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Guilt Goes Away, Being Dead Does Not
The skies were more greyer than gold. As I walked back along the hallway, I was aware of the vapor of my own breath. It must have been 48 degrees Fahrenheit. Closing the door behind me, I paused for a moment and listened. There were voices coming from somewhere. Hushed voices, little more than whispers. “Daisy?” I said softly. “Mr. Hansen?” Silence now. I went to other doors, looked in, searching. They were all empty. I climbed the stairs, taking the opposite direction to one of my favourite bedrooms when I reached the corridor. I stopped outside Daisy’s bedroom and knocked softly. There was no response. I called her name, but still no reply came. I went further along to mount a narrow set of stairs that twisted round to the floor above. In the distant past, the rooms up there had been occupied by my servants, but this was now where my aunt had her living quarters. There were several doors along the rough-boarded corridor, and I tapped on each one. Again, I received no answer. I stood there for a while, in that shadowy place, mystified. Apart from myself, the house appeared to be empty. When I returned to the ground floor, on the last step I came to a halt. I listened intently. One voice this time. A tune being hummed. I took the last step into the hall and walked to its center where I slowly turned a full circle in an attempt to get a bearing on the sound. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
The basement door was ajar. The voice drifted up from its depths. Although my footsteps were soft as I approached the open doorway, the faint humming stopped. I bent close to the gap, waiting, listening, a draft chilling my face. Nothing. I pushed the door further open and felt inside for the light switch I knew was at the top of the basement stairs. The light was poorer than before, casting even deeper shadows. I descended the cement steps. Once at the bottom, I took in the broad, bricked chamber with covered furniture and broken statues scattered here and there. “Daisy, are you down here?” My voice was controlled. It sounded hollow within the confines of the basement. Only silence greeted me. Somehow the silence was mocking. I shivered, feeling the bitter cold. Then I stiffened when I heard footsteps from. They grew louder, descending the steps. Darkness silvered the window and gave me nothing to look at but my own image, but it seemed appropriate to my line of thought. How many people were enemies of that face, of the eyes, of the nose, of the mouth that was soft in relaxation. How many enemies? I mused. A few I could name, others I could guess. Suddenly I was depressed. When I called out to whomever was in the room, I received no reply. Finally, I thought this was odd and went further into the basement, and there, in a hair, I found a man dead. His face appeared to be sinking into a nest of flesh. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
The account had given men a strange chill. It suddenly occurred to me how little I knew about my own home. However, the icy hush that had settled over me was broken when I let go of the chair and turned toward the stairs. Needless to say, I had no visitors from the flesh-and-blood World. The man that was dead in the basement was a carpenter. He came to Llanada Villa to do so building, and someone accidentally killed him and left him in the freezing cold basement. The next morning, my eyes red with exhaustion, I discussed this experience with my niece Daisy. Until now I had been reluctant to draw her into these matters, but the impression had been so overpowering that I just had to tell someone. To my surprise, Daisy was not very upset. Instead, she told me of an account she had. The night before, the figure of a lady in white had appeared to Daisy in a dream, telling her to pack, for she would seen be taking her away! When Daisy had concluded her report, I calmed her as best I could and reminded her that some dreams are merely expressions of unconscious fears. Later that evening, I noticed a bouncing light at the top of the stairs as I was about to go to bed. The light followed me to my room as if it had a mind of its own. When I entered my room the light left, but the room felt icy. I was disturbed by this, but nevertheless went to be and soon had forgotten all about it as sleep came to me. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
Suddenly, in the middle of the night, I woke and sat up in bed. There were footsteps in the rafters over my bedroom. They came across the ceiling from one side of the room to the other. At the head of my bed, I saw a man who was “beige-coloured.” As I stared at the apparition it went away, again leaving the room very chilly. Some restless spirit, freed from the shackles of the body, finally enjoyed his unobstructed power to roam the house and do whatever he pleased. And perhaps he now even enjoyed the vicarious thrill of frightening me, and becoming the stronger party in the house. Without question we were faced with the remains of an unknown civilization older than any dreamed of before, and forming a basis for legends. As a psychic, I can tell you these apparitions are so ancient they frightened me. Discomfort and expectancy were oddly mingled in myself and the servants at lengthen as the days drew on. I felt I had entered the realm of utter desolation. A certain absolute terror grew on me—a terror of course abetted by the fact that my disturbing dreams and pseudo-memories still best me with unabated force. There was a distinct trace of evil—and my hands trembled as I recognize the diabolic scheme through years of tormenting nightmare and baffling research. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
The deeper—and the farther north and east—we expanded my estate, the more apparitions we found; through we still failed to discover any trace of their source. Mr. Hasen was appalled at the measureless number of the spirits and how the caused the walls to curve and floors to slant. We also found traces of symbols which fitted darkly into certain medieval legends of infinite antiquity. They affected me queerly and disagreeably. They seemed, after a fashion, to dovetail horribly with something which I had dreamed or read, but which I could no longer remember. There was a terrible pseudo-familiarity about them—which somehow made me look furtively and apprehensively over the abominable, sterile terrain toward the north and northeast wings of the mansion. I developed an unaccountable set of mixed emotions about that general northeasterly region. There was horror, and there was curiosity—but more than that, there was a persistent and perplexing illusion of memory. I tried all sorts of psychological expedients to get these notions out of my head, but met with no success. Sleeplessness also gained upon me, but I almost welcomed this because of the resultant shortening of my dream-periods. I acquired the habit of taking long, lone walks through my labyrinth late at night—usually to the north or northeast, whither the sum of my strange new impulses seemed subtly to pull me. Sometimes, on these walks, I would stumble unto nearly hidden rooms of ancient masonry. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
Fog spread over throughout the air in a thick paste, casting a dank pallor over the sprawling hallways and legion of rooms. My home was terrorized by a mysterious society known as “The Goats.” These wretches met at night in a secret room, and partook in the most hideous festivities, which included paying of divine honours to Satan and other demons of the Sabbat, they donned masks fashioned to imitate goats’ heads, cloaked themselves with long disguise mantles, and sallied forth in bands. This is typically when the fog rolled in. Through the mansion, we would often see people wearing hideous black masks with huge horns which it is death for the uninitiated to see. The Devil started up himself in the Pulpit like a mickle black man, and calling the row, everyone answered here. The first thing he demanded was whether they had been good servants, and what they had done since the last time they convened. The witches adored Satan, or the Master of the Sabbat who presided in place of Satan. In solemn bows and seemly courtesies, the worshippers of the Demon approached him awkwardly, with mops and mows, sometimes straddling sideways, sometimes walking backwards. The witches who resorted to the Sabbat approach the throne with their backs turned, and worship him…and then, as a sign of their homage, they kissed his fundament. An indication of my poor nervous health was caused as a response to these odd discoveries which I made on my nocturnal rambles. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
Often times, I would run for safety at top speed. It was a wholly unconscious and irrational flight, and only when I felt I was close a healing room did I fully realize why I had run. Then it came to me. The queer dark ceremonies were something which I had dreamed and read about, and which was linked with the uttermost horror of the aeon-old legendary. Things festered in Llanada Villa’s nether abysses and against whose wind-like, invisible forces the trapdoors were sealed. I remained awake all that night, but by dawn I realized how silly I had been to let the shadow of a Sabbat upset me. One night, after a windy day, I retired early but could not sleep. Rising shortly before midnight and afflicted as usual with that strange feeling regarding the northeastward wing of the mansion, I set out on one of my typical nocturnal walks. The moon, slightly past full, shone through the skylights and drenched the hallways with a radiance which seemed to me somehow infinitely evil. There was no longer any wind. “Tonight,” whispered an apparition, “all the evil in the World will be let loose. You will be at the mercy of forces you never dreamed existed.” I screamed in terror. “Mrs. Winchester,” she said, “for the sake of your soul always continue building this fortress.” “I will,” I said in a quiet voice. Although I shivered, I told myself that such fears were merely absurd superstitions. At about 3.30 A.M., a violent wind blew, waking everyone in the mansion. The sky was unclouded, and the fireplaces still blazed. And yet, everyone seemed to feel something sinister in the air. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mystery House
A family ghost, built up through generations of psychic reconstruction, can almost become an independent mental mechanism. Whether the ghost actually whispered, or Mrs. Winchester’s heightened psychic sensitivity allowed her to feel the presence of the ghost prior to its actual materialization makes for interesting speculation.
Please come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Ancient Diabolic Enemies are Not Extinct
In this half-eclipsed World, I wondered through the house. Its emptiness an oppressive ballad, as my foot steps echoed in the hallways. I felt a curious sense of betrayal; the kind felt when a story takes an unanticipated turn. I went down several flights of stairs into rooms the likes of which I had never seen before. My home was a World that was both very real and completely invented. Carpenters from all over Europe—German, Dutch, Portuguese, Belgians, even a few Englishmen—and painters, again from every place of excellence worked night and day, to create my fortress. I played God in the World. I put creatures into it that I had conjured up from my own personal menagerie: mythical creatures and goddesses that architects would render with meticulous care. And then I would take the soul of the deceased and put them to work, so that it would be a home for them. Here I would live under a permanent eclipse, in a constant state of terror, barely daring to sleep for fear one of my terrible beasts would take me. My influence invaded the minds of the people who worked for me. Every haunting, every forbidden supernatural thing, every architectural oddity they had ever dreamed of they were given the freedom to create. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
Outside, the night was clear, cloudless, the moon proud and crisp in its uncontested rule; Llanada Villa’s walls seemed to be absorbing the atmosphere’s coldness rather than fending it off, for everything, even the furniture, felt frigid to the touch. Certainly, I could not understand why my entire staff had gone missing during an eclipse on January 1st, 1889. The body of one of them was found stripped of its skin. The rest of the party were never found. Most of my family did not know what Llanada Villa was. Certainly, the carpenters created my home, and they had powers that go far beyond anything we understand. There were two hundred and sixty-eight rooms. I derived such pleasure from them, but was oblivious to the human cost. I just wanted the spirits to be astonished; and then, to look at me—who had given them this gift—with new eyes. I wanted them to be so grateful, so happy that they would forget all the evil of this World. My home changed me. It changed everyone who went into it. It changed our flesh. It changed our spirits. I was born in 1839, but I did not look it. That is because Llanada Villa. It has energies. I believe there is magic within these walls. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
The architects used their infernal skills to lock the spirits and their souls into the labyrinth: that is strong magic. The reverends knew it and kept their distance. Of course, it affects everyone a little differently. Some people simply cannot take it. They come in for a minute, and they would run out of here ghostly white. Some people left because they thought the Devil was in here. However, most people felt their essence enhanced they came in here. They felt a little young, a little stronger, a little more beautiful. However, I thought it best not to receive guests because everyone paid a different price. Some people went insane because of what they saw in here. A few committed suicide. However, the vast majority of them went on living, feeling a little better about themselves. For a while, at least, and then it would wear off, and they would need to come back. They were completely enslaved, as if they were under a spell. It addicted the spirit by producing visions so vivid that they became more real than reality. There was a perpetual twilight in their eyes. They did not need to keep their sorrows to themselves any more, they could pour them right into Llanada Villa, which was wide open and ready; and they did; till it seemed to me it could not bear it anymore. Lord the misery of it. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
At night, Llanada Villa began to groan, its walls started to cry. The Cherub in the walls would frown and weep. Although the sun would rise in the morning, it would be pitch dark inside. When we woke, we had to stop and think a minute before we came fully to ourselves and realized our situation, for we thought we had been dreaming. In fact, it was hard to get rid of the idea that it was all a dream. However, we had to get rid of it, and we did. Then a ghastly cold shock went through us. Along in the afternoon, we saw a soft blur of light a little way off, northeast in the mansion. However, by and by, Llanada Villa’s spirits sagged again. Then the cause came out. It was delicate and sensitive of knowledge, knowledge both of good and evil. Llanada Villa felt the wound. Sighing through all its works gave signs of woe, that all was lost. However fair to the eye, inviting to the taste, far from deceit or guile, this legion of souls yarned to be protected. There are very many people who, without the least danger of being accused of wit, do not believe in ghost, and yet are afraid; it is, in fact, the attitude of the World toward the supernatural. Yet, there are now many people whose hair has not been stirred and whose hearts have not beat an unusual tattoo at the sound of a something inexplicable in the watch of the night within these walls. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
There is now a something that is unknown. Something not readily associated with things of the Earth. People declare there are no such things as spirits, and disbelievingly tremble at the very sight of my home. While the apparitions have not exactly been scientifically “placed” and accounted for, and while no alleged spirit has been made to stand trial and thoroughly explain itself, to the satisfaction of cold inquirers, few will have the hardihood to declare, in discussing the return of disembodies spirits and Llanada Villa, that there is “nothing in it.” Floor boards creak beneath their feet as they go from room to room. In one room a spider scuttled across the hand of one of the “skeptics” as he reached in and pushed the light switch. He flinched, his flesh crawling at the tickling sensation. He watched the spider disappeared into the back of his hand. He felt a cramping sensation and then his finger tips were bloody. The light was dim, as it was throughout Llanada Villa, and Mr. Hansen wondered why he had not come upon this particular room before. The furniture was covered in dust sheets and, above the mantel opposite was a portrait of my Father-in-Law and Mother-in-Law, both of them in formal evening dress. He had the eerie feeling of being under their inspection. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
A belief in ghosts has always been as widely distributed among all the peoples of the Earth as the Religious Idea itself. Even in the remotest islands of distant seas, and among the most unlettered natives, religion has been ever found, and as invariably the belief in ghosts. One night, as I gazed from the windows, up at the curious weather vane that twirls upon the cupola of the quaint Observational Tower, I saw a ghostly face that peers back at me. Before I knew what I was doing, I found myself standing by the fireplace looking at the clock. Then I turned toward the door, resting my hands on the mantelpiece. At this moment I clearly heard steps. A door was opened and through it came a man. He was tall and wore a silk hat and a black cape. As he passed through me, I went into the adjoining room and saw a woman walking, she was wearing a white nightgown with full sleeves. Her bloody hands crossed on her breasts. I kept looking at her in shock before she faded away. The following day as my housemaid was up in the attic clearing some flooring, to her horror, she discovered tow human skeletons underneath. Hastily closing the door to the attic behind her, she took the two skeletons and quietly buried them. At the time she decided not to call my attention to it, as it might draw unfavourable publicity to herself and the house. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
My garden has always been beautifully landscaped, but during the spring it became overgrown with precious flowers and the shrubbery grew whichever way it chose. The paths, which has been so carefully outlined, were hardly recognizable now. While I was carefully pruning the roses, I managed to bring a new life back to the beautiful garden. I had just straightened out one of the tea roses, when I looked up and realized that I had a visitor. There, on the path no more than three yards away stood a rather smallish lady. She was neatly dressed. She immediately apologized for the intrusion. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said. “You did not,” I assured her. The visitor then began to levitate like a bird and moved from flower to flower, inspecting here, caressing a plant there. My eyes were on the lady with interest. I noticed how ethereal she looked and how thin and tired she was. And yet, her eyes had an unusual, bright sparkle in them that belied her frail appearance. A vague, creeping terror engulfed me. I was, for a time, almost stunned. The woman then told me some half-forgotten tales of enormous underground hits of great stones under my home, where passaged led down and down, and where horrible things had happened. She claimed that once some warriors, fleeing in battle, went down into one and never came back, and that frightful winds began to blow from the place soon after they went down. She then sunk back into the Earth. Now I know that the ancient sense of human life beset on all sides by Heavenly watchers and diabolic enemies is not extinct. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
Winchester Mystery House
Opening weekend at Unhinged: Hotel was a blast – will you be joining us this spooky season? There are only 16 nights left to experience all the scares, so get your tickets now before they are gone!
Please come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
The Devil Had Had Connection with them
“Yes, there at first, and then…” I waved my hand nonchalantly around the room,” here, there…several placed, actually.” Mr. Hansen straightened up, “Has she ever spoken? Have you ever tried to speak to her, Mrs. Winchester?” I frowned. “My dear boy, I do not make a habit of conducting conversations with ghosts. I consider just seeing the wretched thing queer enough.” Twitching my shoulders in a shiver. “I was sitting in the library in one of the big windows that had been opened to the night air. Suddenly my peaceful evening was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. I turned my head toward the door to see who was coming. However, no form was visible. The footsteps, however, came to the doors of the library, and ceased abruptly. Mystified, I waited for the someone to enter the room. Nothing happened. “Who’s there?” I asked. There was complete silence. Half-angry and half-puzzled, I got up to look around. There was no one in the dark hallway. I heard those footsteps plainly, but did not see a soul. Perhaps there was a secret entrance that I did not know about. There has to be some place where they can hide. These walls are deep enough to contain a secret passageway. When I returned to the library, I saw a girl in this room, although she was only a haze sort of form at first, not clear at all. Definitely a girl though, in her early twenties, I would say. I say her—it—again a few days—no, not days: nights—later, much clearer this time, almost as if her presence was growing in strength. I must admit, I felt quite weak at the sight of her.” #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
“That sometimes happens,” Mr. Hansen replied. “Manifestations of this kind seem to draw off psychic energy from their witnesses, using it to sap energy from the atmosphere, too—that’s why the temperature of a room may suddenly drop. Their presence has even been known to affect electricity.” “Extraordinary. However, you really are speaking of ghosts, Mr. Hansen.” “No, I’m still talking about unexplained phenomena. Please go with what you were telling me.” I began to pace. “I felt there was something terribly sad about this ‘presence’… as though she were searching, or perhaps just lost…my housemaid Eleanor also had an encounter. Is that not right, my darling?” “Yes, Mrs. Winchester I most certainly did,” replied Eleanor. “I came face-to-face with the phantom lady in the library.” “I’d be interested to hear,” said Mr. Hansen as he smiled at the question, not in the least perturbed. “The library is cold and rather unpleasant,” responded. “A girl. I’ve seen her lurking or hovering or whatever these bloody things do on several occasions. That first time, I’d come down for a book and there she was, over there watching me.” She pointed and shuddered as if for emphasis. “The sight made my blood run cold, I can tell you.” “Does she look like anyone you know? Have known?” “Of course not. In fact, that’s the horrible part of this affair.” Her features contorted in disgust. “There was something wrong with her face, her figure…something awful. She appeared…I don’t know—malformed. The eyes were lifeless, and lustreless, and seemingly pupilless, and I shrank involuntarily from their glassy stare to the contemplation of the thin and shrunken lips. They parted; and in a smile of peculiar meaning, the teeth disclosed themselves slowly to my view. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
“The white ghastly spectrum of teeth. Not a speck on their surface—not a shade of their enamel—not an indenture in their edges—but what that brief period of her smile had sufficed to brand in upon my memory. I saw them now even more unequivocally than I beheld them then. The teeth!—the teeth!—they were here, and there, and everywhere, and visibly and palpably before me; long, narrow, and excessively white, with the pale lips writhing about them, as in the very moment of their first terrible development. Then came the full fury of my monomania, and I struggled in vain against it. I felt her possession and thought I could never be restored to peace, given back reason. And the evening closed in upon me thus—and then the darkness came, and tarried, and went—and the day again dawned—and the mists of a second night were now gathering around—and still I sat motionless in this solitary room—and I still I sat buried in meditation—and still the phantasma made its terrible ascendancy, as, with the most vivid and hideous distinctness, it floated about amid the changing lights and shadows of the chamber. At length there broke in upon my dreams a cry of horror and dismay; and thereunto, after a pause, succeeded the sound of troubled voices, intermingled with many low moanings of sorrow and pain. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
“I arose from my seat, and throwing open one of the doors of the library, fell to the floor. I’m usually able to see through the outward layer of ugliness that so many things have, and perceive the beauty within, but it was impossible. I’ve had to clean up blood in the kitchen. I was told not to ask questions because it was safer I didn’t know anything. So I didn’t ask.” Mr. Hansen looked up from the typewriter with his reading glasses balanced precariously on the end of his nose. His face was anxious. His hand suddenly shook as with ague, as with terror. Her calamity, indeed, gave me pain, and, taking deeply to heart, staringly changes were wrought in my mind. During the brightest days of unparalleled beauty, there were no towers in the land more time-honoured than those of Llanada Villa. Our line had been called a race of visionaries; and in many striking particulars—in the character of the family mansion—in the frescos of the chief saloon—in the tapestries of the dormitories—in the chiseling of some buttresses in the armory—but more especially in the gallery of antique paintings—in the fashion of the library chamber—and, lastly, in the very peculiar nature of the library’s contents—there is more than sufficient evidence to warrant the belief. I did not fail to ponder, frequently and bitterly, upon the wonder-working means by which so strange a revolution had been so suddenly brought to pass. And now—now I shudder in her presence, and grew pale at her recital. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
An icy chill ran through my frame; a sense of insufferable anxiety oppressed me; a consuming curiosity pervaded my soul; and, sinking back upon the chair, I remained for some time breathless and motionless, with my eyes riveted upon her person. After some time, I found myself alone in the library. I knew that it was now midnight, and I was well aware, that my home was replete with horror—horror more horrible from being vague, and terror more terrible from ambiguity. It was a fearful page in the record of my existence, written all over with dim, and hideous, intelligent recollections. And like the spirit of a departed soul, a shrill and piercing female voice seemed to be ringing in my ear among the whispering echoes of the chamber. I knew this was not in the physical dimension and I had to learn how past events served as a blueprint for the psychic atmosphere that made such phenomena possible. The following day, I was winding up an important meeting. Mr. Hansen walked in the room. “Mrs. Winchester,” he said excitedly. “Do you care if I break a window?” “Where?” I demanded. “What for?” There’s a window painted black down in the basement at the back of the house. I’ve finally found about a thirteen-foot discrepancy in my measurements between the outside and the inside of the basement. I’ll have to break the window to see what’s behind it. I’ll pay for putting the glass back.” #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
“Wait for me!” I ordered. “I will be out in a few moments.” We went down into the basement where Mr. Hansen showed me a sketch he had made to scale and pointed to the stained-glass window with a cobweb pattern and thirteen colourful orbs. From the basement floor it could only be reached by ladder, but it was only a little above ground level from the outside of the house. “I’ve got to see what’s behind it!” “What is so interesting about that? Can you not just remove it from the outside?” “I don’t want to,” he replied impatiently. “The outside wall of the house runs in a straight line but down here the basement is all cut up into these rooms. There’s about a thirteen-foot space from that window to the outside wall or my figures are off—and they can’t be!” He pulled a ladder up to the window and climbed up with a hammer in hand. I stepped out of range of falling glass as he smashed one of my most precious designs, then, working with gloves, removed the remaining pieces from the frame. He turned his lantern into the aperture and gave a sharp whistle. “Hey!” he yelled. “You’ve got to see this! You won’t believe it!” He scrambled down the ladder and handed me the lantern. Then he waited in obvious excitement for me to climb up.” #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
“Do you see that room?” he shouted. “Look across at that other window!” I saw it. The room looked like a vaulted crypt. It was small and unfurnished although what looked like an old altar cloth and books in the corner. Just opposite the window Mr. Hansen had broken was an identical one and this is what we had noticed from the outside of the house. It was, likewise, a stained-glass window with a spider web pattern and thirteen colourful orbs, and was a twin in its dimension of the one in the basement wall. This was the most careful job of camouflaging a secret room that one could imagine. Mr. Hansen’s excitement was contagious. Minutes later we both climbed down into the secret room. Care examination proved that there were no other windows and no other way of getting into the room. If there had been a door, it was certainly sealed over with concrete. The entire room was brick lined. There must have been a trap door in the kitchen floor above to the hiding place. However, a new floor had been laid, sealing it off completely. We left the room the way we found it. Eleanor had been loitering in the kitchen even thought it was now getting dark. “You got a new room, Mrs. Winchester. What good did it do?” Mr. Hansen and I looked at each other with perfect understanding. “No good at all, Eleanor,” I answered. “The room is useless to me. Tomorrow I will have Mr. Hasen seal it back up.” #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mystery House
After opening the secret room, Mrs. Winchester reported that she moved bodily among unknown entities, reading terrible books. There were horrible annals of other Worlds and other Universes, and of stirrings of formless life inside the mansion. There were records and chronicles of strange orders of beings which had people the World and frightful grotesque-bodied intelligence which people the World billions of years before the first human being. Many mornings afterward, she awakened in a fever and shivering at the mysteries her home concealed; trembling at the menaces the future would bring forth. She wrote endlessly of the hauntings that took place in Llanada Villa. However, these records, written on great sheets of a curiously tenacious cellulose fabric, were bound in leather, and sold at auction with all her belongings. Now, her history is store in vaults of someone’s private collection.
Please come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Faith is in the Very House I Have Been Looking After
My thoughts were elsewhere, in another time, caught in a more powerful vortex…I shuddered, became aware of the present once more. I breathed in deeply, vapoured air rushing into my throat; I released it in a long sigh, forcing my fluttering nerves to settle. Despite my tension, returning to my bedroom was almost overwhelming. I latched the door behind me and went to the bureau where my notes and plans of the house were spread. There was a hot cup of tea by my side. I took a large swallow, then another, waiting for the warmness to reach my chest before approaching the window. I stared down into the gardens at the shadows cast by single trees and shrubbery. Could I be sure that is all they were? Ghosts, spirits, lost souls, did not, could not exist. Disgustedly, I turned away from the window and crossed the room to the bed, taking my cup of tea with me. I placed it on the bedside cabinet where it would be close at hand, and climbed into bed. The coldness of the sheets made me shiver. When I switched off the bedside lamp, the smothered moon afforded no light. My eyes remained open. I stared up at the dark gray mass that was the ceiling No lights, no glow from within. Llanada Villa was a vast black bulk that merged with the blackness of night clouds. The house was Victorian style, complete with ornamental gingerbread, a wide covered porch and those turreted rooms that look like a witch’s conical hat. The roof reached up into the clouds, birds of grace stood like ghosts on the chimney tops. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
Enfolded in darkness, entirely solitary, remote, eloigned, on my heavily wooded estate, a breeze stirred through the gardens, ruffling foliage, disturbing trees. The housemaids, one by one, crept up yawning to their quarters. And, although it was night, birds were twittering busily, the insects were droning, and creatures hunted, their skirmishes violent but brief. Honey fungus glowed blue green on the evergreen trees, and fairies scuttled in the undergrowth. The moon was a pale ghost seen only behind slow-moving monoliths. People often eyed the house curiously as they approached. Inside the house, I slept; but I did not rest. The Psalmist speaks of the terror of the night, the business that walketh about in the dark, and of the noonday devil. Their assemblies generally are held at dead of night when the Powers of Darkness reign; or, sometimes, at high noon, even as the Psalmist saith, when he speaks of “the noonday devil.” The nights they prefer are Monday and Thursday. The time at which these Sabbats began was generally upon the stroke of midnight. Tonight, my dream was a terrible churning of pressure all around me. The Devil met me being alone, and commanded me to be at the Grand Ballroom the next night, and accordingly I made my way there as I was bid and waited at the room about eleven hours at even. In this case, however, the Sabbat was preceded by a dance of nearly one hundred persons, and so probably did not commence until midnight. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
Thomas Leyis, Issobell Coky, Helen Fraser, Bessie Thorn, and the rest of the Aberdeen witches, thirteen of whom were executed in 1597, and seven more who had been banished were resurrected and standing before my very eyes. There was a midnight dance and reveling. I remained there for hours until the crowing of a cock dissolved the enchantment. The clapping of the cock’s wings made the power of the demons ineffectual and broke the magic spells. It was so prudent that the night-wandering demons, who rejoiced in the darkest shades trembled and scattered in sore affright, and the rites of Satan ceased because the Holy Office of the Church began. The bird at the held of dawn arouses men to worship God; and many an odious sin which darkness shrouds is revealed in the light of the coming day. I awoke, my cry little more than a whimper. The terror of my nightmare remained in my wide eyes. And soon a different emotion tinged them: a deep sadness, perhaps more remorse. My flesh was coldly damp. Early morning light crept through the window, a seeping grayness that offered no cheer. After freshening up, I escorted myself down the large staircase, composed of loads of mahogany; and through the rigmarole passages, hung with priceless works of art, till at length I arrived at the morning room. Just as I reached the door, I heard a strange noise within. I paused and listened. It seemed as if someone were trying to hum a tune in defiance of the asthma. I recollected the report of the room being haunted; so I gently pushed the door open and pepped in. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
Oh my dear Heavens, there was someone carrying on within enough to have astonished St. Aldric himself. By the light of the fire, I saw a pale weazen-faced fellow, in a long dressing gown and a tall white night-cap, who sat by the fire. He was twitching about with a thousand queer contortions, and nodding his head. I was about to demand what business he had to be in my quarters, when a new cause of astonishment met my eye. From the opposite side of the room a long-backed, bandy-legged chair, covered with leather, and studded all over in a coxcombical fashion with little brass nails, got suddenly into motion, thrust out first a claw-foot, then a crooked arm, and at length, making a leg, slide gracefully up to a baroque chair, and vanished through the floor. A fierce music begun to play with such a mania that I sprang from the room and in a rush down the stairs and slipped, but something kept me from falling! Some force stronger than gravity held on to my skirts and pulled me back onto my feet. It was not my imagination and it was not a supreme effort of my own that did it. I was already half into the air, falling, when I was yanked back, upright. Shortly after, I managed to repair to the attic. As I sat there, resting, I suddenly felt something went and cold across my legs. I reached down only to feel a soft, moist mass that dissolved rapidly at my touch! This was enough to give me the willies, and I began to fear for my life. It was bad enough to have ghost, but to be known, as a haunted family was even worse. However, I found myself turning to my ghostly protector. It was not just me and my servants who experienced these strange things. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
Even Mr. Hansen, who was not exactly given to belief in ghosts, was impressed when he saw a chair move from under a desk by its own force. He tried several times afterwards, hoping he could duplicate the phenomena by merely stomping his feet or gently touching the chair, but it required full forced to move it. The man from The Philadelphia Contributionship who had been servicing us for years was just as doubtful about the whole thing, when he heard about it. “No such thin as a ghost, Mrs. Winchester,” he commented as he stood in the hallway. At this moment the banister started to vibrate to such an extent they thought it would explode. He grabbed his hat and took his doubts to the nearest saloon. One night, I got into bed, and drew over me one of those great bags of down, under which they smother a man in the Low Countries; and there I lay, melting between two feather beds, like a turkey sandwich between two slices of toasts and butter. Sure enough, in a little time it seemed as if a legion of imps were twitching at me, and all the blood in my veins were in a fever-heat. Suddenly, I felt something cold lie down in bed beside me. All of the movables got into motion; pirouetting hands across, right and left, like so many devils; all except a great clothes-press was preforming a corpulent dance. With a scream, I jumped out and pushed the button to illuminate the room. The chairs and tables slunk in an instant as quietly into their places as if nothing had happened, and an apparition vanished up the chimney, leaving nothing but a chill still pervading the entire area! #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
The mansion shook as though it had been struck by an earthquake. The entire staff had been alarmed. The housemaid hurried up with a candle to inquire the cause. I revealed the marvelous scene I had witnessed, but there was no evidence. The chambermaids declared that they had all witnessed strange carryings on in this room; and they declared this “upon their honours,” there could not remain a doubt upon this subject. Where I passed the rest of the night was a secret I never disclosed. In fact, because of the geography of my mansion, I was apt to make blunders in my travels about inns at night, which would puzzle me sadly to account for in the morning. The phantoms in my home were not the same as those in the cemetery. I feared more the ghostly manifestations in this house more. Often times, there was an ancient crone who was apparently demented who appeared, walking about the place dressed in a strange outfit. It was dirty, loose, flowing. Sometimes she would shake her fist and scream epithets. “Get out of my house!” she would yell. “You’ve no business here. It’s mine! Get out—or you’ll be sorry!” “Who is that old witch?” I demanded angrily of the chambermaid. “Mrs. Winchester, that’s Hattie. She ain’t right in the head.” “What is she doing around here?” I replied. “What does she mean this is her house?” I had already determined that she was definitely in the flesh—and ditty flesh at that. It was a new experience for us. Here we are faced with an apparition—but this was one we could actually see! #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
Many of the servants have lived in the house for months and everyone was used to elusive shadows—shadows with no personality or features. However, Hattie added a colour to the mansion with could do without. One night, Daisy came home mad and said, “Aunt Sarah, why don’t you stop coming out and walking up and down without coming in where I’m working?” I looked at her and assured her that I had not been doing that. She said that she never saw anyone, but could hear them walk on the gravel in the aviary, halfway between the laundry room and one of the kitchens. A few nights ago, she was asleep. It was about one o’clock in the morning, and she had just turned out the light, after reading for a while. I was asleep upstairs. Daisy was lying in bed, and she was not asleep, when she noticed a light tight in the corner of her room. She did not pay any attention to it, but rolled over. As she rolled over, she looked out the two windows which are right above her bed, and there was no light outside. It was a very dark night. So she became curious, and she rolled back over and looked at the light and it was still there. She sat up, turned on the light and nothing was there. So, she runed out the light and pulled the duvet over her heard. About five minutes later, she thought she would look again. This light was still there. It was a strange light, not a flashing beam but sort of a translucent, shimmer and pulsating that would grow. The next morning, she offered me a deep apology and confided in me that she was afraid. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mystery House
In the beginning of April 1889-90, the nephew Mrs. Sarah L. Winchester came to his aunt and spent every evening with her reading for their amusement. About the twenty second of the same moth, after the nephew had been reading to his aunt, who was at this time in very good health, The Pilgrim’s Progress by John Bunyan, he retired to his chamber, a large back room, near the 7-11 staircase, and having latched the door, went to bed and feel asleep before ten o’clock. A little before the clock struck twelve, he was awakened by the drawing of the curtain of his bed, and, starting up, saw by a glimmer light, resembling that of the moon, the shadow of his uncle in the nightgown and cap, standing on the right side, near the head of the bed, holding the head curtain back with his left hand. His uncle William had a cheerful look on his face, and seemed as if he was stroking him with his right hand. They lived in the greatest amity prior to his uncle William Wirt Winchester dying of tuberculosis March 7, 1881. Shortly after, rumors circulated that Mrs. Winchester gave her nephew a check and no one laid eyes on him ever again. The staff argued about the size of that check for years.
When President Theodore Roosevelt’s entourage passed The Winchester House in 1903 to plant the city of Campbell’s famous redwood tree, he expressed desire to visit this now World-famous dwelling. At the great front door our nation’s leader was more than astonished to be coldly told by the Butler, “Mrs. Winchester is not at home!” Theodore Roosevelt was an avid fan of The Winchester Rifle. In African Game Trails, Roosevelt clearly stated his esteem for these Winchesters, with such affectionate allusions as “my medicine gun for lion,” “the beloved Winchester,” and “the faithful Winchester.” The Winchester public relations and advertising staff could not have been happier; endorsements from not only the President of the United States of America, but a recognized authority on guns and shooting and the World’s leading conservationist. One of Theodore Roosevelt’s favorites was the stalwart Model 1876 half-magazine .45-70 rifle. As each new lever-action was announced by Winchester, Roosevelt would add one (or more) to his growing collection. No amateur of arms, he was as expert on shooting and ballistics as most of his contemporaries, and often more experience in the field.
Please come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Are they Restless Spirits that Trouble this Place?
One evening, I was sitting till the October sun had fallen and hidden himself for the night, thinking of William. I could still hear his words echoing in my ear, “It is love love true and enduing such love as never warmed this yearning heart before.” While such pleasing reflections were stealing over my mind, and gradually lulling me to slumber, I was suddenly aroused by a sound of a rustling of a silken gown. More of a fluttering noise, as of a bird, followed by the apparition of a woman, a young woman. The woman appeared to have a soft halo, the effect caused by the candle held close to her bosom. It went to the narrow doorway leading to the Observational Tower. The rising passageway beyond glowed with candlelight as the robed figure began to climb the steps, that soon diminishing, overwhelmed by the shadow cast. I quietly shuffled along the hall, then sped toward the altar where candles that had been removed from their holders now stood burning. Reflections shone from the liquid that had been spilled there. There was something very wrong about this, something very wrong, something ghostly sacrilege. I rested against the wall. The apparition was huge against the far wall. The bell chimed, its thunderous sound almost unbearable. Yet, gazing at the belfry, it had not moved. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5
As the wind rumbled in the chimney, howling in the house, the shadows came out of their lurking-places, and made a deeper stillness about me. It was some time before I dared open my eyes, least they should again encounter the horrible spectacle. When, however, I summoned the courage to look up, she was no longer visible. It occurred to me, then, that it was not what might get into the house that bothered me. It was what was already here. I will not pretend to describe what hot and cold fever-fits tormented me for the rest of the night, through broken sleep, weary vigils, and that dubious state which forms the neutral round between them. An hundred terrible objects appeared to haunt me; but there was the great difference betwixt the vision which I have described and those which followed, that I knew the last to be deceptions of my own fancy and over-excited nerves. However, many time I would close a door, only to see it stand wide open again a moment later when I knew very well it could not do that by itself. I began to wonder whether there was not perhaps a hidden tunnel beneath the back of the tower. Frequently I would hear a booming sound below the floor, coming from the direction of the cold storage room below. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5
I carefully went all over the tower, examining the walls, floors, and especially the doors. They were for the most part heavy hinged doors, the kind that do not slide easily but require a healthy push before they will move. I looked into the room where the apparition had been, and I must confess I felt very uneasy in this part of the house. I had an oppressive feeling, as if I was in the presence of something tragic, though unseen. The doors continually opened, and I knew the servants could not very well be blamed for playing pranks on me. There were swarms of ghosts. They stood lowering in the corners of rooms, and frowned out from behind half-opened doors. They danced upon the floors, and walls, and ceilings of chambers while the fire was low, and withdrew like ebbing waters when it sprung into blaze. I wanted to go on, but instead I stopped dead in my tracks. My gaze had been drawn, possibly by an unexpected movement, to a shape in the hallway. It was a dark and sinister countenance that made my blood run cold. It appeared as if the thing was half man, half reptile. It had an eerie oblate head with a face that was wider than it was high. Oversized flanked an inhumanly large mouth and a horrific ophidian snout. It was downright hideous. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5
Its features were enough to spark horror in the strongest mind, as if the various parts of a face—the nose, lips, teeth and cheeks—had been thrown together crazily by a small child. And set in that hideous visage were the being’s loathsome eyes, yellow and filled with detestation. Sheer terror fought my growing fatigue. Those eyes focused on my face. Its maw was already open, and I could see the double rows of razor-sharp teeth. The thing actually looked as if it was grinning at me. I screamed and threw a hand across my face and at once I was seized by a violent bout of vertigo. The floor beneath me seemed to melt as I plunged into a dark formless pit. I think I screamed. The monster shook with anger and moved in a blur of speed. I found I could no longer see it. I was cast unconscious. Day at last appeared, and I rose from my bed ill in health and humiliated in mind. I was ashamed of myself. When I opened my eyes all I saw was colourful sunlight flooding in from the art-glass windows. Birds chirped and sang in the aviary. There was a deep sense of loss inside me. I knew this monster was going to get another chance. I could feel it in the night. The room grew darker and colder, and the gloom and shadow gathering was heavier. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5
I took the lantern through the long dark passages. Ghastly and cold it was. The shadow thickened behind me, in that place where it had been gathering so darkly, it took, by slow degrees, or out of it there came, by some unreal, unsubstantial process, not to be traced by any human sense. This was the dread companion of those who are haunted. I could see the apparition in the fire. I could hear his music in the wind, in the dead stillness of the night. The downstairs parlour was as “unsafe” from the incursions of the ghost as was the attic, and before long even the gardens were no longer free from whatever it was that wanted attention. It was as if the unseen and visible forces were engaged in a campaign of mounting terror to drive home the feeling that I was not in possession of my home: the ghosts were. Lights would go on and off by themselves. Water would gush in the bathroom. I only knew that I had several narrow brushes with death and was fortunate to be alive. I thought about the blessed privilege of being able to breathe as morning neared. At the moment of twilight, all secrets of the past and my own curiosity regarding them were forgotten. Afterward, I saw ghosts everywhere, swarming in all the great chambers and corridors, tending to the vaulted ceilings and racing along the vast hallways. I ceased to ne afraid of them, for they seemed to continue to manifest, and a few appeared to be under some kind of restraint. The recital of them would be too horrible; it is enough to say that in yon fatal apartment incest and unnatural murder were committed. I will restore it to the solitude. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5
The Winchester Mystery House
One morning a servant was in Mrs. Winchester’s garden, when her carriage arrived. “I was greatly startled,” the servant said, “as on remarking the thing most acutely, I at once observed that the wheels made no noise. All at once I took about thirteen steps towards the carriage. As I went to greet Mrs. Winchester, to my utter astonishment and horror, the whole thing vanished.”
Please come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
The Haunting of Llanada Villa
The sun began its slow descent from the sky. The wind was blowing shrill and shrewd. As Llanada Villa settled, it started to rumble and grumble. The last glimmer of daylight died away. Everywhere, twilight released shadows. The night was bitterly cold and gloomy. As I sat by the fire, forms and faces from the past, from the grave appeared from a deep gulf. The wind was rumbling in the chimney and howling in the house. The footsteps in the dark from unseen entities were no longer as entertaining as they used to be. I had a feeling there was a tragic cloud hanging over the premises. Something must have happened long ago that left a very vivid psychic impression here…something very terrible. With more than $300 million at stake and not wanting to make light of the spirits, I discouraged any visits, especially those of thrill seekers. The walls and mirrors of Llanada Villa were draped in rose-coloured silk, and the mantles were decorated with poinsettia blossoms and lilies. In a doorway between the ballroom and the parlor, there was an umbrella covered with moss sprayed over with carnations with a fringe of gilded cypress cones. At the dinner table, however, I still kept a centerpiece of an old stain scarf border with blue plush and embroidered with begonia leaves to appease my spirit guests. Along the table were silver vases with roses and a tall silver candelabra. The names of some of the spirits guests were on cards painted with pink poppies. Llanada Villa itself had been readied to receive persons of wealth. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
Although I have been experiencing unforeseen difficulties for some time now, the spirits had become very real to me. I was getting used to having them around. Besides, some of them were less trouble than some people I knew. Along with the day-to-day difficulties of conducting any kind of business, I had to deal with “the way things are done in California.” One incident involved a monthly payment to be made to a “railroad superintendent” to ensure my rail cars and carriages made it safely to my estate. There had been several frightening attempts at extortion. The disgruntled renegade demanded a payment. He “needed the money.” I refused to pay him. He left my home, uttering and glaring. Shortly after, a letter arrived at my home.
Mrs. Sarah L Winchester:
We’ve investigated you and know you can pay. We want $67,588 in hundred-dollar bills—and we want it soon so get it together and we’ll contact you again. If you go to the constable, we are going to blow up your whole house with everybody in it—and take care of your family too. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
I disregarded his warning. This, after all, was a clear and present danger, not ghostly footfalls on the path or in the hallways. The constable agreed to work on the case. I told them about the dissatisfied client. They only succeeded in letting the renegade know that the authorities were after him. I was livid! Now that my extortionist knew I had made contact with law enforcement, he would probably carry out the rest of his threats. I had an army of bodyguards and vicious dogs guarding my estate. I refused to fan the fires of anybody’s superstitions, but there was always a guard just waiting inside the mansion with a cocked Winchester. “Well, Mrs. Winchester,” the butler said, mollified, “I’m glad you’re takin’ the serious. This could be trouble. We’ll take some axes and cut us a supply of firewood while it’s still dry.” “Very well,” I said. It was good that they wasted no time, for the rain began well before nightfall. There was a chill, driving wind, and the horses and mules took shelter in a stand of pines that were on the estate. The chimneys drew well, and roar fires did well to life the spirit of the house. I lit a candle and went over the long halls thoroughly, finding nothing. However, a careful examination of the floor revealed nothing except a reddish-brown stain that might have been blood, long since dried. The storm raged on, unabated. There was a crash of thunder that shook the house that immediately frightened the servants. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
Then, on the heels of a clap of thunder, like an echo, came the unmistakable bark of a Winchester. Three of the deadly weapons added their voices to the fury of the storm, and taken by surprise, the guards fought back with their Winchester’s. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the fuselage ended. The thunder had diminished, and in the lightning flashes there were revealed three huddled bodies. With trembling hands, I stepped out the door and stood on the veranda, staring grimly into the rain-swept darkness. I marveled at how rapidly events could take a turn for the worse. We were suddenly free of any threat of the troublesome band of renegades, but three of them lay grievously wounded. There were sinister shapes in the shadows. The Observational Tower alone, rising toward the dark rolling clouds, was eerie enough with its deep apertures suggesting the chilly blackness that lay within. I did not envy the butler who had to climb those stairs in the dead of the night to make sure it was secure. When he had entered the nine-story tower, he found every item of furniture smashed or upset. Blood had been smeared over the walls and holy pictures. The tables had been overturned. Every gasolier has been ignited. However, he had come upon no intruder. Whoever—or whatever—had been in the tower had vanished, leaving behind only more wrecked furniture. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
If the butler had not been so obsessed with the idea of “demonic possession,” then perhaps the local constabulary would have become involved. There was someone out there, someone moving through the garden. Using a good deal of stealth, too. And headed for the tower. I sat near the back of the darkened library, screen partly by a mahogany pillar. The only light came from the high stained-glass windows each time night clouds slid from the face of the moon. My hands were tucked deep inside my overcoat pockets. I shivered. Then heard a sound somewhere in the darkness. A breeze flickered against my face. A door had bene opened. And there it was, a black form, somehow misshapen, moving among the shadows. I kept still, curious to see that the intruder would do. A match was struck, the sound harsh in the cavernous mansion. A candle was lit. Then another. The figure moved—glided, it almost seemed—around the table, lighting more. That area of the mansion grew brighter and I sank down in my seat, even though I was still in the shadow, for now the intruder’s true shape was more discernible. It was bent, as if hunched back, and it wore some kind of robe, the head covered by a large cowl. I now understood why the figure had appeared crooked, for now it was lifting something. Something heavy. As I watched, the intruder raised the container and began to pour liquid over the table. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
I waited by the door and only when the figure I had been watching had disappeared from view did I enter. My teeth clenched tight when the door groaned on its hinges. I hurried through. I reached the other side of the room and peered round. There was no sign of the person I had been watching. A noise to my right caught my attention. There it was, a shape dodging around the hallways. However, it was headed to an exit. My eyes narrowed. Christ, the thought of it all made my skin crawl. It was cruel. I was as jumpy as a bear scenting humans. A wind went whistling through the room. The room had darkened more, and I clearly heard footsteps. There was a heavy and gloomy shadow gathering. It turned colder, too. There was a chill and a dismal feeling in the air. I took a lantern and went on, through the long, dark passages. As the gloom and shadow thickened behind me, in that place where it had been gathered so darkly. The glimpses themselves were at first merely strange than horrible, but it took me by surprise to see a ghastly cold, and colourless face dressed in a gloomy nightgown, motionless without a sound. Then I noticed there were multiple levels of black vaults below, and never-opened trapdoors. I seemed to be a prisoner, and horror hung broodingly over everything I saw. My home seemed so limitless. There were almost endless leagues of rooms two hundred feet wide. They differed greatly in aspect. Many of these rooms seemed so limitless that they must have a frontage of several thousand feet, while there were stairs that shot up to the steamy heavens. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
I could not resolve this impression into details. In certain places I beheld enormous dark cylindrical towers which climbed far above any of the other structures. They were built of a completely bizarre masonry, and tapered slightly toward their rounded tops. Nowhere in this part of Llanada Villa could I find traces of windows or other apertures save huge oak doors be found. My omnipresent home was almost terrifying in its strangeness, with bizarre and unfamiliar architecture. Abnormally, this night, my home had grown curiously. Through the countless miles of this haunting city there were French reception rooms in Renaissance and Louis VX taste. The spirit may not have been here to harm me, but were showing me how to build. Vivid blossoms embossed in the windows. Terrance and roof-top gardens to suggest artificial breeding. Here and there enormous domes and arches. Certainly, many persons have dreamed intrinsically stranger things. For some time, I accepted the visions as natural, even though I had never before been an extravagant dreamer. In the course of some months, however, these elements came to life. Carpenters worked day and night to unfailingly create my dreams with accumulating force. My home reflected the curious impressions regarding time, the sense of an exchange with my personality, and, considerably later, the inexplicable emotional grip of these spirits. It disturbed me so vastly to find that my dreams had been so closely duplicated; especially since the ideas came from apparitions. Many of those accounts supplied with detailed explanations. This despite the fact that I was and still am ignorant of the languages involved in the creation, which appeared to be a fairly consistent mixture of myth and hallucination whose scope and wildness left me utterly dazed. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mystery House
This excessive, if not bizarre home of Sarah L. Winchester combined with Victorian and Gothic styles, at one time contained as many as 600 rooms. Building and furnishing the home consumed approximately $5 million. The house now contains 161 rooms. The vast mansion required employment of about one hundred servants, including chefs, cooks, maids, housekeepers, maintenance workers, carriage men and hostlers. Its unique floor plan resulted in operational efficiencies and many unusual features.
“One occasion, I heard a door open and heavy footstep slowly walking through the house. I checked on the lowest level of the house a door which is never opened—it was nevertheless fully open. Evidently, the ghost knew I was coming.” -Caretaker 5
Please come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
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/
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/
Dreams Do Not Come While You’re Awake!
The places and spaces of the dead always maintain a deep connection with time. Always at nightfall, the halls were not exactly pitch-black, but in fear of discovering of other people in my house, in fear of ghosts, and whatever else I may find, I lock all of the doors. All of the windows were covered by heavy curtains. And although I had all six hundred rooms memorized, nothing was every laid out in the way I expected. Would you not think that a hall would eventually lead to a room? Nonetheless, some halls only led to other halls that right angled and doubled back. One evening in particular, I went up a winding staircase and down a corridor, then up a staircase, across a short bridge, and down another staircase. However, I could not tell how far I had come or what floor I was on. The distinct spaces and unique features became new epicenters or “auras” of the dead, as Llanada Villa itself became a haunting and haunted maze of corridors and rooms, miles of twisting hallways and winding staircases teeming with specters of the past, present, and even the future. As I proceeded to the fourth floor a spider web started to envelop me, as if some invisible force was trying to wrap me into a wet, cold silken sheet. When I touched the web, however, there was nothing to be seen or felt, and yet, the clammy, cold force was still with me. Doors that had been locked were now wide open, the locks turned by unseen hands. As I looked behind me, there was a man on the stairs. A big man, trying to pull himself up the stairs. His eyes were blazing red with pain as he tried to call out to me. Apparently, he had been hurt, for his britches were torn and his shirt covered with blood. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
“Oh, Heavens, it cannot be true,” I thought to myself as I continued down the hallway. When I dared to look behind me again, the man was still holding out his hands in a desperate attempt to get my attention. However, when I did not respond, he became upset and starting shouting. At that very moment, trembling with fear, I screamed, ran into a room and locked the door. The house had been secured, and I did not understand how anyone could have gained entrance. In this room was a row of chairs, which ringed the mirrored walls. In the middle of the floor was a gigantic pool tale. A giant cobweb covered half the table, and as the pale light from the skylight trickled in, I thought I saw something scurry through the webbing. After an hour, I backed out of the billiards room and headed down another hall, then up another flight of stairs very steep and narrow. When I reached the landing, I was immediately impressed by all the beautiful wainscot oak, and garlands-like foliage and fruit, and the lovely old gilding work on the coats of arms and the organ pipes. Still, I felt a brooding sense of oppression. This was a dreadful night. I got another fright; for I heard something rustling outside in the passage. Now to be sure I thought I was done when someone whispered outside the door. I could not see anything. Then right down in the shadow under a buttress I made out what I shall say was two spots of red—a dull red it was—nothing like a lamp or a fire, but just so as you could pick them out of the black shadow. I turned my head to make sure of it, and then looked back into the shadow for those two red things, and they were gone, and for all I peered about and stared, there was not a sign of them. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
With the physical powers drawn from the living, apparitions play and continue to exist in a World which they are no longer a part of. The presence lets you know it is its house and not yet yours, and the disturbances to attract your attention to make sure you realize that you are never really alone—those are the earmarks of the Llanada Villa, and if you are only a little bit psychic, sooner or later you will come in contact with the spirits. The spirits of the Llanada Villa are so complex that they involved both the living and the dead in a mutually entwining relationship that cannot exist one without the other, and to ever arbitrarily that which nature has evidently ordained somehow, would be as wrong as not heeding the cry for help from those who desperately want help and release. Man’s inhumanity to man has created countless remnants of tragic events that persist in the areas of their demise and even the walls are able to talk and tell posterity what has happened in them. Emotions cling to the surroundings forever. If you step into my home today, or a century from now, the vortex of feelings will still be here and you may relieve the moments as if the time in between had never passed. I have stared death in the eye many times, and I was not afraid. I listened hard and sure enough, it was coming to the door of the Daisy Bedroom. I gently slid out of bed and turned on the light, waiting. The host was just outside the door. I looked at the door knob, and it was being turned slowly. I did not panic, but nothing further was heard. Later that night when I awoke from a deep sleep with the fearful feeling that I was not alone in my room. In the semi-darkness my eyes fell upon the left side of the pillow where I distinguished the outline of a man. Finally I overcame my fears, and sat up in bed. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
Before me stood my late husband, dressed in dark clothes, looking directly at me. Without saying a word, he left slowly and quietly. I heard the steps, but when he reached the stairs, he did not go down, but through a wall. Afterwards I went downstairs, and checked the doors, looked in closets, and there was no one there. Dense fog began wrap around me with a cold clammy embrace, so thick that I could not see where I was going. Doors started opening and closing by themselves and spectral figures could be seen flinting from room to room. As I made my way to the Crystal Bedroom, I saw a solider. He was dark and had a noose around the neck; the rope was cut and his face seemed almost luminous. Suddenly I found it hard to breathe. Something was gripping me by the throat. It I was lifted off the ground by an unseen force and was unable to move even so much as a finger! It felt as if someone were strangling me. It felt like man, because his hands were so big, and his breath smelled of decayed teeth. I tried to scream, but could not move my lips. I tried to see who it was, but could only see the cold, white mist. The pain shot through me, as I appeared to be floating in the air/ “Help me! Somebody, please save me!” I cried out. Moments later, I fell to the floor. Dizzy, and struggling to catch my breath, I tried to stand, but lost my balance and fell to my knees. Every part of my body felt battered and bruised. Then curious sounds seemed to overwhelm the mansion. There were voices everywhere, shouting and calling out words that I could not understand. And the whole time, there was the sound of heavy footsteps, pounding furiously against the floor. Then a deep, weird groaning filled my home. I was just able to see across the darkened room, dimly lit from a yellow glow of the lamps from outside. A cooling breeze drifted beside me. Echoes of angry shouting drifted down from the floors above. Horrified, I just stood there in the darkness. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
It is a pleasant house. Often flooded with light. The afternoon sun poured through white lace curtains and sparkled beautiful colours in the stained-glass windows. The light gave a glow to the freshly polished wood floors, but frequently I hear strange raps at night, raps that did not come from the pipes or other natural sources. Whenever I heard those noises, I would simply turn to the wall and pretend I did not hear them. When one night I was awakened from deep sleep by the feeling of a presence in my room. I sat up in bed and looked out. There, right in front of my bed, was the kneeling figure of a man with extremely dark eyes in a place face. I rubbed my eyes and looked again, but the apparition was gone. Before long, I had accepted the phenomenon as simply a dream, but again I knew this was not so, and I was merely accommodating my sense of logic. However, who had the stranger been? My ears were growing sensitive to a preternatural and intolerable degree. The darkness always teemed with unexplained sound. I rose from my bed. As I sat by the fire, trying to gather my senses. I felt silly being so frightened. But again, I was disturbed when I heard clawing and scratching noises coming from the hallway. I was too afraid to move or turn on the light to see what was causing it. After what seemed to be hours, it stopped. The next morning, I found my precious Lincrusta-Walton wallpaper ripped to shreds and blood splattered on the walls. The plaster had claw marks in it, exposing the lath. My ornately carved Victorian chairs and several of the marble-topped tables were knocked over and laying on top of the oriental rugs. The carved rosewood settee had been completely destroyed. The servants were deeply concerned. However, they understood and fearfully accepted the situation when I told them what happened. The threatening aura of the house was scaring me, but I would not admit that to the servants. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
January 13, 1889, the east wing was finally completed. I spent one night in the Mahogany Bedroom. The first night I was very, very frightened—hearing walking up and down the halls, and I was the only one in the house! There was a pervasive feeling of eeriness and a feeling that there was someone in the house. There were footsteps in the hall outside my bedroom door. I could hear the door knob turning, but I could not see through the misty vapour. Owls hooted and frogs croaked. Every rustle in the grass of leaves moving on the trees made me think of creatures of prey. The howl of a wolf made me envision ghosts and ghouls outside of my window. Shuttering with revulsion, I could not calm the restless apprehension bedeviling me. In the morning, the beckoning aroma of fresh coffee freed me from my thoughts. I went into the kitchen and filled a white coffee up, as I was adding cream and sugar, the kitchen door opened itself and closed itself, without anyone being visible. I carried the cup in to the morning room, when I noticed the front doors did the same thing—opened and closed themselves. The smell of damp Earth became overwhelming. Then, along with the footsteps I heard things being dragged upstairs in the Cupid Bedroom, heavy objects, it seemed. My heart stopped, and I questioned, “What is this? What is going on?” So I got up and went up there to look. However, I did not see anyone and nothing was disarranged. Wait. Something moved in the corner, almost hidden in the encroaching darkness. It was more dense fog. The fog started growing and encroaching upon the room. My heart started pounding hard. Frozen, I stood, watching in horror as the fog took on the form of a large woman with porcelain cerulean eyes, in a long dress. She looked directly into my eyes, and started to glid across the floor towards me. I was terribly frightened. But then I felt a warm, calming presence enveloping me. The apparition smiled and psychically communicated with me. Although she did not move her lips, I could hear her voice inside of my head. “Sarah, don’t fear me. As long as you stay here and continue to build, I will protect you.” Then, suddenly she disappeared. Early the next morning the golden dawn of dawn faded to a bright blue. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
The next morning, I woke with a start and sat up in bed before I knew what had awakened me. The room was filled with the somber light of dawn, and I was astonished to see William standing near the foot of the bed. “William? What are you doing here? You are—” My voice broke off as though it had been cut by something sharp. It was not right, I realized. He was not right. I could see the curtains through him. A coldness grayer than the dawn seeped into my body, into my very bones, and I heard myself make an anguished sound when William seemed to reach out toward me, his handsome face tormented. “No,” I whispered. “Oh, no…” I reached my had out toward him, but even as I did so, he was gone. And I was alone in the stark down. As I made my way down stairs, I saw a man with auburn hair, and it was William. I stood frozen, and when our eyes met, I almost cried out. Then the door bell rang and I looked away. When I turned back around, William was gone. I stood there and rushed down the stairs, there was no sign of Willian. No. No, of course there was not. Because he is dead. Realizing that my legs were actually shaking, I took a seat. When the housemaids arrived, one of them asked, “Are you all right, Mrs. Winchester?” she returned with a steaming cup. “You look sort of upset.” “I am fine, my dear.” I managed a smile that I doubted was very reassuring, but it was enough to satisfy the young housemaid. Left along again, the housemaid went up into the attic to clean, taking Zip with her, while the other was preparing breakfast. Suddenly she dropped her cleaning supplies and screamed as if in pain. She said that Devil had grabbed her. And reported that there was a man, whose fingernails had been ripped off, eyes poked out, hung lifeless from his shackles, his buttocks had been removed, a stick was protruding from a gaping hole that had been drilled into the top of his skill, which had evidently been used to “stir” his brains. She also said that Zip was so frightened that he steadfastly refused to cross the threshold. However, upon inspection, I could find no evidence to substantiate these claims. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
Not all of the Victorian ghosts live in the mansion. Some mysterious things have been seen in the gardens. Down Palm Lane, dancing lights are seen there at night. The flowers are sometimes seen shimmering. Do not believer such things can happen? Neither did two handymen employed at The Winchester Mystery House years ago. That changed when they swore that William Wirt Winchester’s regular stroll across the squeaky floors of the Daisy Bedroom ended when he climbed in the coffin. An amazing sight it must have been when one evening when Mr. Willliam Winchester clambered onto the verandah still mounted, pounded through the doorway, down the hall and through the wall. There are phantoms of several generations. Formal gardens enhance the grounds; stables were once filled with the swiftest horses, and elaborate dinner parties were helped for aristocracy. Come experience and admire the timeless beauty of centuries old architecture. Enjoy the antiques, the gardens and experience the homemaking of Victorian times. Enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café.
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Randolph Harris II International Institute 