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The History of Horrors
One night, soon after I was in bed, I fell asleep and dreamed that I was returning to Llanada Villa. I thought that it would not be too much out of my way to go through San Francisco. Accordingly, I set out but remembered nothing that happened by the way till I came to my house; I went to the front door and tried to open it; but found it fast. Then I went to the back door, which I opened and went in; but finding all the servants were in bed, I crossed the rooms only, went upstairs, and entered the chamber where my butler, Frau, and his wife Tilly Heroldsbach, were in bed. As I went by the side of the bed on which Frau lay, I found him asleep, or thought he was so; then I went to the other side, and having just turned the foot of the bed, I found Tilly awake to whom I said these words: “Tilly, I am returning from a long journey, and wish to let you know I am home.” Upon which she answered in fright, “Oh dear Mrs. Winchester, thou are dead!” With this I awoke, and took no notice of it more than a common dream, except that it appeared to me very perfect. For some odd reason, I found that Frau and Tilly were no longer on my staff anymore. Claus, one of the carpenters told me that, “they have become frightened to set foot inside the place. It seems they believe demons have taken charge.” I grinned, unable to help myself. “Claus,” I said, “Naturally something like this could make me look pretty silly.” “Mrs. Winchester,” he replied, “this so-called ‘possession’ has become common knowledge in the town. Some of the townsfolk are enjoying the fun of it, while others are quite frightened.” #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
In a few days after, as soon as a letter could reach me, I received one by post from Frau; upon the receipt of which I was a little surprised, and concluded something extraordinary must have happened, as it was but a short time before I had a letter from him. Upon opening it I was more surprised still for my former butler addressed me as though I were dead, desiring me, if alive, or whose ever hands the letter might fall into, to write immediately; but id the letter should find me living, they could concluded I should not live long, and gave me the reason of their fears. That on a certain night, naming it, after they were in bed, my butler asleep and his wife awake, she heard somebody try to open the front door; but finding it fast, the person went to the back door, which one opened, came in, and came directly through the servants rooms upstairs, and she perfectly knew it to be my step; but I came to her beside, and spoke to her these word, “Tilly, I am returning from a long journey, and wish to let you know that I am home.” Upon which she answered me in a fright, “Oh, dear Mrs. Winchester, thou are dead!”—which were the circumstances and words of my dream. However, she heard nothing more; neither did I in my dream. Much alarmed she woke her husband, and told him what had occurred; but he endeavoured to appease her, persuading her that it was only a dream. She insisted it was no dream, for that she was as perfectly awake as she ever was, and had not the least inclination to sleep since she was in bed. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
From these circumstances I am inclined to think it was at the very same instant when my dream happened, though the distance between us was about one hundred miles; but of this I cannot speak absolutely. I do know that it was cooler inside of my house than outside. Was my home always this cold? Spiritual warmth was one thing, but there was no physical warmth here. Blood had been smeared on the walls and statues. Furniture soaked with it. I arrived one morning to find the fountain filled with blood. People who break into my home with malicious intent like to defile it in the foulest way possible. Hebe and Demeter had been marked. I, myself, scrubbed them clean of the more obscene and diabolic disfigurations. My organ in the Grand Ball Room had been battered beyond repair. The carvings had been chipped, there were scratches in the wood that resembled claw marks. The side door looked like it had been attacked with an ax. It was the same with the front doors. However, the marks were on the inside. They were not made by someone trying to gain entry. The only sound I heard that night was the toll of a single bell. There was, too, a feeling of profound and inexplicable horror concerning myself. I developed a queer fear of seeing my own form, as if my eyes would find it something utterly alien and inconceivably abhorrent. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
With a blinding flash and a violent crack, a storm erupted. Then, very suddenly, thought, and shuddering terror, and earnest endeavour to comprehend my true state. There I suffered, while I strove to imagine where and what I could be. I longed, yet not dared to employ my vision. The blackness of eternal night encompassed me. I struggled for breath. The intensity of darkness seemed to oppress and stifle me. For a moment, did I suppose myself actually dead? A fearful idea now suddenly drove the blood in torrents upon my heart, and for a brief period, I lapsed into insensibility. There is something, some mysterious horror, that holds me here as surely as if I were bound with fetters. I wanted my soul to be in harmony with other souls. I sank down onto the cold floor, my arms wrapped around my knees as I stared straight ahead. A hundred terrible objects seemed to haunt me. The next day, I rose from my bed ill in health and humiliated in mind. I was ashamed of myself for feeling the desire to escape from my haunted home. However, with some haste, I made my way to the balcony to seek in open air some relief to my nervous system, shaken as it were by this horrible encounter by visitors from another World. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
Night after night, demons wonder the halls to kill young children of my servants for their hideous rituals, either by strangulation or more often by piercing their throats with a sharp dagger and letting the hot blood stream into the chalice as they cry: “Astaroth, Asmodee, je vous conjure d’accepter le sacrifice que je vous presente! They have heaped curses on me and trampled underfoot and spat upon holy images and artifacts in my home. In return the demon promises that he will at all times afford them prompt assistance; that he will accomplish all their desires in this World and make them eternally happy after their death. The whole question is, perhaps, one of the most dark and difficult connected with Witchcraft and magic, and the details of these hideous connections are such—for as the Saints attain to the purity of angels, so, on the other hand, will the bond slaves of Satan defile themselves with every kind of lewdness. These relations, far from being untrue, bear the strongest marks of authenticity which can be given them by official proceedings regulated and approved with the caution and judgment brought to bear upon them by enlightened and conscientious magistrates who, throughout all ages, have been in a position to test plain facts. It seems to me that if unshaken evidence means anything at all, if the authority of the ablest and acutest intellects of all ages in all countries is not count for merest vapourings and fairy fantasies, the possibility—I do not, thank God, say the frequency—of these demonical connections is not to be denied. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
Evil spirits have appeared in my home in the shape of a man, a woman, or even some animal. This is either a real and actual presence, or the effect of imagination. They decide that this sin incurs particular guilt which must be specifically confessed, to with an evil superstition whereof the essence is a compact with the Devil. The inquiry is made whether a demon may thus attack a man or woman, whose obsession would be suffered if the subject were wholly bent upon obtaining perfection and walking the highest paths of contemplation. One night, as the moon-beams came through two deep and narrow windows, and showed the spacious chamber, richly furnished in an antique fashion, the shadow of the diamond panes were thrown upon the floor; the ghostly light through the other slept upon a bed, falling between the heavy silken curtains, and illuminating the face of one of the housemaid’s. However, how quietly the slumberer lay; now pale her features; and how like a shroud the sheet was wound about her frame! Yes, it was a corpse in burial clothes. Suddenly, the fixed features seemed to move with dark emotion. Strange fantasy! It was but the shadow of the fringed curtain, waving betwixt the dead face and the moonlight, as the door opened. Why, then, should the soul be satisfied with the house—the body—in which it lived? Would it not want to change the curtains, as it were. And the paintwork. And perhaps even build a new window? #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
In certain places around Llanda Villa, the spirits encouraged me to build enormous dark cylindrical towers which climbed far above any of the other structures. So they would appear to be of a totally unique nature. They hovered an inexplicable aura of menace and concentrated fear. There were colossal round windows and high arched doors, and pedestals or tables. Vast shelves of dark wood lined the walls, holding what seemed to be volumes of immense size with strange occult symbols on their backs. The windows glazed with fine artwork, though I dared not peer out of them. There were stairs that led to passageways never meant to be opened. Some of the structures towered toward the sky. Multiple levels of black vaults below and never-opened trapdoors, sealed down with metal bands and holding dim suggestions of some special peril. I seemed to be a prisoner. The skies were almost always moist and cloudy, and sometimes I would seem to witness tremendous rains. We could summon to our side the spirits of those whom we have so fondly cherished and converse with them of things holy and eternal, we could learn wisdom from their fuller knowledge, and be assured in their own sweet accents of their fadeless love, as we were comforted with the sight of their well-known faces, the touch of their hands upon ours. Was it God’s will that Spiritism be a most blessed and sacred thing, consolation to the afflicted, succour to the distressed, a shining light upon Earth’s dark ways, a ready to help us all? #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mystery House
There are sometimes instances of sudden and solitary visions, which to others might deem to be hallucinations. This gentleman, walking alone in a certain hallway at The Winchester Mystery House, met a casual acquaintance, a well-known local businessman and was just shaking hands with him, when the guy vanished. Nothing in particular happened to either of them; the businessman was not in the caretaker’s mind at that moment. These appearances, frequent and well attested, might be described as the ghosts of the living. There are reports of figures, seen momentarily before disappearing, that seem to emanate evil and malevolence; the seer is then confronted by the living person months or even years later.
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/
History’s Greatest Mystery
Once upon a time, I was admired for my sultry voice. It was low and soft. Enticing, William had said. Indeed, there was seldom a New Haven party during which, at some point, I had not been begged to sing. Now, however, my voice had been used to sooth the angry spirits and sing them to sleep. It was invaluable for calming the disgruntled apparition, the worried ghoul, and any other supernatural being whose afterlife was out of balance. It worked just as well on a highly-strung poltergeist. This evening, I was not feeling well. The housemaid came in with tea service. She proceeded to pour. “Here you are, Mrs. Winchester. A few sips of this and you will feel better directly.” I took the teacup with trembling hands, forcing myself to swallow. The hot, brisk liquid calmed my nervous insides, but I knew there was not a beverage on Earth that could heal my broken heart. While pleasing reflections were stealing over my mind, and gradually consoling me, I was suddenly aroused by a sound like that of the rustling of a silken gown and the tapping of a pair of high-heeled shoes, as if a woman were walking into the room. I could draw the curtain to see what the matter was, the figure of a little woman passed between the sofa and the fireplace. The back of this form was turned to me, and I could observe, from the shoulders and neck, it was that of an old woman, whose dress was an old-fashioned gown, which ladies call a sacque—that is, a sort of robe completely loose in the body, but gathered into broad plaits upon the neck and shoulders, which fall down to the ground, and terminate in a species of train. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
I thought the intrusion singular enough, but never harboured for a moment the idea that what I saw was anything more than the housemaid about the room, who had a fancy to dress like her grandmother, and who, having perhaps been confused about her tasks. Under this persuasion, I placed my teacup on the saucer. She turned slowly round, but gracious heaven! My lord, what a countenance did she displayed to me! There was no longer any question about what she was, or any thought of her being a living being. Upon a face which wore the fixed features of a corpse were imprinted the traces of the vilest and most hideous passions which had animated her while she lived. The body of some atrocious criminal seemed to have been given up from the grave, and the soul restored from the penal fire, to form, for a space, a union with the ancient accomplice of its guilt. My hair stood up straight, as I gazed on this horrible specter. The had made, as it seemed, a single and swift stride to the sofa where I sit, and sat down upon it, precisely the same attitude which I had assumed in the extremity of horror, advancing her diabolical countenance within half a yard of mine, with a grin which seemed to intimate the malice and the derision of an incarnate fiend. I wiped from my brow the cold perspiration with the recollection of my horrible vision covering it. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
I have been in all the mortal dangers incidental to my lineage, but in this instance, I knew this was an incarnation of an evil spirit. I felt a touch of the dimly sinister, which was beyond my power to define. All firmness forsook me, and my courage melted from me like wax in the furnace. The current of my lifeblood ceased to flow, and I sank back into the sofa in a swoon, as a victim to panic and terror. How long I sat in this condition, I cannot pretend to guess. However, I was roused by the bell in the belfry. It was some time before I dared to open my eyes, least they should again encounter the horrible specter. However, when I summoned the courage to open my eyes again, the apparition was no longer visible. Ordinarily one could find half a dozen bits of candle stuck around in the crevices of this vestibule, but they were now gone. I could not go off to sleep late that night, and fell into a state of semi-consciousness, with a small light burning near my bed. Gradually I became aware of the smell of fire, or rather the peculiar smell when a gun had just been fired. At the same time, I felt an acute pain, as if I had been wounded in the left side of my back. The monstrous evil left its mark. Trying to shake off the impression, I started to do some work at my typewriter, but the presence persisted. I heard dark whispers calling out my name, “Sarah.” The servant ran away like rats. People began to mind the way folks vanished now and then in the mansion. There were legends evoked by the evil look of this place at night, but even so, they were strangely coming to life. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
I was tired and irritable the next morning due to interrupted sleep and plain confusion. I did not understand what was happening. I could not cope. There was no one I could go to for advice without having them think I was crazy. However, what was I to do? The afternoon sun came out from behind dispersing clouds, but seemed unable to light up the walls of Llanada Villa. Later that evening, by lamplight, I sat in the Blue Séance Room and drafted the plans which the spirits had instructed me to add to this labyrinth. More rooms and corridors. I had a few sips of tea as I made notes and now and again I would glace at the window where night seemed to press against the glass. Eventually, I left the room to roam the house. Somewhere, a clock chimed the late hour. Using a lantern for guidance, I walked the length of the corridor, passing several of my own rooms, heading for the window at the far end. Even though I was tired physically, my senses were acutely alert, as if my mind were a restless passenger inside of a train. I reached the window and placed the lantern on the floor, standing close to the glass to see beyond. The blanket clouds had finally given way, although not entirely; milky edged cumuli remained, almost motionless, tumbled in the night sky like froze avalanches. The moon had a space all of its own, as though its white-silver had eaten away the surrounding clutter, and deep shadows were cast across the lawn and gardens below the window. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
There were forms down there other than those arboreal statues whose clear-defined shadows pointed toward the Observational Tower like accusing fingers. From a distant place amid the wooded areas came the hollow shriek of a night creature, a sound no less disturbing for its faintness. I looked on, but my gaze did not rove, for my thoughts were directed inward at that moment. The piteous, animal cry had stirred a memory, one more distant in my own mind than its catalyst from the trees. I remembered the sharp, human screech that had once echoed on the fourth floor. I shone the lantern along the corridor, the beam swift to repel the darkness. The light caught a vague movement by the stairway. Without hesitation, I hurried toward it and as I approached, I felt a peculiar sense of oppression. Then, bracing myself, I crossed the wide hallways. Half choked with the omnipresent dust, covered with ghostly gossamer fibers, I began to climb the steps which rose into darkness. As the darkness encroached like thick drapes, my lantern was no longer of any use. At a sharp turn I felt a closed door ahead, and a little fumbling revealed its ancient latch. It opened inward, and beyond it I saw a dimly illumined corridor lined with mahogany paneling. The sainted-glass windows obscured any light. The designs were largely conventional, and of mysterious symbolism concerning ancient patterns. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
In the rear hidden room, I found a desk and ceiling-high shelves of books. I received an absolute shock of horror, for the titles of those books told me much. They were from the dark, forbidden things which most sane people have never even heard of, or have heard of only in furtive, timorous whispers; then banned and dreaded repositories of equivocal secrets and immemorial formulae which have tricked down the stream of time from the medieval times, and the dim, fabulous days before man was. I had read many of them—the Voynich manuscript, The Orea Linda Book, Munich Manuel of Demonic Magic, The Book of Soyga, and many other forbidden occult books. Although this forbidden library was within my home, it must have been the seat of an evil older than mankind and wider than the known Universe. What most people do not understand is that created darkness before he created light. Many of the great tomes on the shelves fascinated me unutterably. I wondered how they could have appeared in my home. Then there came sounds from below. Like bare feet on wood. Running to the spiral staircase, I looked dizzily downstairs and saw processions of figures in robes and hoods whose outlines where not human. Wisps of lack most floated before my eyes. And beyond all else, I glimpsed an infinite gulf of darkness. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
I felt some dark presence close to me and watching me with horrible intenseness. It looked through me. I tried to look away from it, but some obscure compulsion drew my eyes back to whatever was lurking in the shadows. It frightened me horribly, so that I ran through the fear-haunted hallways through one of the kitchens and out into the night. Bright though the moon was, it was several moments before my eyes adjusted to the contrast, and a second or two longer before I could be sure of what I was seeing. A figure dressed in a flowing white flitting across the terrace. It suddenly vanished from view. My eyes narrowed; my face washed in moonlight. “Annie?” I questioned almost silently. I followed, breaking into a slow run, reaching the steps that led down from the terrace into the gardens. I searched for the figure in white, certain that I had lost sight of her at this point. Yet nothing moved among the flowers and boxwood hedges below. I descended and took the center path toward the pond, eyes seeking hither and tither. I reached the low wall and looked down on the water, its still surface shiny with moonlight, the silver sheen somehow compelling. My fascination was broken by the sound I had heard before—the soft padding of footsteps. Only this time they were hurried, and their bare feet were against flagstones. I whirled around to face whatever was rushing toward me, but saw nothing. Tired. Exhausted. Fatigued. Defeated. I went back to the house, turned out the light, locked up, and went upstairs to bed. Maybe our antagonists were regrouping their force. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mystery House
Many strange and mysterious events have occurred in The Winchester Mystery House, which have never been explained because of our limited understanding. A paper covered with penciled memoranda found behind the safe in the Grand Ball Room holds much of a puzzling nature. Caretakers have read it carefully, but are not sure what it means. This disjointed text includes such phrases as the following. “Sarah Winchester home from Germany April 1891—buys ancient Rosicrucian Sword—her archaeological work and studies in occult well know.” “John Hansen warns against Observational Tower Dec. 22, 1892.” “1893—3 disappearances.” “1885–Within six months, Angus dishing out stronger meat.” “13 disappearances 1886—stories of blood sacrifice begin.” “1886–front door vanishes from inside. Outdoors still visible.” “1887–Maureen, who had been a satanic breeder, left 200-page diary in which she said she had been involved with a satanic group. Five buns terminated. Foetuses sacrificed.” “Investigation 1888 unfounded—occults whispers. The constable never involved.” “Fr. Snider pontificates of devil-worship with object found in the Winchester Mansion—claims they summoned something that can’t exist in light. These people say Mrs. Winchester’s home shows them heaven and other worlds, and tells them secrets in some way. They call it up by gazing at the crystal, and have a secret language of their own.” “7 disappearances 1922—secret committee calls on Mayor Jayet.” “Action promised Oct. 1922—Auction and estate closes.” “203 persons leave city before end of 1922—mention no names.”
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/
We Should Get Back to the House
There was a sound like the faintest, far-off shout. My eyes opened and uncertainty surfaced with the wakefulness. The rhythmic knocking of hammers and crisp slicing and the saws vanquished the lingering pleasantness of my reverie. My head ached dully. All I could recall was marvelous vista in its Victorian grandeur and splendor. I was flying over it, not at a height, my flying was not so assured, but a meter or two off the ground, flying at a joyful, terrifying velocity, as a glided hither and tither. However, with one false movement the magic would end in dreadful fall. I sighed with relief as I reached for my bed jacket and settled in a chair on the opposite side of the bureau. I looked in the mirror and saw my face breaking into a warm smile. Shuffling papers, I retrieved an appointment book which had been buried. There were two sitting scheduled for me this afternoon. A widow, freshly made, and a young couple who wanted their son’s death confirmed. Would you believe he was reported missing at the Tournament of Roses during winter? The poor dears—so many days of uncertainty. They wanted me to locate his spirit. As I pushed back my chair and summoned the chambermaid to bind my hair and prepare my state-of-the-art shower, I shivered as a frigid air breezed through my chamber. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
My attire for the day was simple: a long coat, slim fitting, curving in gently at the waist, hardly swelling at all over my bosom; the shoulder padding was squarish but by no means exaggerated, the collar was tight around my neck. The young couple greeted me in my blue seance room. I gestured for them to sit down. “Move closer. We must hold hands.” Matthias and Anneliese Hulsmann obliged. It was of course a dark seance. “Are we ready?” I asked, taking my place among the couple. They nodded and we all clasped hands. “Before we contact the spirits, we must clear our heads of all pessimism,” I said. Taking a deep breath and with a soft voice, I began. I was influenced to offer up a brief petition that our assembling might enable us to receive a full measure of spiritual gifts; that I might thereby become more fitted to do the Lord’s work and shew forth His great Love to the World. In a brief time, I exclaimed, “Oh! There is an angel—it is Uriel, and he will soon make his presence known.” We then heard the rustling of large wings, which ceased after a time. After which, there was a gentleman standing between Matthias and Anneliese. He was singing and accompanying himself on a harp. “Happy are those who find love in the Father’s breast. Like the wandering dove who found no repose on Earth around, they can to their Ark repair and enjoy it ever there. Enlarge not to my hunger, or I’m caught in trammels of perverse deliciousness. No, on, that shall not be: thee will I bless, and bid a long adieu.” #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
After that, a deep rumbling shook the floor. I was able to describe Erich to the bereaved with great accuracy, and then I was told to by the angel to say, “Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he will sustain thee: His arm will uphold thee, so deep that the waters shall not cover thee.” With a deep sigh, the couple closed their eyes in an act of surrender. After Uriel spoke, Erich Hulsmann came through. “Oh Erich. My dear Erich are you here?” I called out. “It’s I. It’s Erich.” “You parents are here, and they miss you dearly. You became lost at the Tournament of Roses. My dear child, have you passed through the veil?” “I am not dead. I’m alive. I feel an effort is being made to raise me, but you must not speak to me, nor touch me.” The darkness being complete, we could not see how much he was raised, but he spoke occasionally, and his voice sounded very much above us. As he lowered to place, we could see his feet above the level of the table. Mrs. Hulsmann’s handkerchief with then drawn to her eyes. “Sorry, so sorry,” Mr. Hulsmann cried. We were then desired to have light for the remainder of the seance. Mr. and Mrs. Hulsman saw a figure behind me whom they described very clearly. He had on a white linen suit with gold buttons. Mrs. Hulsmann then told me to ask Erich about his grandmother. “Erich my dear,” I said, “is your grandmother, who loved you so, well?” “As much as ever,” he replied. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
Then his father called his name. Erich nodded toward his father with a veined face, as he walked through the door into the halls of Llanada Villa. As we concluded the seance with the Lord’s prayer, the table rose from the floor, and slammed back down. Our chair fell backward, and the room went pitch black. Several Indians in white clothes became visible. The word “Light” became visible on the ceiling. When again in darkness, a voice called out to us, “We have crowned you all with blessing that you may do the Lord’s work on this Earth.” Mr. and Mrs. Hulsmann were struck with tears. They received the answer they were looking for, but could not understand why their son was angry and could not speak further with them. As they were leaving the room, Mrs. Hulsmann saw a spectral white dove fly through the door and a real feather fell into her hand. Mr. Hulsmann recalled that he made a promise that he had not fulfilled. In a very gentle voice, Mrs. Hulsmann said, “I will never forget you.” Some delicious perfume was sprinkled upon us. I bid them goodbye, as their carriage rode away. The house and grounds were exerting a terrific emotional pull, and I was falling under a spell from the past that I had never felt before. It was foreign to my usual manner of thinking that I could not even speak. I locked the front door and went into the library. As I looked up, a dark shape was looming over my head in the moonlight. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
Then I made my way back upstairs to the Daisy Bedroom as fast as I safely could. It was then that I heard the door-to-nowhere open and perceived approaching footsteps. “Who’s there?” I called out. There was no answer, and I was annoyed. Although my housemaids were in other wings of the house—I was sure that one of them had come in and was playing a trick on me. I lit a candle. I could see no one. Yet the door-to-nowhere, I was so sure had been closed was now open—and beyond it only darkness. The candle flickered and died. Then I heard footsteps coming from the door, passing by me, and then going down the stairs. Hastily, I ran into the hallway, and turned on the light, but there was no one there. “Antonia,” I questioned tentatively. “Hanne?” Silence. After a few tense seconds, I heard the footsteps start to mount the stairs and I knew then that there were not the footsteps of either woman. They were unmistakably, the footsteps of a child. I stepped forward and could have reached through the railings and grasped his ankle as he passed, but if my life depended on it, I could not have moved my hand to do so. The area in which I was standing was suddenly icy cold. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
“Who are you?” I yelled. At least I thought I was yelling, but no voice could be heard, as when one tries to scream in a nightmare. I was not too sure that I was not having one, either. I reached the newel post and felt the mahogany—cold and solid—beneath my hand. I had to be awake! I yelled again. My challenges went unanswered. There was not the slightest change in the rhythm of the footsteps as they continued their steady climb back up the stairs. I stood betwixt, as I heard them in the upper hall. They went on up to the third floor. I heard a door softly close, and all was silent. I finally moved…fast. I stumbled into a room. True, I had seen nothing by candlelight nor by gasolier in the dark hall, but a heavy concentrated beam most certainly would have shown a boy on the stairs. Was it Erich? Was he now a spirit coming to live in my house? This had been my impression. I walked upstairs and went into the room where the door had closed and found it empty. Then I inspected several miles of the house and tested all the doors leading to the outside. They were securely locked, and the housemaids were fast asleep. Upon descending upon the first floor, I found the butler in the servants’ quarters. “Did you notice anything unusual?” I asked Rainer. “Did you see anyone walking through the house?” “Of course not, Mrs. Winchester,” he replied a little impatiently. “But I did hear some sort of disturbance. A volley of noises broke out throughout the entire house.” #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
Rainer described the noises as “banging, thumping, the whole place shaking.” Zip was shut up in the library, while Rainer took refuge in the breakroom. “Zip whined in terror as the noises increased in volume and in violence. Then suddenly the noises ceased,” he said. Later that night, I was in the Crystal Bedroom with my precious Zip. For no reason, he began to bristle up his hair, and bark at something. I looked up and saw the boy in his white linen suit, with about half of his figure passing through the slightly opened door. I ran to the door. There was no one there. Rainer was going about his usual business and had seen nothing. Some weeks after this, my house became extremely haunted, especially above the stairs, so that I was forced to stay in the lower rooms, there was such a throwing of things up and down, of bats through the windows, and putting all in disorder. A little while after the, a window on the first floor flew open, and in came a bat which inflamed Rainer with a more eager desire to see what the matter was. The keen desire of discovering the cheat made him venture by himself into that room. Into which, when he came, he saw the bedding, chairs, tables, candlesticks, and bed-staves, and all the furniture, rudely scattered on the floor, but, upon search, found no mortal in the room. In the coming days, while at the market, curious people overheard him saying to the grocer, “There is something more than ordinary in the business of the Winchester mansion. It is not womanish fear or superstition that so affrighted the mistress of the house. The house is haunted in all the rooms, upper and lower, that the staff does not stay for a long time.” #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mystery House
After years of working at The Winchester Mystery House, one of the caretakers reported that he was contacted by Mrs. Winchester. The dreams in which Mrs. Winchester appeared to him were getting increasingly lively, and he wanted to go on record with the information thus received. According to him, Mrs. Winchester poured his heart out to the young man, incredible though this seemed on the face of it. The gist of it was a request to go to “the blue room” and find certain papers in a metal box. “This will prove my innocence. I have not harmed a soul. There is written proof. Notarized sworn statements from my staff written October 5, 1922, or 1923.” The message was specific enough, but the papers of course were long since gone. The blue room would be the Blue Seance Room. The restless spirit of the late Mrs. Winchester had evidently decided to be heard once more. At the same time, he was approached by the Society for Psychical Research for an enquiry into his nocturnal impressions.
Please come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Intrepid Delver into the Forbidden
Tuesday afternoon came and waned to the twilight. It was a peculiar time; something new was astir, something that was quite unlike the tranquility of the past, something that was very strange indeed, but was felt everywhere. The unknown things had begun to close in on me with a whole new degree of determination. I knew all too well of the things which must be lurking nearby. I began to fear that I might not sleep tonight, so certain was I that I was surrounded by the tortured spirits of those who had not yet been allowed to cross the veil to the other side. Here they remained, crying aloud, desperate to be heard, causing disarray and torment in my home as they longed to be released to the peace of eternal rest. I wore a pale expression. Staring at the floor beneath me, there were myriads of claw-prints in the hallway, with human prints among them. Clutching a bloody handkerchief, I was half afraid for myself. Sorcery from the Middle Ages has been violently unmaksed in Llanada Villa and the whole craft has been exposed in its darkest colours and most abominable manifestations. I had indeed been cursed, but it had been carefully hidden and scrupulously concealed. Trembling, I was terrified at the horror I knew was sure to come my way. #RandolphHarris 1 of 6
I fell asleep quite soon after going to bed, but it was a fitful and unhappy sleep. My dreams were full of nightmares of dark debaucheries. There were foul and hideous mysteries of lust which neither human intercourse nor the employ of a mechanical property can explain. Howbeit, I am fully aware what unspeakable horror lurked in the blackness beyond. When I rose up and wandered along the gallery, I was hopeless. I tried to estimate how long I had been asleep, but all I knew was that it seemed days and weeks, and yet it was plain that this could not be, for my candles were not gone yet. I was cruelly tired. I sat down and fastened my candle to the wall. I turned on the lights and walked toward the kitchen. Although my home was quite empty, I had an eerie sensation of not being alone. Hurriedly, I walked to the front door. Glancing backward into the dark recesses of my home, upon which I saw an apparition of a man, staring at me with piercing black eyes. He wore a wool shirt. He seemed to smile at me, and I called, “I beg your pardon, but who are you?” However, the figure never moved or reacted. “What are you doing here?” I demanded, all the while looking at him. There was no answer, and suddenly my courage left me, as the icy touch of an unseen hand caressed my cheek. #RandolphHarris 2 of 6
I ran down the central hallway, until abruptly stopping at the end. Tenderly, my fingers ran over the brass trim on the heavy mahogany door. Nervously turning the handle, I reluctantly pushed open the door and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. As the door swung inward, there was a rush of bone chilling air. Stepping inside, I heard a crying baby. Immediately recognizing the cry of my own child. Standing alone in the pitch-black room, I turned toward where the sounds were coming from. Every step felt as if I was walking in cold tar. A sense of desperation took hold of me, as I struggled to find the child. However, the closer I seemed to get, the more distant the sound became. A sense of desperation overcame me, as the cries faded, and dark shadows began swiftly darting around the room. I found myself quietly walking back downstairs. To my right was the stair railing which went around the top of the stairs at a turn in the hallways which led to an interior-opening balcony space, overlooking the front door at the downstairs hall, with a view of the beautiful chandelier hanging over the foyer. As I walked down the stairs, I was fearful that something would happen. That is when I heard a terrible shriek. The bloodcurdling sound was that of a lunatic. The atmosphere within my home changed, the walls came alive. Its appetite whetted by the taste of human blood. The horror overcame me. #RandolphHarris 3 of 6
In stark loneliness of night, hurtling between somber, darkened rooms that quivered with unknown, invisible life. I could see some horror lurking in my mind’s eye. Perhaps my clairvoyant sense assisted me, but in these great halls, along the long corridors, in the gloomy cold there was an ancient and lingering pain. The wind whistled and shrieked and moaned, as if the dead had collected to fight the battle of their race. I was being pursued, the forced of hell were gathering against me. It was cold in the echoing corridors. I hurried along them, trying out doors on each side. The handles were covered in thick dust. Each one I tried seemed to be locked, so I made my way to another floor. There were hundreds more doors to try. After an hour, I sat down on the top step and closed my eyes. For some minutes I sat motionless, listening to my own heartbeat. With my head full of thoughts, I went through a doorway. Finding myself in a luxurious suite of rooms, with walls of dark mahogany panels, filled with exquisite antique furniture and paintings. Thick dust covered everything, and enormous cobwebs were suspended from every corner. The silence of centuries now hung in the air. I sat down on a soft, velvet-covered couch, and for some reason started feeling very sleepy. It was as if there were some curious force in the room—a force which was impossible to resist. I lay back on the couch, and went into a sort of trance. #RandolphHarris 4 of 6
When I came to, the room was darkened. Within its shadowy depths, I saw the white blur of a man’s face and hands; and in a moment I had crossed to greet the figure who had tried to speak. Dim though the light was, I perceived that this was a very sick man. There was a touch of the pitiful in the limp, lifeless way his lean hands rested in his lap. He had on a loose dressing-gown, and was swathed around the head and high around the neck with a vivid yellow scarf or hood. And then I saw that he was trying to talk in a hacking whisper. It was a hard whisper to catch at first, since the grey moustache concealed all movements and the lips, something in its timbre disturbed me greatly. I was also trying to ignore certain shadowy, indistinct shapes that might have been living creatures; I was trying to ignore my mounting fear. I realized that the man before me, what appeared to be a human figure—was it? A man? A tall, stiff-poised man? Or was it an apparition? Along this desolate gallery. I felt a stab of fear as I made a swift decision to run—not to turn back but to increase my speed and pass the mysterious brooding figure. Even though I saw that this figure was acutely aware of me, I had dismissed him as a dream. Touched with horror, yet empowered by it, by a rush of adrenaline like a flame through my veins, I did not slacken my speed, and veered through hallways and rooms until I was safe. #RandolphHarris 5 of 6
I climbed the stairs to the third floor, my heart pounding violently in my chest not in warning, not in caution but urging me on! And so, opening the door to the Celestial Bedroom, and so stepping breathless inside that room, I dared to switch on a light; a dim, yellow bulb in a bedside lamp; I stood beside my enormous, canopied bed. On my pillow there was the heavy imprint of a head, a concave shadow. I stared, not certain what I saw. My hand reached out; groping; I dared to touch the figure—pushing gently at the smooth, naked shoulder that, with the attached torso, fell away from the shadowed lower body, and from the neck and head; the head, a bald, blank head, rolled to one side on the pillow; one of the limbs, the shapely left leg, had fallen away from the body, as if its joints had become brittle with time, and lay at a grotesque angle perpendicular to the thigh. I saw clearly that the thing was not human and was not alive. Objects seemed to move across the room like conscious entities; the sounds of their footfalls having something about it like a loose, hard-surfaced clattering. Running to the drawing room, I summoned Zip. My precious darling was always here to comfort me. I decided that it may be a good idea to get some fresh air. Wagging his tail, he was more than happy to oblige. May was in its full beauty. The evenings were exquisite. The wild cherry was in flower. Zip and I walked every evening in the garden and we would sit till nightfall in the arbour, as I poured out my thoughts and feelings to him. We had poetic moments. #RandolphHarris 6 of 6
The Winchester Mystery House
A real nightmare occurs when you experience a frightening encounter with something strange and unknown, and you know without question that you are not asleep, that you are not dreaming. You know with every ounce of your being that the chilling encounter is real. The events that were described were actual experiences and encounters and were not legends and folklore. One must clearly understand and fully realize the shuddering horror and heart-sick dismay that exists when there is any sort of commerce between human beings and evil spirits, which is the very core and kernel of Witchcraft. All too often, nowadays, the orthodox doctrine of the Powers of Darkness are forgotten or ignored. In the first place, the name Devil is commonly given to the fallen angels, who are also called demons.
The chief of the demons is called the Devil. The Devil and other demons were created by God naturally good; but they themselves became evil. It is also remarkable that for an account of the Fall of the angels, which happened before the creation of the World, we must turn to the last book in the Bible, the Apocalypse of St. John. “And there was a great battle in Heaven, Michael and his angels fought with the dragon, and the dragon fought and his angels: and they prevailed not, neither was their place found any more in Heaven. And that great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, who is called the Devil, and Satan, who seduceth the whole World; and he was cast down unto the Earth, and his angels were thrown down with him” (Apocalypse xxi. 7-9). Once you open the door to the unknown, it may be hard to close again.
Come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Life itself Appears Only as a Means of Life
It is not enough to repent today and forget tomorrow. Repentance should be a continuous attitude of heart until the thing repented of is expunged from it and gotten rid of. We may well look with envy upon the life of Ralph Waldo Emerson, for he was a man whose course conformed perfectly to the doctrines which he taught. We may have seen high truths in our moods of vision and often written them down, but how to bring an unwilling heart and rebellious body to their subjection is ever a problem to us. The forming of a high character is both a contributory cause to mystical illumination (by removing obstacles in its way) and a consequential result of it. The inner light does not shine in a vacuum. It clarifies the man’s moral judgments and educates his moral conscience. It is still a fact, which may be noted more in the Old World perhaps, that merely by being lofty, strong, and noble in character, a man’s existence helps or comforts some of those he meets even if his circumstances prevent him doing anything outwardly useful to them. There is a natural dignity which comes from inner greatness, and which is to be respected, but there is also another kind which comes from the little ego’s self-infatuation, from its foolish empty pride. There is a natural dignity which comes from inner greatness, and which is to be respected, but there is also another kind which comes from the little ego’s self-infatuation, from its foolish empty pride. #RandolphHarris 1 of 15
If a man cannot make the right decision in a time of stress, if he feels bewildered in a time of crisis, this is not sufficient justification for him to expect a master to make his decisions for him. For his blindness and bewilderment measure the depth to which he is sunk in his personal self and lower nature. He would have seen his way more clearly and he kept this will free from their domination. For a master to make his decisions for him during such a critical time is not really to help him but to injure him. For it would prevent the struggle within himself continuing until it could give birth to a higher point of view, to a stronger character. We must put out of our minds every weakening impulse by instant reference to the strength of the Overself, every evil thought by a call to the infinite good of the Overself. In this way character is uplifted and made noble. On the degree of authority which he vests in the Overself, will depend the degree of power he draws from it to conquer the lower nature. There is a perfect relation between the impression we make upon others and the mastery we have achieved over ourselves. The strength of the impression depends on the degree of the mastery. Furthermore, our power over the World outside us will be proportionate to our power over the nature within us. The real tests of character are imposed through our reaction to thoughts as well as to events. Both are needed to show us to ourselves. In the giant mills where steel is prepared, we may glean a great lesson. The crude material if first made to undergo the ordeal of fire, a fire so intense that the material loses it solidity and becomes a bubbling liquid. #RandolphHarris 2 of 15
And after its temperature has been lowered sufficiently to resume a solid form again, the still red-hot material has to undergo a further ordeal. It is hammered on every side, pounded from top to bottom. Out of these processes there emerges at last a purified, strengthened, finely tempered steel which will stand up to the most trying tests during wear and work. Men who wish to make something of their lives must take the terrific pounding and suffering to which they have had to submit in the past few years as a similar process intended to turn away from the dross in their character and strengthen the nobility within it. The desire to serve the cause of Truth is praiseworthy, but an inner change of character is at once the basis and the beginning of such work. Passion and emotion are easier to control than thought. For this and other reasons they are brought to heel—not completely, but sufficiently—as a preliminary to the practice of meditation. If possible, a beginner should avoid any thing, any person, any contact, any event, or any environment which he knows will upset his emotional balance or produce negative thoughts. It is only at a later stage when he is more proficient in the art of self-control and has more strength within himself that he should not be afraid of these challenges but should accept them and try to win through. #RandolphHarris 3 of 15
Mental attitudes can be developed, thoughts can be trained in this direction, and feelings can be stimulated in harmony with it; but all this should be done naturally and not artificially. Discipline without harshness, strength without coldness, balance without pedantry, these are desirable qualities. I made a mistake of thinking that everything that went on in my head was me. Even when I was in college and had a great deal of that cleared up, I got into aching mess for a week about something having to do with money. The back of my neck was clutched, and my head ached unbearably because there were two opposing views fighting in my head and I could not settle for either one. I was so tired of fighting that I did not care which side won, if only the blasted battle would stop. However, no matter which side I decided to choose, I felt guilty. Then I had a dream which, speaking its own language, told me that the conflicting views of money were neither of them mine. It was really a battle between my father, who never forgot a debt whether it was his own or another’s, and my uncle who never remembered one unless he was reminded and then it seemed to him unimportant. My own view of money was neither. What I thought about money had to do with this particular instance which had some unusual factors in it. It was fantastic to m that I had worn myself out for a week in a battle that was really between two men with whom I had spent very little time for twenty years, and both of whom were dead. #RandolphHarris 4 of 15
When Carl Rogers spears about “prizing” a person, and conveying the feeling “this person has worth,” I become uneasy that this may be misconstrued to mean a kind of praise, of placing a high (selective, comparative, superior) value on a person. To me, it means not that, but something which is more difficult to describe, something that is not praise, not blame, and at the same time not neutral, flat, or middle-of-the-road. To me it is closer to the equality that I learned from Herbert Talehaftewa, a Hopi who at home on the Reservation was a kind of circuit judge. He was working as a carpenter on a construction job where I was office manager. Cab, the owner and boss, was a Boston snob who looked own on everyone, belittled them to the point where most people who were subjected to it went to pieces and had to pull themselves together again. One day I saw this man look at and speak to the Hopi in this way. Cab was a small man, and the Hopi was quite tall and broad, but Cab managed to look down on the Hopi. I saw the Hopi look at Cab so equally that he drew Cab down to his own level—precisely, and not one bit lower—so that they seemed to be two people eye-to-eye. I was so impressed by this that I looked up to the Hopi as though he were some sort of god. The Hopi turned to me with that same strong equalness in his gaze, and I felt myself being drawn up until we were on the same plane. If only we will regard them so, through him I knew that all men are equal. #RandolphHarris 5 of 15
This equalness is what “prizing” and “this person has worth” say to me—not exceptional, although at the same time unique, but equal with me myself who also is not exceptional and still has worth and is unique. “You are meaningful to me as one person to another.” “You are as interesting to me as I am to myself.” Differences in physique, gender, dress, speech, age, education, background—all of these disappear in the sense that although they are present, they are unimportant. We are in direct communication with each other—person to person. At the time of the incident with the Hopi, my office manager work was partly in abeyance because I was cooking three times a day for a dozen Hopi men who worked on construction. The Tewa Indian cook had burned her hand severely and had to stop using it for ten days. I hoped that my cooking was pleasing to the Hopi men, but I did not know. One day Herbert Talehaftewa, the circuit judge at home, said to me evenly, “The men say you are doing the best you can.” I was hurt. It seemed to me that they must think that my cooking was not very good. However, then I realized that what the men said was simple truth, and that their recognition of that was more beautiful to me than praise. They knew me innerly. And is not that the way that all of us wish to be known, no matter how many blocks and barriers we may put up against it? #RandolphHarris 6 of 15
I came to know them innerly too, person to person, and fifteen years later, with only scattered messages in between when I hear of something that has gone well or ill in their personal lives, I feel this deeply within myself, knowing truly what it means to them, to each man in terms of himself, and at the same time in terms of all of us—the whole human race. I am closer now to those Hopi men whom I have not seen for fifteen years than I am to many of the people now around me who have categorized me, put me in a pigeon-hole, who do not know me innerly at all. I would not hesitate to tell any of those Hopi men my troubles, of any kind, because they would simply accept them, not try to advise me, and their acceptance would be in sharing way, without regard to differences. If a man believes he is worth nothing and will become nothing, his seership will be confirmed. Humility can be overstretched. If, as sometimes happens, an aspirant seems to have some unusual power over others, he is strongly advised to check it immediately. If allowed to continue, it could develop into black magic, which leads to self-destruction. Such a person should devote far more effort to the task of ridding himself of these dangers, to improving his thought-process, and to praying to the Overself for protective guidance. There is a certain stage of development when it is more important to work on the improvement of the character than to practise meditation. The fulfilment of one’s Higher Purpose depends on a great deal of strenuous character building and improvement, plus the final overthrow of the ego. #RandolphHarris 7 of 15
A person’s incentive to face himself squarely usually comes from a realization that his happiness or efficiency is being hampered by a certain outstanding disturbance, such as a recurring depression, chronic fatigue, chronic constipation of a functional character, general shyness, insomnia, a lifelong inhibition toward concentrating on work. And he is likely to attempt a frontal attack on this disturbance as such and set out on something of a blitzkrieg. In other words, he may try to get at the unconscious determinants of his predicament without knowing much of anything about his personality structure. The result, at best, will be that some sensible questions will occur to his mind. If his particular disturbance is an inhibition toward work, for example, he may ask himself whether he is too ambitions, whether he is really interested in the work he does, whether he regards the work as duty and secretly rebels against it. He will soon get stuck and resolve that analysis does not help at all. However, there the fault is his and cannot be put at the doorstep of psychoanalysis. A blitzkrieg is never a good method in psychological matters, but a blitzkrieg that is entirely unprepared is bad for any purpose. This would be one that has neglected any previous reconnoitering of the territory to be attacked. It is partly because ignorance in psychological matters is still so heat and so widespread that anyone could even attempt such a dead-end short cut. #RandolphHarris 8 of 15
Here is a human being with infinitely complex crosscurrents of strivings, fears, defenses, illusion; his incapacity to concentrate on work is one end result of the entirety of these factors. And he believes he can eradicate it by direct action, as simply as he switches off an electric light! To some extent this expectation is based on wishful thinking: he would like to remove quickly the disability that disturbs him; and he likes to think that apart from this outstanding disturbance everything is all right. He does not like to face the fact that an overt difficulty is merely an indication that something is basically wrong with his relation to himself and to others. It is important for him, certainly, to remove his manifest disturbance, and certainly he should not pretend to be disinterested in it and artificially exclude it from his thinking. However, he should keep it in the background of his mind as an area to be explored eventually. He must know himself very well before he can glimpse the nature of his concrete impediment. If he is alert to the implications of his findings, as he proceeds in the accumulation of this knowledge he will gradually assemble the elements involved in the disturbance. In one way, however, the disturbance can be directly studied, for much can be learned by observing their vacillations. None of these chronic difficulties is equally strong all the time. The hold they have will tighten and lessen. At the beginning the person will be ignorant as to the conditions that account for these ups and downs. #RandolphHarris 9 of 15
He may even be convinced that there are no underlying causes and believe that such vacillations are in the “nature” of the disturbance. As a rule this belief is a fallacy. If he observes carefully, he will recognize a factor here and a factor there that contributes to making the condition better or worse. When he has once gained an inkling as to the nature of these contributing factors, his capacity for further observation will be sharpened and thus he will gradually obtain a general picture of the relevant conditions. If you want to analyze yourself, you must not study only the highlights. The upshot of these considerations is the banal truth. You must take every opportunity to become familiar with this stranger or acquaintance that is yourself. This, by the way, is not a figurative way of speaking, for most people know very little about themselves, and only gradually learn to what extent they have lived in ignorance. If you want to know New York, you do not merely look at it from the Empire State Building. You go to the lower East Side; you stroll through Central Park; you take a boat around Manhattan; you ride on a Fifth Avenue bus; and a great deal more. Opportunities to become familiar with yourself will offer themselves, and you will see them, provided you really want to know this queer fellow who lives in your life. You will then be astonished to see that here you are irritated for no apparent reason, there you cannot make up your mind, here you were offensive without meaning to be, here you mysteriously lost your appetite, there you had an eating spell, here you could not bring yourself to answer a letter, there you were suddenly afraid of noises around you when alone, here you had a nightmare, there you felt hurt or humiliated, here you could not ask for a raise in salary or express a critical opinion. #RandolphHarris 10 of 15
All these infinite observations represent that many entrances to the unfamiliar ground that is yourself. You start to wonder—which here, too, is the beginning of all wisdom—and by means of free association you try to understand the meaning of these emotional upsets. If this development is to take place, one condition is necessary: that the social contradictions and irrationalities which throughout most of man’s history have forced upon him a “false consciousness”—in order to justify domination and submission respectively—disappear or at least are reduced to such a degree that the apology for the existent social order does not paralyze man’s capacity for critical thought. Of course, this is not a matter of what is first and what is second. Awareness of existing reality, and every improvement in reality helps the clarification of thought. Today, when scientific reasoning has reached a peak, the transformation of society, burdened by the inertia of previous circumstances, into a sane society could permit the average man to use his reason with the same objectivity to which we are accustomed from the scientists. This is a matter not primarily of superior intelligence but of the disappearance of irrationality from social life—an irrationality which necessarily leads to confusion of the mind. Man not only has a mind and is in need of a frame of orientation which permits him to make some sense of and structuralize the World around him; he has also a heart and a body which need to be tied emotionally to the World—to man and to nature. #RandolphHarris 11 of 15
From the concept of alienated work, Marx proceeds to the concept of man’s alienation from himself, his fellowman, and from nature. He defines labour in its original and nonalienated form as “life activity, productive life “Lebenstaetigkeit, das produktiv Leben”,” and then proceeds to define the species character of man as “free, conscious activity.” (‘freie bewusste Taetigkeit’) In alienated labour the free and conscious activity and thus “Life itself appears only as a means of life.” Marx is by no means only concerned with the alienation of man from his product nor only with the alienation of work. He is concerned with man’s alienation from life, from himself, and from his fellowman. This idea is expressed in the following: “Thus alienated labour turns the species of life man, and also nature as his mental species-property, into an alien being and into a means for his individual existence. It alienates from man his own body, external nature, his mental life, and his human life. A direct consequence of the alienation of man from the species life is that man is alienated from other men. What is true of man’s relationship to his work, to the product of his work, and to himself, is also true of his relationship to other men, to their labour, and to the objects of their labour. In general, man is alienated from his species life, which means that each man is alienated from others, and that each of the others is likewise alienated from human life. #RandolphHarris 12 of 15
Tremendous progress has been made in the understanding and treatment of mental illness. Perhaps the most significant component of that progress is contained in the improved education of the public, in the broad dissemination of enlightened attitudes. There have been great inroads on the mass ignorance that caused mental illnesses to b viewed as disgraceful stigmata and the mentally ill to be ostracized. In place of widespread public aversion or apathy toward the mentally ill and their problems, we have broad programs for effective social enlightenment and positive community action to provide more and better treatment. In the efforts to make treatment more accessible there is recognition that earlier treatment is far mor effective than later treatment and that early treatment of mild disturbances may interrupt and divert a process that might overwise eventuate in total personality disruption. Much remains to be done. There are still people who have feelings of shame or guilt about mentally ill relatives and neighbours. There are still people who think “insanity” is “inherited,” like blue eyes. There are still people who are afraid of former mental hospital patients. There are still employers who would avoid hiring persons with histories of psychiatric treatment. However, all media of public communication are being used almost daily to mount a massive offensive of information against these uninformed or unthinking purveyors of archaic attitudes. #RandolphHarris 13 of 15
Credit for these significant educational accomplishments to date cannot be given to psychiatrists, psychologists, or social workers. Rather, these accomplishments represent the impact of the “mental hygiene movement.” This is a crusade which was announced with publication in 1908, of the autobiography of Clifford W. Beers, A Mind That Found Itself, and officially launched with the founding in the next year of the National Committee for Mental Hygiene. In the formal statement of its objectives, the National Committee included as a goal “the protection of the mental health of the public.” While the burning instigation to the crusade was aroused in its leader, Clifford Beers, by his experience as a hospitalized mental patient, the goal of the movement was never restricted to correction and improvement of hospital treatment of the severely ill. From the beginning, continuously and increasingly, the mental hygiene movement has placed major emphasis on education and prevention—on programs designed to teach beneficial methods of achieving and maintaining mental health. In working toward these goals, the movement has benefited from the active participation and contributions of psychiatric social workers, psychiatrists, psychologists, teachers, physicians, the clergy and, most particularly, from a host of lay persons who have consistently volunteered their rime and energies in a variety of projects, ranging from assisting in recreational programs in state hospitals to lobbying for improved legislative provisions for care of the mentally ill. #RandolphHarris 14 of 15
If the can, most people avoid uncomfortable situations. When someone knows they have done something wrong and do not want to face the consequences, they might ty to avoid meeting face to face with whomever they have wronged. Lying is easier done by someone when done over the phone or by email, or text message. The long pauses are a tactic that is more common than most. The deceiver is not good at lying. It takes him time to come up with something that sounds like it could be truth. When people refuse to take responsibility for what they have done wrong, they will grasp at everything they can to prove they are not to blame. Why purification of character should be needed in order to contact what seems to be above our lowly human characteristics is, indeed, a paradox which only the Overself can answer. Perhaps it is a test of our devotion—for it is known that the Higher Self will not surrender her revelations to anyone who does not love her completely. Purification is merely the casting out of lesser loves for the sake of this supreme Love. When he begins to exercise these scruples, he will begin to question the impulse to act for its source much more than for its purpose. The advantages of an excellent physique are plain enough but they are not good enough. Something more is needed to make a man. He needs excellence character and intellect. However, even this is still not enough if he is to find self-fulfillment. Intuitive feeling, which takes him into a holier presence if followed up, must be cultivated. #RandolphHarris 15 of 15
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Where’s My Winchester?
The first crack of thunder broke over Llanada Villa, in a middle of a dream, as it often did, just as I would enter deep sleep. I opened my eyes. A flash of lightning shone through the skylight. A cloud of bats shuttered to life and flew carelessly into the night. My heart raced from excitement and fear. The demon spirit had awakened, had come back from its long dormancy. It brings them into its fold, tribe by tribe, race by race, growing as the night grows when the sun touches the western horizon. Streaming blood as army after army had joined in tragic battle. It was so full of anger and greed, so delighting in murder and war. This is a house wrapped in magical stasis built by spirits who live through all eternity. A house that contains condemned souls—the demons of the Winchester Rifle. As one crosses its thresholds, there is a vague feeling of passing through the shredded clouds of war. I could always feel its blood, hot blood coursing through the walls and floors. The demon spirit felt deep withing itself, summing its powers. The cunning war like black magic. At night, Llanda Villa looked dark and ominous. The immense, nine-story mansion looming up from the middle of nowhere. I rose from my palatable bed and drew a bath, sat motionless for hours before dressing by candlelight. My headdress was adorned with pearls and gemstones. I descended into the darkness, silently. So great was the chamber’s size. In the flickering flame-light, sorrow washed over me. I walked through my palace, passing by tapestries, frizzes and tiles, and rich furnishings that had given me my little pleasures. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5
Wolves bayed malevolently in the darkness of the night. The hallway was suffused with a dense fog. Not a ray of light came in the high, black windows. I heard heavy steps approaching: clump, clump, clump. There was a rattling of chains and a clanking of bolts. Then very slowly, a door creaked open. I could not even begin to guess; and never before had I seen anything which struck me as so strangely and unmistakably alien to this World. The Devil appeared. It made me shiver to recognise him. 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 night. The most blood-curdling and blasphemous whispers of things reverberated in a kind of mad half-existence before the Earth and the other inner Worlds of the solar system were made. He rose from the ground and began to float high in the air toward the tower. Like some monstrous bird he rose, and hovered fluttering in space awhile. His body whirled and turned in the air and the walls were bespattered with black gouts of blood. The door-to-nowhere flew open of its own accord, trembling on its hinges. And when the devil flew out, the door slammed shut behind him so hard that the noise echoed across the mansion, like nails being banged into a coffin. The most blood-curdling and blasphemous whispers of things reverberated in a kind of mad half-existence before the Earth and the other inner Worlds of the solar system were made and drawn back through nameless aeons and inconceivable dimensions. These streams of life had trickled down and become entangled with the destinies of our own Earth. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5
I knew no one would be able to understand the fears that had come from the curse of the Winchester Rifle and I was ready to do anything in my power to keep people away from these wild spirits by continuing to be to appease them. Even after time has dulled the impression and made my half question my own experience and horrible doubts, as I walked out into this passage, facing me is another room, then the stairhead, then two more rooms, one looking out to the back, the other to the south. At the south end of the passage is a widow, to which I went, considering with myself that it was rather a shame to waste this moment of solitude. I thought I would take just five minutes to looking at other rooms in the passage, which I had never seen. So I explored. The room facing the Daisy Bedroom was undisturbed; the two next to me on the side of the passage were gay and clean, both with several windows. Remained the south-west room, opposite to the last which I had entered. This was locked; but I was in a mood of quite indefensible curiosity, and feeling confident that there could be no dark secrets in a place so easily got, I proceeded to fetch the key of my own room, and when that did not answer, to collect the eyes of the other three. One of them fitted, and I opened the door. The room had two windows looking south and west. Here there were bare boards; no pictures, no washing-stand, only a bed, in the farther corner: an iron bed, with mattress and bolster, covered with a bluish check counterpane. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5
As featureless a room as you can well imagine, and yet there was something that made me close the door very quickly and yet quietly behind me and lean against the window-sill in the passage, actually quivering all over. It was this, that under the counterpane someone lay, and not only lay, but stirred. That it was some one and not some thing was certain because the shape of the head was unmistakable on the bolster; and yet was covered, and no one lies with covered head but a dead person; and this was not dead, not truly dead, for it heaved and shivered. What was to be done? First, lock the door at all costs. Very gingerly I approached it and bending down listened, holding my breath; perhaps there might be a sound of heavy breathing, and a prosaic explanation. There was absolute silence. However, as with a rather tremulous hand, I put the key into its hold and turned it, it rattled, and on the instant a stumbling padding tread was heard coming towards the door. I fled like a rabbit to my room and locked myself in: futile enough, I knew it was; would doors and locks be any obstacle to what I suspected? but it was all I could think of at the moment, and in fact nothing happened; only there was a time of acute suspense—followed by a misery of doubt as to what to do. These morbidities were an incarnated nightmare. My home was in possession of secrets deeper and more dizzying than any formerly known to man. There was always something loafing arounds corners, practising insidious deeds. A cultivated male voice then said, “Et cum exspirasset puer, deposuerunt corpus de cruce, et nescitur qua ratione, euiscerarunt corpusculum; dicitur autem, quod ad magicas artes exercendas.” #RandolphHarris 4 of 5
It was with a trace of genuine dread and reluctance that I listened to these words. The morbid echo winging its way across unimaginable abysses from unimaginable demonic dimensions. It stunned me as I listened in a sort of abstracted daze. It seemed plain that there were ancient and elaborate alliances between my home and hidden forces from other Worlds. This led to a lot of horrified speculation. In the way it happened, a boy named Dobber, who was the son of one of the farmers disappeared from the estate in the late summer and was not reported missing; nor was any trace ever found of him in the hose or on the grounds; through we all found ourselves looking for him. I wandered through distant corridors and rooms in the house discovering part of it I had never seen before; ascending narrow, creaking staircases, poking into closets, peering into attics. Outside I found myself drawn to the barns, the grape vines, wisteria arbors with their look of romance, the plush green lawns that extended for acres like an inland sea. Yet Dobber’s features were beginning to fade in my memory. At times I thought I could hear a faint, reproachful voice calling out Mrs. Winchester! and when I would pause, it would fade into the incessant wind. I wondered if that had been him in the room I was too afraid to enter? The floor boards were creaking, and there was an eerie atmosphere about it. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5
The Winchester Mystery House
A series of remarkable occurrences, which have caused great excitement in The Winchester Mystery House, have taken place over the years. While a gust was chatting with a caretaker downstairs, a young girl walked up the stairs by herself. In one of the upstairs parlours, she saw a man sitting in a chair in the corner. She assumed he was another caretaker. When she turned around to ask him a question about the room, he was gone. Since she had not heard him leave, that seemed odd to her, especially as the floorboards would creak with every step. However, being young, she did not pay too much attention to this peculiarity. A moment later; however, he reappeared. As soon as she saw him, she asked the question she had on her mind. This time he did not disappear but answered her in a slow, painstaking voice that seem to come from far away. When he had satisfied her curiosity about the room, he asked her some questions about herself, and finally asked the one which stuck in her mind for many years afterward—“Is Mrs. Winchester building the Observational Tower?” The young lady was taken aback at this question. She was young, but she knew that Mrs. Winchester passed away in 1922. Tactfully, she told him this, and added that tower had been removed after the 1906 Earthquake. At this information, the man looked stunned and sat down again in the chair. As the young lady watched him in fascinated horror, he faded away.
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Was it from a Past Life, or Maybe from a Dark Night?
Some things defy human understanding and simply cannot be explained. Perhaps one day we will be able to rise beyond Earthly shadows and discover the secrets of the dead. For centuries, spiritists have believed that there is a portal leading from life to death and from death to life. Souls depart from the World every day, and souls on the other side of the veil can cross over into our World. The World of the living. My home has become a twilight of supernatural occurrences. Its rooms possess many dreadful secrets, ghastly inhabitants, for it is a place where ghosts and other terrors walk. The thick air in Llanda Villa is filled with anxiety, and screams, swearing, shouting echo from the rooms beyond with nerve-jarring regularity. And then, prayers of desperation. Most distressing of all is once one starts up the easier risers, quick shadows loom, and flight becomes impossible, as the moments tick painfully. Often as I walked the halls of my labyrinth soul searching, I could feel a cold breeze creeping in. It lifts my hair and, in that moment, I feel the dance of cold fingers along my spine. But was it anything to fear? A young man, Tobey, nineteen years of age, who had been staying in my home and working as a farmhand. He was really close to the supernatural phenomena—visible and tangible—that he speculated so grotesquely about it; and for another thing, he was amazingly will to make a long and ample confession. This youth avowed that some months before, when he was in bed, the chamber door opened, and a maiden, Athena, whom he loved, stealthily entered the room. To his surprise she informed him that she had been driven from her chamber and had taken refuge with him.
Although he more than suspected some delusion, after a short while he consented to her solicitations and passed a night of unbounded indulgence in her arms. Before dawn, however, the visitant revealed the true nature of the deceit, and the young man realized he had lain with a succubus. None the less such was his doting folly that the same debauchery was repeated night after night, until struck with terror and remorse, he sought the priest to confess and be delivered from this admonition. “This monstrous connexion lasted several months; but at last God delivered him by my humble means, and he was truly penitent for his sins.” Not infrequently the Devil or the familiar assigned to the new witch at the Sabbat when she was admitted must obviously have been a man, once of the assembly, who either approached her in come demoniacal disguise or else embraced her without any attempt at concealment of his individuality, some lusty varlet who would afterwards hold himself at her disposition. For we must always bear in mind that throughout this era, there is often much in the evidence which may be explained by the agency of human beings; not that this essentially meliorates their offenses, for they were all bond-slaves of Satan, acting under his direction and by the inspiration of hades. When the fiend has ministers devoted to his service there is, perhaps, less need for his interposition in propria persona. I might say, with all proper modesty, that the subject of anthropology and folklore is by no means strange to me. It is no news to me that talks of demons and hidden races are as old as mankind.
Howbeit, again and again in these cases we meet with that uncanny quota, by no means insignificant and unimportant, which seemingly admits of no solution save by the materialization of evil intelligences of power. And detailed as is the evidence we possess, it not unseldom becomes a matter of great difficulty, when we are considering a particular case, to decide whether it be an instance of a witch having had actual commerce and communion with the fiend, or whether she was cheated by the devils, who mocked her, and allowing her to deem herself in overt union with them, thus led the wretch on to misery and death, duped as she was by the father of lies, sold for a delusion and by profitless endeavour in evil. There are, of course, also many cases which stand on the border-line, half hallucination, half reality. The Devil knows all the Witches. He takes a female shape to pleasure the Sorcerers. Other reasons why the Devil (had to do) with warlocks and witches. The unnatural physical coldness of the Demon is well known by witches in every country of Europe throughout the centuries. In some cases, there was full materialization due to the ectoplasmic emanations. Ectoplasm is the touch of cold and viscous mass comparable to contact with a reptile, and this certainly seem to throw a flood of light upon the what I have experienced in my home. In 1888 a young housemaid said that the Devil who appeared to her as a dark swarthy youth “was colder than man. I fand his nature als cold, a spring-well-water, uerie cold, as yce.”
One night, unable to sleep, I was staring out through my bedroom window at the moonlit lawn. From the shrubbery there emerged what I at first thought was some trick of the shadows. Then I saw that it was some great. It was too far away for me to be able to see it clearly, but I imagined that it turned its head to look up at my window—to look directly at me. Then, in a blink of an eye, it was moving at impossible speed across the silver grass until it was lost from my sight. I have certain evidence that monstrous things do indeed live on this estate and in rooms which nobody visits. The voices my servants here in my home have nearly scared them paralysed by reason. I know what most people think of one who tells about “hearing voices”—but before anyone draws conclusions, they have to experience it for themselves. It is true—terribly true—that there are non-human creatures watching us all the time; with spies among us gathering information. If we let them alone, they will not hurt us. If we get too curious about them, no one can say what will happen. Because of what I have discovered, I think they mean to get rid me. That is what the Boston medium has explained. There is a great diamond with unknown hieroglyphics half worn away which I found in a safe that my husband had locked away in his office; and after I took it home, everything became different. Our one-month-old daughter died, and fifteen years later, William suffered a mysterious and tragic death. If I stop construction on Llanada Villa, they will kill me. This is why I have urged my staff to hush about the supernatural aspects of my home.
People must be kept away from my estate, the front doors must never be opened, and in order to effect this, their curiosity ought not be aroused any further. Heaven knows there is peril enough anyway, with promoters and real estate men flooding Santa Clara with herds of summer people to overrun the wild places and cover the hills with cheap bungalows. Those creatures have a way of tampering with things around here. There is a sullen, furtive fellow named Arkie, who is a farmer on my estate, whom I believe is a spy for the dark lord. Little by little they are trying to cut me off from our World because I know too much about their World. They have the most amazing way of finding out what I do. Furthermore, I would hardly dare sell this house to anybody now that the ghastly demons have made it their home. I have invited my niece Daisy to live with me, and given her a trust fund to ensure that this estate will always remain in our family and will be well taken care of. As I sit here glancing through documents neatly arranged in stacks on the cherrywood table, I was growing more anxious. As the hour passed and the whitely steaming sun moved lethargically through the sky, I grew calm again. Mr. Hasen was out mowing and tending the enormous lawn, which invariably grows back more lushly within a few days. However, it seemed strange to me that he had halted so suddenly, with a field of lawn left to mow.
With his arms raised at his sides, Mr. Hasen’s posture tense, vigilant; his face, shrouded in shadow, showing no animation. “Mr. Hansen?” Tobey blundered forward, unthinking. Seeing, in that instant, that the figure confronting him was not Mr. Hansen but—the demon-without-a-face. Tobey stood paralysed, transfixed. For it might have seemed to him that this was buy a symptom of the insomnia of which he had grown fatally proud: a nightmare figure standing before him which he had imagined into being; a dream of his and not “real”; or, if “real,” as the atrocities in the mansion were real, in some way not related to him. He had not time to cry out for help before the creature lunged at him, swiping with its hands as a maddened bear might swipe savagely and blindly; so much heavier and stronger than Tobey, Tobey was knocked to the ground as if he were a small child and not a nineteen-year-old young man. Except for the sounds of the nocturnal insects there was silence, for the demon did not speak, nor could Tobey scream, his breath choked off as the-demon-without-a-face crouched over him where he had fallen, raining blows upon his unprotected head, clawing and tearing at his face, tearing away the flesh of his face as Tobey fell, and fell, into the Earth beneath the wild grasses of The Winchester Estate. My staff ran hither and thither until they found hi body. So then they laid the body across a horse, and they say it was all they could manage to keep the beast from bolting away from the time they were in sight of the tree, for it seemed to be mad with fright.
However, they managed to bind the eyes of the horse and lead it down through the fruit orchards to the village street; and there, just by the big tree where the stocks are found, they found a lot of women gathered, and a boy lying in the middle, as white as paper, and not a word could they get out of him, good or bad. So they saw there was something worse to come, and they made the best of their way up the lane to Dr. Meckelburg’s house. And when they got near that, the horse they were leading seem to go mad again with fear, and reared up and screamed, and struck out with its fore-feet and the man that was leading it was as near as possible being killed, and the dead body fell off its back. So Mr. Dillenburg bid them get those horse away as quick as might be, and they carried the body straight into the living-room, for the door stood open. And then they saw what it was that had given the poor boy such a fright, and they guessed why the horse went made, for you know horses cannot bear the smell of dead blood. There was a long table in the room, more than the length of a man, and on it there lay the body of Dr. Meckelburg. The eyes were bound over with a linen band and the arms were tied across the back and the feet were bound together with another band. However, the fearful thing was that the breast being quite bare, the bone of it was split through from the top downwards with an axe! Oh, it was a terrible sight; not one there but turned faint and ill with it, and had to go out into the fresh air. Even Mr. Dillenburg, who was what you might call a hard nature of a man, was quite overcome and said a prayer for strength in the garden.
At least they laid out the other body as best they could in the room, and searched about to see if they could find out how such a frightful thing had come to pass. And in the cupboards they found a quantity of herbs and jars with liquors, and it came out, when people that understood such matters had looked into it, that some of these liquor were drinks to put a person asleep. And they had little doubt that that wicked young man had put some of this into Dr. Meckelburg’s drink, and then used him as he did, and, after that, the sense of his sin had come upon him and he had cast himself away. Well now, you could not understand all the law business that had to be done by the coroner and the magistrates; but there was a great coming and going of people over it for the next day or two, and then the people of the parish got together and agreed that they could not bear the thought of those two being buried in the churchyard alongside of Christian people; for I must tell you there were papers and writings found in the drawers and cupboards that Mr. Dillenburg and some other clergymen looked into; and they put their names to a paper that said these men were guilty, by their own allowing, of the dreadful in of idolatry; and they feared there were some in the neighbouring places that were not free from wickedness, and called upon them to repent, lest the same fearful thing that was to come to these men should befall them also; and then they burnt those writing.
So then, Mr. Dillenburg was of the same mind as the parishioners, and late one evening twelve men that were chosen went with him to that evil house, and with them they took two biers made very roughly for the purpose and two pieces of black cloth, and down at the cross-road, there were other men waiting with torches, and a pit dug, and a great crow of people gathered together from all round about. And the men that went to the cottage went in with their hats on their heads, and four of them over with the black cloths, and no one said a word, but they bore them down the lane, and they were cast into the pit and covered over with stone and Earth, and then Mr. Dillenburg spoke to the people that were gathered together. My butler was there, for he had come back when he heard the news, and he said he never should forget the strangeness of the sight, with the torches burning and those two black things huddled together in the pit, and not a sound from any of the people, except it might be a child or a woman whimpering with the fright. And so, when Mr. Dillenburg had finished speaking, they all turned away and left them lying there. They say horses do not like the spot even now, and I have heard there was something of a mist or a light hung about for a long time after, but I do not know the truth of that. However, I do know this, that next day my butler’s business took him past the opening of the lane, and he saw three or four little knots of people standing at different places along it, seemingly in a state of mind about something; and he rode up to them, and asked what was the matter.
And they ran up to him and said, “Oh, Sir, it’s the blood! Look at the blood!” and kept on like that. So he got off his horse and they showed him, and there, in four places, I think it was, he saw great patches in the road, of blood; but he could hardly see it was blood, for almost every spot of it was covered with great black bats, that never changed in their place or moved. And that blood was what had fallen out of Dr. Meckelburg’s body as they bore it down the lane. Well, my butler could not bear to do more than just take in the nasty sight so as to sure of it, and then he said to one of those men that was there, “Do you make haste and fetch a basket or a barrow full of clean Earth out of the churchyard, and spread it over these places, and I’ll wait here till you come back.” And very soon he came back, and the old man that was sexton with him, with a shovel and the Earth in a hand-barrow: and they set it down at the first of the places and made ready to cast the Earth upon it; and as soon as ever they did that, what do you think? the bats that were on it rose up in the air in a kind of a solid could and moved off up the lane towards the house, and the sexton (he was parish clerk as well) stopped and looked at them and said to my Butler, “Lord of Darkness, sir,’ and no more would he say. And just the same it was at other places, every one of them.
My butler them made up his mind that no one was going to live in that cottage again, or yet use any of the things that were in it: so, though it was to be done away with, and anyone that wished could bring a faggot to the burning of it; and that is what was done. They built a pile of wood in the living-room and loosened the thatch so as the fire could take good hold, and then set it alight; and as there was no brick, only the chimney-stack and the oven, it was not long before it was all gone. I seem to remember seeing the chimney, but after a few years, it fell down. You may be sure that for a long time the people said Dr. Meckelburg and Tobey were seen about, the one of them in the wood and both of them where the house had been, or passing together down the lane, particularly in the winter of the year and at autumn-time. I cannot speak of that, though if we were sure there are such things as ghost, it would seem likely that people like that would not rest quiet. However, I can tell you this, that one evening in the month of January, I had been taking a long walk on my estate and picking flowers and had not taken any particular notice of where I was going. And on a sudden I cried out. I had felt a sharp prick on the back of my hand, and I snatched it to me and saw a black bat on it, and struck it with the other hand and killed it. I had never seen a bat like that before. And then I looked about, and lo and behold if I was not in the very lane, just in front of the place where that house stood, and, as they told me after, just where the men set down the biers a minute when they bored them out of the garden.
You may be sure I made haste away from there; for I was wholly upset finding myself there. Whether there was anything about there more than I could see I shall never be sure: perhaps it was partly the venom of that horrid bat’s bite that was working on me that made me feel so strage; for, dear me, how that poor arm and hand of mine did swell up, to be sure! I am afraid to tell you how large it was round! and the pain of it, too! Nothing Dr. Wayland could put on it had any power over it, and it was not until he was persuaded by our old nurse to get the wise man to come and look at it, that I got any peace at all. However, he seemed to know about it, and said I was not the first that had been taken that way. “When the sun’s gathering his strength,” he said, “and when he’s in the height of it, and when he’s beginning to lose his hold, and when he’s in his weakness, them that haunts about that lane had best to take heed to themselves.” However, what it was he bound on my arm and what he said over it, he would not tell us. After that I soon got well again, but since then I have heard often enough people suffering much the same as I did; only of late years it does not seem to happen but very seldom: and maybe things like that do die out in the course of time. (One can interpret this story in many ways, of course. If it really occurred, and there were a number of accounts of it in existence that leads me to believe that there is a basis of fact to this, then perhaps we are dealing with a case of prophecy on the part of Mrs. Winchester.)
The Winchester Mystery House
The ancient folklore, while cloudy, evasive, and largely forgotten by the present generation, is of a highly singular character, and obviously reflects the influence of still earlier Victorian tales. I know it well, though I had never been in the Santa Clara Valley in the Victorian era, through the exceedingly rare monograph of Mrs. Sarah L. Winchester, which embraces material orally obtained prior to 1906 among the oldest people of the state. This material, moreover, closely coincided with tales which I personally heard from elderly rustics in the Santa Clara Valley. Briefly summarized, it hinted at hidden demonic beings which lurked somewhere among The Winchester Estate—in the deep woods, and the dark corners of the mansion where hallways lead to unknow parts of the hose. These beings were seldomly glimpsed, but evidences of their presence were reported by the staff of the mansion who ventured farther than the usual pathways of the mansion or deep into the home where even Mrs. Winchester shunned. There were queer footprints on the floors and ceilings, claw marks in the wall, blood spatter on the windows. There were, too, certain rooms of problematical nature, with more than the average quota of curious foot prints leading both toward and away from the walls—if indeed the direction of these prints indicated that something or someone was walking through the walls.
If the stray accounts of these things had not agreed so well, it would have been less uncomfortable. As it was, nearly all the rumours had several point in common; averring that these creatures sometimes walked on their legs, and sometimes they were composed of a mist and able to fly. On one occasion they were spied in considerable numbers, in the Grand Ball Room. One specimen was seen flying—departing from the chimney at night and vanishing in the sky after it had been instantly silhouetted by the full moon. These things seemed content, on the whole, to let mankind alone; though they were at times held responsible for the disappearance of servants and venturesome individuals—especially uninvited persons who came too close to The Winchester Mansion or too close to secrets inside of the house. People would look at Mrs. Winchester’s home with a shudder, even when not recalling how many people had been lost. However, while according to the earliest legends the demons would appear to have harmed only those trespassing on their privacy; there were later accounts of their curiosity respecting men, and of their attempts to loot the mansion. There were tales of the queer bloody claw prints seen around the windows in the morning, and of occasional disappearances in regions of the obviously haunted estate.
Tales, besides, echoes of haunting voices deep in the mansion, and of children, while sneaking to get a closer glimpse of Mrs. Winchester and her home, frightened out of their wits by things seen or heard. In the final layer of legends—the layer just preceding the decline of superstition and the abandonment of close contact with the dreaded estate—there are shocked references to housemaids and farmers who at some period of life appeared to have undergone a repellent mental change, and who were shunned and whispered about as mortals who had sold themselves to the Devil. In America, it seemed to be a fashion about 1800 to accuse eccentric and wealthy recluses of being allies of Satan or representatives of the abhorred things. As to what thing things were—explanations naturally varied. The common name applied to the was demons. The inquiry was made whether a demon may thus attack a man or woman, whose obsession would be suffered if the subject were wholly bent on entering The Winchester Mansion without permission. It is certain that—whatever doubters may say—there exist such demons, incubi and succubi that it is most rash to advance the contrary. Wherefore the men or women who suffer these impudicities are the sinners who either invite demons…or who freely consent to demons when the evil spirits tempt them to commit such abominations.
That these and other abandoned wretches may be violently assaulted by the demon we cannot doubt…and I myself have known several persons who although they were greatly troubled on account of their crimes, and utterly loathed this foul intercourse with the demon, were nevertheless compelled sorely against their will to endure these assaults of Satan. Perhaps the bulk of Puritan settlers set them down bluntly as familiars of the devil, and made them a basis of awed theological speculation. Those with Celtic legendry in their heritage—mainly the Scotch-Irish element of Santa Clara, and their kindred who had settled in Oakland—linked them with the malign fairies and “little people” of the bogs and raths, and protected themselves with scraps of incantation handed down through many generations. While Native Americas had the most fantastic theories of all. While different tribal legends differed, there was a marked consensus of belief in certain vital particulars; it being unanimously agreed that the creatures were not native to this Earth. It was bad to get near them, and sometimes young hunters who went onto the estate never came back.
It was not good either, to listen to what they whispered at night in the fruit orchards with voices that contained the echo of death. All the legendry, of course, white and Native American alike, died down during the nineteenth century, except for occasional flareups. The ways of the people of the Santa Clara Valley became settled; once their habitual paths and dwellings were established according to a certain fixed plan, they remembered less and less what fears and avoidances had been linked to The Winchester Estate, but they still knew that there had been fears and avoidances. After the death of Mrs. Winchester of the 760 acres of land she had, her estate was sold and only retained 161 acres of land, one acre for ever room that remained in the house. And The Winchester Mansion and its land were left deserted. Save during infrequent local scares, only wonder-loving grandmothers whispered of beings dwelling in that mansion. It is so rash and inept to deny these (things) that so to adopt this attitude, you must needs reject and spurn the most weighty and consider judgements of the mot holy and authoritative writers, you mut wage war upon man’s sense and consciousness, whilst at the same time you expose your ignorance of the power of the Devil and the empery evil spirits may obtain over man.
The reason evil spirits appear as incubi and succubi would seem to be that they inflict a double hurt on man, both in his soul and body, and it is a supreme joy to devils thus to injure humankind. A demon assumes the form of the succubus…This is the explicit teaching of the theologians. It has often been known by most certain and actual experience that women in spite of their resistance have been overpowered by demons. This is a most solemn and undoubted fact not only proved by actual experience, but also by the opinion of all the ages, whatever some few doctors and legal writers may suppose. Even if such horrors ever could have taken place in the dark ages—those vague Dark Ages!—men say, “they would never be permitted now.” It may not impertinently be inquired how demons or evil intelligences, since they are pure spiritual beings, cannot act of coition. However, evil intelligence is able to animate the corpse of some human being, male or female, as the case may be, or that, from the mixture of other materials he shapes for himself a body endowed with motion, by means of which he is united to the human being: “ex mixtione aliarum materiarum effingit sibi corpus, quod mouet, et mediante quo homini unitur.”
In the first instance, advantage might be taken, no doubt, of a person in a mediumistic trance or hypnotic sleep. However, the second explanation seems by far the more probable. Can we not look to the phenomena observed in connexion with ectoplasm as an adequate explanation of this? It must fairly be admitted that this explanation is certainly born out by the phenomena of the materializing séance where physical forms which may be touched and handled are built up and disintegrated again in a few moments of time. Mrs. Winchester, in a symposium, gives certain of her own experiences that go far to prove the partial re-materialization of the dead by the utilization of the material substance and ectoplasmic emanation of the living. And if disembodied spirits can upon occasion, however, rare, thus materialize, why not evil intelligences whose efforts at corporeality are urged and aided by the longing thoughts and concentrated will power of those who eagerly seek them? Emperor Lucifer, Master and Prince of Rebellious Spirits, I adjure thee, as the representative of the mighty living God, and by the power of Emanuel, his only Son, who is thy master and mine, and by the virtue of His precious blood, which He shed to redeem mankind from thy chains, I command thee to quit thine abode, wheresoever it may be, and manifest here and now. Esta es Buena parati. Esta parati lo toma. Placet Priape? Qui sub arboris coma soles sacrum reuincte pampino caput ruber sedere cum rubente fascino.
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/
Much Was Forbidden Knowledge
It was a grim winter’s night and rain pelted the windows. Horses clacked slowly along the cobblestone roads. There was a perpetual teasing wind from below like departing spirits of the dead. I had dinner in the Venetian Dinning Room in front of the fireplace. The windows suddenly lit up, and a few instants later there was a crash of thunder from outside. A sword that had previously hung on the wall, clearly was suspended in the middle of the room with its point towards me. About a minute later, it fell to the ground with a loud noise. The great candles in the hall were burning down to their sockets. One by one they spluttered out. A ghostly, flickering light fell upon the floor. As I pressed forward, I became conscious that my way was haunted by invisible existences whom I could not definitely figure to my mind. From among the walls on either side, I caught broken and incoherent whispers in a strange tongue which I partly understood. It was now nightfall, yet the interminable labyrinth was lit with a wan glimmer having no point of diffusion, for in its mysterious lamination nothing cast a shadow. A shallow pool in a depression on the floor, as from mop water, met my eye with a crimson gleam. I stopped and plunged my hand into it. It stained my fingers; it was blood! Blood, I then observed, was about me everywhere. It was spattered everywhere. Defiling the furniture, and blood dripped like dew from the ceiling. All this I observed with a terror which seemed not incompatible with the fulfillment of a natural expectation. #RandolphHarris 1 of 8
To the menaces and mysteries of my home my surrounding consciousness was an added horror. So frightful was the situation—the mysterious light burned with so silent and awful a menace that my home took on a melancholy or baleful character, so openly my sight conspired against my peace; 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 no longer. On approaching the Morning Room, I noticed that a light was on and the door open, although I distinctly remembered having left it shut. I walked into the room pushed aside the heavy draperies at the entrance to the room itself, and stopped in amazement. In the middle of the room, a single lamp plainly revealed a stranger behind the large chair; the man wore a tall black hat and a dark billowing velvet coat. In the light from the hearth his probing eyes glowed red. He possessed a face so cadaverous and death-mask-like, that it set me screaming! I could not detect even the faintest whiff of a soul. Lightning flashed again, and I learned forward to hear his words over the loud thunder. His voice broken, it seemed, into an infinite multitude of unfamiliar sounds, went babbling and stammering away into the distant reaches of the mansion, died into silence, and all was before. Standing under one of the gaslights in the mansion, he said: “I will not submit unheard. There may be powers that are not malignant traveling through this accursed spiritual fortress. I shall leave them record and an appeal. I shall relate my wrong, the persecutions that I endure—I, a helpless mortal.” #RandolphHarris 2 of 8
The man then walked off toward the dark room at the other end of the hall. Then I realized my visitor had dissolved into thin air. There was no one in the dark room. The door was securely locked. The skylight, 150 feet above ground, could not very well have served as an escape route to anyone human. I thought more about the mysterious forces…“How can this be happening to me! I deserve better for God’s sake! I am innocent for God’s sake! Dear God help me to restore all that I have lost. Make us happy again, make us ourselves again, raise my daughter and husband from the dead, snatched by supreme ghouls from the crypts, and return them to our home and make the name of Winchester a name of pride.” The thought of being lost in utter darkness without my loved ones amidst this mysterious labyrinth World of nightmares. A further flash of thunder seemed to split the Heavens wide open. From the open space in the narrow corridor, a glow was coming from the door on my right. In a moment I had reached it and was standing in the secret library, trembling with relief, and watching the sputterings of the lamp which had brought me to safety. Then I noticed a small door at the father end of the room, and clamed myself enough to approach it and examine the crude-sign chiseled above. It was only a symbol, but it filled me with vague spiritual dread. Outside, the night sky was riven yet again by a dart of lighting. The large roof windows of the attic shook in their frames as the gale beat at them. I took a deep breath and raised my lamp higher. A wave of nameless fright rolled out to meet me, but I yielded to no whim and deferred to no intuition. There was nothing alive here to harm me. #RandolphHarris 3 of 8
Although the room had no furniture save a table, and a single chair, I deciphered a huge pentagram in the center of the floor, with a plain circle about three feet wide half way between this and each corner. In one of these four circles, near where a black robe had been flung carelessly thrown on the floor. Connecting stairs and a secret rest room had long been walked up in the many structural changes in the mansion. Only the window of the walled-up room was still visible from the outside. It was in this area that I felt that restless spirits were trapped. Walled in like demons sleeping through the day and close to the premises for roaming through the night. I allowed myself to rest for half an hour, listening to the thunder roar and thump in the Heavens above. The flickering light of the lamps made the room seem almost as if it were malevolently alive. Another thunderbolt crashed across the Heavens, and I screamed of fear. As the echoes of my scream died away, I leaned forward in my chair, watching the shadows floating in front of my eyes. There was no need to tell all the dismal and horrid thoughts that flitted through my head as I ran. When I made it to the Observational Tower, I clambered to the top as quick as I could to take breath and look out upon my estate if by chance I would see anything. However, a moment’s rest I must have. I had run a mile through my home at least. Nothing whatever was visible ahead of me, and I was just turning to go down to the main part of the house, when I heard what I can only call a laugh: and if you can understand what I mean by a breathless, a lungless laugh, you have it; but I do not suppose that you can. #RandolphHarris 4 of 8
It came from below, and swerved through the halls. That was enough. I walked down the stairs. There was a carpenter at the bottom. You do not need to be told that he was dead. His tracks showed that he had run along the hallway, had turned sharp round the zig zag stairs, and, small doubt of it, must have dashed straight into the wall, and his teeth and jaws were broken to bits. I only glanced over his face. At the same moment, suddenly I felt another presence in the room, and I could not breathe anymore. Zip started to bark and insist that I follow him out of the room. I distinctly felt someone there. I went straight up to my room. I had my bath, and went and lay down on my bed, and slept for about ten minutes. It was as quiet, as quiet as only a country house can be. Soon I was in a deep trance on the other side. I saw things and people the ordinary eye could not perceive. I was walking around. There was a man lying dead in the middle of the room. Small nose, not too much hair in front. There was a plant near him. He came here to die. He was here to find a place to rest. He usually stays in the Crystal Bedroom. With the fern. By the bed. I broke out of trance and had facial stiffness, as well as pain in the shoulder. The curtains of my bed were violently agitated, accompanied with a loud and almost indescribable motion of rings. However, the curtain, four in number, to prevent their motion, were tied up, each in one large knot. Every curtain in the bed was agitated, and the knots thrown and whirled about with such rapidity that it would have been unpleasant to be within the sphere of their action. This lasted about two minutes, as if it were a wild beast seeking freedom. I also heard footsteps walking by me and around me, and was, also, conscious of candles burning near me, but could see nothing. #RandolphHarris 5 of 8
A low, wild pal of laughter broke out at a measureless distance away; I paused a moment, and rappings started; I suddenly opened the door, with a candle in my hand, yet I swear I could see nothing. I have been in one of the rooms which has a large modern wind, when, from the noises, knockings, blows on the bed, and rattling of the curtains, I really did begin to think the whole chamber was falling in. And growing ever louder, the laugher seemed approaching ever nearer; a soulless, heartless, and unjoyous laughter, like that of the loon; a laugh which culminated in an unearthly shout close at hand, then died away by slow gradations, as if the accursed being that uttered it had withdrawn over the verge of the World whence it had come. However, I felt that this was not so. A strange sensation began slowly to take possession of my body and my mind. I could not have said which, if any, of my sense was affected; I felt it rather as a conscious—a mysterious mental assurance of some overpowering presence—some supernatural malevolence different in kind from the invisible existences that swarmed about me, and superior to them in power. I knew that it had uttered that hideous laugh. And now it seemed to be approaching me; from what direction I did not know—dared not conjecture. All my former fears were forgotten or merged in the gigantic terror that now held me in thrall. Powerless to cry out, I found myself staring into the sharply draw white face and blank, dead eyes of a phantom. #RandolphHarris 6 of 8
The darkness filled me. Whatever my thoughts had been, they so possessed me that I observed not the lapse of time. I came to my senses an unknown time later to find myself in a brightly lit room with a pleasant fragrance. Someone was wiping my forehead with a damp cloth. For a few minutes, I simply enjoyed the sensation, not thinking about the terror I had experienced, but the memories flooded back. Confused thoughts and troubled emotions ran through my mind. “Wh-Where am I?” “Mrs. Winchester, you’re in the new east wing of your home.” Now I recognized the voice. “Uta!” I said. “But how did I…?” “I found you,” said Uta. “I hadn’t seen you for days, and was worried about you, so the day after the great storm I scoured the mansion looking for you. You were lying in a mass of blood and broken glass and rainwater. I…” Uta paused momentarily, clearly still upset from the experience—“I thought you were dead.” A little later I felt a warm spoon against my lips and instinctively opened my mouth to let a little of the soup dibble in. Under Uta’s care, I slowly regained my health, but it was another ten days before I was well enough to make my way around the garden. When I reached the Daisy Bedroom, I paused for a moment and looked around. From here there was no sign that anything at all unusual had taken place thirteen nights ago. #RandolphHarris 7 of 8
I began to climb the stairs, feeling in my pocket for the key. At the door to no-to-nowhere, I forced myself to calm down, taking several deep, measured breaths before putting the key in the lock. Suddenly there was a terrible, godless wail from the pits whose inhuman cadences rose, and feel rhythmically in the distance through the darkness. “What on Earth was that?” I exclaimed. Then a huge hand grabbed me. The door swung open with a creak, and I saw a ghost standing there. A woman appeared, she had long blonde hair, was wearing a long white night dress, was frail and ethereal, old age had rendered her thin and somehow tired. And yet, her eyes had an unusual bright sparkle in them that belied her frail and aged appearance. She walked very softly through the threshold of the door and sat down inside. She put her hand on her forehead and said, “Will you please help me? A looter has taken my tombstone, and now my soul is unable to find rest.” The bewildering character of the swirling flood of spirits caused confused thoughts and troubled emotions to run through my mind. I sighed and relaxed slightly. I turned around to reach for a lamp. My back was not turned for more than a second. However, when I looked up at my mysterious visitor, the lady was gone. I quickly walked down the hallway, everything was suffused with a soft, red glow in which I then saw my own shadow projected before me. Ceaseless buffetings of a most tempestuous wind made me feel weary. #RandolphHarris 8 of 8
If you live in New Haven Connecticut, you are well aware of the hell and brimstone variety preaching, and are bound to hear about the devil now and again. To some people, the devil is real, and they will give you an argument filled with fervour and Bible quotations to prove that he exists. Mrs. Winchester had a beautiful face like a mask. A porcelain-cosmetic mask. Mrs. Winchester was not one of those who were impressed by demonic outbursts, however, and she could not care less whether there was a devil or not. She had grown up in a well-to-do family and spent her adult years in the World of business. At age nineteen, she met and married Mr. William Wirt Winchester, and they had a short, but happy life together. There was one child, and at first, no problems, and no difficulties whatever. She was always active in her husband’s manufacturing business. After she gave birth to her first child, Annie Winchester, Mr. Winchester decided to slow down, it was just as well that she started to enjoy life a little more fully, until tragedy struck.
Back in her early years, Mrs. Winchester had what are now called ESP (extra sensory perception) experiences. When she talked to a person, she would frequently know what that person would answer before the words were actually spoken. It scared the young girl, but she refused to think about it. Her parents’ home was a thirty-room mansion in a good section of New Haven. It was just a pleasant house without any history whatever of either violence or unhappiness. And yet, frequently she would hear strange rappings at night, raps that did not come from the pipes or other natural sources. Whenever she heard those noises, she would simply turn to the wall and pretend she did not hear them, but in her heart, she knew they were there. Then one-night, young Sarah was awakened from a deep sleep by the feeling of a presence in her room. She sat up in bed and looked out. There, right in front of her bed, was the kneeling figure of a man with extremely dark eyes and a pale face. She thought that he was from another time or place. After rubbing her eyes, Sarah looked again, but the apparition was gone.
Before long, Sarah had accepted the phenomenon as simply a dream, but again she knew this was not so, and she was merely accommodating her sense of logic. However, what had the stranger been? Surely, the house was not haunted. Besides, she did not believe in ghosts. Young Sarah had no idea that this was the beginning of the accursed invasion from beyond. Six weeks later, she had another supernormal experience. Again alone in her parents home, with all the doors locked, she saw a strange man. Quickly she reached for a candle to examine her visitor, but he had vanished. From the day on, Mrs. Winchester heard strange noises, frequent banging about the mansion, and uncanny feelings and chills in certain areas of the hose. On one occasion, Mrs. Winchester clearly heard someone coming up the stairs leading up to the attic. She went to see who it was, but no one came. The steps were those of an unseen man! Mrs. Winchester had no idea who the ghost could be. She was reluctant to discuss her experiences with other people let they think her mad, yet she was healthy and realistic and was quite sure of her memories.
As many know, after the death of her new born daughter and husband, Mrs. Winchester moved to Santa Clara Valley and spent nearly 40 years, of non-stop construction, building one of the most beautiful and complex mansions in the World. It is possible that some ghost followed her, and others manifested because she was born with extra sensory perception (ESP). After her death, two serious young men went to stay in the house to see if what they were saying about the Winchester Mansion was true. They had sleeping bags and stayed up in one of the attics. It was a chilly December night in 1931, and everything seemed just right for ghost. Would they be lucky in their quest? They did not have to wait long to find out. “As soon as we entered the room, we heard strange noises on the roof They were indistinct and could have been animals, I thought at first. We went off to sleep until my partner woke me up hurriedly around three in the morning. I distinctly heard human footstep on the roof. They slid down the side to a lower level and then to the ground where they could be heard walking in leaves and into the night. Nothing could be seen from the window and there was nobody up on the roof. We were the only ones in the house that night, so it surely must have been ghosts.” After a while, a gruff man’s voice was heard: “Get out…get out of my house.” There were additional requests for the two men to get out of his house. And finally, they left. Evidently the ghosts did not approve the sale of the house by Mrs. Winchester’s executors, but wanted it to stay in her family. Perhaps that is why it remains unoccupied by humans.
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/
People Do Not Like Old Graves Disturbed
It was one of those nights when the moon gives a faint glimmer of light through the thick black clouds of a lowering sky. Hope and native courage urged me to push forward, but at the length the increasing darkness and fatigue of body and mind was overcoming me. As the moon sank beneath a black cloud, the hallways were darker than ever. All was silent. All was still as death. My blood was chilled, Across the hall, upon the grand staircase, a pale bluish apparition cast a dismal gleam of light around. Summoning forth my courage, I quickly advanced toward it. Terror impelled me to make some hasty steps. I came to the foot of the stairs, and after a moment’s deliberation ascended. I went slowly up, the apparition retiring before me, until I came to a wide gallery. The apparition proceeded along it, and I followed in silent horror, treading lightly, for the echoes of my footsteps startled me. It led me to the foot of another staircase, and then vanished. At the same instant toll sounded from the belfry—I felt it strike upon my heart. I was now in total darkness, and with my arms extended, began to ascend the second staircase. A dead cold hand met my left hand and firmly grasped it, drawing me forcibly forwards—I endeavoured to disengage myself, but could not—I made a furious blow with my revolver, and instantly a loud shriek pierced my ears, and the dead hand was left powerless in mine. I dropped it, and rushed towards with a desperate valour. The stairs were narrow and winding, and interrupted by frequent breaches. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5
The staircase grew narrower and narrower and at length terminated in to wall. I pushed the wall opened, its hinges creaked loudly-it led to an intricate winding passage, just large enough to admit myself. A faint glimmer of light served to show the nature of the place. I entered. A deep hollow groan resounded from a distance through the vault. I went forwards, and proceeding beyond the first turning, I discerned the same blue apparition. I flowed it. The vault, at length, suddenly opened into a lofty gallery, in which the midst of which a figure appeared, completely armed, thrusting forwards the bloody stump of an arm, with a terrible frown and menacing gesture, brandishing a pistol in his hand. I undauntedly sprang forwards and aimed a fierce blow at the figure; it vanished, letting fall a massy iron key. The apparition now rested upon a pair of ample wooden doors at the end of the gallery. I went up to it, and applied the key to a brazen lock—with difficulty I turned the bolt—instantly the doors flew open and discovered a large apartment. There was soft music playing, it was the most magnificent room I had ever seen, lighted with innumerable tapers in lustres of pure crystal. Then suddenly the piercing shrikes of a person in distress arrested my speed; I stopped and, listening attentively, heard shrill, melancholy cries repeated at interval through my mansion, which gradually became more distant, grew faint and died away. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5
As I traversed further in this new section of the mansion, there was a chandelier of bronze, hung down from the middle of the ceiling. Then, at one end of the hall, was a great fireplace, as long as the size of a county house; and by it were heavy, old-fashioned sofas. At the opposite end of the hall, to the left as I went it—on the western side—was an organ built into the wall, and so large that it filled up the best part of that end. Beyond it, on the same side, was a door. As I went through the door, I froze in fear. There was a solider in one of the bedrooms. He was dark and had a noose around the neck; the rope of cut and his faced seemed almost luminous. I tried to collect my thoughts. My first sensation was like that of a very young child badly hurt, when it catches it breath before crying out. The emotional climate of Llanada Villa was uncanny, as if an unseen force was always present. From the blank darkness outside came in, through the aperture that served for a window, all the ever unfamiliar noises of night in the wilderness—the long, nameless note of a distant coyote; the stilly pulsing thrill of tireless insects in trees; strange cries of night birds, so different from those of the birds of the day; the drone of great blundering beetles, and all that mysterious chorus of small sounds that seem always to have been but half hard when they have suddenly ceased, as if conscious of an indiscretion. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5
I crept to an open door; the organ broke out with a blare. A dazzling light filled the mansion, blotting the chandelier from my eyes. The soldier faded away, the arches, the vaulted roof vanished. I raised my seared eyes to the fathomless glare, and I saw the black stars hanging in the Heavens. I shivered. The air was suddenly cold. I told myself I was just scared, because I was. I sat there plunged in the profoundest grief that can come to the human soul, for in all other agony hope flickers, however forlornly. Then I saw something. I saw a little white face with eyes so scared and wishful that they seemed as if they might eat a hole in anybody’s heart. It was a dreadful little face, with something about it which made it different from any other face on Earth, but it was so pitiful that somehow it did away a good deal of dreadfulness. And there were two little hands spotted blue with the cold. And a darling little echo of a voice said, “I can’t find my mommy.” “For Heaven’s sake,” I said, “who are you?” Then the little voice said: “I can’t find my mommy.” All the time I could smell the cold that was clinging to her as if she had come out of some deadly cold place. She was dressed in a white nightgown, very long, quite covering her feet, and I could see dimly through her thin body mottled blue with the cold. Her face did not look so cold; that was a clear waxen white. Her hair was dark, but it looked as if she it might by dark only because it was so damp, almost wet, and might really be fair coloured hair. As the child descended further into the room, the ceiling returned and no longer visible were the stars. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5
Well, I was so dumfounded that I did not know what to do, and I could not make sense at first that it was anything supernatural. Then I tried to catch hold of the child, for I thought in spite of what I saw that perhaps I was nervous and she was a real child. I went to put my shawl around her, but the minute I moved toward the child, there was no longer a child there; there was only that little voice seeming to come from nothing, saying, “I can’t find my mommy,” and presently that died away. That feeling I had, the current in my stomach, my temples, my fingertips—it remained with me for quite a while. It rose and fell with the memory of that girl’s words. The air was still. As I gazed out the window, the silvery vapour hung serenely on the far horizon, and the frosty stars blinked brightly. Everyone knows the effect of such a scene on a mind already saddened. Fancies and regrets floats delicately in the mind, and the scene affected me with a strange sense of memory and anticipation, like some sweet old air heard in the distance. There was something of the unearthly and spectral within these walls whose direct connection was with a necromancy even older than the Salem witchcraft could not be doubted. A hideous traffic was going on among nightmare ghouls. Sometimes, looking at the past can have consequences for the present. It is best graves should be left well alone. We do not need to pull all the pieces together of things that are better left to rest. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5
The Winchester Mystery House
Of all the myths which have come down to us from ancient times and of all creations, the personality of evil has the strongest attraction for the mind of man. The Devil is the greatest enigma that has ever confronted the human intelligence. So large a place has Satan taken in our imagination, and we might also say in our heart, that his expulsion therefrom, no matter what philosophy may tech us, must forever remain an impossibility. The Devil advanced with the progress of civilization, because he is what men make him. I talked to caretakers of The Winchester Mystery House about apparitions they may have seen in Mrs. Winchester’s mansion. Some of them had never seen anything unusual. However, there was a man, who always liked to take tour of The Winchester Mystery House of Friday the 13th. When queried about his insistence on that day, the man freely admitted it was because on that day he could see “her”—the “her” being a female wraith who appeared at the mansion to listen to the guests, and then disappeared at midnight. On that day, he could always be next to her! I pressed more caretakers about any personal experienced. Finally, he thought that he had seen something like a figure in white out of the corner of one eye, a figure that passed, and quickly disappeared.
Come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Something Appalling Has Entered My Life!
Despite what the living think, ghosts do not know everything. They know almost everything, but not some things. It is strange how timorous we are when our affections are concerned. Often and often, I have trembled to think of William’s death, as I saw fever dim his eyes like an angel of mercy, him day by day grow weaker, while president of Winchester Repeating Arms Company. Must his eyes never more behold the beauty that was born to his soul? Oh, never more! As thought came to me, I shuddered in affright, for it seemed to me that I had been guilty of sacrilege. My bedroom was a large chamber—immense for a bedroom—with two windows. The furniture was old-fashioned, but not old enough to be curious, and on the walls hung many pictures—portraits—the house was full of portraits—and landscapes. I just glanced at these, and when to bed. There was a fire in the room, and I lay awake for some time looking dreamily at the shadows of the furniture flitting over the walls and ceiling as the flames of the wood fire leaped and fell, and the red ember dropped whitening on the hearth. I tried t give the rein to my thoughts, but they kept constantly to one subject—William. I heard a voice of strange, rich sweetness, yet wavering—the voice of one almost a king by nature. He calls my name. His voice floats on the wind, amid drowsy music of the harps and fountains. I see him and he sits down near me. As if it was winter and someone had opened a window, a cold wind blew though the room. A kind of awe stole over me. Oh, the melody of that voice! It vibrates more and more as it gives back the echo. I felt his weight on the edge of my bed, the weight of an actual body, but at the same time I could see through him. I could see the wall of my room through his red hair and through the golden aura around him. His spirit seems lost in a trance. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5
Zip jumped when I called out to my late husband, then lied on the floor beside my bed. I watched him in silence. He seemed to be half-listening to the fitful music; and as the melody swelled and died away his chest rose and fell as he breathed in unison with the music. After a moment or two, William appeared to become conscious of a presence in the room. I could see by the working of his hands and the heaving of his chest that some violent emotion troubled him. Gradually, however, he grew more calm, but before I could collect my scattered thoughts, he eluded me, in unison with the silencing of the harps. William—William—William. I found myself half awakening, and repeating his name over and over and over again. At last, I fell asleep. I thought that I awoke suddenly to that peculiar feeling which we sometimes have on starting from sleep, as if someone had been speaking in the room, and the voice is still echoing through it. All was quite silent, and the fire had gone out. I looked out of the window that lay beside the bed, and observed a light outside, which gradually grew brighter till the room was almost as light as by day. The light in the room continued to grow even brighter, so I looked again out of the window to seek it source, and saw there a lovely sight. It seemed as if William and Annie were outside the window and floating in mid-air. The light seemed to spring from a point far behind them, and by their side was something dark and shadowy, which served to set off their radiance. My late husband and daughter seemed to be smiling upon me. I looked away for only a moment, but they had been replaced by some malignity. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5
Something appalling has entered my life! Dark forebodings of a hideous, menacing fate are looming over me like the shadows of black clouds, impervious to any kindly ray of sunlight. The dark mass had grown. From a cloud, misty and undefined, it became sort of a shadow with a form. This gradually, as I looked, grew darker and fuller, till at length it made me shudder. There stood before me the phantom Fiend—a man who looked more dead than alive. The nature of his disease and the inherent evil of his character had combined to make him resemble on the outside the monster that he was within. His ravaged flesh was mottled purple and grey. His eyes were enormous, so cold and unblinking, with tiny pupils and a great expanse of white around them which gave him a look of insanity. His mouth drooped on one side where it was permanently open, revealing yellow teeth. His lips were lumpy, almost black. It was like the face of some atrocious criminal already hanging from the gibbet. There was a long period of dead silence, in which I could hear the beating of my own heart. It was distinguished by a fierce, diabolical laughter, which swelled louder and louder, till at last it grew so strong that in very horror, I cried. I was very much troubled by what I had seen and heard. I wiped the tears from my eyes and looked out of the window again, but saw nothing but the broad belt of moonlight glittering on the lawn moist with dew, which extended miles and miles away, till it was lost in the haze. The vision had utterly faded. However, it was so powerful that I slept no more till the sunlight was streaming broadly in at the widow, and then I feel into a slumber. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5
In my dream last night, when in my ears came softly, like music stealing across the gardens below, the old song William and I used to sing together, then to my brain, like a way of light, came an idea whose grandeur for a moment struck me dumb. Before my eyes grew a Ballroom of such beauty that I knew my hope was born to life, and his spirit had placed my foot on a stairway that leads from this my palace to freedom. My mansion is daily growing nearer to completion. I sing as I work, and my constant song is the one I love so well. I can hear the echo of my voice in the Grand Ballroom; and as I end, the wailing song note is prolonged in sweet music. So beautiful my home has become, so much do I love it, that I could gladly die to be maker of such a work, were it not for the spirits, and my hope of appeasing them. My life is slowly ebbing away. This yearning for completeness much be unsatisfied in the end. Leaning on the edge of the window, looking out at the dark, moonless sky, my excitement was so great that my knees were trembling. When I retired to my bedroom that night, I was much too excited to sleep. I paced up and down the room for some time, thinking and doubting. I could not believe what I expected to happen, and yet my heart was filled with a vague dread. The next few minutes passed so slowly that each moment seemed an age. I was standing, counting the moments, when suddenly a light came into the room that made the candle on the table appear quite dim, and my shadow was reflected on the wall by some brilliant light which streamed in through the window. My heart for an instead ceased to beat, and then the blood rushed so violently to my temples that my eyes grew dim and my head began to reel. As I lied down in my bed, I fell quickly to sleep. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5
Then there came from the dark interior a husky whisper which somehow chilled me through and though I did not know why I feared it. However, as disturbing as was the whisper, the greater fear was that which immediately followed. The floor creaked and the steps went back and forth. Heavy, masculine steps, the kind a big man would make. Soon after the footsteps, other noises began to be heard in the attic and along the corridors and stairs leading toward it. I got out of bed, and opened by bedroom door and started to go up the stairs, when suddenly I walked into what I can only described as a warm, wet blanket, something that touched my physically as if it had been hung from wires in the corridor. I was very upset. As I reached the attic, the door knob had turned in front of my very eyes before I could reach for it to open the door. All of a sudden, my right side, the right side of my head, felt very depressed and a feeling of great despair came over me. I felt like wringing my hands and was very distraught. It only stayed with me a few moments, and I could almost feel something or someone pressing against the right side of my head. And then I saw a mist, on the landing of the stairs. It had a shape, rather tall and thin. It did not have a face. But I did see hands wringing. Then I felt a mighty shock, and all the Universe seemed filed with sparks of fire that whirled around me with lightning speed, till I seemed to be in the center of a World of flame, and then came in my ears the rushing of a mighty wind, swelling ever louder, and then came a blackness over al things and a deadness of sound as if all the Earth had passes away, and I remembered no more. When I next became conscious, I was lying in bed in a dark room. As I tried to look around but, I could hardly stir my head. I attempted to speak, but my voice was without sound. And I again felt a darkness gathering around me. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5
The Winchester Mystery House
In the middle of April 1890, Mrs. Winchester told one of the servants that she had been plagued by extraordinary noises resounding through the house that she believed to be the work of thieves. He dismissed her complaint as being nothing other than the result of an over-active imagination. Then, a few nights later, he heard the noises for himself. He heard a very great knocking at the doors and on the outside walls of the hose. He immediately arose, dressed himself, and took out a shot gun. He truly believed that there was an intruder in the grounds. However, as he walked down stairs, the noise seemed always to travel before or behind him. When he came to the front door, from which he thought the principal noise had come, there was no one there. Then he heard the knocking at another door. As soon as he had retired the noises began, even more furiously than before, and he heard what he described as a thumping and drumming on the top of the house, and then by degrees going off into the air. This strange hollow noise visited Mrs. Winchester very frequently, usually for thirteen nights and then ceased for three nights before beginning again.
Sometimes the afterlife is difficult for the ghost, as he or she may be too strongly attached to feelings of guilt or revenge to “let go.” Ghosts usually do not harm anyone, except through fear found within the witness. The harm results from the witness’s own doing because of his or her unawareness of what ghosts represent. In the few cases where ghosts have attacked people of the flesh, it is simply a matter of mistaken identity, where extreme violence at the time of death had left a strong residue of memory in the individual ghosts. Try a they might, people cannot explain away ghosts, not will ghost simply disappear. They continue to appear frequently in The Winchester Myster House and all over the World to young and senior citizens, to affluent and less affluent, in old houses and new, in airports and forests, streets and hotels, and wherever tragedy strikes. For ghosts are indeed more or nothing less than a human being trapped by special circumstances in this World while already being in the next; or, to put it another way, ghosts are human beings whose spirits are unable to leave the Earthly surroundings because of unfinished business or emotional entanglement. However, even if you do not encounter ghosts or have a psychic experience in The Winchester Mystery House, you will find it a fascinating place. As an adventure, The Winchester Mystery House has no equal.
Come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Randolph Harris II International 