesting speculation.
Please come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Are they Restless Spirits that Trouble this Place?
One evening, I was sitting till the October sun had fallen and hidden himself for the night, thinking of William. I could still hear his words echoing in my ear, “It is love love true and enduing such love as never warmed this yearning heart before.” While such pleasing reflections were stealing over my mind, and gradually lulling me to slumber, I was suddenly aroused by a sound of a rustling of a silken gown. More of a fluttering noise, as of a bird, followed by the apparition of a woman, a young woman. The woman appeared to have a soft halo, the effect caused by the candle held close to her bosom. It went to the narrow doorway leading to the Observational Tower. The rising passageway beyond glowed with candlelight as the robed figure began to climb the steps, that soon diminishing, overwhelmed by the shadow cast. I quietly shuffled along the hall, then sped toward the altar where candles that had been removed from their holders now stood burning. Reflections shone from the liquid that had been spilled there. There was something very wrong about this, something very wrong, something ghostly sacrilege. I rested against the wall. The apparition was huge against the far wall. The bell chimed, its thunderous sound almost unbearable. Yet, gazing at the belfry, it had not moved. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5
As the wind rumbled in the chimney, howling in the house, the shadows came out of their lurking-places, and made a deeper stillness about me. It was some time before I dared open my eyes, least they should again encounter the horrible spectacle. When, however, I summoned the courage to look up, she was no longer visible. It occurred to me, then, that it was not what might get into the house that bothered me. It was what was already here. I will not pretend to describe what hot and cold fever-fits tormented me for the rest of the night, through broken sleep, weary vigils, and that dubious state which forms the neutral round between them. An hundred terrible objects appeared to haunt me; but there was the great difference betwixt the vision which I have described and those which followed, that I knew the last to be deceptions of my own fancy and over-excited nerves. However, many time I would close a door, only to see it stand wide open again a moment later when I knew very well it could not do that by itself. I began to wonder whether there was not perhaps a hidden tunnel beneath the back of the tower. Frequently I would hear a booming sound below the floor, coming from the direction of the cold storage room below. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5
I carefully went all over the tower, examining the walls, floors, and especially the doors. They were for the most part heavy hinged doors, the kind that do not slide easily but require a healthy push before they will move. I looked into the room where the apparition had been, and I must confess I felt very uneasy in this part of the house. I had an oppressive feeling, as if I was in the presence of something tragic, though unseen. The doors continually opened, and I knew the servants could not very well be blamed for playing pranks on me. There were swarms of ghosts. They stood lowering in the corners of rooms, and frowned out from behind half-opened doors. They danced upon the floors, and walls, and ceilings of chambers while the fire was low, and withdrew like ebbing waters when it sprung into blaze. I wanted to go on, but instead I stopped dead in my tracks. My gaze had been drawn, possibly by an unexpected movement, to a shape in the hallway. It was a dark and sinister countenance that made my blood run cold. It appeared as if the thing was half man, half reptile. It had an eerie oblate head with a face that was wider than it was high. Oversized flanked an inhumanly large mouth and a horrific ophidian snout. It was downright hideous. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5
Its features were enough to spark horror in the strongest mind, as if the various parts of a face—the nose, lips, teeth and cheeks—had been thrown together crazily by a small child. And set in that hideous visage were the being’s loathsome eyes, yellow and filled with detestation. Sheer terror fought my growing fatigue. Those eyes focused on my face. Its maw was already open, and I could see the double rows of razor-sharp teeth. The thing actually looked as if it was grinning at me. I screamed and threw a hand across my face and at once I was seized by a violent bout of vertigo. The floor beneath me seemed to melt as I plunged into a dark formless pit. I think I screamed. The monster shook with anger and moved in a blur of speed. I found I could no longer see it. I was cast unconscious. Day at last appeared, and I rose from my bed ill in health and humiliated in mind. I was ashamed of myself. When I opened my eyes all I saw was colourful sunlight flooding in from the art-glass windows. Birds chirped and sang in the aviary. There was a deep sense of loss inside me. I knew this monster was going to get another chance. I could feel it in the night. The room grew darker and colder, and the gloom and shadow gathering was heavier. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5
I took the lantern through the long dark passages. Ghastly and cold it was. The shadow thickened behind me, in that place where it had been gathering so darkly, it took, by slow degrees, or out of it there came, by some unreal, unsubstantial process, not to be traced by any human sense. This was the dread companion of those who are haunted. I could see the apparition in the fire. I could hear his music in the wind, in the dead stillness of the night. The downstairs parlour was as “unsafe” from the incursions of the ghost as was the attic, and before long even the gardens were no longer free from whatever it was that wanted attention. It was as if the unseen and visible forces were engaged in a campaign of mounting terror to drive home the feeling that I was not in possession of my home: the ghosts were. Lights would go on and off by themselves. Water would gush in the bathroom. I only knew that I had several narrow brushes with death and was fortunate to be alive. I thought about the blessed privilege of being able to breathe as morning neared. At the moment of twilight, all secrets of the past and my own curiosity regarding them were forgotten. Afterward, I saw ghosts everywhere, swarming in all the great chambers and corridors, tending to the vaulted ceilings and racing along the vast hallways. I ceased to ne afraid of them, for they seemed to continue to manifest, and a few appeared to be under some kind of restraint. The recital of them would be too horrible; it is enough to say that in yon fatal apartment incest and unnatural murder were committed. I will restore it to the solitude. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5
The Winchester Mystery House
One morning a servant was in Mrs. Winchester’s garden, when her carriage arrived. “I was greatly startled,” the servant said, “as on remarking the thing most acutely, I at once observed that the wheels made no noise. All at once I took about thirteen steps towards the carriage. As I went to greet Mrs. Winchester, to my utter astonishment and horror, the whole thing vanished.”
Please come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
We Shall Always be Glad to See You
Drawn curtains blocked the sunlight. A single candle lit the cavernous entryway—an art gallery nearly forty feet long. Mahogany panels covering much of the walls added their own soberness. Marble busts of 13 Roman Emperors mounted on pedestals, two historic series of pre-Gobelin tapestries woven in 1640 for Louis III to present to Cardinal Barberine of Rome populated a side room. The draperies were green silk damask and blue velvet, the furniture of Louis XV gilded oak, the paintings signed by van Gough, Boch, Embiricos, Moueix, Geffen. In the half-light of my own home, I came face to face with an apparition, a man, with thin white, grizzled hair hanging like seaweed, frightened eyes the colour of crystal blue. His cheeks were hallow; although well-knit and well-proportioned his black attired figure, indefinitely grim. At first, I was alarmed. He looked like somebody who had risen from the grave. I am a very private person and the locals hereabouts would like nothing better than to have stories of “ghosties” and poltergeists up at The Winchester Mansion to giggle over. And God knows that the country rag would make of it. Up the wide mahogany staircase I preceded, shading the chamber candle with my hand, to protect it from the currents of bone chilling air. In such a rambling place, the spirits found plenty of room to disport themselves in. I conducted myself through a maze of rooms, and a labyrinth of passages, to the Hall of Fires where the fires were blazing. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
The sumptuous fires were composed of a bushel of coal, wood enough to build a small cottage, piled halfway up the chimney, and roaring and crackling like the sound of thunder. This was comfortable. I sat in a big armchair against the wall for about an hour, holding Zip on my lap. He was tense and I was frustrated, for a sense of personal guilt was growing. I had insisted on building this house and bringing him into it. When my bones warmed, I went to bed but not to sleep. I lay awake and thought of my youthful days when I had been a wife and a mother. Until the untimely deaths of my infant daughter and my beloved husband, I had not realized how much I had rejected certain rigid orthodox beliefs. Inexplicably, something seemed to lurch within, an abrupt sagging of mood that left me strangely wearied. I wondered at my own unease. The tranquility of this hour is the tranquility of death. Nonetheless I had lived in two haunted houses. In one of them, a Dutch Colonial, had bore the reputation of being haunted. Much like Llanada Villa, it had a score of mysterious bedrooms which were never used. After a few tears shed, I covered myself up warm, and fell asleep. Upon awakening, slowly waving shadows waved on from the heavy trees. Coming down from the ninth floor, I passed the servants quarters. The mirror-paneled walls hid mysterious doors, which opened to an entire suite of rooms. Perhaps these doors were hidden out of whimsy, perhaps with an eye toward security. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
One of my fondest rooms was the library, warmed by a fireplace from a sixteenth-century castle in Germany, decorated with a tiger rug at the near and a bear rug at the front end, with armed knights standing guard as anions. The mantel was carved with a scene of rural revelry, with a Shepherdess, a bagpiper, and dancing men. The ceiling was of carved French mahogany from the 1500s, the room contained three stained-glass windows freed from a thirteenth-century abbey in Belgium. The library also featured the finest European furnishings. Its thousands of volumes included Juan Ruiz, Venerable Bede, Julian of Norwich, Mechthild of Magdeburg, Hildegard of Bingen, Layamon, Boethius, Heinrich Kramer, and Jacob Sprenger. With the contagion downs stairs, I sat in the morning room listening when I heard strange noises, which chilled my blood. There was suspicion and fear among us. The servants were always ready to go off with hair triggers. The year was dying early, the leaves were falling fast, it was a cold day. However, there was a coldness about Llanada Villa which only in part was to do with the shift in season. In certain rooms and corridors there was a darkness of air, in others a sense of emptiness because they had not been used nor entered in years. Zip grumbled somewhere in the shadows, but did not show himself. In the basement, the cellar which contained filled wine racks. It was with a mild sense of relief that I left the cellar to walk through the kitchen and scullery out onto the garden terrace. This was a fine place for a haunting. If one believed in such things. Looking out at the gardens, enjoying how magnificently laid out in formal yet interesting lines and curves, I breathed in deeply. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
The was a cold, creepy feeling running up my spine. I expected something profound, maybe something deeply moving, an insight into the spiritual World on the other side of my own life. Descending a short flight of steps, the stone path before me branched off in three directions around the flower beds. I continued along the center path. Reflecting on how it is only when we begin to understand what is going on inside our own minds that we will discover some answers to the paranormal. I reached a knee-high wall, which encompassed a large ornamental pond, almost a miniature lake, full of water lilies. Before my eyes was a girl. She looked past me at the pond almost as if it had come as a shock to her eyes. However, there was something queer in her movement as she backed away. I blinked and it was moments before I realised that I was back in one of the mansion’s rooms, and looking up at the figure of a man, someone who had his back turned toward me. There was something wrong with this vision, for it had wavered before me as if…as if I were watching him through water. There were moving fronds around me, reeds shifting like loose tentacles. Two naked arms reached for me, slender, pearl-white limbs, fingers clawed. And even though they stretched toward me, these arms were bloodless. They were dead things. Suddenly, an air of profound peace invaded the dwelling. I entered the hallway with a vague, uneasy consciousness of unfitness and treachery. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
I switched the light off, and the door to the landing of the second-floor staircase was open. Just on that sport, I suddenly heard crashing noises as if somebody were rolling down. I was terrified. As soon as I switched the light back on, it stopped. There was nothing on the stairs. I sat on the chair for a moment, then decided it was my nerves, and turned the light off again. Immediately, the same noise returned, even louder. There was no mistaking the origin of the noises this time. They came from the stairs in front of the room. Wondering if this had anything to do with the terribly frigid area on the back of the staircase, I switched on the light again and they stopped. Before climbing into bed, I left the lights burning the rest of the night. I finally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. The next morning was a clam day. I was lying in bed, enjoying from my window the sense of winter beauty and repose; a bright sky above, and the quiet estate before me. In this state I was gladdened by hearing footsteps, which I took to be those of the housemaid Hilda, approaching the chamber door. The visitor knocked and entered. The foot of the bed was toward the door, and the curtains at the foot, notwithstanding the season, were drawn to prevent any draught. The housemaid parted them and looked upon me. Her gaze was earnest and destitute of its usual cheerfulness, and she spoke not a word. I had a curious sense that I was looking upon some unknown, ethereal World which might vanish. “My dear Hilda,” I said, “how glad I am to see you! Come round to the bedside, I wish to have some talk with you.” #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
She closed the curtains, as if complying; but instead of doing so, to my astonishment, I heard her leave the room, close the door behind her, and begin to descend the stairs. Greatly amazed, I hastily rang, and when the butler appeared I bade him call the housemaid back. The butler replied that he had not seen her enter the house. However, I insisted, saying, “She was here but this instant, run! Quick! Call her back!” The butler hurried away, but, after a time, returned, saying that he could learn nothing of her anywhere; nor had anyone in or about the house seen her either enter or depart. This strangeness of this circumstance struck me forcibly. While I lay pondering on it, I heard a sudden running and excited talk in the garden. I listened; it increased, though up to that time the estate had been profoundly still; and I became convinced that something unusual had occurred. Again, I rang the bell, to enquire about the cause of the disturbance. This time it was the scullery maid who answered it. “Oh, Mrs. Winchester, it was nothing particular,” she said, “some trifling affair.” Finally, however, my alarm and earnest entreaties drew from my servants the terrible truth that my housemaid had just been stabbed at the market and killed on the spot. There then follows a detailed account of the events in which Hilda Howitt lost her life. So great was the respect entertained for her, and such a deep impression of her tragic end, that the bell in the belfry tolled on this day. Comparing the circumstances and the extant time at which end occurred, the fact was substantiated that the apparition presented itself to me almost instantly after she had received the fatal stroke. At sunset, I sat at my desk and gazed dreamily at the Observational Tower, and that shimmering spire crowned complex of rooms in the distance of the labyrinth which provoked my fancy. Now and then, I was trained my eyes on the spectral, unreachable World of my estate; picking out individual roofs and chimneys and steeples, and speculating upon the bizarre and curious mysteries that we have created. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
My house seemed somehow alien, fabulous, and linked to the unreal, intangible marvels of the Spirit World. It stood out with especial distinctness at certain hours of the day, and at sunset the great tower and tapering steeple loomed blackly against the glowing sky. Some believed that my home was built of stone and had withstood more than a century or more of storms. Around the towers and belfry, when the delicate leaves came out on the garden boughs, they World was filled with a new beauty. Plodding though the endless halls, I felt I was within a long-known, unreachable World beyond the mists. And presently I noted the strange, faces of the drifting shadows, and foreign sounds over wafting specular music. Nowhere could I find a familiar room among the six hundred in existence. I half fancied that Llanda Villa was a view of a dream-World never trod by living human feet. Now and then a carpenter or housemaid came in sight, but never the ones I sought. As I climbed higher, the regions of my home seemed stranger and stranger, with bewildering mazes of brooding hallways leading eternally off hither and tither. Faces within my house had a look of fear which they tried to hide. Upon entering a turret, I saw a boy being placed under a large wicker basket of conical shape, and a hooded woman stabbed through and through by the fakir with a long sword that pierced from side to side. Screams of pain followed each thrust, and the weapon was discerned to be covered with flesh blood. The cries grow fainter and at length cease altogether. Then the juggler uttering cries and incantations dances rough the basket, which she suddenly removes, and no sigh of the child is seen, no rent in the wickerwork, no stain on the steel. However, in a few seconds the boy, unharmed and laughing, spears running forward from some distant spot. “We shall always be glad to see you,” the boy said. The crowd began to quiet down to whispers, now, for the stillness and gloom of the place oppressed their spirits. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mystery House
Wizards of medieval times, upon certain special days will with great ceremony appear in the temples, which are always thronged on these occasions, and whilst their disciples howl and shriek out invocations, they suddenly throw aside their robes and with a sharp knife seem to rip open their stomachs from top to bottom, whilst blood pours from the gaping wound. The worshippers, lashed to frenzy, fall prostrate before them and grovel frantically upon the floor. The wizard appears to scatter his blood over them, and after some five minutes he passes his hands rapidly over the wound, which instantly disappears, not leaving even the trace of a scar. The operator is noticed to be overcome with intense weariness, but otherwise all is well. Those who have seen this hideous spectacle assure us that it cannot be explained by any hallucination or legerdemain, and that only solution which remains is to attribute it to the glamour cast over the deluded crowd by the power of discarnate evil intelligences. The portentous growth of Spiritism, which within a generation passed beyond the limits of a popular and mountebank movement and challenged the serious attention and expert inquiry of the whole scientific and philosophical World, furnishes us with examples of many extraordinary phenomena, both physical and psychical, and these, in spite of the most meticulous and accurate investigation, are simply inexplicable by any natural and normal means.
Please come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
All Was Not as it Seemed
Late in the evening of Thursday May 1, 1890, the atmosphere of the mansion was eerie and certainly encouraged fearful impressions. The panic-stricken housemaid, Florence Farr, cried out, “fetch a doctor, fetch the constable!” As everyone watched in suspense, my heart was pounding, sending curtains of dread through me. Eliphas Levi was lying in bed with his throat cut. Mr. Hansen told me that it had been a suicide. He presented me with a note that was in Mr. Levi’s handwriting which stated: “I abandon myself wholly to thy power and I put myself in thy hands, acknowledging no other god; and this sense thy art my god. We say to the Devil that we acknowledge him as our master, our god, our creator. The Devil told me he was my God, and that I should serve and worship him.” However, when the coroner Aurther Philipp arrived, he said that the carpenter had been murdered. His throat cut so deeply that he was practically decapitated. There appeared to be no motive. The apartment of which he was in had to doors in it; the one opening into a passage, and the other leading into the Oxford Bedroom: there were no means of entering the sitting room but from the passage, and no other egress from the bedroom except through the sitting room; so that any person passing into the bedroom must have remained there, unless he returned by the way he entered. “This is horrid,” I said. “It is unspeakable that such a tragedy could happen. Who would want to butcher him in his sleep?” My eye happened to glance from the scene toward the door that opened into the passage, and I observed a tall, youth, of about twenty years of age, whose appearance was that of extreme emaciation, standing beside it. Struck with the appearance of a perfect stranger, I immediately turned to Mr. Hansen, who was standing near me, and directed his attention to the guest who had thus strangely captured my attention. As soon as Mr. Hansen’s eyes turned towards the mysterious visitor, his countenance became strangle agitated. “Mrs. Winchester, I see no one,” said John Hansen. “I have heard of a man being pale as death, but I have never seen a living face assume the appearance of a corpse.” #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
As I looked silently at the form before us, perceiving the agitation of Mr. Hansen, I felt no inclination to address it—as I looked silently upon the figure, it proceeded slowly into the adjoining apartment and, in the act of passing us, cast its eyes with a somewhat melancholy expression on Mr. Hansen. The oppressing of this extraordinary presence was no sooner removed than Mr. Hansen, seizing me by the arm, and drawing a deep breath, muttering in a low and almost inaudible voice, “Great God!” By that time, I was not sure. Maybe I had been working too hard and needed rest. Perhaps I had only imagined the apparition. However, I never had been possessed of an overactive imagination. I was a practical person, used to dealing with facts and figures. Then I thought again of the door to the chamber, could someone beside the maid have walked by us without anyone seeing? I was completely confused. No one could find much to say about a suspect. And I was too busy with my own chaotic thoughts. I certainly had been convinced that an intruder was in the house. But if so, where did he go? Why the mystery? I did not want to discuss it further at the moment for it would only make me unduly nervous. The following afternoon came, and waned to the twilight. The Santa Clara Valley mourned. Public prayers had been offered up, and many and many a private prayer that had the petitioner’s whole heart in it; but still no good news came. As details of the murder emerged, fears grew that it might have been done by something not of this World. If my guest were not safe on my palatable, exclusive estate, who could be? The 1890s in California were nervous times, teaming with immigrants, the unemployed, renegades, and vengeful spirits. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
I resolved not to mention the occurrence to anyone, and persuaded myself that I had been imposed upon by some artifice, but I could neither account for the reasons nor suspect the author, nor conceive the means of execution; I was content to imagine anything possible, rather than admit the possibility of a supernatural appearance. However, though I had attempted these stratagems of self-delusion, I could not help expressing my solicitude with respect to the apparition I had seen or imagined to have seen; my frequent mention of my fears awakened the curiosity of the servants, and eventually betrayed me into a declaration of the circumstances which I had in vain determined to conceal. The destiny of the souls slain by the Winchester Rifle had become an object of universal and painful interest to the servants. It was clear that my mind was filled with thoughts that manifestly pained, bewildered and oppressed me: I drew near the fireplace and, learning my head on the mantelpiece, said in a low voice “my house is haunted.” I was under the impression that I certainly saw a spirit pass so mysteriously through the apartment. For a moment, I felt a twinge of apprehension, but it soon passed. The next morning, in the bright light of day, I had begun to doubt the reality of my impression. Everything had to have a logical explanation and I felt I would find one in this instance. Besides, so many were captivated by the aura that surrounded my imposing ancestral mansion. I took a sip of tea, washing away the sour debris in one swallow. There, you devils, I said in my mind, enough of your arrogance; now go about your business and keep this tired old blood flowing. I thanked the housemaid with a smile, then looked across the table at Daisy who was glumly eating an egg and anchovy salad. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
“Aunt Sarah, you’re miles away,” Daisy’s voice interrupted. I blinked. “I am sorry. My mind wanders too much these days.” “Not unusual for a medium.” “Our thoughts need direction.” “Not all the time. This is lunch, remember. You can relax.” “Like you?” I gently chided. “When was the last time you completely relaxed, Daisy?” Daisy looked genuinely puzzled. “Aunt Sarah, you know I have no problem with that at all.” Daisy sliced egg and began to eat. “Incidentally, I think the case of Eliphas is one that might prove interesting—it could be a genuine haunting. I just hope you handle it correctly.” Picking up my knife and fork, I learned forward. “Are you worried?” I asked. Daisy smiled distractedly. “Not as much as I used to be.” “Now what does that imply? Does it mean you believe Llanada Villa is haunted?” “It is common knowledge that your home is haunted, Aunt Sarah. Why should it be a secret?” I tasted my fish and refrained from adding salt. “It is an unusual thing to acknowledge,” I said after a while. “I am surprised that you openly admit it.” “I didn’t say I had.” “Then—” “Aunt Sarah, you can sometimes be too absorbed in the cynicism of others to allow much for to let the truth develop.” “Or too absorbed in my work,” I suggested. “It more or less amounts to the same thing.” I pondered Daisy’s response. “I see what you mean…I have an active prejudice against all things spiritual.” Smiling, Daisy reached over and touched my arm. “It is nothing personal, Aunt Sarah. You are sensitive and sincere. I think the spirits appreciate the comfort you give to the bereaved in your home. It is the outrageous charlatans that I despise, the kind who gossip and spread deceptions for their own profit. You’re different, Aunt Sarah. I really believe you help people and spirits. You have balance. We need people with honest skepticism to give the supernatural credibility.” #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
There was a sparkle in my eyes, “And Daisy, when every instinct tells you otherwise, I know how often you accept the logical.” Daisy laughed and acknowledged my point with a raised cup. She sipped the tea, then resumed her half-hearted attack on the salad. I was uncomfortable, though I was reluctant to admit it. I had never admired her more. Daisy was a clam, unexcitable person who created scarcely a ripple on the smooth pond of family existence as she moved serenely through her busy days. “I love you, Daisy.” The hiring and keeping of servants were a persistent topic of discussion. Turnover rates were high, disasters frequent, and I got used to constantly being on the look out for good recommendations from friends. While valets are given the responsibility of being confidants and agents of their masters’ most unguarded moments, of their most secret habits, the servants themselves were rarely equal to the task being subject to errant judgement, aggravated by an unperfect education. The honour of having my niece live with me was such a blessing. When we got home, one pleasant late spring evening, with the sun lighting the art-glass windows on the first floor, the house was quiet. I saw the figure of a woman in the doorway of the dinning room, walking down the hall, and through the curtain, and I heard footsteps in conjunction with it. I thought it was the housemaid, Florence, and I called to her. I was hanging a picture in the dining room at the time. No answer. I was getting annoyed and called her several times over, but there was no response. Finally, she answered from the second floor—she had not been downstairs at all. I walked in the hall and there was no one there. The woman I saw had on a long shirt, and she had hair on top of her head, and she was slender. Florence is not very tall, but she does wear dark clothes. It was a perfect solid figure I saw—nothing nebulous or transparent. The front door had been latched securely and Daisy was in her bedroom. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
Later in the year, Daisy met a woman on the stairway—that is, the stairway leading to the third floor. It was around Thanksgiving time. There was a party that evening, and she mistook the woman for a guest who had somehow remained behind after all the other guests had gone home. Daisy passed her going up while she was coming down, and she walked into her room, which Daisy thought was odd, so she went back to ask if she could help her, but there was not anyone there. I took a good look at the upstairs. No one could have gotten out of the house quickly. The stairs were narrow and difficult to negotiate, and the back stairs, in the servant’s half of the house, are even more difficult. Anyone descending them rapidly was likely to slip and fall. As I lay rigid upon that strange upstairs bed—lay there fully dressed, I became broad awake; but a kind of obscure paralysis nevertheless kept me inert till long after the last echoes of sounds died away. I heard the wooden, deliberate ticking of the ancient Connecticut clock somewhere far below, and at last made out the irregular snoring of a sleep. Just what to think or what to do was more than I could decide. After all, what had I heard beyond things which pervious information might have led me to expect. Had I not known that unknown spirits were now freely admitted to Llanada Villa? No doubt Daisy had been surprised by an unexpected visit from them. Yet something in that fragmentary discourse had chilled me immeasurably, raised the most grotesque and horrible doubts, and made me wish fervently that I might wake up and prove everything a dream. I think my subconscious mind must have caught something which my consciousness has not yet recognised. The peaceful snoring below seemed to cast ridicule on all my suddenly intensified fears. Did those beings mean to engulf us because we have come to know too much? Something, my instinct told me, was terribly wrong. All was not as it seemed. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
At last, I felt able to act, and stretched myself vigorously to regain command of my body. Arising with a caution more impulsive than deliberate, I started downstairs. In my nervousness, I kept my ivory gripped revolver clutched in my right hand. As I half tiptoed down the creaking stairs to the lower hall, I could hear the sleeper more plainly, and noticed that he must be in the room on my left. On my right was the gaping blackness of the library in which I had heard voices. Pushing open the unlatched door of the living room, I traced a path toward the source of the snoring, and finally saw the sleepers face. The sorrowful sight presented itself in the dim twilight. With a sudden and dreadful sinking at the heart, I saw that it was none other than the late Eliphas Levi. He lay stretched upon the floor, dead, with his throat cut, bleeding, with his face close to the crack of the door, as if his longing eyes had been fixed, to the latest moment, upon the light and the cheer of the free World outside. I was touched, for I knew by my own experience how this wretch had suffered. The air seemed to shake and shimmer as I had never seen it: and as I looked, I began to feel something of a waviness and confusion in my brain. I looked away hastily. Just what the real situation was, I could not determine; but common sense told me that the safest thing was to find out as much as possible before arousing anybody. The Devil can deceive and trick the senses so that a head may appear to be cut off and blood to flow, when in truth no such thing is taking place. Regaining the hall, I silently closed and latched the living room door after me. As I turned around, I was startled to see a hideous black figure—working slowly along the hallway, looking from side to side. I was at my wits end. I screamed. In the still air the sound carried. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mystery House
The existence of evil discarnate intelligences having being orthodoxly established, a realm which owns one chief, and it is reasonable to suppose, many hierarchies, a kingdom that is at continual warfare with all that is good, ever striving to do evil and bring man into bondage; it is obvious that if he be so determined, man will be able in some way or another to get into touch with this dark shadow World, and however rare such a connection may be it is, at least possible. It is this connection with its consequences, conditions, and attendant circumstances, that is known as Witchcraft. After God Himself hath spoke of magicians and sorcerers, what infidel dare doubt that they exist? To deny the possibility, nay, actual existence of Witchcraft and Sorcery, is at once flatly to contradict the revealed Word of God in various passages both of the Old and New Testament; and the thing itself is a truth to which every Nation in the World hath in its turn borne testimony, either by examples seemingly well attested, or by prohibitory laws, which at least suppose the possibility of commerce with evil spirits. Even the ultra-cautions—I had almost said sceptical—Father Thurston acknowledges: “In the face of Holy Scripture and the teaching of the Fathers and theologians the abstract possibility of a pact with the Devil and of diabolical interference in human affairs can hardly be denied.” Plainly, a man who not only firmly believes in a Power of evil but also that this Power can and does meddle with and mar human affections and human destinies, may invoke and devote himself to this Power, may give up his will thereunto, may as this Power to accomplish his wishes and ends, and so succeed in persuading himself that he has entered into a mysterious contract with evil whose slave and servant he is become.
Please come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Intrepid Delver into the Forbidden
Tuesday afternoon came and waned to the twilight. It was a peculiar time; something new was astir, something that was quite unlike the tranquility of the past, something that was very strange indeed, but was felt everywhere. The unknown things had begun to close in on me with a whole new degree of determination. I knew all too well of the things which must be lurking nearby. I began to fear that I might not sleep tonight, so certain was I that I was surrounded by the tortured spirits of those who had not yet been allowed to cross the veil to the other side. Here they remained, crying aloud, desperate to be heard, causing disarray and torment in my home as they longed to be released to the peace of eternal rest. I wore a pale expression. Staring at the floor beneath me, there were myriads of claw-prints in the hallway, with human prints among them. Clutching a bloody handkerchief, I was half afraid for myself. Sorcery from the Middle Ages has been violently unmaksed in Llanada Villa and the whole craft has been exposed in its darkest colours and most abominable manifestations. I had indeed been cursed, but it had been carefully hidden and scrupulously concealed. Trembling, I was terrified at the horror I knew was sure to come my way. #RandolphHarris 1 of 6
I fell asleep quite soon after going to bed, but it was a fitful and unhappy sleep. My dreams were full of nightmares of dark debaucheries. There were foul and hideous mysteries of lust which neither human intercourse nor the employ of a mechanical property can explain. Howbeit, I am fully aware what unspeakable horror lurked in the blackness beyond. When I rose up and wandered along the gallery, I was hopeless. I tried to estimate how long I had been asleep, but all I knew was that it seemed days and weeks, and yet it was plain that this could not be, for my candles were not gone yet. I was cruelly tired. I sat down and fastened my candle to the wall. I turned on the lights and walked toward the kitchen. Although my home was quite empty, I had an eerie sensation of not being alone. Hurriedly, I walked to the front door. Glancing backward into the dark recesses of my home, upon which I saw an apparition of a man, staring at me with piercing black eyes. He wore a wool shirt. He seemed to smile at me, and I called, “I beg your pardon, but who are you?” However, the figure never moved or reacted. “What are you doing here?” I demanded, all the while looking at him. There was no answer, and suddenly my courage left me, as the icy touch of an unseen hand caressed my cheek. #RandolphHarris 2 of 6
I ran down the central hallway, until abruptly stopping at the end. Tenderly, my fingers ran over the brass trim on the heavy mahogany door. Nervously turning the handle, I reluctantly pushed open the door and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. As the door swung inward, there was a rush of bone chilling air. Stepping inside, I heard a crying baby. Immediately recognizing the cry of my own child. Standing alone in the pitch-black room, I turned toward where the sounds were coming from. Every step felt as if I was walking in cold tar. A sense of desperation took hold of me, as I struggled to find the child. However, the closer I seemed to get, the more distant the sound became. A sense of desperation overcame me, as the cries faded, and dark shadows began swiftly darting around the room. I found myself quietly walking back downstairs. To my right was the stair railing which went around the top of the stairs at a turn in the hallways which led to an interior-opening balcony space, overlooking the front door at the downstairs hall, with a view of the beautiful chandelier hanging over the foyer. As I walked down the stairs, I was fearful that something would happen. That is when I heard a terrible shriek. The bloodcurdling sound was that of a lunatic. The atmosphere within my home changed, the walls came alive. Its appetite whetted by the taste of human blood. The horror overcame me. #RandolphHarris 3 of 6
In stark loneliness of night, hurtling between somber, darkened rooms that quivered with unknown, invisible life. I could see some horror lurking in my mind’s eye. Perhaps my clairvoyant sense assisted me, but in these great halls, along the long corridors, in the gloomy cold there was an ancient and lingering pain. The wind whistled and shrieked and moaned, as if the dead had collected to fight the battle of their race. I was being pursued, the forced of hell were gathering against me. It was cold in the echoing corridors. I hurried along them, trying out doors on each side. The handles were covered in thick dust. Each one I tried seemed to be locked, so I made my way to another floor. There were hundreds more doors to try. After an hour, I sat down on the top step and closed my eyes. For some minutes I sat motionless, listening to my own heartbeat. With my head full of thoughts, I went through a doorway. Finding myself in a luxurious suite of rooms, with walls of dark mahogany panels, filled with exquisite antique furniture and paintings. Thick dust covered everything, and enormous cobwebs were suspended from every corner. The silence of centuries now hung in the air. I sat down on a soft, velvet-covered couch, and for some reason started feeling very sleepy. It was as if there were some curious force in the room—a force which was impossible to resist. I lay back on the couch, and went into a sort of trance. #RandolphHarris 4 of 6
When I came to, the room was darkened. Within its shadowy depths, I saw the white blur of a man’s face and hands; and in a moment I had crossed to greet the figure who had tried to speak. Dim though the light was, I perceived that this was a very sick man. There was a touch of the pitiful in the limp, lifeless way his lean hands rested in his lap. He had on a loose dressing-gown, and was swathed around the head and high around the neck with a vivid yellow scarf or hood. And then I saw that he was trying to talk in a hacking whisper. It was a hard whisper to catch at first, since the grey moustache concealed all movements and the lips, something in its timbre disturbed me greatly. I was also trying to ignore certain shadowy, indistinct shapes that might have been living creatures; I was trying to ignore my mounting fear. I realized that the man before me, what appeared to be a human figure—was it? A man? A tall, stiff-poised man? Or was it an apparition? Along this desolate gallery. I felt a stab of fear as I made a swift decision to run—not to turn back but to increase my speed and pass the mysterious brooding figure. Even though I saw that this figure was acutely aware of me, I had dismissed him as a dream. Touched with horror, yet empowered by it, by a rush of adrenaline like a flame through my veins, I did not slacken my speed, and veered through hallways and rooms until I was safe. #RandolphHarris 5 of 6
I climbed the stairs to the third floor, my heart pounding violently in my chest not in warning, not in caution but urging me on! And so, opening the door to the Celestial Bedroom, and so stepping breathless inside that room, I dared to switch on a light; a dim, yellow bulb in a bedside lamp; I stood beside my enormous, canopied bed. On my pillow there was the heavy imprint of a head, a concave shadow. I stared, not certain what I saw. My hand reached out; groping; I dared to touch the figure—pushing gently at the smooth, naked shoulder that, with the attached torso, fell away from the shadowed lower body, and from the neck and head; the head, a bald, blank head, rolled to one side on the pillow; one of the limbs, the shapely left leg, had fallen away from the body, as if its joints had become brittle with time, and lay at a grotesque angle perpendicular to the thigh. I saw clearly that the thing was not human and was not alive. Objects seemed to move across the room like conscious entities; the sounds of their footfalls having something about it like a loose, hard-surfaced clattering. Running to the drawing room, I summoned Zip. My precious darling was always here to comfort me. I decided that it may be a good idea to get some fresh air. Wagging his tail, he was more than happy to oblige. May was in its full beauty. The evenings were exquisite. The wild cherry was in flower. Zip and I walked every evening in the garden and we would sit till nightfall in the arbour, as I poured out my thoughts and feelings to him. We had poetic moments. #RandolphHarris 6 of 6
The Winchester Mystery House
A real nightmare occurs when you experience a frightening encounter with something strange and unknown, and you know without question that you are not asleep, that you are not dreaming. You know with every ounce of your being that the chilling encounter is real. The events that were described were actual experiences and encounters and were not legends and folklore. One must clearly understand and fully realize the shuddering horror and heart-sick dismay that exists when there is any sort of commerce between human beings and evil spirits, which is the very core and kernel of Witchcraft. All too often, nowadays, the orthodox doctrine of the Powers of Darkness are forgotten or ignored. In the first place, the name Devil is commonly given to the fallen angels, who are also called demons.
The chief of the demons is called the Devil. The Devil and other demons were created by God naturally good; but they themselves became evil. It is also remarkable that for an account of the Fall of the angels, which happened before the creation of the World, we must turn to the last book in the Bible, the Apocalypse of St. John. “And there was a great battle in Heaven, Michael and his angels fought with the dragon, and the dragon fought and his angels: and they prevailed not, neither was their place found any more in Heaven. And that great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, who is called the Devil, and Satan, who seduceth the whole World; and he was cast down unto the Earth, and his angels were thrown down with him” (Apocalypse xxi. 7-9). Once you open the door to the unknown, it may be hard to close again.
Come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Pursued by the Ghost of Several Generations
My butler Garth has suddenly and mysteriously disappeared. I gather that there is very little hope that he can still be alive; but whether it is accident or design that carried him off, I cannot judge. The facts are these. On Monday the 6th, he went as usual shortly before six o’clock to gather the silverware for dinner; and the housemaid brought him a message, in response to which he set off to the east wing of the house. He paid visit to the Sunshine Room, and started his journey back to the Venetian Dining Room at about half past seven. This is the last that is known of him. The servants and myself are very much grieved at his loss; he had been here many years, and though, he was not the most genial of men, and had more than a little of the martinet in his composition, he seems to have been active in good works, and unsparing of trouble to himself. Poor Mrs. Kurlander, who was the housemaid who called him away is quite overcome: it seems like the end of the World to her. Naturally, the house has been searched, as well as the fruit orchards and acres of fields, and the ponds dragged without result. There can be no question of foul play amongst the servants, nor is there the shadow of a probability that they or any of them should have agreed to decoy poor Garth out in order that he might be attacked on out the outskirts of the estate. He left some money when he went away and one of the servants show him cross int the fruit orchards. He was dressed as he always was. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5
I wandered around, and after a while I found myself in a long corridor where I had never been before. The walls were lined with portraits of our ancestors and the eyes of the stern-looking men and women seemed to watch me disapprovingly as I passed. I told myself it was just an optical illusion and that I should enjoy this opportunity to be alone, to really figure out my way around and to look at things that I might have felt self-consciously examining closely. As I passed the portraits, I was left in pitch darkness—such an absolute darkness as I have never before experienced. Suddenly, my eyes caught the glint of a light. At first it was but a lurid spark upon the mahogany floor. Then it lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then, without any warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand appeared, a white, almost womanly hand, which felt about in the center of the little area of light. For a minute or more the hand, with its writhing fingers, protruded out of the floor. Then it was withdrawn as suddenly as it appeared, and all was dark again save the lurid spark which marked the opening of the trap door in the floor. As I continued down the corridor, everything on the instant grew dark. The floors creaked beneath my feet. There was something Satanic about this wing of the house. Then, there was one long, loud, shuddering scream, as I glanced to see where it came from, I found myself looking straight into the face of a large owl, which was seated on my window-sill, holding up its wings like two shrouded arms. I caught the fierce glace of its yellow eyes, and then it was gone. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5
I repaired into a chamber at one end of the gallery. Having shut the door, I heard a strange noise, and on a sudden something was flung against the chamber door, with extraordinary violence, upon which the noise immediately ceased. Moments later, I went to go forth of the chamber door, but could by no means force it open. Behind me, a door opened in the darkness, and I felt a wave of night-air, cool and fragrant, come in against my neck. I had not known there was another door at the far end of the chamber, but I was out through it in a heartbeat. The connecting room was a soothing green. On one wall was a Monet. I was listening to the boom of my heart, and the noise from the storm outside. The wind had become louder, slamming the door against a wall. If it had just been the whine of the wind coming from below, no doubt my ambitions would have had me halfway down the stairs by now. However, there were other sound being carried on the back of the wind, some easy to interpret, others not so easy. I could hear the screech of bats, which was not too distressing. However, there were other species giving voice below. Looking at the doorway that led to the tower, I took a deep breath, and went out into the hallway. Reassuringly, the door had stopped slamming quite so hard. I took a deep breath, then headed down the flight. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5
I suddenly sensed someone was there. Watching me. I looked up. And I saw him, standing on the landing encircling one of the towers that rose from the house. It was the guy I had seen at the library window. He was looking down at me. However, not as me. Once more I was sure I had seen him before—before I saw him outside the library. I stared at the gentleman long enough. Suddenly, I felt queer and faint, and bent over and grabbed my knees. When I looked up again, the man—or whatever he was—had vanished from the tower. I could not imagine how he had gotten down or, into my house. Judging by the different voices heard at odd times within, it must be accessible through secret passages beneath. There are whisperings and frenzied screams, coupled with curious chants or invocations. On this night, however, they assumed a very singular and terrible cast as they ran the gamut betwixt dronings of dull acquiescence and explosions of frantic pain or fury, rumblings of conversation and whines of entreaty, pantings of eagerness and shouts of protest. They appeared to be in different languages, whose rasping accents were frequently distinguishable in reply, reproof, or threatening. Sometimes it seemed that several persons must be in this wing of the house; certain captives, and the guards of those captives. There were voices of a sort that I had never heard before despite my wide knowledge of foreign parts, and many that I did place belonging to certain nationalities. It sounded as if a guard was extorting some sort of information from terrified or rebellious prisoners. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5
However, besides a few ghoulish dialogues, most of the questions and answers I could understand were historical or scientific; pertaining to very remote places and ages. These ghosts were discussing a massacre in 1370. After a long pause of silence, there was a terrific shriek followed by silence and muttering and a bumping sound. The crack of a stick on the skulls had here a crushing sound as if the bone was giving way, and the victims quivered and kicked as the lay. The ghost wrung the neck of one of the victims, and if the choke or squeak which it gave were not real, I know nothing of reality. My home got perceptibly darked. I heard hard breathing and horrid muffled sound. Shortly after, a shadow was seen on the wall. Then faint cries and groans unmistakably came up from the solid mahogany floors. As I walked further down the gallery, I found an oaken door in a frame of heavy masonry, which was obviously an entrance into the caverns beneath my home. When or how these catacombs could have been constructed, I was unable to say. However, in the catacombs was poor Garth’s body, with a sack over the head, the throat horribly mangled. I cannot bring myself to describe the scene in greater detail. The events that attended the discovery bewildered me so completely that I needed what I could get of a night’s rest to enable me to face the situation at all. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5
Ancient philosophers suggested that the appearance of spirits is evidence that we are part of a larger community of intelligences, a universe of interrelated species, both physical and nonphysical. We might conclude, therefore, that corrupt stimuli cause objects to rise in the air or to be hurled about; create thundering noises, and violently slamming doors. If there are forms of energy that can indeed be responsible for this phenomenon, are we ready to deal with the powers of the dead?
Take pleasure in the antiques, the gardens and experience the homemaking of Victorian times. Enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Dreams Do Not Come While You’re Awake!
The places and spaces of the dead always maintain a deep connection with time. Always at nightfall, the halls were not exactly pitch-black, but in fear of discovering of other people in my house, in fear of ghosts, and whatever else I may find, I lock all of the doors. All of the windows were covered by heavy curtains. And although I had all six hundred rooms memorized, nothing was every laid out in the way I expected. Would you not think that a hall would eventually lead to a room? Nonetheless, some halls only led to other halls that right angled and doubled back. One evening in particular, I went up a winding staircase and down a corridor, then up a staircase, across a short bridge, and down another staircase. However, I could not tell how far I had come or what floor I was on. The distinct spaces and unique features became new epicenters or “auras” of the dead, as Llanada Villa itself became a haunting and haunted maze of corridors and rooms, miles of twisting hallways and winding staircases teeming with specters of the past, present, and even the future. As I proceeded to the fourth floor a spider web started to envelop me, as if some invisible force was trying to wrap me into a wet, cold silken sheet. When I touched the web, however, there was nothing to be seen or felt, and yet, the clammy, cold force was still with me. Doors that had been locked were now wide open, the locks turned by unseen hands. As I looked behind me, there was a man on the stairs. A big man, trying to pull himself up the stairs. His eyes were blazing red with pain as he tried to call out to me. Apparently, he had been hurt, for his britches were torn and his shirt covered with blood. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
“Oh, Heavens, it cannot be true,” I thought to myself as I continued down the hallway. When I dared to look behind me again, the man was still holding out his hands in a desperate attempt to get my attention. However, when I did not respond, he became upset and starting shouting. At that very moment, trembling with fear, I screamed, ran into a room and locked the door. The house had been secured, and I did not understand how anyone could have gained entrance. In this room was a row of chairs, which ringed the mirrored walls. In the middle of the floor was a gigantic pool tale. A giant cobweb covered half the table, and as the pale light from the skylight trickled in, I thought I saw something scurry through the webbing. After an hour, I backed out of the billiards room and headed down another hall, then up another flight of stairs very steep and narrow. When I reached the landing, I was immediately impressed by all the beautiful wainscot oak, and garlands-like foliage and fruit, and the lovely old gilding work on the coats of arms and the organ pipes. Still, I felt a brooding sense of oppression. This was a dreadful night. I got another fright; for I heard something rustling outside in the passage. Now to be sure I thought I was done when someone whispered outside the door. I could not see anything. Then right down in the shadow under a buttress I made out what I shall say was two spots of red—a dull red it was—nothing like a lamp or a fire, but just so as you could pick them out of the black shadow. I turned my head to make sure of it, and then looked back into the shadow for those two red things, and they were gone, and for all I peered about and stared, there was not a sign of them. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
With the physical powers drawn from the living, apparitions play and continue to exist in a World which they are no longer a part of. The presence lets you know it is its house and not yet yours, and the disturbances to attract your attention to make sure you realize that you are never really alone—those are the earmarks of the Llanada Villa, and if you are only a little bit psychic, sooner or later you will come in contact with the spirits. The spirits of the Llanada Villa are so complex that they involved both the living and the dead in a mutually entwining relationship that cannot exist one without the other, and to ever arbitrarily that which nature has evidently ordained somehow, would be as wrong as not heeding the cry for help from those who desperately want help and release. Man’s inhumanity to man has created countless remnants of tragic events that persist in the areas of their demise and even the walls are able to talk and tell posterity what has happened in them. Emotions cling to the surroundings forever. If you step into my home today, or a century from now, the vortex of feelings will still be here and you may relieve the moments as if the time in between had never passed. I have stared death in the eye many times, and I was not afraid. I listened hard and sure enough, it was coming to the door of the Daisy Bedroom. I gently slid out of bed and turned on the light, waiting. The host was just outside the door. I looked at the door knob, and it was being turned slowly. I did not panic, but nothing further was heard. Later that night when I awoke from a deep sleep with the fearful feeling that I was not alone in my room. In the semi-darkness my eyes fell upon the left side of the pillow where I distinguished the outline of a man. Finally I overcame my fears, and sat up in bed. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
Before me stood my late husband, dressed in dark clothes, looking directly at me. Without saying a word, he left slowly and quietly. I heard the steps, but when he reached the stairs, he did not go down, but through a wall. Afterwards I went downstairs, and checked the doors, looked in closets, and there was no one there. Dense fog began wrap around me with a cold clammy embrace, so thick that I could not see where I was going. Doors started opening and closing by themselves and spectral figures could be seen flinting from room to room. As I made my way to the Crystal Bedroom, I saw a solider. He was dark and had a noose around the neck; the rope was cut and his face seemed almost luminous. Suddenly I found it hard to breathe. Something was gripping me by the throat. It I was lifted off the ground by an unseen force and was unable to move even so much as a finger! It felt as if someone were strangling me. It felt like man, because his hands were so big, and his breath smelled of decayed teeth. I tried to scream, but could not move my lips. I tried to see who it was, but could only see the cold, white mist. The pain shot through me, as I appeared to be floating in the air/ “Help me! Somebody, please save me!” I cried out. Moments later, I fell to the floor. Dizzy, and struggling to catch my breath, I tried to stand, but lost my balance and fell to my knees. Every part of my body felt battered and bruised. Then curious sounds seemed to overwhelm the mansion. There were voices everywhere, shouting and calling out words that I could not understand. And the whole time, there was the sound of heavy footsteps, pounding furiously against the floor. Then a deep, weird groaning filled my home. I was just able to see across the darkened room, dimly lit from a yellow glow of the lamps from outside. A cooling breeze drifted beside me. Echoes of angry shouting drifted down from the floors above. Horrified, I just stood there in the darkness. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
It is a pleasant house. Often flooded with light. The afternoon sun poured through white lace curtains and sparkled beautiful colours in the stained-glass windows. The light gave a glow to the freshly polished wood floors, but frequently I hear strange raps at night, raps that did not come from the pipes or other natural sources. Whenever I heard those noises, I would simply turn to the wall and pretend I did not hear them. When one night I was awakened from deep sleep by the feeling of a presence in my room. I sat up in bed and looked out. There, right in front of my bed, was the kneeling figure of a man with extremely dark eyes in a place face. I rubbed my eyes and looked again, but the apparition was gone. Before long, I had accepted the phenomenon as simply a dream, but again I knew this was not so, and I was merely accommodating my sense of logic. However, who had the stranger been? My ears were growing sensitive to a preternatural and intolerable degree. The darkness always teemed with unexplained sound. I rose from my bed. As I sat by the fire, trying to gather my senses. I felt silly being so frightened. But again, I was disturbed when I heard clawing and scratching noises coming from the hallway. I was too afraid to move or turn on the light to see what was causing it. After what seemed to be hours, it stopped. The next morning, I found my precious Lincrusta-Walton wallpaper ripped to shreds and blood splattered on the walls. The plaster had claw marks in it, exposing the lath. My ornately carved Victorian chairs and several of the marble-topped tables were knocked over and laying on top of the oriental rugs. The carved rosewood settee had been completely destroyed. The servants were deeply concerned. However, they understood and fearfully accepted the situation when I told them what happened. The threatening aura of the house was scaring me, but I would not admit that to the servants. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
January 13, 1889, the east wing was finally completed. I spent one night in the Mahogany Bedroom. The first night I was very, very frightened—hearing walking up and down the halls, and I was the only one in the house! There was a pervasive feeling of eeriness and a feeling that there was someone in the house. There were footsteps in the hall outside my bedroom door. I could hear the door knob turning, but I could not see through the misty vapour. Owls hooted and frogs croaked. Every rustle in the grass of leaves moving on the trees made me think of creatures of prey. The howl of a wolf made me envision ghosts and ghouls outside of my window. Shuttering with revulsion, I could not calm the restless apprehension bedeviling me. In the morning, the beckoning aroma of fresh coffee freed me from my thoughts. I went into the kitchen and filled a white coffee up, as I was adding cream and sugar, the kitchen door opened itself and closed itself, without anyone being visible. I carried the cup in to the morning room, when I noticed the front doors did the same thing—opened and closed themselves. The smell of damp Earth became overwhelming. Then, along with the footsteps I heard things being dragged upstairs in the Cupid Bedroom, heavy objects, it seemed. My heart stopped, and I questioned, “What is this? What is going on?” So I got up and went up there to look. However, I did not see anyone and nothing was disarranged. Wait. Something moved in the corner, almost hidden in the encroaching darkness. It was more dense fog. The fog started growing and encroaching upon the room. My heart started pounding hard. Frozen, I stood, watching in horror as the fog took on the form of a large woman with porcelain cerulean eyes, in a long dress. She looked directly into my eyes, and started to glid across the floor towards me. I was terribly frightened. But then I felt a warm, calming presence enveloping me. The apparition smiled and psychically communicated with me. Although she did not move her lips, I could hear her voice inside of my head. “Sarah, don’t fear me. As long as you stay here and continue to build, I will protect you.” Then, suddenly she disappeared. Early the next morning the golden dawn of dawn faded to a bright blue. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
The next morning, I woke with a start and sat up in bed before I knew what had awakened me. The room was filled with the somber light of dawn, and I was astonished to see William standing near the foot of the bed. “William? What are you doing here? You are—” My voice broke off as though it had been cut by something sharp. It was not right, I realized. He was not right. I could see the curtains through him. A coldness grayer than the dawn seeped into my body, into my very bones, and I heard myself make an anguished sound when William seemed to reach out toward me, his handsome face tormented. “No,” I whispered. “Oh, no…” I reached my had out toward him, but even as I did so, he was gone. And I was alone in the stark down. As I made my way down stairs, I saw a man with auburn hair, and it was William. I stood frozen, and when our eyes met, I almost cried out. Then the door bell rang and I looked away. When I turned back around, William was gone. I stood there and rushed down the stairs, there was no sign of Willian. No. No, of course there was not. Because he is dead. Realizing that my legs were actually shaking, I took a seat. When the housemaids arrived, one of them asked, “Are you all right, Mrs. Winchester?” she returned with a steaming cup. “You look sort of upset.” “I am fine, my dear.” I managed a smile that I doubted was very reassuring, but it was enough to satisfy the young housemaid. Left along again, the housemaid went up into the attic to clean, taking Zip with her, while the other was preparing breakfast. Suddenly she dropped her cleaning supplies and screamed as if in pain. She said that Devil had grabbed her. And reported that there was a man, whose fingernails had been ripped off, eyes poked out, hung lifeless from his shackles, his buttocks had been removed, a stick was protruding from a gaping hole that had been drilled into the top of his skill, which had evidently been used to “stir” his brains. She also said that Zip was so frightened that he steadfastly refused to cross the threshold. However, upon inspection, I could find no evidence to substantiate these claims. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
Not all of the Victorian ghosts live in the mansion. Some mysterious things have been seen in the gardens. Down Palm Lane, dancing lights are seen there at night. The flowers are sometimes seen shimmering. Do not believer such things can happen? Neither did two handymen employed at The Winchester Mystery House years ago. That changed when they swore that William Wirt Winchester’s regular stroll across the squeaky floors of the Daisy Bedroom ended when he climbed in the coffin. An amazing sight it must have been when one evening when Mr. Willliam Winchester clambered onto the verandah still mounted, pounded through the doorway, down the hall and through the wall. There are phantoms of several generations. Formal gardens enhance the grounds; stables were once filled with the swiftest horses, and elaborate dinner parties were helped for aristocracy. Come experience and admire the timeless beauty of centuries old architecture. Enjoy the antiques, the gardens and experience the homemaking of Victorian times. Enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café.
For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
The Unconscious Thinks and Lives in Terms of Millennia–for that We Require the Help of the Black Magician!
People who take an optimum amount of vitamin C will experience only a quarter as much illness as those who do not. Through proper use, we could raise the average life expectancy by eight years. We have certain ideas as to how a civilized or educated or moral being should live, and we occasionally do our best to fulfill these ambitious expectations. Vegetables are interesting but lack a sense of purpose when unaccompanied by a good cut of meat. We call the unconscious “nothing,” and yet it is a reality in poetentia. The thought we shall think, the deed we shall do, even the fate we shall lament tomorrow, all lie unconscious in our today. The unknown is us which the affect uncovers was always there and sooner or later would have presented itself to the conscious. Sarah Winchester’s mansion has hosted many glittering, star studded parties and was regarded as the place to see and been seen. Conrad Nicholson Hilton, Constance Hilton, Zsa Zsa Gabor, William Randolph Heart, Phoebe Apperson, Vivien Leigh, Hattie McDaniel, and Sidney Howard are said to have visited. As often happens, the intensity of emotion experienced over the years by those anxious to be recognized at the mysterious mansion has left the grand Queen Anne, Eastlake, Gothic mansion uniquely stocked with echoes from the past. #RandolphHarris 1 of 28
The only slightly surprising element to this haunted house is that ghosts were apparently not officially acknowledged until 1985, just prior to the mansion’s $40-million renovation. During mid-December in 1985, everyone at the Winchester mansion was busy preparing for the upcoming day when the mansion would once again receive guests. No matter what their usual duties or job titles, all employees were directly involved with the last-minute details—secretaries were sweeping, butlers were dusting, waitresses were helping make up guest rooms. The place was a veritable model of industry. Mr. Jim was in the Grand Ballroom, which some consider the most beautiful room in the house, in anticipation of the new carpet being installed. Like many of those on the staff, Mr. Jim was a part-time Hollywood actor; given the star-studded history of the mansion, the “day job” was very much a labour of love. Being able to devote some of himself this gorgeous room that had been so important to the history of movie-making felt more like a privilege than a chore. It was also a perfect time, he thought, to commune with the spirits of those who came to the mansion to celebrate receiving Academy Awards here. As Mr. Jim’s experience unfolded, it became a far closer encounter than he anticipated. #RandolphHarris 2 of 28
The Grand Ballroom is large and the job had to be done thoroughly, so Mr. Jim was taking his time and making sure he did not miss any part of the floor. After repeatedly going back over to a certain area in the Grand Ballroom, he realized that while the rest of the room was kept at a very comfortable temperature, the air in that particular spot was incredibly chilly. More puzzled than concerned Mr. Jim wanted to determine what was causing this draft. The temperature was an inexplicably 20 degrees Fahrenheit cooler in this circle which was about 45 inches in diameter near a wall, mahogany framed mirror. As Mr. Jim wiped his cloth over the reflective glass, he was astonished to see the face a young man, with slick dark hair, smoking a cigarette staring back at him. Mr. Jim was alone in the room, so he quickly turned around to see who had joined him. There was no one else in the room, and that was not his face in the mirror. He turned back to the mirror. The image was still there. That was enough for Mr. Jim. He took it as a sign to remove the carpet he had just installed. #RandolphHarris 3 of 28
According to information released by the mansion, the mirror was gifted to the mansion by Boris Karloff with a note saying, “A warm private friendship has subsisted between us for half our lives, interrupted by no untoward occurrence, and never for a moment cooling into indifference. Of this friendship, the source of so much happiness to me, I wish to leave, if not an enduring memorial, at least an affectionate and grateful acknowledgment. I inscribe this mirror to you.” One night, I was in the Winchester mansion, standing in the presence of a sublime hieratic figured we now called the “Warlock” who was clothed in a long black robe reflecting from the mirror. This warlock was Boris Karloff, and he had just ended a lengthy discourse with the words, “And for that we require the help of black magician.” Then the door suddenly opened and an old man came in, the “black magician,” who however was dressed in a white rob. He too looked noble and sublime. The black magician evidently wanted to speak with the warlock, but he hesitated to do so in my presence. As that the warlock, point to me, said, “Speak, only an innocent is here.” So the black magician began to relate a strange story of how he had found the lost keys of Paradise and did not know how to use them. #RandolphHarris 4 of 28
The black magician told the warlock (Boris) that the king of the country in which he lived was seeking a suitable tomb for himself. The king’s subjects had chanced to dig up an old sarcophagus, threw away the bones, and had the empty sarcophagus buried again for later use on the spot that this sprawling mansion now occupies. However, no sooner had the bones seen the light of day than the being to whom they once had belonged—the virgin—changed into a black horse that galloped off into the desert. The black magician pursued it across the sandy coast and beyond, and there after many vicissitudes and difficulties he found the lost keys of Paradise. That was the end of history, and also, unfortunately, of the warlock and his mirror. It supposedly shattered into pieces, was sent out to San Francisco for repair and never returned. This haunting did not fall out as we had wished, no one understand what the warlock, the black magician, and the king were trying to tell us. The meaning of the story died with the disappearance of the haunted mirror. We were confronted with a problem and one which life is always brining us up against: namely, the uncertainty of all moral valuation, the bewildering interplay of good and evil, and the remorseless concatenation of guilt, suffering, and redemption. #RandolphHarris 5 of 28
This path to the primordial religious experience is the right one, but how many recognize it? It is like a still small voice, and it sounds from afar. It is ambiguous, questionable, dark, presaging danger and hazardous adventure; a razor-egged path, to be trodden for God’s sake only, without assurance and without sanction. Hence we must always reckon with the presence of things not yet discovered. These, as I have said, may be unknow quirks of character. However, the possibilities of future development may also come to light in this way, perhaps in just such an outburst of affect which sometimes radically alters the whole situation. The unconscious has a Janus-face: on one side its contents point back to a preconscious, prehistoric World of instinct, while on the other side it potentially anticipates the future—precisely because of the instinctive readiness for action of the factors that determine human’s fate. If we had complete knowledge of the ground plan lying dormant in an individual from the beginning, one’s fate would be in large measure predictable. #RandolphHarris 6 of 28
Now, to the extent that unconscious tendencies—by they backward-looking images or forward-looking anticipations—appear in visions, vision have been regarded, in all previous ages less as historical regression than as anticipations of the future, and rightly so. For everything that will be happens on the basis of what has been, and of what—consciously or unconsciously—still exists as a memory-trace. In s far as no human is born totally new, but continually repeats the stage of development last reached by the species, one contains unconsciously, as an a priori datum, the entire psychic structure developed both upwards and downwards by one’s ancestors in the course of the ages. That is what gives the unconscious its characteristic “historical” aspect, but it is at the same time the sine qua non for shaping the future. For this reason it is often very difficult to decide whether an autonomous manifestation of the unconscious should be interpreted as an effect (and therefore historical) or as an aim (and therefore teleological and anticipatory). The conscious mind thinks as a rule without regard to ancestral preconditions and without taking into account the influence this a priori factor has on the shaping of the individual’s fate. #RandolphHarris 7 of 28
Whereas we think in periods of years, the unconscious thinks and lives in terms of millennia. So when something happens that seems to us an unexampled novelty, it is generally a very old story indeed. We still forget, like children, what happened yesterday. We are still living in a wonderful new World where humans think themselves astonishingly new and “modern.” This is unmistakable proof of the youthfulness of human consciousness, which has not yet grown aware of its historical antecedents. As a matter of fact, the “normal” person convinces me far more of the autonomy of the unconscious than does the insane person. Psychiatric theory can always take refuge behind real or alleged organic disorders of the brain and thus detract from the importance of the unconscious. However, when it comes to normal humanity, such a view is no longer applicable. What one sees happening in the World is no just a shadowy vestige of activities that were once conscious, but expression of a living psychic condition that still exists and always will exist. Were that not so, one might well be astonished. However, it is precisely those who give least credence to the autonomy of the unconscious who are the most surprised by it. #RandolphHarris 8 of 28
Because of its youthfulness and vulnerability, our consciousness tends to make light of the unconscious. This is understandable each, for if one wants to start something on one’s own account. a young person should not let oneself be overawed by the authority of one’s parents. Historically as well as individually, our consciousness has developed out of the darkness and somnolence of primordial unconsciousness. There were psychic processes and functions long before any ego-consciousness existed. Thinking existed long before humans were able to say: “I am conscious of thinking.” The primitive “perils of the soul” consist mainly of dangers to consciousness. Fascination, bewitchment, “loss of soul,” possession, et cetera are obviously phenomena of the dissociation and suppression of consciousness caused by unconscious contents. Even civilized humans are not yet entirely free of the darkness of primeval times. The unconscious is the mother of consciousness. Where there is a mother there is also a father, yet one seems to be unknown. #RandolphHarris 9 of 28
Consciousness in the pride of its youth, may deny its father, but it cannot deny its mother. That would be too unnatural, for one can see in every child how hesitantly and slowly its ego-consciousness evolves out of a fragmentary consciousness lasting for single moments only, and how these islands gradually emerge from the total darkness of mere instinctuality. Consciousness grows out of an unconscious psyche which is older than it, and which goes on functioning together with it or even in spite of it. Although there are numerous cases of conscious contents becoming unconscious again (through being repressed, for instance), the unconscious as a whole is far from being a mere remnant of consciousness. Or are the psychic functions of animals remnants of consciousness? There is little hope of our finding in the unconscious an order equivalent to that of the ego. It certainly does not look as if we were likely to discover an unconscious ego-personality, something in the nature of a Pythagorean “counter-Earth.” And this of course means “miraculous” interposition, but not necessarily of the gross sort our fathers took such delight in representing, and which has so lost is magic for us. #RandolphHarris 10 of 28
If evil were really one under the same sun, the sky would incontinently shrivel to a snakeskin and cast it out in spasms. However, the spasms of Nature are years and centuries; and it will tax human’s patience to wait so long. We may think of the reserved possibilities God keeps in his own hand, under as invisible and molecular slowly self-summating a form as we please. We may think of them as counteracting human agencies which God inspires ad hoc. In short, signs and wonders and convulsions of the Earth and sky are not the only neutralizers of obstruction to God’s plans of which it is possible to think. As long as languages contain a future perfect tense, determinists, following the bent of laziness or passion, the lines of least resistance, can reply in that tense, saying, “It will have been fated,” to the still small voice which urges an opposite course; and thus excuse themselves from effort in a quiet unanswerable way. Vampires, Ghost, and Demons—God Himself, you think, can have no use for them. An immortality of every separate specimen must be to Him and to the Universe as indigestible a load to carry as it is to you. #RandolphHarris 11 of 28
So, engulfing the whole subject in a sort of mental giddiness and nausea, you drift along, first doubting that the mass can be immortal, then losing all assurance in the immortality of a particular person, precious as you all the while feel and realize the latter to be. This, I am sure, is the attitude of mind of some of you before me. However, is not such an attitude due to the verist lack and dearth of your imagination? You take these swarms of alien kinsmen as they are for you: an external picture painted on your retina, representing a crowd oppressive by tis vastness and confusion. As they are for you, so you think they positively and absolutely are. I feel no call for them, you say; therefore there is no call for them. However, all the while, beyond this externality which is your way of realizing them, they realize themselves with the acutest internality, with the most violent thrills of life. It is you who are dead, stone-dead and blind and senseless, in your way of looking. You open your eyes upon a scene of which you miss the whole significance. Each of these grotesque or even repulsive aliens is animated by an inner joy of living as hot or hotter than that which you feel beating in your private breast. #RandolphHarris 12 of 28
The sun rises and beauty beams to light his path. To miss the inner joy of him is to miss the whole of him. Not a being of the countless throng is there whose continued life is not called for, and called for intensely, by the consciousness that animates the being’s form. That you neither realize nor understand nor call for it, that you have no use for it, is an absolutely irrelevant circumstance. That you have a saturation-point of interest tells us nothing of the interest that absolutely are. The Universe, with every living entity which her resources create, creates at the same time a call for that entity, and an appetite for its continuance—creates it, if nowhere else, at least within the heart of the entity itself. It is absurd to suppose, simply because our private power of sympathetic vibration wit other lives gives out so soon, that in the heart of infinite being itself there can be such a thing as plethora, or glut, or supersaturation. It is not as if there were a bounded room where the minds in possession had to move up or make place and crowd together to accommodate new occupants. Each new mind brings its own edition of the Universe of space along with it, its own room to inhabit; and these spaces never crowd each other—the space of my imagination, for example, in no way interferes with yours. #RandolphHarris 13 of 28
The amount of possible consciousness seems to be governed by no law analogous to that of the so-called conservation of energy in the material World. When one human wakes up, or is born, another does not have to go to sleep, or die, in order to keep the consciousness of the Universe a constant quantity. There is a law of the Universe called the Law of Increase of Spiritual energy, by Dr. Wundt, which expressly oppose the law of conservation of energy in physical things. There seems no formal limit to the positive increase of being in spiritual respects; and since spiritual being, whenever it conies, affirms itself, expands and craves continuance, we may justly and literally say, regardless of the defect of our own private sympathy, that the supply of the individual life in the Universe can never possibly, however immeasurable it may become, exceed the demand. The demand for that supply is there the moment the supply itself comes into being, for the beings supplied demand their own continuance. Through many diversified channels of expression, the eternal Spirit of the Universe affirms and realizes its own infinite life. However, if we are theists, we can go no farther without altering the result. #RandolphHarris 14 of 28
God, we can then say, has so inexhaustible a capacity for love that His call and need is for literally endless accumulation of created lives. God can never faint or grow weary, as we should, under the increasing supply. God’s scale is infinite in all things. His sympathy can never know satiety or glut. Furthermore, consciousness in this process does not have to be generated de novo in a vast number of places. It exists already, behind the scenes, coeval with the World. The condition of consciousness is a certain kind of psychophysical movement. Before consciousness can come, a certain degree of activity in the movement must be reached. This requisite degree is called the threshold; but the height of the threshold varies under different circumstances: it may rise of fall. When it falls, as in states of great lucidity, we grow conscious of things of which we should be unconscious at other times; when it rises, as in drowsiness, consciousness sinks in amount. This rising and lowering of a psychophysical threshold exactly conforms to our notion of a permanent obstruction to the transmission of consciousness, which obstruction may, in our brains, grow alternately greater or less. #RandolphHarris 15 of 28
The transmission-theory also puts itself in touch with a whole class of experiences that are with difficulty explained by the production-theory. I refer to those obscure and exceptional phenomena reported at all times throughout human history which the psychical-researchers are doing to much to rehabilitate; such phenomena, namely, as religious conversions, providential leadings in answers to prayer, instantaneous healings, premonitions, apparitions at time of death, clairvoyant visions or impressions, and the whole range of mediumistic capacities, to say nothing of still more exceptional and incomprehensible things. If all our human thought be a function of the brain, then of course, if any of these things are fact—and to my own mind some of them are fact—we may not suppose that they can occur without preliminary brain-action. However, the ordinary production-theory of consciousness is knit up with a peculiar notion of how brain-action can occur—that notion being that all brain-action, without exception, is due to a prior action, immediate or remote, of the bodily sense-organs on the brain. #RandolphHarris 16 of 28
Such action makes the brain produce sensations and mental images, and out of the sensations and images the higher forms of thought and knowledge in their turn are framed. As transmissionists, we also must admit this to the condition of all our usual thought. Sense-action is what lowers the brain-barrier. My voice and aspect, for instance strike upon your ears and eyes; your brain thereupon becomes more previous, and an awareness on your part of what I say and who I am slips into this World from the World behind the veil. However, in the mysterious phenomena to which I allude, it is often hard to see where the sense-organs can come in. A medium, for example, will show knowledge of his sitter’s private affairs which it seems impossible he should have acquired through sight or hearing, or inference therefrom. Or you will have an apparition of some one who is now dying hundreds of miles away. We need only suppose the continuity of our consciousness with a mother sea, to allow for exceptional waves occasionally pouring over the dam. Of course the causes of these odd lowerings of the brain’s threshold still remain a mystery on any terms with its grouping of Heavenly and Hellish forces upon a common center. #RandolphHarris 17 of 28
If it were the dark nor even if all were in the light, we could see no form of anything at all. The contrast of shadow and light is needed to define the form. Opposites are always necessary to each other. This is why they are present throughout the Universe and moreover present in all possible combinations and proportions in all possible rhythms and patterns. It is present in life, in all things, in planets and seasons. It is the eternal and invariable law of manifested existence. For anything to exist for us at all, it needs an opposite to compare it with, or it will remain non-existent to our consciousness. Unless it recognizes the pairs of opposites, thinking cannot come into existence at all. If we had not experienced Evil, we could not appreciate Good. If we had not become lost in Appearance, we could not appreciate Reality. It may be that for us humans, the ultimate meaning of the cosmos lies implicit in this truth. The acting self needs an outer World and an inner one—both. All things in human’s experience can be classified into pairs of opposites—that which experiences and that which is experienced. In each pair the first member itself becomes, on analysis, the second member of another pair. #RandolphHarris 18 of 28
Whatever we look at, we see only in a relationship of contrast to something else. It is a mistake to consider this opposition to be antagonistic. On the contrary, if our perception is to be true and our judgment correct, each should be considered a part of the other. This teaches us to synthesize, to look at both sides of a thing, to include both points of view in an argument, and to add the similarities also instead of nothing the differences alone. It may be unusual, inconsistent, startling, to propose that we think in terms of opposing ideas, of conflicting statements, and find identity in variety, but this is Nature’s own way—her balance. Balance is a teaching which plays on contradictions and finds room for opposites. It seems them both in the structure of the Universe and in the movement of evolution. It puts them in its approach to human problems. Each to view of a thing or idea implies the existence of the contrary view. To understand that the universal evolution depends upon a two-way interconnected movement, and that its comprehension requires us to think about it in oppositional terms, is to be liberated from the narrow, one sided, incomplete, and intolerant thinking which is responsible for so many absurdities and miseries in human history. #RandolphHarris 19 of 28
When both ignore the two-face character of fortune and Nature, optimism becomes unreasonable pessimism. The life of the human being is one of relating to others. We reemphasize: The life of the human beings is one of relating to others. Though many are cursed to live and die alone, we are born of relations and into relations. One of the heart-rending stories found in Sarah Winchester’s diary is of a broken human being living on the streets. He was dying, and Mrs. Winchester took him in and had her staff care for him. When he recovered, she gave him a job and a place to stay on her estate. To merely welcome another, to provide for one, to make a place, is one of the most life-giving and life-receiving things a human being can do. They are the basic, universal acts of love. Our lives were meant to be full of such acts, drawing on the abundance of God, and they achieve their greatest fulfillment precisely when, like Jesus, we “lay down our lives for the brethren.” This “relating” quality reaches into every dimension of human existence. It characterizes the basic nature of all thought and feeling, which is always thought of or feeling something other than itself. #RandolphHarris 20 of 28
The way relate to others pervades the deepest reaches of our body, soul, and World, where our very identity—who we really are—is always intermingled (if sometimes negatively, by reaction) with others who have given us life, sustained us, or walked with us—or perhaps have deeply injured us. The call of “the other” on our lives is a constant for everyone. It is the basic reality of a moral existence, which we retreat from only into a living death of isolation. If we make our purpose to save our life by withdrawal, we lost it. So Jesus said. However, this is not only a revealed truth, it is also a testable fact of life. If you would live, then give—and receive. Now you understand why Sarah Winchester, even though she withdrew, created a microcosm in her own mansion, and kept people employed for 38 years of nonstop construction. “And it came to pass when Corintumr had recovered of his wounds, he began to remember the words which Ether had spoken unto him. He saw that there had been slain by the sword already nearly two millions of his people, and he began to sorrow in his heart; yea, there had been slain two millions of mighty men, and also their wives and the children. #RandolphHarris 21 of 28
“He began to repent of evil which he had done; he began to remember the words which had been spoken by the mouth of all the prophets, and he saw them that they were fulfilled thus far, every whit; and his soul mourned and refused to be comforted. And it came to pass that he write an epistle unto Shiz, desiring him that he would spare the people, and he would give up the kingdom for the sake of their lives of the people. And it came to pass that when Shiz had received his epistle he wrote an epistle unto Coriantumr, that is he would give himself up, that he might slay him with his own sword, that he would spare the lives of the people. And it came to pass that the people repented not of their iniquity; and the people of Coriantumr were stirred up to anger against the people of Shiz; and the people of Shiz were stirred up to anger against the people of Coriantumr; wherefore, the people of Shi did give battle unto the people of Coriantumr. And when Coriantumr saw that he was about to fall he fled again before the people of Shiz. And it came to pass that he came to the waters of Ripliancum, which, by interpretation, is large, or to exceed all; wherefore, when they came to these waters they pitched their tents. #RandolphHarris 22 of 28
“And Shiz also pitched his tents near unto them; and therefore on the morrow they did come to battle. And it came to pass that they fought and exceedingly sore battle, in which Coriantumr was wounded again, and he fainted with the loss of blood. And it came to pass that the armies of Coriantumr did press upon the armies of Shiz that they beat them, that they caused them to flee before them; and they did flee southward, and did pitch their tents in a place which was called Ogath. And it came to pass that they army of Coriantumr did pitch their tents by the hill Ramah; and it was that same hill where my father Mormon did hide up the records unto the Lord, which were sacred. And it came to pass that they did gather together all the people upon all the face of the land, who had not been slain, save it was Ether. And it came to pass that Ether did behold all the doings of the people; and he beheld that the people who were for Coriantumr were gathered together to the army of Coriantumr; and the people who were for Shiz were gathered together to the army of Shiz. Wherefore, they were for the space of four years gathering together the people, that they might get all who were upon the face of the land, and that they might receive all the strength which it was possible that they could receive. #RandolphHarris 23 of 28
“And it came to pass that when they were all gathered together, every one to the army which he would, with their wives and their children—both men, women, and children being armed with weapons of war, having shields, and breastplates, and head-plates, and being clothed after the manner of war—they did march forth one against another to battle; and they fought all that day, and conquered not. And it came to pass that when it was night they were weary, and retired to their camps; and after they had retired to their camps they took up a howling and a lamentation for the loss of the slain of their people; and so great were their cries, their howling and a lamentation for the loss of the slain of their people; and so great were their cries, that they did rend the air exceedingly. And it came to pass that on the morrow they did go again to battle, and great and terrible was that day; nevertheless, they conquered not, and when the night came again they did rend the air with their cries, and their howlings, and their mournings, for the loss of the slain of their people. And it came to pass that Coriantumr wrote again an epistle unto Shiz, desiring that he would not come again to battle, but that he would take the kingdom, and spare the lives of the people. #RandolphHarris 24 of 28
“However, behold, the Spirit of the Lord had ceased striving with them, and Satan had full power over the hearts of the people; for they were given up unto the hardness of their hearts, and the blindness of their minds that they might be destroyed; wherefore they went again to battle. And it came to pass that they fought all that day, and when the night came they slept upon their swords. And on the morrow they fought even until the night came. And when the night came they were drunken with anger, even as a man who is drunken with wine; and they slept again upon their swords. And on the morrow they fought again; and when the night came they had fallen by the sword save it were fifty and two of the people of Coriantumr, and sixty nine of the people of Shiz. And it came to pass that they slept upon their swords that night, and on the morrow they fought again, and they contended in their might with their swords and with their shields, all that day. And when the night came there were thirty and two of the people of Shiz, and twenty and seven of the people of Coriantumr. And it came to pass that they ate and slept, and prepared for death on the morrow. And they were large and mighty men as to the strength of men. #RandolphHarris 25 of 28
“And it came to pass that they fought for the space of three hours, and they fainted with the loss of blood. And it came to pass that when the men of Coriantumr had received sufficient strength that they could walk, they were about to flee for their lives; but behold, Shiz arose, and also his men, and he swore in his wrath that he would slay Coriantumr or he would perish by the sword. Wherefore, he did pursue them, and on the morrow he did overtake them; and they fought again with the sword. And it came to pass that when they had all fallen by the sword, save it were Coriantumr and Shiz, behold Shiz had fainted with the loss of blood. And it came to pass that when Croiantumr had leaned upon his sword, that he rested a little, he smote off the head of Shiz. And it came to pass that after he had smitten off the head of Shiz, that Shiz raised up on his hands and fell; and after that he had struggled for breath, he died. And it came to pass that Coriantumr fell to the Earth, and became as if he had no life. And the Lord spake unto Ether, and said unto him: Go forth. And he went forth, and beheld that the words of the Lord has all been fulfilled; and he finished his record; (and the hundredth part I have not written) and he hid them in a manner that the people of Limhi did find them. #RandolphHarris 26 of 28
“Now the last words which are written by Ether are these: Whether the Lord will that I be translated, or that I suffer the will of the Lord in the flesh, it mattereth not, if it so be that I am saved in the kingdom of God. Amen,” reports Ether 15.1-34. “But the LORD said to him, ‘Not so; if anyone kills Cain, one will suffer vengeance seven times over.’ Then the LORD put a mark on Cain so that no one who found him would kill him. So Cain went out from the LORD’s presence and lived in the land of Nod, east of Eden,” reports Genesis 4.15-16. A view of the World which fails or refuses to recognize that the opposites are essential to it, which accepts its beauty but not its ugliness, is not complete and only a half truth. If there is suffering as well as sweetness in life, that is not accident, nor is it brought into the scheme of things by human evil alone: nothing exists without its contrary. In the end, a human must recognize that there are two forces a work in Nature—and therefore in one’s own life—the ne benign, the other hostile. The cold time is here: time to work and time to rest, time to celebrate inside, time to enjoy the harvest. All about us, the Land of Spirits are singing. All about us, the deities are speaking. Please help me listen, all you divine beings. May I hear your voices. #RandolphHarris 27 of 28
I need much help in cooling my Earth. I cannot do it alone I ask for help from the Sky: please give rise to your cloud with plentiful moisture and ice so the Earth can cool and have water. I ask for help from the rain: please give your moisture to be the plants’ own blood. I ask for help from the soil: please give your minerals from which the plants will form their bodies. I will give my time, I will give my care, I will give my loving stewardship. All these will I give my garden and I ask for your others to give what the garden of Eden will need as well. We will do it together and I will not forget your contribution. Glory His holy name; may your heart rejoice, ye who seek the Lord. Seek the Lord and His strength; seek His presence continually. Remember the marvellous works that He hath done, His wonders, and the judgments He decreed, O seed of Israel, His servant, Children of Jacob, His beloved ones. He is the Lord our God; His judgments are throughout the Earth. Remember His covenant forever, the word which He commanded to a thousand generations. In Luke 18.1-8, Jesus told a parable about an unfair, unjust judge who finally was willing to listen to a woman’s case because of her continual persistence. When it comes to God, that is the way we need to be of what he said. What promises or promises from God are you bringing to His constant remembrance? #RandolphHarris 28 of 28
Winchester Mystery House
WMH 13 Days of Christmas #7
Sarah Winchester’s innovations for water conservation was far ahead of her time. She had multiple rooms dedicated for plants, each with a complex drainage system that allowed for the reuse of water. On today’s episode of the Winchester Mystery House 13 Days of Christmas, explore Sarah’s North Conservatory and learn more about her magnificent innovations.
Winchester Mystery House
A 160-room mansion built to appease the spirits who died at the hands of the Winchester Rifle 👻
🗝 winchestermysteryhouse.com
Is the Historic Goldfield Hotel Haunted?
Perhaps it is not the souls of the dead, wandering in another dimension, but rather beings from other planets who are trying to establish a relationship with Earthlings but who, because they are made of an intangible matter, can easily be confused with disembodied spirits, which essentially, they are. Mental events may be not causes of physical events but only symptoms of underlying physical events that are the real causes. Despite progress, we are at the present far from understanding the brain. Mental events can have effects either on other mental events or on physical events. However, these effects have been confined within the person (although these mental effects might incidentally result in further effects outside the person. Cases where a mental event of one person directly affects the thought of another person or directly affect some body other than his or her own would be cases of parapsychological phenomena—telepathy and psychokinesis, respectively. Perception nevertheless normally gives us knowledge of material objects and properties. With a few fairly obvious test, like touching and looking closely, or using the evidence of other percipients, we can establish certainty or else correct the first sight or hearing. #RandolphHarris 1 of 6
In the ghost town of Goldfield, Nevada, USA there is reportedly a haunted hotel. The town Goldfield was born when gold was unearthed in 1902. In 1908, the Goldfield hotel was built on the site of a hotel that had previously burned down. The four-story, 154 room hotel cost an estimated cost of $10,000,000.00 (adjusted for inflation). The Goldfield hotel was so luxurious, boasting of mahogany paneling, crystal chandeliers, black leather upholstery, carpets, rooms with private bathrooms. There were gilded columns throughout the hotel, and gold-leaf ceiling, and besides the Winchester mansion, the Goldfield had one of the first Otis elevators. The Goldfield was so fancy that they imported chefs from Europe and was considered one of the most luxurious hotels in America. It appealed to society’s elite, making it an instant success. Champagne is said to have flowed down the front steps in the opening ceremony. Shortly after the hotel was built, it was sold to mining mogul George Wingfield, the owner of the Goldfield Consolidated Mines Company. George Wingfield was a multimillionaire by the age of 30, a power political figure, and owned a chain of banks, several ranches, and many other hotels. #RandolphHarris 2 of 6
Reportedly, there are several ghosts at the historic hotel. The infamous is a lady named Elizabeth, and according to legend she was a beautiful woman, with long black hair, thin build and of European descent. She and George Wingfield had become romantically involved and she became pregnant. So, George allowed her to stay in the hotel in room 109, where she gave birth to a baby. One day, George overhead Elizabeth telling another man the baby was his and discovered that they had plans to marry. Later on that evening, he allegedly beat Elizabeth, chained her to a radiator, and took her baby away. Bloody, bruised, and with a broken spirit, Elizabeth kept screaming, “Where’s my baby, where my baby?” George eventually got tired of her crying and entered room 109 with a tied burlap sack, and threw it on the floor and replied, “Here’s your baby, bitch!” And left her in the room to die. People say that Elizabeth still paces the hallways to this very day, calling out to her child. Two more ghost who reportedly committed suicide on the third floor of their hotel rooms have also be spotted. One woman hanged herself, the other is a man who jumped to his death from the hotel. #RandolphHarris 3 of 6
The Goldfield is also supposedly haunted by a man called “The Stabber,” who attacks people who enter the kitchen with a large knife. And George Wingfield also makes his presence known in the antiquated hotel, people usually see him near the lobby and say when his apparition appears they smell cigar smoke, and cigar ashes are supposedly frequently found in a room on the first floor. Illusions, comprising illusion proper, hallucinations, and cases of the relativity of perception, have traditionally been the most important origin of the major problem of perception. Illusions show that perception is never absolutely certain, and the appearances we are aware of in illusions, especially hallucinations, cannot be identified with the real properties of objects and therefore but private objects of awareness, or sensa (indeed, all perception involved awareness of sense which in correct, or veridical, perception belong to the object or correspond to its properties). However, if you believe in ghost, you are not alone. Cultures all around the World believe inspirits that survive death to live in another realm. Millions of people believe. A recent Harris Poll found that 43 percent of Americans believe in ghosts. #RandolphHarris 4 of 6
The Goldfield Hotel still stands today. Over the years the hotel has changed hands several times, with each new owner promising to restore and reopen the historical property. A rancher from Carson City called Edgar “Red” Roberts bought the hotel for $360,000.00 USD in 2003. Mr. Roberts had plans to restore the bottom two floors of the hotel, which was supposed to cost an estimated $1 million, and reopen the hotel to the public. The plan was to include 40 guest rooms, a casino, and a café. However, to this day, the haunted Goldfield Hotel left looking spooky and in need of renovation. Many believed that to violate the Earth was dangerous because the Earth harbors ghost and spirits. Belief in underground spirits who sometimes assist and pestered miners is widespread. There is an unsettling suggestion that the ground beneath the Goldfield hotel is in fact riddled with tunnels and crawl-spaces, and there is a trap door in the hotel that opens to a graveyard, and the trapdoors as well are featured in the mines. This is good use, either against thieves, or prying knaves, who may come at unreasonable times to see any work, and thereby take the occasion to do the individual damage. #RandolphHarris 5 of 6
So, the calls to the ghost are a sort of debunking of both the ghost’s authority and the authority of illusion. The discarding of illusion, the effect is still frightening. People have tried to (or claimed to) communicate with spirits for ages; in the Victorian era, it was fashionable for the upper echelons to hold seances in their parlors after tea and crumpets with friends and spiritual advisers. Many people are convinced that they have experienced something uncanny, whether at the Goldfield hotel or somewhere else—something inexplicable, extraordinary, mysterious, bizarre, or eerie. In such cases and in hallucinations one has to admit that one seems to see an object quite different from that present to the sense. Perception is more than just sense experience, for we identify and interpret what is given (that is, it involves inference from implicit data, and the conclusion of such an inference must be a judgment). Perceiving, usually tends to be a private mental activity or process because it is not an overt one, is not an activity at all and this provides no evidence of a mental World. However, other researchers claim that the reason ghosts have not been proven to exists is that we simply do not have the right technology to find or detect the spirit World. #RandolphHarris 6 of 6
Randolph Harris II International 