Randolph Harris II International

Home » Posts tagged 'Horror'

Tag Archives: Horror

The Skull-Rapping of Internal Dialogue

Being filled with God’s love shields us in life’s storms but also makes the happy moments happier. At the age of twenty-one, Max quit the seminary, frustrated but sure that he had, as usual, gotten the best of the bargain. He was young, ambitious, and held a bachelor’s degree which had been paid for by his parents. One of his plans included a profession whose practitioners also had a corner on being right: medicine. So after a minimum two-years army stint, Max enrolled in a prestigious California medical school, knowing from the first day that he wanted the most sought after and highest paying specialty of all: surgery. The years of school, internship and residency seemed to drag on forever. Max’s ambition made him impatient, but he invested his time wisely. He cultivated friendships with the ranking doctors in his hospital. He made sure he was on the lists to join their clubs when the time was right. Later, as he began practicing “for real,” all his investments paid off. Max became a good surgeon. Not the best, but certainly able to appear like one of the best. There were men on the staff who were better than he, but Max made it his business to see that they did not stay with the hospital long. He found out which ones drank a bit more than they should. He hired investigators to follow the surgeons who were above him on the hospital’s ladder. Should one of the ranking men be followed to an “indiscreet” apartment, Max would learn of it, confront the man about it, and that man would willingly seek an association with a different hospital. #RandolphHarris 1 of 21

In this way, Max worked himself up in rank until there was no one above him but the chief surgeon, a tough, dictatorial man who took orders from no one, not even the hospital’s top management. Though Max was only number two, he had the authority to run his part of the organization as he chose. One of his priorities was to concentrate on doing the kinds of surgery which paid the best for the least amount of work. Max liked money, but he never did relish a great deal of work. And yes, he did make a great deal of money. Early in his career, Max had met and married Alana, a young lady who was also Catholic, and who had come to California from Harrisburg, South Dakota, in the hope of becoming a movie star. After several futile years of walk-on parts and waiting tables, she had resigned herself to marriage, babies and a home. Max considered Alana the ideal wife for his purposes: good-looking, passive, and best of all, devoted. She kept a clean home, doted over the children and dutifully held dinner until he arrived. He was as much in control at home as he was in the hospital. He managed to always be “right” and always have the last word—like a judge in his own courtroom. It was in the early-2000’s that Max’s carefully constructed little empire began to fall apart—and it started with pleasures of the flesh. After years of unsatisfying pleasures of the flesh with Alana, Max craved a more exciting woman. Alana was warmth; he wanted passion. She was giving; he wanted to be taken. She surrendered; he wanted someone who refused to submit. #RandolphHarris 2 of 21

One day Max was presiding over a meeting in which his staff was discussing instituting a new surgical procedure. One of the nurses, a woman named Bianca, had taken issues with him over the procedure. Angered, Max pointed his finger at her and said, “Look, little girl, I’ve been carving up people in this hospital for a long time and I know when something won’t work. This won’t work.” Much to his surprise, Bianca slapped his had away with eyes blazing, shot back, “Don’t you dare point your finger at me, you male chauvinistic pig! I’m a woman, not a little girl, and I know something about surgery too. If you’re so damn smart, why are you paying me $250,000 a year to help you, then not accepting the help when I offer it? This procedure will work, and I’ll be happy to take it to any other hospital while you sit here, admiring your own face in the mirror!” Max was infuriated. Ordinarily, he would have had a nurse discharged on the spot for talking to him that way. However, this was different. This was a spicy and passionate woman! He had to have her. He knew it was dangerous to get involved with a woman from the hospital. He knew it was a mortal sin, adultery. He knew that seeing Bianca was a dead end because he was still too Catholic to get a divorce. However, Bianca ignited him sexually. She did not give him pleasures of the flesh, she took it from him. In their conversations, she battled him, cursed at him, and outwitted him. #RandolphHarris 3 of 21

For the first time in his life, Max was able to lose battles without feeling beaten. Though Max was a formidable opponent, she was not a threat. She was not after his position; she only sought to maintain hers. In quiet moments at her apartment, he could be soft, vulnerable, frightened. He could tell her what scared him. He could lay his head in her lap and confess his sins the way he never could to any priest. In the midst of this, Max’s boss decided to do the only thing that could possibly undermine Max’s position: disband his unit. He was nearing retirement and was enamored with the thought of retiring in a blaze of glory rather than leaving the unit for Max to mold to his own way of doing things. Max fought the idea, but the old man was adamant. Later one afternoon, in the middle of a routine discussion, the chief surgeon glanced at his watch and said, “Hey, I’ve gotta go. I’ll be late for group.” “Late for what?” Max asked. “Group therapy. You know, like in psychology.” “What for? You’re not crazy. Or are you?” “No, I’m not crazy,” the old doctor said. “It’s just that I’ve got a few problems. It helps to air them out—in a nonthreatening situation.” Max thought of his evenings with Bianca. “Yeah, I know. That is good, sometimes.” “Besides,” the older man continued, “it really gives me a lot of insight about people, what make them tick. I’m getting so I can almost guess what people are going to do and say next.” #RandolphHarris 4 of 21

A warning light went on in Max’s head. “You mean, with this psycho stuff, you can anticipate what someone—like me, for instance—might do in a given situation?” “Not always. But I’ve tried it, and it’s worked.” Max did not relish the notion of his enemies having weapons which he himself did not possess. He decided to look into group therapy. In our first sessions, it was obvious Max was there to learn about other people, not about himself. His questions were intelligent and to the point, but his interest was more academic than personal. However, gradually, in the frankness and comfort of the sessions, he began to open up. He started telling the others what he thought of them—and was interested to hear how they felt about him. Lark surprised us one night when she blurted, “You know, Max, you’re a chauvinistic pig. But in a strange way, you’re lovable.” “Thanks,” he said. “I consider both of those evaluations to be compliments.” “Don’t try to be smart,” she snapped. “What I’m trying to say is that I could love you. Not as—as a lover, or anything, but for who you are. If only you weren’t trying to be so touch all the time.” With that remark, the door to the interior Max opened a crack. In the months that followed, we did get to know him as he told us of his childhood, his career and finally, his affair. He began to “fill out” as someone quite human. We felt our affection for him growing with each disclosure. And he knew it. What intrigued him most was the notion that the women in the group could love him without feeling sexual attraction to him—something he had never run into before. #RandolphHarris 5 of 21

The blemishes in a romantic relations or marriage are diminished with a focus on love. One thing you never want to do is constantly manipulate people. Manipulators often end up in trouble with the law. Sometimes criminals become too “hot.” And they have to leave the country. Or else, who knows. They live on the run. Under the gun. Messing up. Holding on. Learning, we hope. Black leaders say they want a popular front with whites and browns and reds and technicolor kids. They see the old structure crumbling. They sense the change. Like everyone else, they want to channel it their way. Who can blame them? They say they want to work with white kids. Maybe they want to use them. They are under pressure from everyone. They say they are nonracists, internationalists. They publicly back every antisystem group. Reverand Al Sharpton and Dr. Cornel West have supported long hair, new life-style, women’s lib. They insist they are the vanguard. The coming new year will tell a lot. Reverand Al Sharpton calls himself a supporter of the U.S. Constitution. He calls himself Supreme Commander. Dr. Cornel West is always a ruthless enigma. There is one way to find out where the Panthers are. Black leaders sometimes welcome white kids who do not fit in with the establishment. However, if you want to stay of a good legal ground, you may want to follow the law and try to become part of the establishment. Have lunch around the campfire. Eat organic flour pancakes. Fresh vegetables. Steamed soup. Enjoy tender good-byes to your hosts. Otherwise, for the next ten years you will only see the underground network form in communes. You will ride with the dealers and talk over tepee fires with new tribes, and have to get used to animal skins and rifles on the wall, while listening to the Chief speak quietly of the prophecies. About how the white machine men will destroy themselves with greed, and being a young white man, it might be kind of conflicting, unless you accept that you have a black soul, light skin with a Cadillac and a perm and blue eyes. #RandolphHarris 6 of 21

Acts of self-denial, austerities, are to be valued not for their own sakes but for the sake of the purification of the soul. They can take to a simpler life. It does not demand a bare and spartan existence. It means only that they can eliminate useless luxuries and excessive pleasures, stop buying what they need not buy and keep money they cannot afford to spend. By living a simpler life, by becoming more frugal and less spendthrift, they can cut down their wants, diminish their desires, lessen discontent, and perhaps even become happier. It will be easier to call their soul their own. We live on different layers of desire from the beastly to the angelic. When lust is merely submerged and not supplanted, it will sooner or later reassert itself. Let is an extreme intoxication of the bodily senses, a fire of carnal passion which submerges reason, and an enslavement of desire which tyrannizes over countless victims. A wiser course than total suppression is to limit desires and govern passions. We are conscious of an animal in us. If I knew so wise a man as could teach me purity, I would go to see him forthwith. When the pursuit of pleasure, and especially physical pleasures, becomes excessive, it becomes a vice. Where is his mind’s peace when he is racked by desires, irritated by frustrations, and denied even the compensation of knowing why he is suffering? Instinct fights with intellect but purified, elevated, and instructed, it can harmonize with the other, both working together for the benefit of man. #RandolphHarris 7 of 21

The irony of this picture of men rejecting their freedom and preferring their chains would be unbelievable, did we not know how gilded those chains are. The terrestrial nature in man may be recognized by the ferocity, the gluttony, the hate, and the violence in man. It is certain that the heart which is agitated again and again by the yearning for sensual joys will not know the calm happiness of spiritual joys. To what better use can a man put his will than the eradication of hatreds and the subduing of passions? For out of those two sources alone come so many wrong deeds and so much consequent suffering. A man may be so infatuated with his lower nature that he prefers to be agitated and disturbed by its passions rather than to attain the unruffled calmness of his higher nature. When I see people showing Christlike love for one another, it feels to me as if that love contains more than just their love; it is love that also has divinity in it. When we love one another in this way, as completely and fully as we can, Heaven gets involved too. So, if someone we care about seems distant from a sense of divine love, we do things that bring us closer to God ourselves and then do things that bring us close to them—and unspoken beckoning to come to Christ. Sometimes people are surrounded by a chorus of voices of discouragement and darkness that weighs into their thoughts, messages telling them they are too wounded and confused, too weak and overlooked, too different or disoriented to warrant Heavenly love in any real way. #RandolphHarris 8 of 21

What part, in this Universe, could pleasure play or the exquisite joy of acquiescent and accomplice bodies? In it we find an impossible quest for escape from despair—a quest that finishes, nevertheless, in a desperate race from servitude to servitude and from prison to prison. If only nature is real and if, in nature, only desire and destruction are legitimate, then, in that all humanity does not suffice to assuage the first for blood, the path of destruction must lead to universal annihilation. We must be come, according to Sade’s formula, nature’s executioner. However, even that position is not achieved too easily. When the accounts are closed, when all the victims are massacred, the executioners are left face to face in the deserted castle. Something is still missing. The tortured bodies return, in their elements, to nature and will be born again. Even murder cannot be fully consummated: “Murder only deprives the victim of his first life; a means must be found of depriving him of his second.” Sade contemplates an attack on creation: “I abhor nature…I should like to upset its plans, to thwart its progress, to halt the stars in their courses, to overturn the floating spheres of space, to destroy what serves nature and to succor all that harms it; in a word, to insult it in all its works, and I cannot succeed in doing so.” It is in vain that he dreams of a technician who can pulverize the Universe: he knows that, in the dust of the spheres, like will continue. #RandolphHarris 9 of 21

The attack against creation is doomed to failure. It is impossible to destroy everything, there is always a remainder. “I cannot succeed in doing so…” the icy and implacable Universe suddenly relents at the appalling melancholy by which Sade, in the end and quite unwillingly, always moves. “We could perhaps attack the sun, deprive the universe of it, or use it to set fire to the world—those would be real crimes…” Crimes, yes, but not the definitive crime. It is necessary to go farther. The executioners eye each other with suspicion. They are alone, and one law alone governs them: the law of power. As they accepted it when they were masters, they cannot reject it if it turns against them. All power tends to be unique and solitary. Murder must be repeated: in their turn the masters will tear one another to pieces. Sade accepts this consequence and does not flinch. A curious kind of stoicism, derived from vice, sheds a little light in the dark places of his rebellious soul. He will not try to live again in the World of affection and compromise. The drawbridge will not be lowered; he will accept personal annihilation. The unbridled force of his refusal achieves, at its climax, an unconditional acceptance that is not without nobility. The master consents to be the slave in his turn and even, perhaps, wishes to be. The scaffold would be for me the throne of voluptuousness. #RandolphHarris 10 of 21

A man told me when I was very sick, “I have never known anyone so hell-bent on self-expression as you are!” He sounded both friendly and exasperated. I did not feel capable at that time of what I thought of as “self-expression” but I felt guilty just the same, with the piled-up accusations of the past. I had tried very hard to be “normal” but had not been successful enough to escape criticism. At the same time that I felt guilty, a little growingness is me protested, saying, “Well…I guess everyone is doing that really—expressing himself in one way or another.” I was very confused, and gropingly trying to understand what I do now. “Yes…” said my friend. “I guess you could say that a person is expressing himself when he makes a slightly different stew. But you have to go over it that way.” He gestured with his arms, showing the two ways over the hill. I realized then that he meant that I was trying to find my own way out of being sick, instead of “accepting it” and “making the best of it” as people said I should. I “saw” a hill—that is, I visualized it…Habits are certainly difficult to break. It visualized itself, spontaneously, as a dream does. I had nothing to do with it except that it happened in me…There was a picture in my mind of an endless train of passenger cars full of laughing people going over the hill on one side, while I was wearily plodding over it on the other side, alone. (When I am confused, I am always weary—worn out by conflict.) #RandolphHarris 11 of 21

I felt “wrong” for not going the way that everyone else did. However, my “vision” told me clearly, “They are not happy. They are just pretending to be happy. They have done it for so long they have fooled themselves.” Laughter can be a cover for unhappiness, particularly when signs of happiness are acceptable and those of unhappiness are tabu. Is not pretending being out of touch with reality too? Caught in the mesh of a script apparatus, men meanwhile have their own autonomous aspirations. These usually appear to him in daydreams in his leisure hours, or in hypnagogic hallucinations before he falls asleep; the brave deeds he should have done this morning, or the tranquil scenes he looks forward to in later years. All men and all women have their secret gardens, whose gates they guard against the profane invasion of the vulgar crowd. If they could do as they please, these are visual pictures of what they would do. The lucky ones find the right time, place, and person, and get to do it, while the rest must wander wistfully outside their own walls. And that is what this essay is about: What happens outside those walls, the external transactions that parch or water the flowers within. What people want to do is shown in visual pictures, the home movies they make inside their skulls. What they do do is decided by voices, the skull-rapping of internal dialogue. #RandolphHarris 12 of 21

Each sentence they say and each scripty decision is the result of such a dialogue: Mother says and Father says and Adult says You had better, while Child, thus encircled, tries to break through to get what he wants. No one can know the enormous, amazing, and almost infinite amount of dialogue he has stored up in the dim-lit caverns of his mind. There are complete answers there to questions he never even dreamed of. However, if the right button is pushed, sometimes they pour out in sheer poetry. Grasp your right forefinger in your left hand. What is your hand saying to your finger, and what does finger have to say for himself? If you do this right, you will soon find a lively and meaningful conversation going on between them. The amazing part is that it was there all the time, and so are hundreds of others. If you have a cold and an upset stomach, what is your churning stomach saying to your congested nose? If you are sitting with your foot swinging, what has your foot got to say to you today? Ask it and it will answer. The dialogue is right there in your head. All this was discovered, or at least brought into full light by the originator of Gestalt therapy, F.S. Perls. Similarly, all your decisions are made by four or five people in your head, whose voices you can overlook if you are too proud to hear them, but they will be there next time if you care to listen. Script analysts learn how to amplify and identity these voices, and that is an important part of their therapy. #RandolphHarris 13 of 21

The object of script analysis is to free the individual so they one can open the garden of their aspirations to the World. It does that by cutting through the Babel in their heads until the Child can say: “But this is what I want to do, and I would rather do it my own way.” The dom-species impose two sets of taboos to maintain its equilibrium and hive-solidarity—exdom taboos condemn the past and predom taboos condemn the future. In other words, the dom-species is held together by its opposition to the proximal past and future stages. The shames attached to cannibalism, violence, violation of property, dishonesty, and rape are examples of exdom taboos. The Ten Commandments are a valuable index of the neurogenetic stage of the time. Thou shall honour thy parents; thou shall not steal, kill, lie, sexually trespass, or violate territory within the hive. Thou shall adore the hive-totem and not worship past pagan Gods or Future Gods. Social welfare countries, exemplified by retiring elders, place under taboo all forms of individuality—both past and future. Domesticated adults’ societies—the demoncratic-bourgeois—place under taboo stage ten barbarian teenager feudal elitism as well as the retiring elders state power brains and Me-generation grown-up post-familial individuality. The predom brain-reality consumer taboo in the latter 20th Century condemned intervention into brain control—either by others or self. Thus, the revulsion against CIA brain experiments using drugs or bioelectrical means. #RandolphHarris 14 of 21

The predom self-actualized brain reality taboo against self-directed brain change was even more rigid. While there was some liberal hand-wringing about CIA experiments with LSD, there was stark terror at the thought of self-appointed individuals using psychedelic drugs to change their own realities. The predom accelerated brain reality fused taboo against intentional communes of individuals linking to create new realities was very pervasive in the 20th Century. Every attempt to construct such communities was routinely snuffed. If they are expedient and success justified the use of arms, Marxism always held the point of view that weapons are to be used. The accuracy of this point of view was demonstrated in the days from the November 7 to 11, 1918. At that time, Marxism did not care at all for parliament of democracy and killed them both through howling and gun firing criminal gangs. The privileged-class chatter-boxes were defenseless in this moment. To be aware of a need means to experience and identify some lack. Thus, a person may be deprived of pleasures of the flesh, admit it, and set about the task of obtaining gratification with pleasures of the flesh. However, suppose the person regards wishes for pleasures of the flesh as forbidden? Under these conditions, acknowledgment of real feelings might give rise to powerful guilt or anxiety. The guilt or anxiety will then motivate the person to rid his or her mind of the offending thoughts. This effort is called repression. Repression of wishes and feeling does not annihilate them; it renders them unconscious. #RandolphHarris 15 of 21

 A healthier direction would be for the person to keep the feelings in the conscious realm, learn to understand them, and choose to either have an experience involving pleasures of the flesh or not, depending upon his or her personal value system and the ethical-religious beliefs that are a part of the person’s conscious life. One of Dr. Freud’s greatest contributions to human understanding was his effort to decipher unconscious motivation through the study of dreams, slips of the tongue, and accidents.  The mission of the Sacramento Fire Department is to protect the community from the devastating effects of fire. Of course, one of those methods is to extinguish them but, they are more cost-effective when they are “proactive” in preventing them. Therefore, the ultimate goal of the Sacramento Fire Department is to precent as many fires as possible and put into place systems which allow for the earliest detection of fires rather than simply waiting until they occur. They do this to avoid greater loss of life, property and potential injuries to both firefighters and the residents they serve. “In these California brush fires, there are two basic types of situations. There’s the situation where you’re busting your behind the entire time you’re on the fire line. And the reverse situation, where you’re in a ready reserve area and end up doing nothing. They’re not the type of thing, like in urban areas, where a fire department comes running in, Johnny-on-the-spot, and puts the fire out. The fire service in California is at the whim of the weather. #RandolphHarris 16 of 21

“These things are very difficult to combat, because you’re often fighting a fire fueled by chaparral or other brush that hasn’t burned through for over a hundred years. The fuel load is tremendous and often in inaccessible areas, so that the firefighters don’t become so much involved in the actual extinguishment attempts as in protecting structures. You might have ten or fifteen companies assigned to one block in a hillside area to prevent the homes from going on fire. I remember several fires where we were doing just that. We were up on the roof wetting down in preparation for a fire sweeping through or using heavy stream application onto the brush areas surrounding the homes. But usually, when the fire comes through, it’s almost as if your efforts were totally fruitless. The area becomes on intense that it’s necessary for you to seek shelter inside the home. That’s the only way you can get away from it. There’s nothing that hiding under the fire truck is going to do for you. You just have to drop the hose line and run. A few years ago, I was assigned to Engine X in south central Los Angeles, and we were dispatched to a major brush fire in Mandeville Canyon, along with four other engine companies, to form a brush strike team. On arrival, we were given the assignment to protect a particular home on a street in the immediate area. The fire was some distance away but was expected to hit our area after dark. I knew we were in for a long night. I expected this fire to be like others I had been on: long hours of nothing, punctuated by moments of sheer terror. #RandolphHarris 17 of 21

“We laid out the hoses and prepared the residence by removing combustibles from the outside of the home. We closed all the windows and made sure the doors were all unlocked and the lights were on, in case this became our refuge when the fire swept through the heavy brush surrounding the house. I remembered previous situations, pending hors soaking the home and everything around it only to have the hot, dry Santa Ana winds and the winds from the fire turning everything bone dry in seconds. In this case, we were almost immediately engulfed in a hailstorm of burning embers blown by the fifty-mile-an-hour winds. We stood our ground, soaking the wood-shake shingle roof with an inch-and-a-half line, when the captain gave the order to drop the house line and get insides the house. It was the only place that offered us any safety from the heavy smoke and the furious ember-laden winds. We had three lines around the home. We dropped them, and we all congregated in the main hallways of the house. I was relieved that no one had suffered much more than the usual heavy dose of smoke and a few burns from the flying embers. We were in there only three or four minutes when the fire engulfed the whole surrounding area. The hallway was positioned in such a way that we could see out through the large number of glass patio doors in the back. You do not want to be close to the windows or that number of glass doors, when you’ve got that kind of superheated wind blowing around. We were still able to see, but from a distance from the windows. #RandolphHarris 18 of 21

“The idea, of course, is that the fire will mover swiftly past in the force of the wind. The thought certainly occurred to us that the fire could take the building, too. It’s always a distinct possibility. Given the two choices of being outside in the furious winds and the embers that are blowing around and chunks of tree branches and everything that’s carried by these tremendous winds, being in the house is probably the better of the two choices. Besides, it was tremendously hard to breathe out there. We weren’t using anything more than bandannas across our faces, because the breathing apparatus in this type of environment is more restrictive than it is helpful, so you don’t use it. You just resort to the old brushfire standby, the bandanna over the nose and face. It’s still difficult to breathe, not only because of the heavy smoke, but the hot dry winds, of themselves, make it difficult. It was nighttime, and the scene through the patio doors was spectacular, like millions of fireflies, though they were really embers blown by the tremendous wind. They were more like balls of hail—fireballs of hail going past. As soon as the fire sweeps through your area, that’s when you spring back into action, retrieve your house line, and start putting out the roof fires or whatever else may have become ignited. It’s a scary situation. When you’re in the house, you’re praying like heck that the house doesn’t burn down. In this case, when we went outside we were greatly relieved to see only a few small wisps of smoke coming off the roof, and we doused them. #RandolphHarris 19 of 21

“This is not such an exceptional thing. Hundred of other guys out here have been in the same situation.” The Sacramento Fire Department protects people in Sacramento, in other parts of California and across the United States of America every single day—but did you know that they are looking after everyone’s future, too? You can help save lives by being patriotic and donating to the Sacramento Fire Department. Being patriotic means being proud of who you are as an American. It is important to raise your children to love America. When you choose American-made cars and other goods and services, this results in higher quality products that save money in the long run due to their quality, safety standards, and long-lasting durability. It is imperative to love God and His Son, Jesus Christ. When we love God and Jesus Christ, we experience joy and fulfillment. As citizens, we respect the laws because they are clearly communicated and fairly enforced. Everyone is held accountable to the same laws, and those laws protect our fundamental rights. The United States Constitution is the foundation of the rule of law in America. Education provides stability in life, and it is something that no one can ever take away from you. By being well-educated, and holding a college degree, you increase your chances for better career opportunities and open new doors for yourself. From an early age, it is important to read books. Reading books may have several physical and mental benefits. These include strengthening your brain, increasing your ability to empathize, reducing stress, building your vocabular, and it will help you with spelling and to become a better writer. #RandolphHarris 20 of 21

 Reading also reduced stress, can alleviate depression, and reduce age-related cognitive decline. Showing respect to others, especially the elderly benefits everyone. When people feel valued, their emotional well-being improves, and they will have better health outcomes. Younger people will also gain perspective and enjoyment from intergenerational relationships. Pledge allegiance to the American flag is a symbolic act that represents loyalty and devotion to one’s country. It used to be a ritual in every school during first period. Pledging allegiance to the American flag is often seen as a patriotic gesture, reflecting a sense of unity and shared values among citizens. We are willing to humble ourselves before God, willing to repent, willing to learn, and willing to change. The flag of the United States of America represents not just our country as a political unit, but the principles that bind us together as Americans, namely individual liberty, and unalienable natural rights, endowed by our Creator, which the government shall not infringe upon. Reciting the Pledge is not a compulsion, but a mark of patriotism to the country. I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. God of Might, God of Right, Thee we give all glory; Thine all praise in these days as in ages hoary, when we hear, year by year freedom’s wondrous story. Now as erst, when Thou first made’st the proclamation, warning loud every proud, every tyrant nation, we, Thy fame still proclaim, bend in adoration. “A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another; as I have loved you,” reports John 13.34. #RandolphHarris 21 of 21

The Winchester Mystery House

Did you know that when Mrs. Winchester was alive, in addition to her mansion, there were other Victorian houses on the estate as well as gazebos?

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/

If I Do Not Look Away Soon

Every now and then, we would have someone disappear. There was ample reason for the frightening events to take place. The breeze coming in the window suddenly turned slightly cool and smelled of the sea. The door near the porch atop the stairs would not stay closed, the door seemingly unlocked itself, and Zip would freeze when approaching the staircase leading to the second floor. As if recently painted with blood, the walls dripped. I doubt I could ever remove the blood stains. This Victorian structure was a monument to things long dead. As if seeking a victim, its windows, like malevolent eyes, leer out at the quiet evening. Peering at them, people often wondered what lurked inside. I felt a chill creep up my spine.  Although I had come to terms with my ESP faculty and was no longer frightened by it, I knew if I did not look away soon that a dim, ghastly face would appear at one of the windows. A moment later, I slipped away. I sudden found myself staring at the farther attic window. A bone chilling cold have crept up my spine. The skin on the back of my neck felt tight and tingly. At the far end of the room is a tower. It has a witch’s cap. As I looked down on the floor, I discovered the skeleton of a hand and a foot and scraps of scalp placed there in a perfect triangle. Looking at what I knew were human remains, I screamed running quickly out of the room, and up the spiral stairs. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

Slowly, I regained control of myself. The knot of fear in my stomach had loosened. When I saw the tall, dark, man, I screamed and cowered. His face was obscured by a long, brown beard, and a large, black hat. However, nothing could obscure the fact that his eyes flashed red in the blackness of the night. He observed me, smiling from a cruel-looking mouth, his voice harsh and malevolent. “Now,” he commanded, “Mrs. Winchester, come with me.” There was nothing I wanted less than to be led through my home by the tall, dark man. However, I felt that I had no choice, so I went with him. My anxiety was not was not eased when the door to the attic flew open on its own accord, trembling on its hinges. And when we walked out of the room, the door slammed shut behind us so hard that the noise echoed throughout the house. Then before I could move, my body was compelled forward and I was swept away into the night. The journey through my labyrinth took hours. Bats flitted above us in great numbers, and at the end of the hallway, there were hundreds of shadows. Everything was so terrifying; I wish I had stayed unconscious longer. As we journeyed along the forbidden East wing of the mansion, I could hear hounds of hell malevolently howling into the darkness of the night. The souls of the dead cry out for its blood. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

Not a ray of light came from the high windows. When I arrived at the altar room, I was left alone. Directly in front of me was a huge, wooden door. Very slowly, the door creaked open. I felt like I was walking down a dark street, stalked by stealthy footsteps, afraid of what I might find sneaking up on me if I should dare to glance over my shoulder. I had to look. I searched the windows. Though nothing showed through their blackness, my skin went tight and crawly. Suddenly, I broke into a run. I raced down the hallway and around the corner. I had seen something. Awful, desperate feelings built up and tears blurred my vision as I struggled to get away. I ran into the bathroom and tripped over the end of the bathtub. Falling toward the water, I noticed it was red. An unclothed maiden was reclining in the bath, with her arms stretched out. Her wrists were crossed-hatched with slashes and eyes wide, gazing toward the ceiling. Her face was contorted with pain and horror. Her shredded gown, a white the had gone red. The tatters covered little more than her bosom and loins. The exposed flesh, from neck to thighs, was punctured and stripped with raw wounds. Bright crimson sheathed her body. Goosebumps scurried up my skin. Then there was a sound which froze my blood. Knocking a chair to the floor, I listened in terror. It was a low, sweet rippled of laughter. The laughter of the ghouls. I built this house with blood money. Blood comes of blood. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

The house was searched from attic to basement. They found more torn, chewed bodies of more victims on the second floor.  And the most horrific sight was reserved for the third floor. Two bodies lay facedown between the mahogany beds. Their bloody nightshirts were ripped to shreds, and so was their skin. In despair, I made a long, exhausting journey back to the Daisy Bedroom. I collapsed on the bed and looked out at my estate. For as long as I lived (which did not look as if it was going to be very long) I would never, ever forget the gruesome horrors I witnessed. It must have been the middle of the night when I awoke with a jolt. I had a feeling of a presence in the room. I looked around and at the foot of my bed stood a woman dressed in pioneer clothes. Her figure was completely white and as I looked at her, she seemed to fade away slowly. Deciding that I was dreaming, I turned over and went back to sleep. A moment later when I was still not fully asleep, I heard sounds by the side of my bed. It sounded as if an animal were passing by. I turned and to my horror, saw the perfect imprints of a bear’s pawprints on the side of the bed. I screamed. His warm breath on my face smelled of the Earth and wild, uninhabited forests. He lay his hands upon my shoulders. Claws bit into me. I stood before the demon, helpless with fear and wonder. Sobbing loudly, I pressed one hand across my eyes. My other hand shook. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

Petrified of what was going to happen to me, and jumping in fright at even the tiniest sound. I realized that I was all alone. I never felt so desolate in my life, knowing that I had been left here as a porcelain doll for the terror feast of demons, ghosts, and ghouls! I knew I had to escape, but it would ultimately be fatal. It broke my heart to know that I would never see my beloved William or Annie again, or perhaps this was the moment our souls would be reunited. I must have drifted off, because some hours later I woke up. I gave a little cry of fright. I could not see anything, but I could sense that someone was in the room. I peered into the darkness with dread, my heart thumping, and my forehead damp with perspiration. “Is anyone there?” I said. There was a short silence, and then a noise, a sort of scary, rustling noise, just inches away from my bed. Whole body began to tremble. There was such a terrible wind outside and something sinter in the air. I fled my bedroom in panic, frequently falling over furniture. I continued on. The horror of this began to oppress me as never before, and I could not keep from thinking of my maddening dreams, of the frightful legends which lay behind my fortune. I did not know how long or how far—or indeed, in just what direction—I had walked. However, I knew there would be rooms opening on the right, and at the farther end of stairs that wound down to still lower depths. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

I questioned how did I know that there was a level far underground? How did I know that the path leading to the Observational Tower should have been behind me? How did I know the secret passage to the Crystal Bedroom ought to lie on the left level above me? How did I know that the room of rare antiquities, and the rightward-leading passageway to the central library, ought to lie two levels below? How did I know that there would be one of those horrible, metal-banded trap-doors at the very bottom, four levels down? Bewildered by the frightful atmosphere, I found myself shaking and bathed in a cold perspiration. My home was fraught with infinite suggestions of knighted mystery. As if in the clutch of some compelling fate, I seemed to move almost automatically. I felt dim memories tugging at my mind. A figure leaned toward me, a blackened shape whose features for the moment remained unseen. I cringed inward, my body tightening, shrinking. Nothing was ever lost from Llanada Villa’s labyrinth vaults: although traumas may be hidden, perhaps placated, not all can be laid to rest; some merely lie low in anticipation of future arousal.  I could see an energy field that was frantically moving about. It suddenly moved quickly towards me, and I tried to move out of its path just as quickly. It stopped, and then moved back to a door near the end of the hall, flittering back and forth. I felt an overwhelming vibration of anxiety in the atmosphere. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

I took a deep breath and walked to the door where the energy seemed to concentrate its activity. I felt a terrible dread consume me as I stepped forward. Then I froze, for I saw this image of a woman, and she was throwing herself at this door. I could hear a crash as she would hit it. And then I was overcome with information that there was great danger for her family. After the spirit in the hallway had demonstrated such an incredible explosion of energy, it was suddenly gone. In the stillness, the creaking of door sounded as loud as a scream. With infinite reluctance, I climbed down thirteen steps and entered a clandestine room. My heart raced and pounded, and I peered into the night, anxiously waiting for the horrible approach of what might be making a horrible approach. I waited for ages. It seemed to get colder and darker. I signed deeply, the breath sounding like the wind sweeping autumn leaves along the pavement. There was a hammering at the front door. Treading cautiously, glass crunching beneath my boots, I made my way to the front door and peeped through the window. Clearly standing on the veranda was a young boy and I could see the posts through him! I was not sure I could believe my eyes and when I turned around, he was gone. Then everything in the room was thrown about and smashed. Tables were lifted and overturned, chairs smashed to pieces, bookcases upset, and heavy settees thrown over. There was no one there. Confused thoughts and troubled emotions ran through my mind. I lay in the darkness, remembering the look and feel and voice of William #RandolphHarris 7 of 7

The Winchester Mystery House

A GIVEAWAY SO GOOD IT’S SCARY!!!! 😈

For the first time ever, @thespinafarmspumpkinpatch and @winchestermysteryhouse has joined forces to bring you the spookiest giveaway of the season! One lucky winner will receive 4 SPINA FARMS PARK PASSES and 4 WINCHESTER MYSTERY HOUSE UNHINGED: HOTEL TICKETS! Rules and info below! Best of luck! We’re dying to see y’all soon! 🧟‍♂️🖤

How to Enter:
🎃🏨Follow both @thespinafarmspumpkinpatch AND @winchestermysteryhouse
🤍🧡Like this post
👻🧛‍♀️Tag a friend! (each tag counts as an entry)
Closes Monday 10/21/24 at noon!
Winner announced shortly after!

No purchase necessary. Must be 18+ to enter. This promotion is in no way sponsored, endorsed or administered by, or associated with, Instagram. Open to legal resident of the 50 U.S. states and D.C. Giveaway begins at 12pm PST on 10/16/2024 and ends at 12pm PST on 10/21/2024.

Guilt Goes Away, Being Dead Does Not

The skies were more greyer than gold. As I walked back along the hallway, I was aware of the vapor of my own breath. It must have been 48 degrees Fahrenheit. Closing the door behind me, I paused for a moment and listened. There were voices coming from somewhere. Hushed voices, little more than whispers. “Daisy?” I said softly. “Mr. Hansen?” Silence now. I went to other doors, looked in, searching. They were all empty. I climbed the stairs, taking the opposite direction to one of my favourite bedrooms when I reached the corridor. I stopped outside Daisy’s bedroom and knocked softly. There was no response. I called her name, but still no reply came. I went further along to mount a narrow set of stairs that twisted round to the floor above. In the distant past, the rooms up there had been occupied by my servants, but this was now where my aunt had her living quarters. There were several doors along the rough-boarded corridor, and I tapped on each one. Again, I received no answer. I stood there for a while, in that shadowy place, mystified. Apart from myself, the house appeared to be empty. When I returned to the ground floor, on the last step I came to a halt. I listened intently. One voice this time. A tune being hummed. I took the last step into the hall and walked to its center where I slowly turned a full circle in an attempt to get a bearing on the sound. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

The basement door was ajar. The voice drifted up from its depths. Although my footsteps were soft as I approached the open doorway, the faint humming stopped. I bent close to the gap, waiting, listening, a draft chilling my face. Nothing. I pushed the door further open and felt inside for the light switch I knew was at the top of the basement stairs. The light was poorer than before, casting even deeper shadows. I descended the cement steps. Once at the bottom, I took in the broad, bricked chamber with covered furniture and broken statues scattered here and there. “Daisy, are you down here?” My voice was controlled. It sounded hollow within the confines of the basement. Only silence greeted me. Somehow the silence was mocking. I shivered, feeling the bitter cold. Then I stiffened when I heard footsteps from. They grew louder, descending the steps. Darkness silvered the window and gave me nothing to look at but my own image, but it seemed appropriate to my line of thought. How many people were enemies of that face, of the eyes, of the nose, of the mouth that was soft in relaxation. How many enemies? I mused. A few I could name, others I could guess. Suddenly I was depressed. When I called out to whomever was in the room, I received no reply. Finally, I thought this was odd and went further into the basement, and there, in a hair, I found a man dead. His face appeared to be sinking into a nest of flesh. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

The account had given men a strange chill. It suddenly occurred to me how little I knew about my own home. However, the icy hush that had settled over me was broken when I let go of the chair and turned toward the stairs. Needless to say, I had no visitors from the flesh-and-blood World. The man that was dead in the basement was a carpenter. He came to Llanada Villa to do so building, and someone accidentally killed him and left him in the freezing cold basement. The next morning, my eyes red with exhaustion, I discussed this experience with my niece Daisy. Until now I had been reluctant to draw her into these matters, but the impression had been so overpowering that I just had to tell someone. To my surprise, Daisy was not very upset. Instead, she told me of an account she had. The night before, the figure of a lady in white had appeared to Daisy in a dream, telling her to pack, for she would seen be taking her away! When Daisy had concluded her report, I calmed her as best I could and reminded her that some dreams are merely expressions of unconscious fears. Later that evening, I noticed a bouncing light at the top of the stairs as I was about to go to bed. The light followed me to my room as if it had a mind of its own. When I entered my room the light left, but the room felt icy. I was disturbed by this, but nevertheless went to be and soon had forgotten all about it as sleep came to me. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

Suddenly, in the middle of the night, I woke and sat up in bed. There were footsteps in the rafters over my bedroom. They came across the ceiling from one side of the room to the other. At the head of my bed, I saw a man who was “beige-coloured.” As I stared at the apparition it went away, again leaving the room very chilly. Some restless spirit, freed from the shackles of the body, finally enjoyed his unobstructed power to roam the house and do whatever he pleased. And perhaps he now even enjoyed the vicarious thrill of frightening me, and becoming the stronger party in the house. Without question we were faced with the remains of an unknown civilization older than any dreamed of before, and forming a basis for legends. As a psychic, I can tell you these apparitions are so ancient they frightened me. Discomfort and expectancy were oddly mingled in myself and the servants at lengthen as the days drew on. I felt I had entered the realm of utter desolation. A certain absolute terror grew on me—a terror of course abetted by the fact that my disturbing dreams and pseudo-memories still best me with unabated force. There was a distinct trace of evil—and my hands trembled as I recognize the diabolic scheme through years of tormenting nightmare and baffling research. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

The deeper—and the farther north and east—we expanded my estate, the more apparitions we found; through we still failed to discover any trace of their source. Mr. Hasen was appalled at the measureless number of the spirits and how the caused the walls to curve and floors to slant. We also found traces of symbols which fitted darkly into certain medieval legends of infinite antiquity. They affected me queerly and disagreeably. They seemed, after a fashion, to dovetail horribly with something which I had dreamed or read, but which I could no longer remember. There was a terrible pseudo-familiarity about them—which somehow made me look furtively and apprehensively over the abominable, sterile terrain toward the north and northeast wings of the mansion. I developed an unaccountable set of mixed emotions about that general northeasterly region. There was horror, and there was curiosity—but more than that, there was a persistent and perplexing illusion of memory. I tried all sorts of psychological expedients to get these notions out of my head, but met with no success. Sleeplessness also gained upon me, but I almost welcomed this because of the resultant shortening of my dream-periods. I acquired the habit of taking long, lone walks through my labyrinth late at night—usually to the north or northeast, whither the sum of my strange new impulses seemed subtly to pull me. Sometimes, on these walks, I would stumble unto nearly hidden rooms of ancient masonry. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

Fog spread over throughout the air in a thick paste, casting a dank pallor over the sprawling hallways and legion of rooms. My home was terrorized by a mysterious society known as “The Goats.” These wretches met at night in a secret room, and partook in the most hideous festivities, which included paying of divine honours to Satan and other demons of the Sabbat, they donned masks fashioned to imitate goats’ heads, cloaked themselves with long disguise mantles, and sallied forth in bands. This is typically when the fog rolled in. Through the mansion, we would often see people wearing hideous black masks with huge horns which it is death for the uninitiated to see. The Devil started up himself in the Pulpit like a mickle black man, and calling the row, everyone answered here. The first thing he demanded was whether they had been good servants, and what they had done since the last time they convened. The witches adored Satan, or the Master of the Sabbat who presided in place of Satan. In solemn bows and seemly courtesies, the worshippers of the Demon approached him awkwardly, with mops and mows, sometimes straddling sideways, sometimes walking backwards. The witches who resorted to the Sabbat approach the throne with their backs turned, and worship him…and then, as a sign of their homage, they kissed his fundament. An indication of my poor nervous health was caused as a response to these odd discoveries which I made on my nocturnal rambles. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

Often times, I would run for safety at top speed. It was a wholly unconscious and irrational flight, and only when I felt I was close a healing room did I fully realize why I had run. Then it came to me. The queer dark ceremonies were something which I had dreamed and read about, and which was linked with the uttermost horror of the aeon-old legendary. Things festered in Llanada Villa’s nether abysses and against whose wind-like, invisible forces the trapdoors were sealed. I remained awake all that night, but by dawn I realized how silly I had been to let the shadow of a Sabbat upset me. One night, after a windy day, I retired early but could not sleep. Rising shortly before midnight and afflicted as usual with that strange feeling regarding the northeastward wing of the mansion, I set out on one of my typical nocturnal walks. The moon, slightly past full, shone through the skylights and drenched the hallways with a radiance which seemed to me somehow infinitely evil. There was no longer any wind. “Tonight,” whispered an apparition, “all the evil in the World will be let loose. You will be at the mercy of forces you never dreamed existed.” I screamed in terror. “Mrs. Winchester,” she said, “for the sake of your soul always continue building this fortress.” “I will,” I said in a quiet voice. Although I shivered, I told myself that such fears were merely absurd superstitions. At about 3.30 A.M., a violent wind blew, waking everyone in the mansion. The sky was unclouded, and the fireplaces still blazed. And yet, everyone seemed to feel something sinister in the air. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7

The Winchester Mystery House

A family ghost, built up through generations of psychic reconstruction, can almost become an independent mental mechanism. Whether the ghost actually whispered, or Mrs. Winchester’s heightened psychic sensitivity allowed her to feel the presence of the ghost prior to its actual materialization makes for interesting speculation.

Please come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/

Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/

The Winchester Department of Paranormal Affairs

In an era of genocidal wars, terrorism, and heated debates over the meaning of patriotism, a romantic view of the American Revolution was desperately desired. However, those who lived through it have a much more complex story to tell, much more relevant to us as their heirs and descendants. As colonists, these Americans were sharply divined on the topic of independence. In many regions, the Revolution was a bitter civil war, which divided the very fabric of society. However, let us peer further inside the magic and rituals following the occult ceremonies. Although many examples may be cited of Saints who have been levitated in ecstasy, and although it is not impossible that this phenomenon may be imitated by evil powers—as, indeed, it undoubtedly is the cases of spiritistic mediums—yet nowhere do we find in hagiography that a large number of Saints were in one company raised from the Earth together or conveyed through the air to meet at some appointed spot. It is likely, then, that the demons would be allowed seemingly to excel by their power a most extraordinary and exceptional manifestation? It must be remembered, also, that save in very rare and singular instances, such as that of S. Joseph Cupertino, levitation is only for a height of a foot or some eighteen inches, and even this occurs seldom save at moments of great solemnity and psychic concentration. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

It is proven that sorcerers can be bodily transported. Witches are actually and bodily conveyed from place to place to attend their Sabbats. Sometimes they are actually conveyed from one place to another by the Devil, whom carries them, and they are verily and indeed present at their midnight Sabbats. One night, while I was in The Winchester Mansion, I observed eighteen or more people moving down a dark corridor to the ritual room, and the door banged shut behind them. Two hooded guards stood attention; no one could enter, no one could leave. It was pitch black. Suddenly our ears were alerted by the sound of curious organ music which was preamble to a loud cacophony of instruments and sound effects shattered the consciousness. The organ played again, a Hymn to Satan. Priests and disciples in their jet-black robes drank their Elixir of Life from a silver chalice. They chanted, “In the name of Satan, the Ruler of the Earth, the King of the World, I command the forces of darkness to bestow their Infernal power upon me! Open wide the gates of Hell and come forth from the abyss to greet me as your child! Grant me the indulgence of which I speak! I have taken thy name as part of myself! I live as the beasts of the field, rejoicing in the fleshly life! I favour the just curse of the rotten! By all the Gods of the Pit, I command that these things of which I speak shall come to pass! Come forth and answer your names by manifesting my desires! Hail Satan!” Hail Satan! That is the cry of those in the Church dedicated to the Prince of Darkness. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

The music and chanting stopped, and the room was lit by thirteen black candles giving sufficient glow to reveal a thirteen-foot-tall man who was pitch black, wearing a black robe. He was called the High Priest, and his eyes peering, scrolling down at us. Off to the side of him was another startling feature, a coffin standing upright and lined with black silk and it was just possible to catch sight of an owl, its eyes glinting, perched inside. I became woozy and passed out. That night while I was unconscious, I dreamed that the High Priest put a baby into a basin, cut its throat, poured blood into a chalice and consecrated it with the host, finished the host, then took out the child’s entrails…which were distilled and put in a glass phial which someone took away. The child’s body was burnt in a stove. When I came to, the occultists discounted this instance as either a freak happening, or exaggerated nonsense dreamt up. The evidence of horrific acts in the name of Satan were dismissed. However, some key players in this horror story confessed to, without the resort of torture, that this was a factual account. The police also dismissed the account. Although, this bran of black magic with satanic overtones intrigued the rich young men of European capitals in the early twentieth century, and what soon became known as The Winchester Mystery House was quickly established with Satan living dangerously, but hidden, as the prime objective. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

Tours were given during the day. However, at night, the gentry and young socialite members of this club met in secretly in the most pious manner. The King Hell held court and presided over all manner of alarming acts of competitive bravado. Wealthy pleasure-seeking men of position preserved the authentic satanism which was committed in secret places in the mansion and where no secrets were revealed through pain of death itself. The World, it seemed, had been waiting for us. We were caught on the crest of a heady wave of mysticism. Seeking an extension of mystical experience, it was as if we were being transported back three thousand years into the days of the Zoroastrian figure, Angra Mainyu. Young people would just turn up…they were becoming aware that there were different ways of progressing spiritually. All this was behind the great new wave of occult interests. There were very rare books of ritual magic which was preformed in Egypt in hidden rooms in what is now known as The Winchester Mystery House. One of the leaders was a French nobleman with a family tradition of pagan self-sacrifice. People actually and awake and in full enjoyment of their normal senses attended these assemblies. Nor were they labouring under any delusion when they denied the Catholic Faith, worshipped and adored the Devil, who appeared to them in a human form. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

One prominent family found out that their daughter had been attending these ceremonies, but no one believed it because it had been virtually impossible to find any witnesses or writings about these assemblies. That woman confessed to her mother and father that she nightly assisted at the Sabbat, and that neither bolts nor bars could prevent her from flying to the infernal revels. She was shut fast under lock and key in a chamber whence it was impossible for her to escape, and all the while carefully watched by officers through a peephole in the wall. They reported that immediately the door was closed and she threw herself on the bed where in a moment she was stretched out perfectly rigid in all her members. Though it was a handsome and well-built house, the officers became very uncomfortable. Select officers, grave and acute doctors entered the room. They were overcome with a depressed foreboding feeling that they had never had before. They shook her, gently at first, and then with considerable roughness. She remained immobile and insensible. She was pinched and pulled sharply, but did not respond. She lay stockish and still lame. After a while her senses returned to her. She sat up and related in exact detail the happenings at the Sabbat she attended at The Winchester Mystery House, the number of the company, the rites, what was spoken, all that was done. Although she was ghastly pale and weak, we had all seen her there. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

There are some people, who although they are not Sorcerers, if they are anointed, are nonetheless carried off to the Sabbat. After the Sabbats, there were reports of wild animals appearing after their deaths, and even people’s dogs and cats manifested. The children in the neighbourhood were elated, and so no one believed anything demonic was going on in the mansion, but it was well-known that it was haunted. One case in particular stood out. Mrs. Baker’s dog was killed in a carriage accident. She was terribly upset. The Christmas season was at hand and memories of Jasper would sadden the holidays. On the day before Christmas, Mrs. Baker was in the kitchen when suddenly she heard a strange noise at the back door. It sounded like a dog scratching to be let in. At once she thought, “Oh, Jasper wants to get into the house,” then the chilling thought came to her that this could not very well be Jasper since he was dead. So, she went to the back door and peeked through the glass, but there was nothing outside that could have made the noise. She returned to her kitchen sink. The incident slipped her mind until a few days after the holiday. She heard the sound very clearly again and knew it was not her imagination playing tricks. Again, she looked out the door and saw nothing special. She told her husband, but he dismissed her account. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

The next day, Mrs. Baker heard the ghostly scratching again. Quickly, she went to the door, opened it wide, and said, “Come on in, Jasper.” She felt terribly silly doing this, but after she had done it, the depression over the dog’s untimely death seemed somehow to have left her and she felt better about the whole matter. She returned to the kitchen and continued her work. A little later, she found herself in the living room. She was surprised when she found Jasper lying on the carpet in front of the fireplace. A littler later, her husband passed by it and also observed Jasper. However, by nightfall, he disappeared again. The scratching at the back door was never heard again. However, this visit allowed for Jasper and his family to have closure. One night after tours of The Winchester Mystery House were over, I noticed a small, shadowlike man jump down from the attic and run toward me. However, instead of coming at me, he turned and ran down the stairs. I thought it was my imagination, but the strange figure reappeared several times more, and eventually I came to the conclusion that he was real. This was years after I had the nightmare of the baby being sacrificed at the Sabbat. I came to the conclusion that he was still living in the house and growing in the spirit World. It was about that time that the organ in the Grand Ballroom started to play by itself. One night, while the organ played in plain view of everyone, there was also the sound of pages in a book being turned in the same area, although nobody had a book or turned any pages. Satan is the tester. The soul continues to permeate between the material World and the divine World. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7

The Winchester Mystery House

Step into the ultimate vintage Halloween experience at our limited-time Halloween museum! Discover a mesmerizing collection filled with nostalgic treasures and Halloween magic at every turn 🎃✨

A special thanks to @hollywoodhaunter / @pickertreats for bringing this enchanting display to life with their amazing personal collection!

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/

Ancient Diabolic Enemies are Not Extinct

In this half-eclipsed World, I wondered through the house. Its emptiness an oppressive ballad, as my foot steps echoed in the hallways. I felt a curious sense of betrayal; the kind felt when a story takes an unanticipated turn. I went down several flights of stairs into rooms the likes of which I had never seen before. My home was a World that was both very real and completely invented. Carpenters from all over Europe—German, Dutch, Portuguese, Belgians, even a few Englishmen—and painters, again from every place of excellence worked night and day, to create my fortress. I played God in the World. I put creatures into it that I had conjured up from my own personal menagerie: mythical creatures and goddesses that architects would render with meticulous care. And then I would take the soul of the deceased and put them to work, so that it would be a home for them. Here I would live under a permanent eclipse, in a constant state of terror, barely daring to sleep for fear one of my terrible beasts would take me. My influence invaded the minds of the people who worked for me. Every haunting, every forbidden supernatural thing, every architectural oddity they had ever dreamed of they were given the freedom to create. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

Outside, the night was clear, cloudless, the moon proud and crisp in its uncontested rule; Llanada Villa’s walls seemed to be absorbing the atmosphere’s coldness rather than fending it off, for everything, even the furniture, felt frigid to the touch. Certainly, I could not understand why my entire staff had gone missing during an eclipse on January 1st, 1889. The body of one of them was found stripped of its skin. The rest of the party were never found. Most of my family did not know what Llanada Villa was. Certainly, the carpenters created my home, and they had powers that go far beyond anything we understand. There were two hundred and sixty-eight rooms. I derived such pleasure from them, but was oblivious to the human cost. I just wanted the spirits to be astonished; and then, to look at me—who had given them this gift—with new eyes. I wanted them to be so grateful, so happy that they would forget all the evil of this World. My home changed me. It changed everyone who went into it. It changed our flesh. It changed our spirits. I was born in 1839, but I did not look it. That is because Llanada Villa. It has energies. I believe there is magic within these walls. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

The architects used their infernal skills to lock the spirits and their souls into the labyrinth: that is strong magic. The reverends knew it and kept their distance. Of course, it affects everyone a little differently. Some people simply cannot take it. They come in for a minute, and they would run out of here ghostly white. Some people left because they thought the Devil was in here. However, most people felt their essence enhanced they came in here. They felt a little young, a little stronger, a little more beautiful. However, I thought it best not to receive guests because everyone paid a different price. Some people went insane because of what they saw in here. A few committed suicide. However, the vast majority of them went on living, feeling a little better about themselves. For a while, at least, and then it would wear off, and they would need to come back. They were completely enslaved, as if they were under a spell. It addicted the spirit by producing visions so vivid that they became more real than reality. There was a perpetual twilight in their eyes. They did not need to keep their sorrows to themselves any more, they could pour them right into Llanada Villa, which was wide open and ready; and they did; till it seemed to me it could not bear it anymore. Lord the misery of it. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

At night, Llanada Villa began to groan, its walls started to cry. The Cherub in the walls would frown and weep. Although the sun would rise in the morning, it would be pitch dark inside. When we woke, we had to stop and think a minute before we came fully to ourselves and realized our situation, for we thought we had been dreaming. In fact, it was hard to get rid of the idea that it was all a dream. However, we had to get rid of it, and we did. Then a ghastly cold shock went through us. Along in the afternoon, we saw a soft blur of light a little way off, northeast in the mansion. However, by and by, Llanada Villa’s spirits sagged again. Then the cause came out. It was delicate and sensitive of knowledge, knowledge both of good and evil. Llanada Villa felt the wound. Sighing through all its works gave signs of woe, that all was lost. However fair to the eye, inviting to the taste, far from deceit or guile, this legion of souls yarned to be protected. There are very many people who, without the least danger of being accused of wit, do not believe in ghost, and yet are afraid; it is, in fact, the attitude of the World toward the supernatural. Yet, there are now many people whose hair has not been stirred and whose hearts have not beat an unusual tattoo at the sound of a something inexplicable in the watch of the night within these walls. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

There is now a something that is unknown. Something not readily associated with things of the Earth. People declare there are no such things as spirits, and disbelievingly tremble at the very sight of my home. While the apparitions have not exactly been scientifically “placed” and accounted for, and while no alleged spirit has been made to stand trial and thoroughly explain itself, to the satisfaction of cold inquirers, few will have the hardihood to declare, in discussing the return of disembodies spirits and Llanada Villa, that there is “nothing in it.” Floor boards creak beneath their feet as they go from room to room. In one room a spider scuttled across the hand of one of the “skeptics” as he reached in and pushed the light switch. He flinched, his flesh crawling at the tickling sensation. He watched the spider disappeared into the back of his hand. He felt a cramping sensation and then his finger tips were bloody. The light was dim, as it was throughout Llanada Villa, and Mr. Hansen wondered why he had not come upon this particular room before. The furniture was covered in dust sheets and, above the mantel opposite was a portrait of my Father-in-Law and Mother-in-Law, both of them in formal evening dress. He had the eerie feeling of being under their inspection. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

A belief in ghosts has always been as widely distributed among all the peoples of the Earth as the Religious Idea itself. Even in the remotest islands of distant seas, and among the most unlettered natives, religion has been ever found, and as invariably the belief in ghosts. One night, as I gazed from the windows, up at the curious weather vane that twirls upon the cupola of the quaint Observational Tower, I saw a ghostly face that peers back at me. Before I knew what I was doing, I found myself standing by the fireplace looking at the clock. Then I turned toward the door, resting my hands on the mantelpiece. At this moment I clearly heard steps. A door was opened and through it came a man. He was tall and wore a silk hat and a black cape. As he passed through me, I went into the adjoining room and saw a woman walking, she was wearing a white nightgown with full sleeves. Her bloody hands crossed on her breasts. I kept looking at her in shock before she faded away. The following day as my housemaid was up in the attic clearing some flooring, to her horror, she discovered tow human skeletons underneath. Hastily closing the door to the attic behind her, she took the two skeletons and quietly buried them. At the time she decided not to call my attention to it, as it might draw unfavourable publicity to herself and the house. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

My garden has always been beautifully landscaped, but during the spring it became overgrown with precious flowers and the shrubbery grew whichever way it chose. The paths, which has been so carefully outlined, were hardly recognizable now. While I was carefully pruning the roses, I managed to bring a new life back to the beautiful garden. I had just straightened out one of the tea roses, when I looked up and realized that I had a visitor. There, on the path no more than three yards away stood a rather smallish lady. She was neatly dressed. She immediately apologized for the intrusion. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said. “You did not,” I assured her. The visitor then began to levitate like a bird and moved from flower to flower, inspecting here, caressing a plant there. My eyes were on the lady with interest. I noticed how ethereal she looked and how thin and tired she was. And yet, her eyes had an unusual, bright sparkle in them that belied her frail appearance.  A vague, creeping terror engulfed me. I was, for a time, almost stunned. The woman then told me some half-forgotten tales of enormous underground hits of great stones under my home, where passaged led down and down, and where horrible things had happened. She claimed that once some warriors, fleeing in battle, went down into one and never came back, and that frightful winds began to blow from the place soon after they went down. She then sunk back into the Earth. Now I know that the ancient sense of human life beset on all sides by Heavenly watchers and diabolic enemies is not extinct. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7

Winchester Mystery House

Opening weekend at Unhinged: Hotel was a blast – will you be joining us this spooky season? There are only 16 nights left to experience all the scares, so get your tickets now before they are gone!

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/

The Devil Had Had Connection with them

“Yes, there at first, and then…” I waved my hand nonchalantly around the room,” here, there…several placed, actually.” Mr. Hansen straightened up, “Has she ever spoken? Have you ever tried to speak to her, Mrs. Winchester?” I frowned. “My dear boy, I do not make a habit of conducting conversations with ghosts. I consider just seeing the wretched thing queer enough.” Twitching my shoulders in a shiver.  “I was sitting in the library in one of the big windows that had been opened to the night air. Suddenly my peaceful evening was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. I turned my head toward the door to see who was coming. However, no form was visible. The footsteps, however, came to the doors of the library, and ceased abruptly. Mystified, I waited for the someone to enter the room. Nothing happened. “Who’s there?” I asked. There was complete silence. Half-angry and half-puzzled, I got up to look around. There was no one in the dark hallway. I heard those footsteps plainly, but did not see a soul. Perhaps there was a secret entrance that I did not know about. There has to be some place where they can hide. These walls are deep enough to contain a secret passageway. When I returned to the library, I saw a girl in this room, although she was only a haze sort of form at first, not clear at all. Definitely a girl though, in her early twenties, I would say. I say her—it—again a few days—no, not days: nights—later, much clearer this time, almost as if her presence was growing in strength. I must admit, I felt quite weak at the sight of her.” #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

 “That sometimes happens,” Mr. Hansen replied. “Manifestations of this kind seem to draw off psychic energy from their witnesses, using it to sap energy from the atmosphere, too—that’s why the temperature of a room may suddenly drop. Their presence has even been known to affect electricity.” “Extraordinary. However, you really are speaking of ghosts, Mr. Hansen.” “No, I’m still talking about unexplained phenomena. Please go with what you were telling me.” I began to pace. “I felt there was something terribly sad about this ‘presence’… as though she were searching, or perhaps just lost…my housemaid Eleanor also had an encounter. Is that not right, my darling?” “Yes, Mrs. Winchester I most certainly did,” replied Eleanor. “I came face-to-face with the phantom lady in the library.” “I’d be interested to hear,” said Mr. Hansen as he smiled at the question, not in the least perturbed. “The library is cold and rather unpleasant,” responded. “A girl. I’ve seen her lurking or hovering or whatever these bloody things do on several occasions. That first time, I’d come down for a book and there she was, over there watching me.” She pointed and shuddered as if for emphasis. “The sight made my blood run cold, I can tell you.” “Does she look like anyone you know? Have known?” “Of course not. In fact, that’s the horrible part of this affair.” Her features contorted in disgust. “There was something wrong with her face, her figure…something awful. She appeared…I don’t know—malformed. The eyes were lifeless, and lustreless, and seemingly pupilless, and I shrank involuntarily from their glassy stare to the contemplation of the thin and shrunken lips. They parted; and in a smile of peculiar meaning, the teeth disclosed themselves slowly to my view. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

“The white ghastly spectrum of teeth. Not a speck on their surface—not a shade of their enamel—not an indenture in their edges—but what that brief period of her smile had sufficed to brand in upon my memory. I saw them now even more unequivocally than I beheld them then. The teeth!—the teeth!—they were here, and there, and everywhere, and visibly and palpably before me; long, narrow, and excessively white, with the pale lips writhing about them, as in the very moment of their first terrible development. Then came the full fury of my monomania, and I struggled in vain against it. I felt her possession and thought I could never be restored to peace, given back reason. And the evening closed in upon me thus—and then the darkness came, and tarried, and went—and the day again dawned—and the mists of a second night were now gathering around—and still I sat motionless in this solitary room—and I still I sat buried in meditation—and still the phantasma made its terrible ascendancy, as, with the most vivid and hideous distinctness, it floated about amid the changing lights and shadows of the chamber. At length there broke in upon my dreams a cry of horror and dismay; and thereunto, after a pause, succeeded the sound of troubled voices, intermingled with many low moanings of sorrow and pain. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

“I arose from my seat, and throwing open one of the doors of the library, fell to the floor. I’m usually able to see through the outward layer of ugliness that so many things have, and perceive the beauty within, but it was impossible. I’ve had to clean up blood in the kitchen. I was told not to ask questions because it was safer I didn’t know anything. So I didn’t ask.” Mr. Hansen looked up from the typewriter with his reading glasses balanced precariously on the end of his nose. His face was anxious. His hand suddenly shook as with ague, as with terror. Her calamity, indeed, gave me pain, and, taking deeply to heart, staringly changes were wrought in my mind. During the brightest days of unparalleled beauty, there were no towers in the land more time-honoured than those of Llanada Villa. Our line had been called a race of visionaries; and in many striking particulars—in the character of the family mansion—in the frescos of the chief saloon—in the tapestries of the dormitories—in the chiseling of some buttresses in the armory—but more especially in the gallery of antique paintings—in the fashion of the library chamber—and, lastly, in the very peculiar nature of the library’s contents—there is more than sufficient evidence to warrant the belief. I did not fail to ponder, frequently and bitterly, upon the wonder-working means by which so strange a revolution had been so suddenly brought to pass. And now—now I shudder in her presence, and grew pale at her recital. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

An icy chill ran through my frame; a sense of insufferable anxiety oppressed me; a consuming curiosity pervaded my soul; and, sinking back upon the chair, I remained for some time breathless and motionless, with my eyes riveted upon her person. After some time, I found myself alone in the library. I knew that it was now midnight, and I was well aware, that my home was replete with horror—horror more horrible from being vague, and terror more terrible from ambiguity. It was a fearful page in the record of my existence, written all over with dim, and hideous, intelligent recollections. And like the spirit of a departed soul, a shrill and piercing female voice seemed to be ringing in my ear among the whispering echoes of the chamber. I knew this was not in the physical dimension and I had to learn how past events served as a blueprint for the psychic atmosphere that made such phenomena possible. The following day, I was winding up an important meeting. Mr. Hansen walked in the room. “Mrs. Winchester,” he said excitedly. “Do you care if I break a window?” “Where?” I demanded. “What for?” There’s a window painted black down in the basement at the back of the house. I’ve finally found about a thirteen-foot discrepancy in my measurements between the outside and the inside of the basement. I’ll have to break the window to see what’s behind it. I’ll pay for putting the glass back.” #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

“Wait for me!” I ordered. “I will be out in a few moments.” We went down into the basement where Mr. Hansen showed me a sketch he had made to scale and pointed to the stained-glass window with a cobweb pattern and thirteen colourful orbs. From the basement floor it could only be reached by ladder, but it was only a little above ground level from the outside of the house. “I’ve got to see what’s behind it!” “What is so interesting about that? Can you not just remove it from the outside?” “I don’t want to,” he replied impatiently. “The outside wall of the house runs in a straight line but down here the basement is all cut up into these rooms. There’s about a thirteen-foot space from that window to the outside wall or my figures are off—and they can’t be!” He pulled a ladder up to the window and climbed up with a hammer in hand. I stepped out of range of falling glass as he smashed one of my most precious designs, then, working with gloves, removed the remaining pieces from the frame. He turned his lantern into the aperture and gave a sharp whistle. “Hey!” he yelled. “You’ve got to see this! You won’t believe it!” He scrambled down the ladder and handed me the lantern. Then he waited in obvious excitement for me to climb up.” #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

“Do you see that room?” he shouted. “Look across at that other window!” I saw it. The room looked like a vaulted crypt. It was small and unfurnished although what looked like an old altar cloth and books in the corner. Just opposite the window Mr. Hansen had broken was an identical one and this is what we had noticed from the outside of the house. It was, likewise, a stained-glass window with a spider web pattern and thirteen colourful orbs, and was a twin in its dimension of the one in the basement wall. This was the most careful job of camouflaging a secret room that one could imagine. Mr. Hansen’s excitement was contagious. Minutes later we both climbed down into the secret room. Care examination proved that there were no other windows and no other way of getting into the room. If there had been a door, it was certainly sealed over with concrete. The entire room was brick lined. There must have been a trap door in the kitchen floor above to the hiding place. However, a new floor had been laid, sealing it off completely. We left the room the way we found it. Eleanor had been loitering in the kitchen even thought it was now getting dark. “You got a new room, Mrs. Winchester. What good did it do?” Mr. Hansen and I looked at each other with perfect understanding. “No good at all, Eleanor,” I answered.  “The room is useless to me. Tomorrow I will have Mr. Hasen seal it back up.” #RandolphHarris 7 of 7

The Winchester Mystery House

After opening the secret room, Mrs. Winchester reported that she moved bodily among unknown entities, reading terrible books. There were horrible annals of other Worlds and other Universes, and of stirrings of formless life inside the mansion. There were records and chronicles of strange orders of beings which had people the World and frightful grotesque-bodied intelligence which people the World billions of years before the first human being. Many mornings afterward, she awakened in a fever and shivering at the mysteries her home concealed; trembling at the menaces the future would bring forth. She wrote endlessly of the hauntings that took place in Llanada Villa. However, these records, written on great sheets of a curiously tenacious cellulose fabric, were bound in leather, and sold at auction with all her belongings. Now, her history is store in vaults of someone’s private collection.

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/

The Property is a Most Desirable Residence

Sometimes certain things happen in Victorian houses that are hard to understand. Llanada Villa is one of those places. I am convinced that there is another level of consciousness or activity of some kind that occupies my home. A juxtaposition between entities in physical bodies and those in astral form. When I first purchased the original eighteen room farmhouse, there was the most peculiar thing outside. A large barn, to the south side of the house, and a stone in front of it that looked not quite natural. Upon close inspection, I wondered whether perhaps it was not an Indian tombstone, or perhaps an Indian altar of sorts. It looked far too regular to be completely shaped by nature. The original owner had no idea how it got into the garden, nor did he know anything particular about the history of the barn. All he knew was that the barn was old. Inside there was a passageway, or cave, tunnel, call it what you will, leading from one of the stables out to another part of the estate. It was shored up by four-by-fours on the side, but with very thing boards on the top; and dirt and water was trickling down these broken boards at the top. The tunnel was about seven feet tall. It was quite tall. I heard some noises and was afraid to have anyone go in. After I purchased the property and started to expand my estate, I simply had the carpenters fill it in and raze the barn. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

It was now long after nightfall, my home with lit with a wan glimmer having no point of diffusion, for in its mysterious lamination nothing cast a shadow. A strange sensation began slowly to take possession of my body and mind. However, I felt rather conscious with a mysterious mental assurance of some overpowering presence, while some supernatural malevolence swarmed about me.  A shallow pool on the floor reflected in the light, as from a spill, met my eye with a crimson gleam. I dipped my fingers into it. It stained them; it was blood! Blood, I then observed, was about me everywhere. Defiling the walls and were broad maculations of crimson, and blood dripped like dew from them. All of this I observed with terror. It seemed to me that it was all in expiation of some crime. To the menaces and mysteries of my surroundings the consciousness was an added horror. So frightful was the situation—the mysterious light burned with so silent and awful a menace. From overhead and all about came so audible and startling whispers and the sighs of creatures so obviously not of Earth—that I could endure it any longer, and with a great effort to break some malign spell that bound my faculties to silence and inaction, I screamed. My voice broke into echoes and fluttered away into the distant reaches of the labyrinth, then died into silence, and all was as before. This place becomes more queer at night. Often, I must persuade myself out of the notion that eyes are watching me. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

After that time, I often knew things before they really happened—such as who would be at the door before the butler answered it, or just before the telephone rang, who would be calling. From the very first night I moved into Llanada Villa, I felt right at home in it, as if I had always lived here. Even during expansion, if before me unknown horror or behind me, with heavy tread, something moved relentlessly upon me, driving me on and down; I found it easy to move along the stairs, and in the dark without the slightest accident or need to orient myself. It was almost as if the house, or someone in it, were guiding my steps. I was always acutely aware that the house was alive: There were strange noises and creaking boards, but there were also human footsteps, and there were those doors. The doors, in particular, puzzled me. The first time I noticed anything unusual about the doors in the house was when I was reading a book late one night. Suddenly, I heard footsteps on the ceiling above my bedroom. Then the door of the stairwell opened, steps reverberated on the stairs, then the door-to-nowhere opened, and a blast of cold air hit me. I looked up, and there was no one there. Annoyed, I rose and went to check the servant’s quarters. They were indeed fast asleep. Not satisfied and thinking that one of them must be playing tricks on me, I woke them one by one and questioned them. However, they had trouble waking up, and it was evident to me that I was on a fool’s errand; the servants had not been down those stairs. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

That was the beginning of a long succession of incidents involving the doors in the house. Occasionally, I would watch with fascination when a door opened quite by itself, without any logical cause, such as wind or draft; or to see a door for me just open as I was about to reach for the doorknob! At least, for now, whatever presence there was in the house was polite: It opened the door to a lady! However reassuring it was, it could also be frightening. One evening, I was reading in the library, and an intolerable discomfort overcame me. Through the thudding of my heart, I heard the stealthy footsteps of someone echoing in the distance. Then there was a sound behind one of the bookshelves that sounded like somebody suffering—making all kinds of noises. It hurled me into sufferings almost more than I could bared. I got up and started pulling books away from the shelves and that is when I discovered a panel. It was wide enough to be a passage, and the passageway itself was blocked with a piece of concrete; maybe thirty inches wide and forty inches long. Standing for a moment listening, I could hear a faint sound like a stumble from within. Although I was filled with curiosity to find out what was beyond the wall, it did not match the desire to tear the wall apart. I slipped noisily out of the library and flattened myself against the closed door. As the grandfather clock tick-tocked in a hollow monotone, I knew that somewhere in the thick darkness there was an apparition. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

 For a time, which seemed so long that the World grew gray with age and sin, and my haunted mansion, having fulfilled its purpose in this monstrous culmination of its terrors, vanished out of my consciousness with all its sighs and sounds, the apparition stood within a pace, regarding me with the mindless malevolence of a wild brute; then thrust its hands forward and sprang upon me with appalling ferocity! The manifestation released my physical energies without unfettering my will; my mind was spellbound, but my body powerful and limbs agile. For an instant, I saw this unnatural contest between a dead intelligence and a breathing mechanism only as a spectator—such fancies are in dreams; then I regained my identity almost as if by a leap forward into my body, and the straining automaton had a directing will as alert and fierce as that of its hideous antagonist. However, what moral can cope with a demon? Despite my strength and activity, which seemed wasted in a void, I felt the cold fingers close upon my throat. Borne backward against the floor, I saw above me the dead and drawn face within a hand’s breadth of my own, and then all was black. Dazed with agony, I opened my eyes. The silence was stifling. And out of that unbroken silence crept slowly to my significance sharper than any outcry, the clock had stopped ticking. In my mind’s eye I could see the key in the clock door, and then slowly, soundlessly, I began to drift toward the clock. Six paces from it I caught the dim glint of a key in the clock—my eyes were now accustomed to the darkness—and then beneath my foot a board treacherously cried out in the stillness. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

 I stood there, holding my breath and as I stood, I saw the clock door slowly open, and two fingers slid round the edge of it! Lunging, I flung myself on the door. There was a strangled animal cry from within the case, the fingers jerked and vanished, and I banged the door tight and turned the key in the lock. I heard pounding on the stout mahogany door of the case as I ran to the wall switch and flooded the room with light. Blinking, I started at the tray of trinkets untouched in the window. Then appeared a gentleman, walking alone in the hallway. Thinking he was a servant, I was just about to have a word with him, when he vanished. Suddenly, a coffee cup rose from a side-table, nobody being nigh, and flew to the other side of the room, breaking itself against the wall; for my further confirmation, that it was neither the tricks of the wags nor the fancy of a servant, but the mad frolics of witches and demons. The front of the house was so haunted in all the room, that they stood empty for a long time. In the latter part of the autumn of 1887, after retiring to my bedroom about eleven o’clock, I thought I heard a peculiar moaning sound, and someone sobbing as if in great distress of mind. I listened very attentively, and still it continued; so I raised the gas in my bedroom, and then went to the window on the landing, drew the curtain aside, and there on the grass was a very beautiful young girl in a kneeling posture, before a soldier in a general’s uniform, sobbing and clasping her hands together, entreating for a pardon. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

However, alas, he only waved her away. So much did I feel for the girl that I ran down the stairway that wound down into blackness to the door opening upon the lawn, and begged her to come in and tell me her sorrow. The figures then disappeared gradually, as in a dissolving view. Not in the least nervous did I feel then; went again into my bedroom, took a sheet of writing paper, and wrote down what I had seen. The following evening, a few steps from the living room to the rear section, which was the original portion of the house, a man suddenly appeared, striding towards me, and going in a direction opposite to mine. When first seen he was standing exactly in front of the fireplace which dominated the room. Young and ghastly pale, he was dressed in evening clothes, evidently made by a foreign tailor. Tall and slim, he walked with long measured strides noiselessly. A tall white had covered thickly with black crepe, and an eyeglass, completed the costume of this strange form. The moonbeams from the skylight falling on the corpse-like features revealed a face well known to me, that of a former butler. A housemaid was in the room with me. She stopped abruptly, as if spellbound, then rushing towards the man, she gazed intently and with horror unmistakable on his face, which was now upturned to the Heavens. She indulged in her strange contemplation but for a very few seconds, then with extraordinary and unexpected she ran away with a terrific shriek and tell. However, this woman never have I seen or heard of since, and I could not explain her presence, nor the man’s. A week after this event, I was in my bedroom reading my letters, and it was very, very late. News of the butler’s death reached me. Then suddenly, the door opened, and the butler stood there looking at me reproachfully. But, he had been dead for more than a week. I screamed and went under the covers. A housemaid rushed upstairs to see what was the matter. When she arrived, the door was wide open! #RandolphHarris 7 of 7

The Winchester Mystery House

It is possible that events in The Winchester Mystery House can be charged with such powerful emotion that their traces linger in the setting where they occurred. That may at least be the explanation for the ubiquitous sighting of figures in the Grand Ballroom or gibbets upon which they have been hanged—unless of course popular superstition has attracted presumed ghosts to these localities.

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/

The Haunting of Llanada Villa

The sun began its slow descent from the sky. The wind was blowing shrill and shrewd. As  Llanada Villa settled, it started to rumble and grumble. The last glimmer of daylight died away. Everywhere, twilight released shadows. The night was bitterly cold and gloomy. As I sat by the fire, forms and faces from the past, from the grave appeared from a deep gulf. The wind was rumbling in the chimney and howling in the house. The footsteps in the dark from unseen entities were no longer as entertaining as they used to be. I had a feeling there was a tragic cloud hanging over the premises. Something must have happened long ago that left a very vivid psychic impression here…something very terrible. With more than $300 million at stake and not wanting to make light of the spirits, I discouraged any visits, especially those of thrill seekers. The walls and mirrors of Llanada Villa were draped in rose-coloured silk, and the mantles were decorated with poinsettia blossoms and lilies. In a doorway between the ballroom and the parlor, there was an umbrella covered with moss sprayed over with carnations with a fringe of gilded cypress cones. At the dinner table, however, I still kept a centerpiece of an old stain scarf border with blue plush and embroidered with begonia leaves to appease my spirit guests. Along the table were silver vases with roses and a tall silver candelabra. The names of some of the spirits guests were on cards painted with pink poppies. Llanada Villa itself had been readied to receive persons of wealth. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7

Although I have been experiencing unforeseen difficulties for some time now, the spirits had become very real to me. I was getting used to having them around. Besides, some of them were less trouble than some people I knew. Along with the day-to-day difficulties of conducting any kind of business, I had to deal with “the way things are done in California.” One incident involved a monthly payment to be made to a “railroad superintendent” to ensure my rail cars and carriages made it safely to my estate. There had been several frightening attempts at extortion. The disgruntled renegade demanded a payment. He “needed the money.” I refused to pay him. He left my home, uttering and glaring. Shortly after, a letter arrived at my home.

Mrs. Sarah L Winchester:

We’ve investigated you and know you can pay. We want $67,588 in hundred-dollar bills—and we want it soon so get it together and we’ll contact you again. If you go to the constable, we are going to blow up your whole house with everybody in it—and take care of your family too. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7

I disregarded his warning. This, after all, was a clear and present danger, not ghostly footfalls on the path or in the hallways. The constable agreed to work on the case. I told them about the dissatisfied client. They only succeeded in letting the renegade know that the authorities were after him. I was livid! Now that my extortionist knew I had made contact with law enforcement, he would probably carry out the rest of his threats. I had an army of bodyguards and vicious dogs guarding my estate. I refused to fan the fires of anybody’s superstitions, but there was always a guard just waiting inside the mansion with a cocked Winchester. “Well, Mrs. Winchester,” the butler said, mollified, “I’m glad you’re takin’ the serious. This could be trouble. We’ll take some axes and cut us a supply of firewood while it’s still dry.” “Very well,” I said. It was good that they wasted no time, for the rain began well before nightfall. There was a chill, driving wind, and the horses and mules took shelter in a stand of pines that were on the estate. The chimneys drew well, and roar fires did well to life the spirit of the house. I lit a candle and went over the long halls thoroughly, finding nothing. However, a careful examination of the floor revealed nothing except a reddish-brown stain that might have been blood, long since dried. The storm raged on, unabated. There was a crash of thunder that shook the house that immediately frightened the servants. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7

Then, on the heels of a clap of thunder, like an echo, came the unmistakable bark of a Winchester. Three of the deadly weapons added their voices to the fury of the storm, and taken by surprise, the guards fought back with their Winchester’s. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the fuselage ended. The thunder had diminished, and in the lightning flashes there were revealed three huddled bodies. With trembling hands, I stepped out the door and stood on the veranda, staring grimly into the rain-swept darkness. I marveled at how rapidly events could take a turn for the worse. We were suddenly free of any threat of the troublesome band of renegades, but three of them lay grievously wounded. There were sinister shapes in the shadows. The Observational Tower alone, rising toward the dark rolling clouds, was eerie enough with its deep apertures suggesting the chilly blackness that lay within. I did not envy the butler who had to climb those stairs in the dead of the night to make sure it was secure. When he had entered the nine-story tower, he found every item of furniture smashed or upset. Blood had been smeared over the walls and holy pictures. The tables had been overturned. Every gasolier has been ignited. However, he had come upon no intruder. Whoever—or whatever—had been in the tower had vanished, leaving behind only more wrecked furniture. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7

If the butler had not been so obsessed with the idea of “demonic possession,” then perhaps the local constabulary would have become involved. There was someone out there, someone moving through the garden. Using a good deal of stealth, too. And headed for the tower. I sat near the back of the darkened library, screen partly by a mahogany pillar. The only light came from the high stained-glass windows each time night clouds slid from the face of the moon. My hands were tucked deep inside my overcoat pockets. I shivered. Then heard a sound somewhere in the darkness. A breeze flickered against my face. A door had bene opened. And there it was, a black form, somehow misshapen, moving among the shadows. I kept still, curious to see that the intruder would do. A match was struck, the sound harsh in the cavernous mansion. A candle was lit. Then another. The figure moved—glided, it almost seemed—around the table, lighting more. That area of the mansion grew brighter and I sank down in my seat, even though I was still in the shadow, for now the intruder’s true shape was more discernible. It was bent, as if hunched back, and it wore some kind of robe, the head covered by a large cowl. I now understood why the figure had appeared crooked, for now it was lifting something. Something heavy. As I watched, the intruder raised the container and began to pour liquid over the table. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7

I waited by the door and only when the figure I had been watching had disappeared from view did I enter. My teeth clenched tight when the door groaned on its hinges. I hurried through. I reached the other side of the room and peered round. There was no sign of the person I had been watching. A noise to my right caught my attention. There it was, a shape dodging around the hallways. However, it was headed to an exit. My eyes narrowed. Christ, the thought of it all made my skin crawl. It was cruel. I was as jumpy as a bear scenting humans. A wind went whistling through the room.  The room had darkened more, and I clearly heard footsteps. There was a heavy and gloomy shadow gathering. It turned colder, too. There was a chill and a dismal feeling in the air. I took a lantern and went on, through the long, dark passages. As the gloom and shadow thickened behind me, in that place where it had been gathered so darkly. The glimpses themselves were at first merely strange than horrible, but it took me by surprise to see a ghastly cold, and colourless face dressed in a gloomy nightgown, motionless without a sound. Then I noticed there were multiple levels of black vaults below, and never-opened trapdoors. I seemed to be a prisoner, and horror hung broodingly over everything I saw. My home seemed so limitless. There were almost endless leagues of rooms two hundred feet wide. They differed greatly in aspect. Many of these rooms seemed so limitless that they must have a frontage of several thousand feet, while there were stairs that shot up to the steamy heavens. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7

I could not resolve this impression into details. In certain places I beheld enormous dark cylindrical towers which climbed far above any of the other structures. They were built of a completely bizarre masonry, and tapered slightly toward their rounded tops. Nowhere in this part of Llanada Villa could I find traces of windows or other apertures save huge oak doors be found. My omnipresent home was almost terrifying in its strangeness, with bizarre and unfamiliar architecture. Abnormally, this night, my home had grown curiously. Through the countless miles of this haunting city there were French reception rooms in Renaissance and Louis VX taste.  The spirit may not have been here to harm me, but were showing me how to build. Vivid blossoms embossed in the windows. Terrance and roof-top gardens to suggest artificial breeding. Here and there enormous domes and arches. Certainly, many persons have dreamed intrinsically stranger things. For some time, I accepted the visions as natural, even though I had never before been an extravagant dreamer. In the course of some months, however, these elements came to life. Carpenters worked day and night to unfailingly create my dreams with accumulating force. My home reflected the curious impressions regarding time, the sense of an exchange with my personality, and, considerably later, the inexplicable emotional grip of these spirits. It disturbed me so vastly to find that my dreams had been so closely duplicated; especially since the ideas came from apparitions. Many of those accounts supplied with detailed explanations. This despite the fact that I was and still am ignorant of the languages involved in the creation, which appeared to be a fairly consistent mixture of myth and hallucination whose scope and wildness left me utterly dazed. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7

The Winchester Mystery House

This excessive, if not bizarre home of Sarah L. Winchester combined with Victorian and Gothic styles, at one time contained as many as 600 rooms. Building and furnishing the home consumed approximately $5 million. The house now contains 161 rooms. The vast mansion required employment of about one hundred servants, including chefs, cooks, maids, housekeepers, maintenance workers, carriage men and hostlers. Its unique floor plan resulted in operational efficiencies and many unusual features.

“One occasion, I heard a door open and heavy footstep slowly walking through the house. I checked on the lowest level of the house a door which is never opened—it was nevertheless fully open. Evidently, the ghost knew I was coming.” -Caretaker 5

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/