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There isn’t a Soul in Here
I was returning home late one stormy night. The loud claps of thunder rattled among the house. The lighting quivered about the pinnacles of Llanada Villa, and shed flickering gleams over roof top. There was an evil influence hanging over me; an evil genius or spirit seeking to ensnare me and ensure my perdition. One afternoon I was lying down on the bed with a book trying to rest. Before long I was asleep. Suddenly, I awoke with a feeling of horror that seemed to start at my feet and gradually work its way up throughout my entire body and mind. The room seemed to be permeated with something terribly evil. I could neither see nor hear anything, but I had the feeling that there was a presence there and that it was very strong and about to overcome me. A succession of vivid flashes of lightning revealed it more distinctly. The scenes of blood which followed shocked my sensitive nature, disgusted me with society and the World, and I shut myself up in a Llanada Villa where I pursed my favour speculations. Sometimes I spent hours in my great library, the catacombs of departed authors, in quest of knowledge. I have seen ghosts a few times. In various parts of the house. And in the garden by the Cupid fountain. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
These apparitions are the desolate souls of those unfortunates who have left their Earthly bodies in traumatic, or perhaps even tragic circumstances. Something must have created a power vortex—the whirlwind of negative and terrible emotions that act now as a magnet for unseen entities. Maybe there are more of them than I realize. The following morning, the housemaid laid my plate before me (scrambled eggs, bacon, and mushrooms). As I sat, casting my eyes down at my own half-eaten breakfast, I contemplated the situation. In the past, I was inclined to believe the someone had been smitten with the worth of a wealth widow; or rather a marauding Tarquin, had stolen into my home to violate my purse, and rifle my strong box, when all the house should be asleep. However, now I am prepared to believe that emotions of certain distressed people can be so strong at the moment of death, whether through pain, unhappiness, or shock, that an impression is left behind. An after image that can take years, maybe centuries, to fade completely. In any event, after breakfast, I went to the library. There was a fire burning in the massive stone fireplace. As one can imagine, the crack and spark of the aromatic logs, as well as the heat itself, were very welcome. I placed myself beside the hearth and relaxed into the delicious heat. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
When I was sufficiently warmed, I made my way through the ground floor rooms without finding a living soul. Curiously, I had not dismissed the servants. I discovered a mincemeat pie on the kitchen table, and on the massive gas stove a teakettle blackened now because someone had left the flame on while all the water had evaporated. I turned offed the fire and almost seared my palm lifting the kettle to a cool spot. Now I was truly terrified. I heard it. The sound echoing eerily in the bowels of the house. Something was coming out of the shadows. The sound of its movements sent shock waves and terror running through me. I turned and ran from the room. “Oh, God,” I cried in despair, “what is going to happen to me?” There was nobody to protect me, nobody to save me. I flew down the hall and hurtled to the front door. It would not open no matter how hard I pulled and pushed. I ran into the parlour, ripped aside the heavy drapes and tried to open the window. It would not budge. I looked at the storm-swept night outside and found even that preferable to remaining in my home. In a fit of rage, I picked up a chair and threw in at the window, gasping in astonishment as the chair bounced off the pain of glass. I could not run away. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
Within dreams I seemed gradually to acquire a greater and greater freedom of wandering. I floated through many rooms in Llanada Villa, going through secret passages. Sometimes I encountered those sealed trap-doors in the lowest level, around which such an aura of fear and forbiddingness clung. The next morning, as I was in the library, I looked up from my book and saw a shadow on the frosted glass of the door. When I rushed out into the hallways only to see the door across the hall closing, imagine my irritation. I walked over there, intending to knock, and find out who was in the room, but I saw a shadow withing the room, bent over a table. For some reason this stopped me, and I returned to the library. The next day the same thing happened. Then the day after that. I then refused to leave my desk. I would not chase a shadow; he would not use me in such a fashion. I soon discovered that when I did not go to the door, the shadow remained in my frosted glass all day long. He was standing outside my door all day long, every day. Once there were two shadows. That brought me to my feet immediately. However, when I snatched the door open, I discovered two housemaids busy shining chandeliers, polishing floors and furniture. Of course, after the two housemaids had left, the single shadow was back again. It was there until five. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
I am not usually given to emotion. However, the next day I lost my temper. I saw the shadow before the library door and in a fit of rage, I order him away from the door at the top of my voice. When three hours had passed and he still had not left, I began to weep. I pleaded with him. However, he was still there. I opened the door and went across the hall and was startled at what I found. Shadows moved intelligently around the room, getting books from shelves and taking them to great tables, or vice versa, and sometimes writing diligently with a peculiar rod gripped in their hands. Afterwards, I saw them everywhere through the mansion; swarming in all the great chambers and corridors; racing along the vast miles of hallways. I ceased to be afraid of them, for they seemed to form supremely natural parts of the house. Individual differences amongst them began to manifest, and a few appeared to be under some kind of restraint. Hours passed, and night fell. I stopped by a covered form, and pulled back a canvas tarpaulin. “This is my butler,” I said. His body had been dismembered. I looked at the left hand first, saw the thumb and two remaining fingers. His face, empty and expressionless. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
As for the other pieces—the torso, still joined to the upper right arm and thighs, the right forearm and hand, and the two disjointed feet and lower legs—I was not sure. Then he vanished before my eyes. Shortly after this incident, many of the servants began hearing the door-to-nowhere open by itself and close again. This was immediately followed by footsteps of someone walking through the hall. At first, they would get up to see who it was, but there was never anyone to be seen. Gradually, we realized that these were not the footsteps of a living person. The visitor would come at various times of the day or evening, and then stay away for several months. Then it would all resume. We became used to these sounds, and hardly looked up when they became audible. One day the steps continued and then we could clearly hear someone sit down in the baroque chair in the morning room! This did not bother me, but it bothered some of the servants who held less broadminded views of ghosts. However, it soon because apparent to everyone that the footsteps were not always the same: sometimes they were soft and light, as if made by a young person, while at other times they were heavy, almost clumsy steps of a big man. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
On January 16, 1892, two servants were in different parts of the mansion busy with their chores. Independently of each other, the two women saw the same figure of a man suddenly appear out of nowhere. At first, the Parlour maid saw him. He was a big man, about six feet in height, and heavy-set, dressed in black, and where his face should have been was just a black mass. However, unmistakably this was a human figure. A few moments later, he appeared to a Kitchen maid. She looked at him, and could see right through him into the other room! The women both had the impression that the man was looking at them. As he disappeared toward the rear of the house, they realized they had not heard a single sound. Since the appearance of the man in black, the footsteps were not heard again, but the door kept opening and closing as before. This too must by no means be passed over that certain servants being seduced by the illusions and phantasmal shows of demons firmly believe and openly profess that in the dead of the night, Satan assumes the shape of a man. Satan, in the form of a tall, dark man conveyed thither, and most often leaves the house by way of the chimney. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mystery House
The house had been vacant for many months, but people could not help visiting it, even though it was locked. They would go up to the front steps and peer in the windows. So many people were strangely attacked to the beautiful but bizarre Victorian house. Some say they were “called” by the house as if someone inside were beckoning to them. Over the months after the death of Mrs. Winchester, strangers who had passed by the house would speak of strange tales of music emanating from the empty house. Definite tunes, song after song played by skilled hands. Eventually the house taken possession of by the Winchester Repeating Arms Company. However, Mrs. Winchester’s niece, Daisy, doubted that Mrs. Winchester would move out just because the house changed hands. She felt her presence, very much alive and wholly content to live in the house. In February of 1923, a stranger went to The Winchester Mansion and rang the doorbell. When the door opened and lights appeared, he claims that he had an opportunity of contemplating Mrs. Winchester, and was more than ever intoxicated by her beauty. Her face was pale, but of a dazzling fairness, set off by a profusion of raven hair that hung clustering about it. Her eyes were large and brilliant. As far as her black dress permitted her shape to be seen, it was of perfect symmetry. Her whole appearance was highly striking, though she was dressed in the simplest style.
The only thing approaching to an ornament which she wore, was a board black band round her neck, clasped by diamonds. He spoke to her, but received no reply. He advanced to greet her. On taking her hand, it was cold—there was no pulsation. Horrified and frantic, a scene of confusion ensued. The police were summoned. Because the house had been vacant for months, they are armed with guns. Once in the foyer, they switched on the lights. As they looked around, they saw no one. The police finally went back to where the man was standing, looking dejectedly at him. “There isn’t a soul in here,” they told him flatly. They tried to soothe him, but in vain. He was possessed with the frightful belief that an evil spirit had reanimated Mrs. Winchester’s body to ensnare him. He went distracted, and died in a mad-house. This was a fact not to be doubted. The best authority said that saw him in The Great Asylum for the Insane. Perhaps he saw a manifestation of some kind. A visual representation of Mrs. Winchester still lingering. With a house this old, it would be a little unusual is there was not a skeleton or two lurking in a cupboard somewhere.
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/
Faith is in the Very House I Have Been Looking After
My thoughts were elsewhere, in another time, caught in a more powerful vortex…I shuddered, became aware of the present once more. I breathed in deeply, vapoured air rushing into my throat; I released it in a long sigh, forcing my fluttering nerves to settle. Despite my tension, returning to my bedroom was almost overwhelming. I latched the door behind me and went to the bureau where my notes and plans of the house were spread. There was a hot cup of tea by my side. I took a large swallow, then another, waiting for the warmness to reach my chest before approaching the window. I stared down into the gardens at the shadows cast by single trees and shrubbery. Could I be sure that is all they were? Ghosts, spirits, lost souls, did not, could not exist. Disgustedly, I turned away from the window and crossed the room to the bed, taking my cup of tea with me. I placed it on the bedside cabinet where it would be close at hand, and climbed into bed. The coldness of the sheets made me shiver. When I switched off the bedside lamp, the smothered moon afforded no light. My eyes remained open. I stared up at the dark gray mass that was the ceiling No lights, no glow from within. Llanada Villa was a vast black bulk that merged with the blackness of night clouds. The house was Victorian style, complete with ornamental gingerbread, a wide covered porch and those turreted rooms that look like a witch’s conical hat. The roof reached up into the clouds, birds of grace stood like ghosts on the chimney tops. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
Enfolded in darkness, entirely solitary, remote, eloigned, on my heavily wooded estate, a breeze stirred through the gardens, ruffling foliage, disturbing trees. The housemaids, one by one, crept up yawning to their quarters. And, although it was night, birds were twittering busily, the insects were droning, and creatures hunted, their skirmishes violent but brief. Honey fungus glowed blue green on the evergreen trees, and fairies scuttled in the undergrowth. The moon was a pale ghost seen only behind slow-moving monoliths. People often eyed the house curiously as they approached. Inside the house, I slept; but I did not rest. The Psalmist speaks of the terror of the night, the business that walketh about in the dark, and of the noonday devil. Their assemblies generally are held at dead of night when the Powers of Darkness reign; or, sometimes, at high noon, even as the Psalmist saith, when he speaks of “the noonday devil.” The nights they prefer are Monday and Thursday. The time at which these Sabbats began was generally upon the stroke of midnight. Tonight, my dream was a terrible churning of pressure all around me. The Devil met me being alone, and commanded me to be at the Grand Ballroom the next night, and accordingly I made my way there as I was bid and waited at the room about eleven hours at even. In this case, however, the Sabbat was preceded by a dance of nearly one hundred persons, and so probably did not commence until midnight. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
Thomas Leyis, Issobell Coky, Helen Fraser, Bessie Thorn, and the rest of the Aberdeen witches, thirteen of whom were executed in 1597, and seven more who had been banished were resurrected and standing before my very eyes. There was a midnight dance and reveling. I remained there for hours until the crowing of a cock dissolved the enchantment. The clapping of the cock’s wings made the power of the demons ineffectual and broke the magic spells. It was so prudent that the night-wandering demons, who rejoiced in the darkest shades trembled and scattered in sore affright, and the rites of Satan ceased because the Holy Office of the Church began. The bird at the held of dawn arouses men to worship God; and many an odious sin which darkness shrouds is revealed in the light of the coming day. I awoke, my cry little more than a whimper. The terror of my nightmare remained in my wide eyes. And soon a different emotion tinged them: a deep sadness, perhaps more remorse. My flesh was coldly damp. Early morning light crept through the window, a seeping grayness that offered no cheer. After freshening up, I escorted myself down the large staircase, composed of loads of mahogany; and through the rigmarole passages, hung with priceless works of art, till at length I arrived at the morning room. Just as I reached the door, I heard a strange noise within. I paused and listened. It seemed as if someone were trying to hum a tune in defiance of the asthma. I recollected the report of the room being haunted; so I gently pushed the door open and pepped in. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
Oh my dear Heavens, there was someone carrying on within enough to have astonished St. Aldric himself. By the light of the fire, I saw a pale weazen-faced fellow, in a long dressing gown and a tall white night-cap, who sat by the fire. He was twitching about with a thousand queer contortions, and nodding his head. I was about to demand what business he had to be in my quarters, when a new cause of astonishment met my eye. From the opposite side of the room a long-backed, bandy-legged chair, covered with leather, and studded all over in a coxcombical fashion with little brass nails, got suddenly into motion, thrust out first a claw-foot, then a crooked arm, and at length, making a leg, slide gracefully up to a baroque chair, and vanished through the floor. A fierce music begun to play with such a mania that I sprang from the room and in a rush down the stairs and slipped, but something kept me from falling! Some force stronger than gravity held on to my skirts and pulled me back onto my feet. It was not my imagination and it was not a supreme effort of my own that did it. I was already half into the air, falling, when I was yanked back, upright. Shortly after, I managed to repair to the attic. As I sat there, resting, I suddenly felt something went and cold across my legs. I reached down only to feel a soft, moist mass that dissolved rapidly at my touch! This was enough to give me the willies, and I began to fear for my life. It was bad enough to have ghost, but to be known, as a haunted family was even worse. However, I found myself turning to my ghostly protector. It was not just me and my servants who experienced these strange things. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
Even Mr. Hansen, who was not exactly given to belief in ghosts, was impressed when he saw a chair move from under a desk by its own force. He tried several times afterwards, hoping he could duplicate the phenomena by merely stomping his feet or gently touching the chair, but it required full forced to move it. The man from The Philadelphia Contributionship who had been servicing us for years was just as doubtful about the whole thing, when he heard about it. “No such thin as a ghost, Mrs. Winchester,” he commented as he stood in the hallway. At this moment the banister started to vibrate to such an extent they thought it would explode. He grabbed his hat and took his doubts to the nearest saloon. One night, I got into bed, and drew over me one of those great bags of down, under which they smother a man in the Low Countries; and there I lay, melting between two feather beds, like a turkey sandwich between two slices of toasts and butter. Sure enough, in a little time it seemed as if a legion of imps were twitching at me, and all the blood in my veins were in a fever-heat. Suddenly, I felt something cold lie down in bed beside me. All of the movables got into motion; pirouetting hands across, right and left, like so many devils; all except a great clothes-press was preforming a corpulent dance. With a scream, I jumped out and pushed the button to illuminate the room. The chairs and tables slunk in an instant as quietly into their places as if nothing had happened, and an apparition vanished up the chimney, leaving nothing but a chill still pervading the entire area! #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
The mansion shook as though it had been struck by an earthquake. The entire staff had been alarmed. The housemaid hurried up with a candle to inquire the cause. I revealed the marvelous scene I had witnessed, but there was no evidence. The chambermaids declared that they had all witnessed strange carryings on in this room; and they declared this “upon their honours,” there could not remain a doubt upon this subject. Where I passed the rest of the night was a secret I never disclosed. In fact, because of the geography of my mansion, I was apt to make blunders in my travels about inns at night, which would puzzle me sadly to account for in the morning. The phantoms in my home were not the same as those in the cemetery. I feared more the ghostly manifestations in this house more. Often times, there was an ancient crone who was apparently demented who appeared, walking about the place dressed in a strange outfit. It was dirty, loose, flowing. Sometimes she would shake her fist and scream epithets. “Get out of my house!” she would yell. “You’ve no business here. It’s mine! Get out—or you’ll be sorry!” “Who is that old witch?” I demanded angrily of the chambermaid. “Mrs. Winchester, that’s Hattie. She ain’t right in the head.” “What is she doing around here?” I replied. “What does she mean this is her house?” I had already determined that she was definitely in the flesh—and ditty flesh at that. It was a new experience for us. Here we are faced with an apparition—but this was one we could actually see! #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
Many of the servants have lived in the house for months and everyone was used to elusive shadows—shadows with no personality or features. However, Hattie added a colour to the mansion with could do without. One night, Daisy came home mad and said, “Aunt Sarah, why don’t you stop coming out and walking up and down without coming in where I’m working?” I looked at her and assured her that I had not been doing that. She said that she never saw anyone, but could hear them walk on the gravel in the aviary, halfway between the laundry room and one of the kitchens. A few nights ago, she was asleep. It was about one o’clock in the morning, and she had just turned out the light, after reading for a while. I was asleep upstairs. Daisy was lying in bed, and she was not asleep, when she noticed a light tight in the corner of her room. She did not pay any attention to it, but rolled over. As she rolled over, she looked out the two windows which are right above her bed, and there was no light outside. It was a very dark night. So she became curious, and she rolled back over and looked at the light and it was still there. She sat up, turned on the light and nothing was there. So, she runed out the light and pulled the duvet over her heard. About five minutes later, she thought she would look again. This light was still there. It was a strange light, not a flashing beam but sort of a translucent, shimmer and pulsating that would grow. The next morning, she offered me a deep apology and confided in me that she was afraid. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mystery House
In the beginning of April 1889-90, the nephew Mrs. Sarah L. Winchester came to his aunt and spent every evening with her reading for their amusement. About the twenty second of the same moth, after the nephew had been reading to his aunt, who was at this time in very good health, The Pilgrim’s Progress by John Bunyan, he retired to his chamber, a large back room, near the 7-11 staircase, and having latched the door, went to bed and feel asleep before ten o’clock. A little before the clock struck twelve, he was awakened by the drawing of the curtain of his bed, and, starting up, saw by a glimmer light, resembling that of the moon, the shadow of his uncle in the nightgown and cap, standing on the right side, near the head of the bed, holding the head curtain back with his left hand. His uncle William had a cheerful look on his face, and seemed as if he was stroking him with his right hand. They lived in the greatest amity prior to his uncle William Wirt Winchester dying of tuberculosis March 7, 1881. Shortly after, rumors circulated that Mrs. Winchester gave her nephew a check and no one laid eyes on him ever again. The staff argued about the size of that check for years.
When President Theodore Roosevelt’s entourage passed The Winchester House in 1903 to plant the city of Campbell’s famous redwood tree, he expressed desire to visit this now World-famous dwelling. At the great front door our nation’s leader was more than astonished to be coldly told by the Butler, “Mrs. Winchester is not at home!” Theodore Roosevelt was an avid fan of The Winchester Rifle. In African Game Trails, Roosevelt clearly stated his esteem for these Winchesters, with such affectionate allusions as “my medicine gun for lion,” “the beloved Winchester,” and “the faithful Winchester.” The Winchester public relations and advertising staff could not have been happier; endorsements from not only the President of the United States of America, but a recognized authority on guns and shooting and the World’s leading conservationist. One of Theodore Roosevelt’s favorites was the stalwart Model 1876 half-magazine .45-70 rifle. As each new lever-action was announced by Winchester, Roosevelt would add one (or more) to his growing collection. No amateur of arms, he was as expert on shooting and ballistics as most of his contemporaries, and often more experience in the field.
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/
People Do Not Like Old Graves Disturbed
It was one of those nights when the moon gives a faint glimmer of light through the thick black clouds of a lowering sky. Hope and native courage urged me to push forward, but at the length the increasing darkness and fatigue of body and mind was overcoming me. As the moon sank beneath a black cloud, the hallways were darker than ever. All was silent. All was still as death. My blood was chilled, Across the hall, upon the grand staircase, a pale bluish apparition cast a dismal gleam of light around. Summoning forth my courage, I quickly advanced toward it. Terror impelled me to make some hasty steps. I came to the foot of the stairs, and after a moment’s deliberation ascended. I went slowly up, the apparition retiring before me, until I came to a wide gallery. The apparition proceeded along it, and I followed in silent horror, treading lightly, for the echoes of my footsteps startled me. It led me to the foot of another staircase, and then vanished. At the same instant toll sounded from the belfry—I felt it strike upon my heart. I was now in total darkness, and with my arms extended, began to ascend the second staircase. A dead cold hand met my left hand and firmly grasped it, drawing me forcibly forwards—I endeavoured to disengage myself, but could not—I made a furious blow with my revolver, and instantly a loud shriek pierced my ears, and the dead hand was left powerless in mine. I dropped it, and rushed towards with a desperate valour. The stairs were narrow and winding, and interrupted by frequent breaches. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5
The staircase grew narrower and narrower and at length terminated in to wall. I pushed the wall opened, its hinges creaked loudly-it led to an intricate winding passage, just large enough to admit myself. A faint glimmer of light served to show the nature of the place. I entered. A deep hollow groan resounded from a distance through the vault. I went forwards, and proceeding beyond the first turning, I discerned the same blue apparition. I flowed it. The vault, at length, suddenly opened into a lofty gallery, in which the midst of which a figure appeared, completely armed, thrusting forwards the bloody stump of an arm, with a terrible frown and menacing gesture, brandishing a pistol in his hand. I undauntedly sprang forwards and aimed a fierce blow at the figure; it vanished, letting fall a massy iron key. The apparition now rested upon a pair of ample wooden doors at the end of the gallery. I went up to it, and applied the key to a brazen lock—with difficulty I turned the bolt—instantly the doors flew open and discovered a large apartment. There was soft music playing, it was the most magnificent room I had ever seen, lighted with innumerable tapers in lustres of pure crystal. Then suddenly the piercing shrikes of a person in distress arrested my speed; I stopped and, listening attentively, heard shrill, melancholy cries repeated at interval through my mansion, which gradually became more distant, grew faint and died away. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5
As I traversed further in this new section of the mansion, there was a chandelier of bronze, hung down from the middle of the ceiling. Then, at one end of the hall, was a great fireplace, as long as the size of a county house; and by it were heavy, old-fashioned sofas. At the opposite end of the hall, to the left as I went it—on the western side—was an organ built into the wall, and so large that it filled up the best part of that end. Beyond it, on the same side, was a door. As I went through the door, I froze in fear. There was a solider in one of the bedrooms. He was dark and had a noose around the neck; the rope of cut and his faced seemed almost luminous. I tried to collect my thoughts. My first sensation was like that of a very young child badly hurt, when it catches it breath before crying out. The emotional climate of Llanada Villa was uncanny, as if an unseen force was always present. From the blank darkness outside came in, through the aperture that served for a window, all the ever unfamiliar noises of night in the wilderness—the long, nameless note of a distant coyote; the stilly pulsing thrill of tireless insects in trees; strange cries of night birds, so different from those of the birds of the day; the drone of great blundering beetles, and all that mysterious chorus of small sounds that seem always to have been but half hard when they have suddenly ceased, as if conscious of an indiscretion. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5
I crept to an open door; the organ broke out with a blare. A dazzling light filled the mansion, blotting the chandelier from my eyes. The soldier faded away, the arches, the vaulted roof vanished. I raised my seared eyes to the fathomless glare, and I saw the black stars hanging in the Heavens. I shivered. The air was suddenly cold. I told myself I was just scared, because I was. I sat there plunged in the profoundest grief that can come to the human soul, for in all other agony hope flickers, however forlornly. Then I saw something. I saw a little white face with eyes so scared and wishful that they seemed as if they might eat a hole in anybody’s heart. It was a dreadful little face, with something about it which made it different from any other face on Earth, but it was so pitiful that somehow it did away a good deal of dreadfulness. And there were two little hands spotted blue with the cold. And a darling little echo of a voice said, “I can’t find my mommy.” “For Heaven’s sake,” I said, “who are you?” Then the little voice said: “I can’t find my mommy.” All the time I could smell the cold that was clinging to her as if she had come out of some deadly cold place. She was dressed in a white nightgown, very long, quite covering her feet, and I could see dimly through her thin body mottled blue with the cold. Her face did not look so cold; that was a clear waxen white. Her hair was dark, but it looked as if she it might by dark only because it was so damp, almost wet, and might really be fair coloured hair. As the child descended further into the room, the ceiling returned and no longer visible were the stars. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5
Well, I was so dumfounded that I did not know what to do, and I could not make sense at first that it was anything supernatural. Then I tried to catch hold of the child, for I thought in spite of what I saw that perhaps I was nervous and she was a real child. I went to put my shawl around her, but the minute I moved toward the child, there was no longer a child there; there was only that little voice seeming to come from nothing, saying, “I can’t find my mommy,” and presently that died away. That feeling I had, the current in my stomach, my temples, my fingertips—it remained with me for quite a while. It rose and fell with the memory of that girl’s words. The air was still. As I gazed out the window, the silvery vapour hung serenely on the far horizon, and the frosty stars blinked brightly. Everyone knows the effect of such a scene on a mind already saddened. Fancies and regrets floats delicately in the mind, and the scene affected me with a strange sense of memory and anticipation, like some sweet old air heard in the distance. There was something of the unearthly and spectral within these walls whose direct connection was with a necromancy even older than the Salem witchcraft could not be doubted. A hideous traffic was going on among nightmare ghouls. Sometimes, looking at the past can have consequences for the present. It is best graves should be left well alone. We do not need to pull all the pieces together of things that are better left to rest. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5
The Winchester Mystery House
Of all the myths which have come down to us from ancient times and of all creations, the personality of evil has the strongest attraction for the mind of man. The Devil is the greatest enigma that has ever confronted the human intelligence. So large a place has Satan taken in our imagination, and we might also say in our heart, that his expulsion therefrom, no matter what philosophy may tech us, must forever remain an impossibility. The Devil advanced with the progress of civilization, because he is what men make him. I talked to caretakers of The Winchester Mystery House about apparitions they may have seen in Mrs. Winchester’s mansion. Some of them had never seen anything unusual. However, there was a man, who always liked to take tour of The Winchester Mystery House of Friday the 13th. When queried about his insistence on that day, the man freely admitted it was because on that day he could see “her”—the “her” being a female wraith who appeared at the mansion to listen to the guests, and then disappeared at midnight. On that day, he could always be next to her! I pressed more caretakers about any personal experienced. Finally, he thought that he had seen something like a figure in white out of the corner of one eye, a figure that passed, and quickly disappeared.
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/
Something Appalling Has Entered My Life!
Despite what the living think, ghosts do not know everything. They know almost everything, but not some things. It is strange how timorous we are when our affections are concerned. Often and often, I have trembled to think of William’s death, as I saw fever dim his eyes like an angel of mercy, him day by day grow weaker, while president of Winchester Repeating Arms Company. Must his eyes never more behold the beauty that was born to his soul? Oh, never more! As thought came to me, I shuddered in affright, for it seemed to me that I had been guilty of sacrilege. My bedroom was a large chamber—immense for a bedroom—with two windows. The furniture was old-fashioned, but not old enough to be curious, and on the walls hung many pictures—portraits—the house was full of portraits—and landscapes. I just glanced at these, and when to bed. There was a fire in the room, and I lay awake for some time looking dreamily at the shadows of the furniture flitting over the walls and ceiling as the flames of the wood fire leaped and fell, and the red ember dropped whitening on the hearth. I tried t give the rein to my thoughts, but they kept constantly to one subject—William. I heard a voice of strange, rich sweetness, yet wavering—the voice of one almost a king by nature. He calls my name. His voice floats on the wind, amid drowsy music of the harps and fountains. I see him and he sits down near me. As if it was winter and someone had opened a window, a cold wind blew though the room. A kind of awe stole over me. Oh, the melody of that voice! It vibrates more and more as it gives back the echo. I felt his weight on the edge of my bed, the weight of an actual body, but at the same time I could see through him. I could see the wall of my room through his red hair and through the golden aura around him. His spirit seems lost in a trance. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5
Zip jumped when I called out to my late husband, then lied on the floor beside my bed. I watched him in silence. He seemed to be half-listening to the fitful music; and as the melody swelled and died away his chest rose and fell as he breathed in unison with the music. After a moment or two, William appeared to become conscious of a presence in the room. I could see by the working of his hands and the heaving of his chest that some violent emotion troubled him. Gradually, however, he grew more calm, but before I could collect my scattered thoughts, he eluded me, in unison with the silencing of the harps. William—William—William. I found myself half awakening, and repeating his name over and over and over again. At last, I fell asleep. I thought that I awoke suddenly to that peculiar feeling which we sometimes have on starting from sleep, as if someone had been speaking in the room, and the voice is still echoing through it. All was quite silent, and the fire had gone out. I looked out of the window that lay beside the bed, and observed a light outside, which gradually grew brighter till the room was almost as light as by day. The light in the room continued to grow even brighter, so I looked again out of the window to seek it source, and saw there a lovely sight. It seemed as if William and Annie were outside the window and floating in mid-air. The light seemed to spring from a point far behind them, and by their side was something dark and shadowy, which served to set off their radiance. My late husband and daughter seemed to be smiling upon me. I looked away for only a moment, but they had been replaced by some malignity. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5
Something appalling has entered my life! Dark forebodings of a hideous, menacing fate are looming over me like the shadows of black clouds, impervious to any kindly ray of sunlight. The dark mass had grown. From a cloud, misty and undefined, it became sort of a shadow with a form. This gradually, as I looked, grew darker and fuller, till at length it made me shudder. There stood before me the phantom Fiend—a man who looked more dead than alive. The nature of his disease and the inherent evil of his character had combined to make him resemble on the outside the monster that he was within. His ravaged flesh was mottled purple and grey. His eyes were enormous, so cold and unblinking, with tiny pupils and a great expanse of white around them which gave him a look of insanity. His mouth drooped on one side where it was permanently open, revealing yellow teeth. His lips were lumpy, almost black. It was like the face of some atrocious criminal already hanging from the gibbet. There was a long period of dead silence, in which I could hear the beating of my own heart. It was distinguished by a fierce, diabolical laughter, which swelled louder and louder, till at last it grew so strong that in very horror, I cried. I was very much troubled by what I had seen and heard. I wiped the tears from my eyes and looked out of the window again, but saw nothing but the broad belt of moonlight glittering on the lawn moist with dew, which extended miles and miles away, till it was lost in the haze. The vision had utterly faded. However, it was so powerful that I slept no more till the sunlight was streaming broadly in at the widow, and then I feel into a slumber. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5
In my dream last night, when in my ears came softly, like music stealing across the gardens below, the old song William and I used to sing together, then to my brain, like a way of light, came an idea whose grandeur for a moment struck me dumb. Before my eyes grew a Ballroom of such beauty that I knew my hope was born to life, and his spirit had placed my foot on a stairway that leads from this my palace to freedom. My mansion is daily growing nearer to completion. I sing as I work, and my constant song is the one I love so well. I can hear the echo of my voice in the Grand Ballroom; and as I end, the wailing song note is prolonged in sweet music. So beautiful my home has become, so much do I love it, that I could gladly die to be maker of such a work, were it not for the spirits, and my hope of appeasing them. My life is slowly ebbing away. This yearning for completeness much be unsatisfied in the end. Leaning on the edge of the window, looking out at the dark, moonless sky, my excitement was so great that my knees were trembling. When I retired to my bedroom that night, I was much too excited to sleep. I paced up and down the room for some time, thinking and doubting. I could not believe what I expected to happen, and yet my heart was filled with a vague dread. The next few minutes passed so slowly that each moment seemed an age. I was standing, counting the moments, when suddenly a light came into the room that made the candle on the table appear quite dim, and my shadow was reflected on the wall by some brilliant light which streamed in through the window. My heart for an instead ceased to beat, and then the blood rushed so violently to my temples that my eyes grew dim and my head began to reel. As I lied down in my bed, I fell quickly to sleep. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5
Then there came from the dark interior a husky whisper which somehow chilled me through and though I did not know why I feared it. However, as disturbing as was the whisper, the greater fear was that which immediately followed. The floor creaked and the steps went back and forth. Heavy, masculine steps, the kind a big man would make. Soon after the footsteps, other noises began to be heard in the attic and along the corridors and stairs leading toward it. I got out of bed, and opened by bedroom door and started to go up the stairs, when suddenly I walked into what I can only described as a warm, wet blanket, something that touched my physically as if it had been hung from wires in the corridor. I was very upset. As I reached the attic, the door knob had turned in front of my very eyes before I could reach for it to open the door. All of a sudden, my right side, the right side of my head, felt very depressed and a feeling of great despair came over me. I felt like wringing my hands and was very distraught. It only stayed with me a few moments, and I could almost feel something or someone pressing against the right side of my head. And then I saw a mist, on the landing of the stairs. It had a shape, rather tall and thin. It did not have a face. But I did see hands wringing. Then I felt a mighty shock, and all the Universe seemed filed with sparks of fire that whirled around me with lightning speed, till I seemed to be in the center of a World of flame, and then came in my ears the rushing of a mighty wind, swelling ever louder, and then came a blackness over al things and a deadness of sound as if all the Earth had passes away, and I remembered no more. When I next became conscious, I was lying in bed in a dark room. As I tried to look around but, I could hardly stir my head. I attempted to speak, but my voice was without sound. And I again felt a darkness gathering around me. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5
The Winchester Mystery House
In the middle of April 1890, Mrs. Winchester told one of the servants that she had been plagued by extraordinary noises resounding through the house that she believed to be the work of thieves. He dismissed her complaint as being nothing other than the result of an over-active imagination. Then, a few nights later, he heard the noises for himself. He heard a very great knocking at the doors and on the outside walls of the hose. He immediately arose, dressed himself, and took out a shot gun. He truly believed that there was an intruder in the grounds. However, as he walked down stairs, the noise seemed always to travel before or behind him. When he came to the front door, from which he thought the principal noise had come, there was no one there. Then he heard the knocking at another door. As soon as he had retired the noises began, even more furiously than before, and he heard what he described as a thumping and drumming on the top of the house, and then by degrees going off into the air. This strange hollow noise visited Mrs. Winchester very frequently, usually for thirteen nights and then ceased for three nights before beginning again.
Sometimes the afterlife is difficult for the ghost, as he or she may be too strongly attached to feelings of guilt or revenge to “let go.” Ghosts usually do not harm anyone, except through fear found within the witness. The harm results from the witness’s own doing because of his or her unawareness of what ghosts represent. In the few cases where ghosts have attacked people of the flesh, it is simply a matter of mistaken identity, where extreme violence at the time of death had left a strong residue of memory in the individual ghosts. Try a they might, people cannot explain away ghosts, not will ghost simply disappear. They continue to appear frequently in The Winchester Myster House and all over the World to young and senior citizens, to affluent and less affluent, in old houses and new, in airports and forests, streets and hotels, and wherever tragedy strikes. For ghosts are indeed more or nothing less than a human being trapped by special circumstances in this World while already being in the next; or, to put it another way, ghosts are human beings whose spirits are unable to leave the Earthly surroundings because of unfinished business or emotional entanglement. However, even if you do not encounter ghosts or have a psychic experience in The Winchester Mystery House, you will find it a fascinating place. As an adventure, The Winchester Mystery House has no equal.
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/
This is a Journey Not Meant for the Faint of Heart
Welcome to The Winchester Mystery House. If you choose to visit, you will find out things you never knew existed. This is a journey not meant for the faint of heart. Secrets of darkness will be revealed, some of which you may leave you baffled. You may even find out what lies behind the eyes of what seem to be innocent people. This labyrinth represents a journey. A pilgrimage of change, growth, discovery, movement, transformation. This house was continuously expanding Mrs. Winchester’s vision of what is possible by stretching her soul, as she was learning to see clearly and deeply. Listening to her intuition and taking courageous architectural challenges at every step along the way, whether it be on easy riser or stains to the ceiling. Mrs. Winchester knew she was on the right path, exactly where she wanted to be. Moving forward as each turret rose and dormer was crowned, and the house expanded nine stories, shaping Llanada Villa into a magnificent legend of triumph, healing, courage, mystery, beauty, and power. This fortress is an ancient symbol that represents union with the eternal. The hallways create an illusion of walking in circles, yet never passing by the same room more than once. It is believed that the miles and long and twisting hall in The Winchester Mystery House were used as pathways of prayer and meditation. Llanada Villa is a metaphour of Mrs. Winchester’s journey. This house is a living memorial, a sacred space; it is a puzzle that allows each and every one of us to solve the enigma of Mrs. Winchester. However, once you enter, there is no way out. #RandolphHarris 1 of 4
To understand The Winchester Mystery House one needs intuition, creativity, and imagery. If you do not get lost along the way, as some have disappeared into the fabric of this home, this is a journey to the center of the Victorian Ear and then back out into the modern World. The archetype has symbols incorporated into the architecture and floors of this gothic pilgrimage which date back centuries. Perhaps the most impressive features are the steeply pitched roofs, the plush gardens, or ornate hand craved wood details. The nine-story tower, which was removed in 1906, was said to reach 328 feet into the style. The Winchester Mystery House is also just as famous for its several stained glass windows and one of the double hung wooden windows. These remarkable windows, the most complete collection of ancient stained-glass windows in America, are particularly celebrated for their vibrant colours. Many of the stained-glass windows remain in position, but some were removed and kept sage in an onsite museum. If the pilgrims were seeking redemption, they would often crawl along the route to the Witches Cap, or go to the height of the nine-story tower for repentance, or as an attempt to be closer to God. In some cases, walking the labyrinth would symbolize an actual pilgrimage of the Holy Land known as America, and came to be known as the “Chemin de New World,” or road of the New World. The wings of the Winchester Mansion and nonstop construction have a deep symbolic meaning, including representing the six days of Creation, the Holy Spirit, or simply enlightenment. #RandolphHarris 2 of 4
One of the most unusual names attached to the Winchester Mansion is “Llanda Villa,” which means small village. No matter how forbidding some of the dark places in the house are, people have used labyrinths throughout history—often surprisingly, to stay safe. In 1923, a man knocking down a wall inside The Winchester Mystery House made an amazing find. He discovered a human unexplored area of the mansion—that had been forgotten for decades. There was a long hallways and secrets rooms where some suspected Mrs. Winchester would go for solitude. There were also kitchens, storage rooms, and even schools and séance rooms. Thick stone doors were used to seal off the entrance to some of the rooms. In this sprawling mansion are several miles of passage ways, galleries, and chambers. One of the most amazing chambers is the Blue Séance Room, which has been a place of worship since about 1896. It was once lit by a huge chandelier made with glass-like crystals, and had an altar, statues, and detailed cloth sheets with architectural details on them. The Winchester Mystery House is hauntingly beautiful. After the death of Mrs. Winchester, the movers wondered would the prevail against encroaching malevolence, as some were entangled in the inescapable clutches of shadows. The people of the town spread rumours about an evil presence that was said to be hiding within the shadows of the basement. They spoke of lost and vengeful souls who were tormented by their past. There are secret passages in the walls, honeycombing the mansion, making it a kind of parallel universe within. To this day, something lives in the basement and in the attics, there are strange apparitions. #RandolphHarris 3 of 4
Within the framework of this medieval teratology, there is an “otherness.” Many have traversed an upward or downward path, with monsters becoming either saintly, angelic beings, or animals and demons. Sometimes these entities are reabsorbed into the into the soul of the house in a blink of an eye. Although there have been intrusive forensic investigations of the house, the growing mystery of what lies behind the walls and beneath the floors is still unknown. The ghosts are indifferent to material barriers; they can pass through solid objects and manifest themselves in defiance of dimensional logic. This house is a border between life and death. An entire unknown World exists. The door-to-nowhere is at times closed, bolted, pad-locked. At others, it is open, that is to say wide open. The walls, ceilings, and floors are home to the invisible but audible lives that are carried on beyond them and can evoke some of the familiar moods of the vast castles and monasteries of the Gothic romance. The “roar” that can be heard in the house must be the scream of a spirit as it was torn from its body. It represents the terror, the crisis, the pain, and individual suffering the spirits that call this house home live with. On 16 January 2024, a caretaker was walking along the upstairs landing in the afternoon when he heard footsteps behind him; he turned and saw the figure of a man that promptly disappeared. He saw the same man on other occasions; he was wearing an old fashion suit and cowboy hat and was carrying a shotgun. Later, on seeing photographs he realized it was Oliver Winchester. Objects often disappear, and reappear in other places. Most curiously of all, books appear out of nowhere. One evening a caretaker found a collection of books stacked at the top of the stairs to the ceiling. These books were of some age, and were of a historical nature. #RandolphHarris 4 of 4
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/
And the Angel of Death Shall Surely Pass Over
Whatever the truth is about the Winchester family, this much is certain: when I came to Santa Clara Valley and found my land, the air was so heavily laden with perfume that it was as if every wild lilac and wild rose and every white sage was borne into the hidden heart of Llanada Villa. There was no lack of invisible blossom. As I build my home, many of the plants and trees and flowers were brought in from the World outside. There were deer and coyote and raccoons that spread throughout my garden of this great dream palace. There also orchids and lotus flowers—nurtured by the gardeners. Areas of pure foliage were the handiwork of apprentices, working on their craft by filling in areas that their teachers had not the time to address. However, for some reason there was always a certain bitterness in my home here. None of this spoiled the power of the overall vision. Iin fact, it created a splendid energy. Portions of my home were in focus; other parts were barely visible. However, the hungry deer were driven from their traditional trails by the presence of the unknown. The deer no longer lingered on my estate for very long with the same curiosity they once had. They were no longer fond of the secret enclaves of the gardens and seldom chose to stay very long there. Perhaps it was just that the leaves and petals had become bitter. Conceivably there were too many whisperings in the air around the gazebos, and the precious animals were unnerved by what they heard, or maybe when they looked up, the same a fragment of light that caused them to take flight. I became aware that my home was host to souls which expressed their longing for something they dreamed of, something they had once possessed, or something they now dreamed of. At night, their voices were so tenuous that they were almost inaudible to the human ear. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
Sometimes, the caretakers were curious to discover what lies off the prescribed corridors in my home. On occasion what they discovered would cause them to come to a vail of tears. Over the years, even trespassers were compelled to trespass in my home. However, these visitors would always leave hurriedly. Those without even a psychic bone in their body were made uneasy by something they had discovered along the corridors which ran in all directions. The Villagers made up malicious rumors about me and my home. They claimed that horrible things had been done here and the human blood was used in the mortar between the bricks of the foundation. They called me the Satan’s wife and claimed that I had sent my husband William away on a hunting trip and that he never came back. Oh, how these stories hurt my heart. On a bad day, I would just wish to die. Some said that William was a great hunter, but he did not always limit his quarry to animals. People also said that if guest who lived in my home got out of line that Satan would cut off their heads in their sleep and dispose of their bodies, which is the real reason no one stayed on staff for every long. There are such stories told by fools. Fools invented myths, but this is a loving home. It was something about my wealth that made them suspicious. People wanted to know what was I hiding in such a large mansion. Some figure there had to be something in my home that deserved a closer look. Caged and helpless, a fiend is at the mercy of the spirits. It is also weak from the battle with the noble lion, which gave its life for the mansion’s safety (and will be buried with honour in an ornamented grave at the foot of the mansion). Just before the dawn came, my advisers advised me, and the golden cage was wheeled away into the darkest area of the mansion, close by the dais where once the huge window was no more. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
I led the way down the passageway to another door, one that was much smaller than the mahogany door we have come through. We were presented with a flight of step that led us to landing, with the option to take another flight of stairs, taking us deeper into the mansion, or to walk up a different flight of steps to an even higher level of the house than we had originally descended from. This ingenious feature all us to quickly get to three levels of the house. I always notice that when I chose to climb to the higher level of the house that the air was noticeably more frigid. No matter what, there was always something to catch the eye, but with all these stairs and doors, I had forgotten that even I could get lost in my home. It was not my choice to build the home in this fashion. I did as I was told by the spirits. I had rooms built and tore down, furniture and tapestries moved. I followed their counsel. The leader of the architects was a spirit called Marbas. The bearer of that name was also winged. He was the fifth fallen angel, a great President and would appear in the form of a Great Lion, but at my request, he would put on a human shape. Marbas and his people are winged beings. They are more like a nest of dark eagles than anything, mounted high among the pilasters and pinnacles of the Observational Tower. Cruel and magnificent, like eagles, the somber sentries motionless as statuary on the ledge-edges of the mansion, their stable winds folded about them. They are very alike in appearance (less a race or a tribe, more a flock, an unkindness of ravens). Marbas and his Legion, also black-winged, black-haired, aquiline of feature, standing on the brink of star-dashed space. He has great wisdom and knowledge in the mechanical arts, and governed thirty-six legions of spirits. They have their own traditions of art and science. They do not make or read books, fashion garments, discuss God or metaphysics or men. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
Marbas launches himself into the air, speeds down the sky on black ails of his wings, calling, a call like laughter or derision. This morning, in the tween-time before the light began and the sun-to-be drove him away to his shadowed eyrie in the Observational Tower. Marbas pays no heed. He does not need to reason, he merely knows, that noise make this—as he smashed a window or tears down a room. Its design he found fault with. It is, of course, more than that. The magic of Purpose has protected this fortress, and, as in all balances, there must be, or come to be, some balancing contradictions, some flaw…appropriated for the occasion. Bars, bars, all about him, and not to be got rid of, for he reaches to tear them away and cannot. Beyond the bars, the Crystal Bedroom, which is only a pointless cold glitter to in in the maze of pain and dying lights. Not an open place, in fact, but too open for his kind. Through the window-spaces of thick stained-glass, colourful sunglare must come in. To Marbas it will be like swords, acids, and burning fire—far off he hears wings beat and voices soaring. His people search for him, call and wheel find nothing. Marbas cries out, a gravel shriek now, and the persons in the hall rush back from him, calling on God. However, Marbas does not see. He has tried to answer his own. Now he sinks down again under the coverlet of his broken wings, and the wine-red of his eyes go out. The smashed window in the old turret above the menagerie tower has been sealed with mortar and brick. It is a terrible thing that it was so long overlooked. A miracle that only one of the creatures found and entered by it. God, the Protected, guarded the Cursed Heiress and her court. And the magic that surrounds the estate, that too held fast. From the possibility of disaster was born a bloom of great value Now one of the mosters is in their possession. A prize beyond price. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
The switchback staircase had seven flights with forty-four steps, which only rises about nine feet, since each step was just two inches. This was to confuse intruders who were already undoubtedly scared by the many bizarre features in such a large maze. There are even two sets of stairs that lead to the ceiling. The miles of twisting hallways were made even more intriguing by secret passageways in the walls. I traveled through my house in a roundabout fashion, to confuse any mischievous onlookers that might be following me. Eyes often burning through the night, depthless red as claret. And then other eyes, amber, green and gold, spring out like stars across the path. Their cries are mostly wordless and always mysterious, flung out like ribbons over the air as they wheel and swoop and hang in wicked cruciform, between the beams in the ceiling. The spirits sing, long hours, for whole nights at a time, music that has a language that only they know. All their wisdom and theosophy, and all their gras of beauty, truth or love, is in the singing. They look unloving enough, and so they are. Pitiless, fallen angels. They have accepted every bastion and wall as their prey. They have preyed on this mansion and tried to prey on it for years. In the beginning, their calls, their songs, could lure victims to the feast. In this way, the tribe or unkindness took William from a midnight balcony. However, my daughter was the first victim. They left both Annie and William to the sunrise, marble figures, the life drunk away. By night, the spirits fly like huge black moths round and round the carved turrets, the dull-lit leaded windows, their wings invoking a cloudy tindery wind, pushing thunder against thundery glass. They sense they are attributed to some sin, reckoned a punishing curse, a penance, and this amuses them at the level whereon they understand it. It gets hellishly cold. The staff would brew their own brandy from the plums we grew on my trees to stay warm. Glasses were filled and emptied, but they never achieved the warmth they intended to. Even though there were forty-seven fireplaces and lights that along the walls, often times they did nothing to warm the air. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
I cautiously unlatched the door. Opened it a crack. The room was in darkness, but despite that fact there was a warmth in their air; at least in contrast to the bone chilling air of the hallway. Then I opened it wider. I starred into the darkness, enjoying the slight rise in temperate. When I pushed the light button, the room was empty. As I traversed through the corridor, familiar objects looked strange and shadows moved unexpectedly. Just then, the chandelier dimed, gave off a strange sizzing sound and blacked out. Zip jumped and clutched my leg. I gasped for a breath. A narrow stair led to the attic. The light there must have burned out long ago. A ghostly figure with waving arms rushed at us. There was a panic for a moment, then I laughed shakily. It was my wedding dress. The draft blows it around! The beauty of the demon affected me, making me wish to paint it, not as something wonderfully disgusting, but as a kind of superlative man, vital and innocent, or as Lucifer himself, stricken in the sorrow of his colossal Fall. And all that has caused me to pity the fallen one, mere artisan that I am, so I slunk away. I know, since the alchemist and the apothecary told me, what is to be done. Of course, most of the mansion knows Though scarcely anyone has slept or sought sleep, the whole place rings with excitement and vivacity. I have decreed, too, that everyone who wishes shall be a witness. So I have having a progress through the mansion, seeking every nook and cranny, while, let it be said, my carpenter, Mr. Hansen, takes the opportunity to check no other windowpane has cracked. From room to room my entourage pass, through corridors, along stairs, through attics and storerooms I have never seen, or if I have seen has forgotten. The ancient women in the mansion sigh and whisper. It is one of the dark staircases above the Devil’s kitchen that my gleaming entourage and I sweep round a bend and comes Marth the scullery maid, scrubbing. In these days, when there are so few children and young servants, labour is scarce, and the scullerers are not confined to the scullery. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
Martha stands up, pale with shock, and for a wild instant thinks that, for some heinous crime she had committed in ignorance, I have come in person to behead her. “Here then, by Mrs. Winchester’s will,” cries Mr. Hasen, my carpenter. “One of the night-demons, which do torment us has been captured and lies penned in the Grand Ball Room. At sunrise tomorrow, this thing will be taken to that sacred spot where grows the bush of the Flower of the Fire, and here its foul blood shall be shed. Who then can doubt the bush of will blossom, and save us all, by the Grace of God.” When I got down stairs in the morning, Daisy was in the palour arranging a great bowl of roses from the garden. Sunlight streamed into the mellow room, a light breeze fluttered the curtains. No hint of ghosts on such a bright morning. “Aunt Sarah, let’s not worry about things this morning,” Daisy suggested. “It’s a wonderful day. Do you want to go into town with me? I see more dresses.” “I did,” I said “We’ll take the short cut back. It’ll save three hours.” The shortcut lay through several fields, a few pastures, and woodlands. “By the way Daisy, are you sure you like your bedroom? It is long off from anyone else, you know?” “Like it? To be sure I do; I have my own house within your home, Aunt Sarah. Here I taste a mingling of modern elegance and hoary antiquity, such as has never ere now graced for life. And this town, small as it is, affords us some reflection, pale indeed, but veritable, of the sweets of polite intercourse: the adjacent country numbers amid the occupants of its scattered mansion some whose polish is annually refreshed by contact with metropolitan splendour, and others whose robust and homely geniality is, at times, and by the way of contrast, not less cheering and acceptable.” “Nothing could be more enchanting.” For years, from sunset to rise, nothing would wake Daisy. Once, as a child, when she had been especially badly beaten for being related to a Winchester, the pain woke her and she heard a strange silken scratching, somewhere over her head. But she thought it a rat, or a bird. Yes, a bird, for later it seemed to her there were also winds. However, she has now forgot all of this. Now she sleeps deeply and dreams of being a princess. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
Winchester Mystery House
Mrs. Winchester was considered a child enchantress. Groups of would gather around this miracle with perfect rose-bud cheeks whose dark eyes, long wavy hair, and bright simile set here apart from any other child. They were transfixed by her uncanny ability to speak several languages, which she had never studied. They were amazed that she could play several instruments remarkably well. Others could not resist the alluring falsetto tone of the child siren. Her gaze was enthralling, and her voice was soft. Some were impressed by the sense of indifference Mrs. Winchester demonstrated when they met her. It was a real part of her nature; bred into her, perhaps, by a bloodline that had suffered so much loss and anguish over the generations. This is why nothing was allowed to impress her too greatly; she had no idea how remarkable she and her creations were because she suffered too severely from a broken heart. As an adult, Mrs. Winchester held her beauty in extreme reserve, providing only glimpses of her presence for public consumption. It was these glimpses that kept the audience coming to her home to sneak a view of her day after day. However, Mrs. Winchester was too good an actress to let people see how deeply she mourned for the deaths of her husband, parents, and infant daughter. And it is the same power which her Grand Queen Anne mansion unleashes to audiences today. Mrs. Winchester was an orphan of a great spiritual storm. There are some parts of the mansion not shared with the public, and with good reason. You see, there are people who should not see what it has to show. I do not know if it is mysterious or if it is sad. You see, the woman who built this mansion was a good soul. The truth is, we are all a little afraid of what happened here because none of us are certain of the truth. All we can do, is say our prayers, and put our souls into God’s care when we are on this beautiful but bizarre estate.
After the death of Mrs. Winchester, the city of Santa Clara wanted to turn her home into a hospital, but a psychic said that the Devil had cursed the place. People’s hearts were filled with sorrow for the things they said about her, after learning how kind and charitable she had secretly been. No one has ever been able to estimate the true size or complexity of the Winchester Mystery House. Although it is only recognized as being 24,000, experts believe that it has to be at least 150,000 square feet. At one time, it was even larger than it is today and had as many as 600 rooms and nine stories. It is plain, even from a distance, that the home was elaborately designed. The estate was originally comprised of an estimated 740 acres of land, and had green trees from every part of the World, and more, sweeter hues in the growth between them. Beneath the canopy, there were exotic flowers and creature, and the branches of the trees skillfully lead the impression that light was falling through the foliage, which is now virtually simulated in the mysterious windows in the Grand Ball Room. It was rendered with remarkable expertise. People have always been exhilarated by what they see. Some people leave the estate wiping their cold and clammy hands, and wonder to themselves how is it that such a beautiful mansion could invoke such fear into their souls. Caretakers and business associates understood the coldness on the matters of the heart displayed by Mrs. Winchester, as she remained unmarried and celibate after the death of her husband. This coldness is what made her so strong; and it was her strength—visible in her eyes and in her every movement—that have endured her audiences for nearly two hundred years. Sometimes you find beauty in the strangest places. Mrs. Winchester’s thoughts are with the walls and the beautiful art-glass windows.
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/
Until He is Dead– Fear is a Paralyzing Agent
Somewhere there are phantoms having their own funerals over and over again. The same scene for centuries. Therefore, it is socially inappropriate to speak ill of a person in the aftermath of their death. De mortuis nihil nisi bonum (of the dead, nothing unless good). Demortuis nil nisi bene dicendum (of the dead, nothing spoken unless truthfully). Do not speak evil of the dead because once you do, you cannot apologize and take back the things you said. Their spirits may also put a curse on you. So, that sin cannot be forgiven. Perception is primarily of mental representations of external objects. People often feel that because a person is dead that they can say anything they want about the individual and it will not hurt them. However, some overlook the possibility that there may be people alive who love that individual and they will be offended by the unkind words. When you slander a dead person, you offend their relatives, friends, and fans. And it is not easy for you to locate each one of them and ask for forgiveness. This is more difficult than seeking a pardon of one who is alive, and it may also cause some to want to retaliate. Also, it is commonly noted that poltergeist cases tend to involve agents who are in their adolescent or teenage years. The median age of the agent is 14 years. Around 37 percent of the cases have an agent who is under 20. However, sometimes the agents can be as young as 8 or as old as 70. In many poltergeist cases, it has been found that the RSPK agent may be in a situation that is bringing about psychological tension for him or her, usually in relation to interpersonal problems with other people who live or work with the agent. There is hostility in the agent which cannot be expressed in normal ways, the main target for the anger being people with whom he is associated on a daily basis. #RandolphHarris 1 of 13
There are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Psychokinesis means movement by the mind. The idea is what perhaps some people sometimes may be able, whether consciously or unconsciously, to move or otherwise affect things without pushing or pulling them and, indeed, without in any way touching either things in question or any other things involved in the process. Perhaps, it is suggested, these people or, indeed, all of us really can in some condition bring about changes in things by simply willing, as a gambler might wish that by simply willing and without any detectable cheating he or she could get dice to fall in ways one desires. Once this suggestion is allowed there seems to be room for an alternative description of many experiments which might otherwise have appeared to be unambiguous evidence of the reality of precognition. Such a description will be in terms of psychokinesis, guided perhaps by a measure of straight telepathy or straight clairvoyance. The subject may not, after all, really be the precognizing target. Perhaps that individual or somebody else is consciously or unconsciously influencing psychokinetically the target-determining mechanism in order to increase the degree of correspondence between the guess series and the target series. #RandolphHarris 2 of 13
A body/skeleton was found in a Gage County, Nebraska riverbed in March of 1873, and it was thought to John Cameron’s remains. William Jackson Marion was suspected of the murder because the year earlier, he and John Cameron left Nebraska and headed to work on the railroad. However, just days later, William Jackson Marion returned alone with John Cameron’s team of horses. William Jackson Marion was eventually convicted for murder and was hanged in Beatrice, Nebraska 25 March 1887. An article in the Omaha Daily Bee on 26 March 1887 declared there was, “No doubt that he was guilty and also guilty of other murders in the Indian Territory.” However, four years later in 1891, after William Jackson Marion was executed, John Cameron turned up alive and explained that he had, in the nearly twenty years since his “murder” traveled to Mexico, Alaska, and Colorado. He had fled out of fear of a paternity allegation, and sold his team of horses to William Jackson Marion and still have the note William Jackson Marion had given him for payment of the remainder. One Hundred years after his hanging, on the 25th March 1987, William Jackson Marion was pardoned posthumously by the State of Nebraska. We just recently reached the 130 year anniversary of Mr. William Jackson Marion’s hanging. May God bless you and restore you house, horses, and provide you with a happy life in Heaven. #RandolphHarris 3 of 13
Poltergeist experiences or cases of RSPK, are, but the currently held model, related to the subconscious mind of a person in the situation where the disturbances are going on. That person is generally in a stress-related tense, and frustrating situation or relationship. Where most people would respond to the stress in a variety of normal ways, from punching the walls or throwing things to have nervous breakdowns or experiencing physical illness, or poltergeist agents have an alternate means of blowing off steam. For some, the reaction to stress is a subconsciously directed psychokinetic outburst. Called a subconscious psychokinetic temper tantrum. There was a local playhouse, and a movie was made based on a fictional character, but experiences that really happened. When the directors of the film, The Gallows wanted to remake a high school paranormal activity reenactment of the hanging of William Jackson Marion, they may have gotten more than they bargained for. When you watch the tape, it is labeled as “Police evidence.” The plot is set in 1993, when high school students are in a theater putting on a production The Gallows. Charlie Grimille, who is playing August, is in love with Mary (Pfeifer Ross) in the play is accused of murder and is accidentally hanged and killed after a prop malfunction with the gallows, and the trap door broke, he fell through with a noose around his neck and died. A live audience witnessed the unbelievably morbid event. Charlie’s death haunted the town and his spirit never really seemed to leave the theater. Now, here is where the twist comes in. While watching the film, I thought to myself this seems really real. However, just wrote it off as good acting. The part that seemed really real to me was when the students, 20 years later, put on the play The Gallows, again. So, anyway, there is a reason it seemed real because some of it was. #RandolphHarris 4 of 13
The film had a low budget of $100,000.00 and is a Warner Brothers production, but the total remuneration of more than $43 million. The Directors, Chris Lofing and Travis Cluff wanted the film to seem real and they decided they were not going to tell the audience that Charlie Grimille was going to hang, so when they hang him, the audience would think something went wrong in the movie. Like, in the Crow, when Brandon Lee was really shot and killed on set, much like his father Bruce Lee was. Once Charlie dropped and there was chaos, the directors wanted to see how long they could let it go before people freaked out and called the police. The actors knew that Charlie was going to be hanged. They even practiced the play in a fake way with the audience watching, and Charlie took the noose off and got away, so everyone thought that is how it was supposed to go. And they practiced that way three or four times and then they rolled the cameras. However, the directors wanted the cast to be scared and freak the audience out, so they changed the script a little and hanged Charlie a lot soon than anyone expected. And everyone was shocked, they thought someone had just died. It has been noted that when a RSPK agent is upset, strange things happen, things blow up and such, and the the individual feels less stressed out. Investigators notice higher levels of paranormal activity when an RSPK agent is upset. So, the consequences of torture and oppression may not be as isolated as the tormentors would like. However, you also have to keep in mind, if there is an RSPK agent, and people suspect this, there may be cases of fraud when things are staged to make it look like the agent was responsible. #RandolphHarris 5 of 13
Nevertheless, the real creepiness does not stop there. To make the movie feel real, the directors told the actors that the movie was based on real events that took place in Beatrice, Nebraska USA, and after doing research, I discovered that it was; just not in the theater. Still, the directors took it a step further to scare the cast, they had pictures, newspaper articles, websites that they had fabricated to make it seem that the movie plot was exactly real and happened in the timeline that they created. So, the actors were afraid. And this is exactly why people do not want actors and movie producers to be involved in government or media because they can stage events with all the technology, get people to lie and turn news into terrorism and pure entertainment for profits. When Cassidy Gifford was interviewed, she said they did not want to say Charlie Grimille’s name. The directors and actors said that weird things that were not scripted did happen on set. The movie was shot in the most haunted location in Fresno, California USA. They said it felt like a place where someone would drag someone and lock them up for a long time, and that it felt like something else was living in the theater. Ryan Shoos, one of the main characters said that he was acting tough, but really scared. Pfeifer Brown in a haunted bathroom heard a loud thud and started screaming like she was scared for her life. Perhaps this could be traced back to some causal ancestor common to both the anticipated and the fulfillment, or it could be the law of averages. If you play around with unknown forces long enough, you are likely to be confronted with a remarkable case of genuine telepathy. #RandolphHarris 6 of 13
In 41 percent of the paranormal cases, the phenomena began after a move, an illness, or another kind of event that me be stressful or upsetting to people. In 20 percent of the cases, the phenomena started when a bout of rage, disappointment or great frustration was displayed by the suspected RSPK agent. In 8 percent of the cases, the agents were characterized, prior to the start of the disturbances, as already suffering from a mental or emotional problem, or were in a state of physical distress likely to have emotional consequences. This may have important implications for the human side to poltergeists. Cassidy Gifford said that they locked her in the haunted bathroom and they were supposed to stay in there for fifteen minutes, but after five minutes in the faulty building one of the water faucets turned on and she turned on the lights and started crying. And there was no one there. It is possible that some people may be able, whether consciously or unconsciously, to move or otherwise affect things without physically touching them. The director Chris Lofing said that most of the weird stuff happened late at night on the stage. That they would hear loud thuds and then the chains in the rafters would start rattling. And I believe that they did experience paranormal things. Perhaps he or somebody else was consciously or unconsciously influencing psychokineticaly the target-determining mechanism in order to increase the degree of correspondence between the guess series and the target series. I was doing research on King James and how he thought witches tried to sink a ship he and his wife were on with a storm and then a pot of water on my stove had a huge bubble, a water bubble shot into the air. Also, while I am writing this, the grapefruits on the tree keep falling and making loud thugs, in the past hour in a half, ten have fallen, which is unusual. And another time I was doing research on witch craft these big moths came out of nowhere when I was in my bedroom and I killed one and flushed it down the toilet. #RandolphHarris 7 of 13
Then the next few days another one appeared and flew around and I went to get a newspaper to kill it and it hit the floor and disappeared and I move everything and vacuumed and could not find it, so kept the light on for a few hours, I was freaked out. Because the research I was doing talked about the spells and moths and bones and blood and such. Much like that theater, this building I live in is old and four people on my floor have died and about ten people have died in the nine years that I have been here. One lady told me that someone died in my apartment before, too. One of the actors from the actual film, Reese Mishler, said he had some pretty weird experiences. Reese did not like the auditorium because he and Ryan both head something at the same time, and they have it on camera. It sounded like metal chains to them and as Reese talks about his experience, his eyes are bulging out of his head, he looks scared. Pfeifer Brown said as actors, the thing they experienced scared them to death being on set. One of the scenes they were filming, Reese and Ryan Shoos were having an argument, and the directors says this was not supposed to happen, but the ropes on the fly rig were recorded vibrating and it got intense, but Ryan and Reese did not notice it, but it is on tape. 41 percent of the paranormal cases involving moving objects were described by the witnesses to be floating, fluttering, falling in a zigzag patter, or curving around sharp corners. Similarly, objects that displayed unusual flight paths were described in 45 percent of the cases. Some objects were also described as changing their speed while in motion. We are confronted with causes operating backward in time and they may have spring from something less discreditable than complacency. #RandolphHarris 8 of 13
The paranormal on set might even be one manifestation of a conviction that wanted to accommodate such a phenomenon and produce something much more radical and much more retiocinative than a paradoxical screenplay. Ryan said that things you do not see are the things that scare you the most and sometimes he would go a week without sleeping. Pfeiffer said that scariest scene takes place in the attic because the things that happened in the attic were not planned. She said they do not know some of the different things that happened and some of the different things they heard. And each take they would go deeper and deeper into the attic, and each time they were going they did not think it was a good idea. Reese looked scared and did not want to walk down the hallway. On the eighth take in the attic, which ended up being the last take, they heard a quiet sound saying, “Reese.” Reese and Pfeiffer got really scared and ran and were screaming like they were in danger. And actually, watching that movie and the outtakes did kind of freak me out. As I was watching it, I remember thinking, “A movie has not scared me in a long time.” The way I came across the movie was odd, too. I was shopping and two guys were looking at videos and I wanted one, and a movie fell on the floor, so I reached down to pick it up and then saw The Gallows sitting on the floor and bought it. Like it was waiting for me. The poltergeist is both an expression and a release mechanism (or safety valve) of an for this inner hostility. This explanation also tells us a great deal about the specific dynamics of the poltergeist—that is, it actually explains quite neatly just why the poltergeist acts the way it does. I am sure that all readers have seen what happens when a young child becomes frustrated, or when one becomes angry after being scolded for being naughty. The child is apt to throw a tantrum by slamming doors, throwing toys about, banging on the walls, and displaying other aggressive acts. Newton’s III laws state energy is not destroyed, it is only transferred and each action has a separate, but equal reaction. So poltergeist usually are a product of the youth because they have no means to resolve their issues on their own since they have no authority. It does not take much insight to realize that these are the exact activities in which poltergeist engages. Like a frustrated youngster, it too bangs on the walls, throws things, and slams doors. #RandolphHarris 9 of 13
It seems that any explanation or, if that now becomes too strong a word, any account of precognition as such will have to center on the notion of coincidence or something very like it. The laws, if there are any laws to be discovered, will describe the conditions under which we may expect to find precognitive correlations. Perhaps, there is a built-in suggestion that such phenomena are both more common and also somehow more significant than might be thought. Upon hearing all of those thuds of grape fruits falling from the tree, for two hours, the last one being the loudest, I stepped out on the balcony and see nothing, but circular water spots, and a white bird screamed and flew overhead. Then there were sounds of something in the bushes. So, yeah, I find this stuff interesting, but it is spooky. I really think you can open gate ways by what you choose to focus on. Playing with things occult like the Witch (Oujia) board is very dangerous. If you try to contact dead family members, you are not speaking with them. You are speaking with demons and you will indeed open your body up to them. All it takes is one time. Updated to the mystery of the thuds I have been hearing, I just head another and it is someone throwing water bottles off a balcony above me. And now, about 13 “fireworks” just rapidly went off. Anyway, remember Poltergeist, which was an American horror film series? It was rumored that a curse attached itself to the poltergeist trilogy and its crew, because two of the young cast members died, and the oldest cast member died. #RandolphHarris 10 of 13
In each case the reason for talking of precognition is not that any particular guess can, at some stage, be identified as precognitive but, after the guesses have been checked against the targets, the proportion of hits in a series of guesses is found to be significantly above mean-chance expectation, it seems likely that there is some parapsychological phenomena. In poltergeist cases, the object movements and noises may be seen as a similar kind of psychokinetic influence, but on a much larger scale than dice or random numbers. An emotional expression seems to be a factor in many poltergeist cases. The rumors of the curse of the Poltergeist was said to be caused because they used real skeletons as props. Dominique Dunne, who played the oldest daughter Dana in the first filmed died 4 November 1982, at the age of 22 after being strangled by her abusive former boyfriend John Thomas Sweeny. Heather O’Rourke, who played Carol Anne, died 1 February 1988 at the age of 12 due to complications from an acute bowel obstruction. Zelda Rubinstein, who played Tangina Barrons, died 27 January 2010 at the age of 76 from kidney and lung failure. There are countless other tails of Supernatural terror. Rosemary’s Baby, the producer came down with kidney stones and allegedly sent Charlie Mason to murder the director’s wife. And there is the curse of The Omen. It came out 6 June 1976. John Richardson, the special effects consultant, was involved in a car crash that killed his girlfriend/assistant, Liz Moore, on Friday the 13th. The accident was similar to one he planned in The Omen and when Richard regained consciousness, his car odometer was at 66,6XXX. #RandolphHarris 11 of 13
A poltergeist is a large-scale form of psychokinesis or mind over matter in which anomalous physical phenomena (such as moving objects, electrical disturbances, and noises without any obvious source) repeatedly occur in the presence of a certain person over a brief period of time. The large-scale psychokinesis (PK0, occurs largely on the unconscious level, is known as recurrent spontaneous psychokinesis, or RSPK, and the person around whom them phenomena occur is known as the RSPK agent. Actor Gregory Peck was cast as ambassador Robert Thorn, the adopted father of the Devil child, in the Omen. Shortly after Gregory Peck took the role, his son shot himself in the head without the slightest warning or explanation. Then Gregory’s plane was struck by lightning, causing the engine to catch fire and nearly crash. Three days later, The Omen’s screenwriter David Seltzer was also on a flight on his way to the United Kingdom and his plane was struck by lightning. Now, for you plane to crash, you have to take the same exact flight for nearly ten years, everyday. That is how unlikely a plane crash is. However, shortly after, the executive producer Mace Neufeld was in a plane that was struck by lightning. And the producer Harvey Bernhard was in Rome, a lightning bolt barley missed him. Then the production rented a plane to shoot an aerial view of London, the rental company had a last-minutes switch, resulting in the plane going to a group of Japanese businessmen instead. It hit a car, killing everyone in that as well. Also, on the first day of shooting The Omen, several of the main crew members were in head-on car crashes. Gregory Peck was attacked by a vicious pack of Rottweilers (hellhounds are said to attack people who sell their soul). #RandolphHarris 12 of 13
Poltergeists are person-oriented phenomena rather than spirit-oriented. So it is almost like an individual is haunted by spirits, ghost, supernatural powers who have some affect on the being and what happens around the individual and these ripples can be magnified depending on what is happening to that being. Although apparitions are sometimes witnessed in poltergeist cases, this tends to be rather uncommon. The apparitions in poltergeist cases do not always seem to represent human figures, but can also take on the form of animal figures, body limbs, demonic figures, and amorphous shapes that may be indistinct, shadowy, or mist-like. If we were to limit ourselves only to those involving human figures, we may find that the apparitions more often reflect the personalities of living people rather than those of dead people. The day after shooting The Omen was done at the Longleat Safari Park, a London zookeeper names Sidney Bamford was killed in the lion area. He was working for the production as a big cat wrangle for a scene that was meant to appear in the movie. In a scene that showcased zoo tigers, who were menacing the possessed son, Damien, one of the tigers was not properly secured post-filming, leading to a fatal attack on the animal expert. The hotel of the crew members was attacked and a restaurant the cast and crew was in route to eat at suffered an explosion before they got there. The Omen was remade and releases 6 June 2006, and Pete Postlethwaite, who portrayed Father Brennan suffered the loss of his brother, Mike. This was after mike drew three sixes at poker. Black magic operates most effectively in preconscious, marginal areas. Casual curses are the most effective. People tend to fear ghost in their own family. You feel these family curses and think, “If it happened to my father, it could happen to me.” There are a lot of curses and mysticism and real scares. #RandolphHarris 13 of 13
Randolph Harris II International 