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History’s Greatest Mystery
Once upon a time, I was admired for my sultry voice. It was low and soft. Enticing, William had said. Indeed, there was seldom a New Haven party during which, at some point, I had not been begged to sing. Now, however, my voice had been used to sooth the angry spirits and sing them to sleep. It was invaluable for calming the disgruntled apparition, the worried ghoul, and any other supernatural being whose afterlife was out of balance. It worked just as well on a highly-strung poltergeist. This evening, I was not feeling well. The housemaid came in with tea service. She proceeded to pour. “Here you are, Mrs. Winchester. A few sips of this and you will feel better directly.” I took the teacup with trembling hands, forcing myself to swallow. The hot, brisk liquid calmed my nervous insides, but I knew there was not a beverage on Earth that could heal my broken heart. While pleasing reflections were stealing over my mind, and gradually consoling me, I was suddenly aroused by a sound like that of the rustling of a silken gown and the tapping of a pair of high-heeled shoes, as if a woman were walking into the room. I could draw the curtain to see what the matter was, the figure of a little woman passed between the sofa and the fireplace. The back of this form was turned to me, and I could observe, from the shoulders and neck, it was that of an old woman, whose dress was an old-fashioned gown, which ladies call a sacque—that is, a sort of robe completely loose in the body, but gathered into broad plaits upon the neck and shoulders, which fall down to the ground, and terminate in a species of train. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
I thought the intrusion singular enough, but never harboured for a moment the idea that what I saw was anything more than the housemaid about the room, who had a fancy to dress like her grandmother, and who, having perhaps been confused about her tasks. Under this persuasion, I placed my teacup on the saucer. She turned slowly round, but gracious heaven! My lord, what a countenance did she displayed to me! There was no longer any question about what she was, or any thought of her being a living being. Upon a face which wore the fixed features of a corpse were imprinted the traces of the vilest and most hideous passions which had animated her while she lived. The body of some atrocious criminal seemed to have been given up from the grave, and the soul restored from the penal fire, to form, for a space, a union with the ancient accomplice of its guilt. My hair stood up straight, as I gazed on this horrible specter. The had made, as it seemed, a single and swift stride to the sofa where I sit, and sat down upon it, precisely the same attitude which I had assumed in the extremity of horror, advancing her diabolical countenance within half a yard of mine, with a grin which seemed to intimate the malice and the derision of an incarnate fiend. I wiped from my brow the cold perspiration with the recollection of my horrible vision covering it. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
I have been in all the mortal dangers incidental to my lineage, but in this instance, I knew this was an incarnation of an evil spirit. I felt a touch of the dimly sinister, which was beyond my power to define. All firmness forsook me, and my courage melted from me like wax in the furnace. The current of my lifeblood ceased to flow, and I sank back into the sofa in a swoon, as a victim to panic and terror. How long I sat in this condition, I cannot pretend to guess. However, I was roused by the bell in the belfry. It was some time before I dared to open my eyes, least they should again encounter the horrible specter. However, when I summoned the courage to open my eyes again, the apparition was no longer visible. Ordinarily one could find half a dozen bits of candle stuck around in the crevices of this vestibule, but they were now gone. I could not go off to sleep late that night, and fell into a state of semi-consciousness, with a small light burning near my bed. Gradually I became aware of the smell of fire, or rather the peculiar smell when a gun had just been fired. At the same time, I felt an acute pain, as if I had been wounded in the left side of my back. The monstrous evil left its mark. Trying to shake off the impression, I started to do some work at my typewriter, but the presence persisted. I heard dark whispers calling out my name, “Sarah.” The servant ran away like rats. People began to mind the way folks vanished now and then in the mansion. There were legends evoked by the evil look of this place at night, but even so, they were strangely coming to life. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
I was tired and irritable the next morning due to interrupted sleep and plain confusion. I did not understand what was happening. I could not cope. There was no one I could go to for advice without having them think I was crazy. However, what was I to do? The afternoon sun came out from behind dispersing clouds, but seemed unable to light up the walls of Llanada Villa. Later that evening, by lamplight, I sat in the Blue Séance Room and drafted the plans which the spirits had instructed me to add to this labyrinth. More rooms and corridors. I had a few sips of tea as I made notes and now and again I would glace at the window where night seemed to press against the glass. Eventually, I left the room to roam the house. Somewhere, a clock chimed the late hour. Using a lantern for guidance, I walked the length of the corridor, passing several of my own rooms, heading for the window at the far end. Even though I was tired physically, my senses were acutely alert, as if my mind were a restless passenger inside of a train. I reached the window and placed the lantern on the floor, standing close to the glass to see beyond. The blanket clouds had finally given way, although not entirely; milky edged cumuli remained, almost motionless, tumbled in the night sky like froze avalanches. The moon had a space all of its own, as though its white-silver had eaten away the surrounding clutter, and deep shadows were cast across the lawn and gardens below the window. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
There were forms down there other than those arboreal statues whose clear-defined shadows pointed toward the Observational Tower like accusing fingers. From a distant place amid the wooded areas came the hollow shriek of a night creature, a sound no less disturbing for its faintness. I looked on, but my gaze did not rove, for my thoughts were directed inward at that moment. The piteous, animal cry had stirred a memory, one more distant in my own mind than its catalyst from the trees. I remembered the sharp, human screech that had once echoed on the fourth floor. I shone the lantern along the corridor, the beam swift to repel the darkness. The light caught a vague movement by the stairway. Without hesitation, I hurried toward it and as I approached, I felt a peculiar sense of oppression. Then, bracing myself, I crossed the wide hallways. Half choked with the omnipresent dust, covered with ghostly gossamer fibers, I began to climb the steps which rose into darkness. As the darkness encroached like thick drapes, my lantern was no longer of any use. At a sharp turn I felt a closed door ahead, and a little fumbling revealed its ancient latch. It opened inward, and beyond it I saw a dimly illumined corridor lined with mahogany paneling. The sainted-glass windows obscured any light. The designs were largely conventional, and of mysterious symbolism concerning ancient patterns. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
In the rear hidden room, I found a desk and ceiling-high shelves of books. I received an absolute shock of horror, for the titles of those books told me much. They were from the dark, forbidden things which most sane people have never even heard of, or have heard of only in furtive, timorous whispers; then banned and dreaded repositories of equivocal secrets and immemorial formulae which have tricked down the stream of time from the medieval times, and the dim, fabulous days before man was. I had read many of them—the Voynich manuscript, The Orea Linda Book, Munich Manuel of Demonic Magic, The Book of Soyga, and many other forbidden occult books. Although this forbidden library was within my home, it must have been the seat of an evil older than mankind and wider than the known Universe. What most people do not understand is that created darkness before he created light. Many of the great tomes on the shelves fascinated me unutterably. I wondered how they could have appeared in my home. Then there came sounds from below. Like bare feet on wood. Running to the spiral staircase, I looked dizzily downstairs and saw processions of figures in robes and hoods whose outlines where not human. Wisps of lack most floated before my eyes. And beyond all else, I glimpsed an infinite gulf of darkness. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
I felt some dark presence close to me and watching me with horrible intenseness. It looked through me. I tried to look away from it, but some obscure compulsion drew my eyes back to whatever was lurking in the shadows. It frightened me horribly, so that I ran through the fear-haunted hallways through one of the kitchens and out into the night. Bright though the moon was, it was several moments before my eyes adjusted to the contrast, and a second or two longer before I could be sure of what I was seeing. A figure dressed in a flowing white flitting across the terrace. It suddenly vanished from view. My eyes narrowed; my face washed in moonlight. “Annie?” I questioned almost silently. I followed, breaking into a slow run, reaching the steps that led down from the terrace into the gardens. I searched for the figure in white, certain that I had lost sight of her at this point. Yet nothing moved among the flowers and boxwood hedges below. I descended and took the center path toward the pond, eyes seeking hither and tither. I reached the low wall and looked down on the water, its still surface shiny with moonlight, the silver sheen somehow compelling. My fascination was broken by the sound I had heard before—the soft padding of footsteps. Only this time they were hurried, and their bare feet were against flagstones. I whirled around to face whatever was rushing toward me, but saw nothing. Tired. Exhausted. Fatigued. Defeated. I went back to the house, turned out the light, locked up, and went upstairs to bed. Maybe our antagonists were regrouping their force. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mystery House
Many strange and mysterious events have occurred in The Winchester Mystery House, which have never been explained because of our limited understanding. A paper covered with penciled memoranda found behind the safe in the Grand Ball Room holds much of a puzzling nature. Caretakers have read it carefully, but are not sure what it means. This disjointed text includes such phrases as the following. “Sarah Winchester home from Germany April 1891—buys ancient Rosicrucian Sword—her archaeological work and studies in occult well know.” “John Hansen warns against Observational Tower Dec. 22, 1892.” “1893—3 disappearances.” “1885–Within six months, Angus dishing out stronger meat.” “13 disappearances 1886—stories of blood sacrifice begin.” “1886–front door vanishes from inside. Outdoors still visible.” “1887–Maureen, who had been a satanic breeder, left 200-page diary in which she said she had been involved with a satanic group. Five buns terminated. Foetuses sacrificed.” “Investigation 1888 unfounded—occults whispers. The constable never involved.” “Fr. Snider pontificates of devil-worship with object found in the Winchester Mansion—claims they summoned something that can’t exist in light. These people say Mrs. Winchester’s home shows them heaven and other worlds, and tells them secrets in some way. They call it up by gazing at the crystal, and have a secret language of their own.” “7 disappearances 1922—secret committee calls on Mayor Jayet.” “Action promised Oct. 1922—Auction and estate closes.” “203 persons leave city before end of 1922—mention no names.”
Please come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Where’s My Winchester?
The first crack of thunder broke over Llanada Villa, in a middle of a dream, as it often did, just as I would enter deep sleep. I opened my eyes. A flash of lightning shone through the skylight. A cloud of bats shuttered to life and flew carelessly into the night. My heart raced from excitement and fear. The demon spirit had awakened, had come back from its long dormancy. It brings them into its fold, tribe by tribe, race by race, growing as the night grows when the sun touches the western horizon. Streaming blood as army after army had joined in tragic battle. It was so full of anger and greed, so delighting in murder and war. This is a house wrapped in magical stasis built by spirits who live through all eternity. A house that contains condemned souls—the demons of the Winchester Rifle. As one crosses its thresholds, there is a vague feeling of passing through the shredded clouds of war. I could always feel its blood, hot blood coursing through the walls and floors. The demon spirit felt deep withing itself, summing its powers. The cunning war like black magic. At night, Llanda Villa looked dark and ominous. The immense, nine-story mansion looming up from the middle of nowhere. I rose from my palatable bed and drew a bath, sat motionless for hours before dressing by candlelight. My headdress was adorned with pearls and gemstones. I descended into the darkness, silently. So great was the chamber’s size. In the flickering flame-light, sorrow washed over me. I walked through my palace, passing by tapestries, frizzes and tiles, and rich furnishings that had given me my little pleasures. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5
Wolves bayed malevolently in the darkness of the night. The hallway was suffused with a dense fog. Not a ray of light came in the high, black windows. I heard heavy steps approaching: clump, clump, clump. There was a rattling of chains and a clanking of bolts. Then very slowly, a door creaked open. I could not even begin to guess; and never before had I seen anything which struck me as so strangely and unmistakably alien to this World. The Devil appeared. It made me shiver to recognise him. His face was obscured by a long, brown beard, and a large black hat. However, nothing could obscure the fact that his eyes flashed red in the blackness of night. The most blood-curdling and blasphemous whispers of things reverberated in a kind of mad half-existence before the Earth and the other inner Worlds of the solar system were made. He rose from the ground and began to float high in the air toward the tower. Like some monstrous bird he rose, and hovered fluttering in space awhile. His body whirled and turned in the air and the walls were bespattered with black gouts of blood. The door-to-nowhere flew open of its own accord, trembling on its hinges. And when the devil flew out, the door slammed shut behind him so hard that the noise echoed across the mansion, like nails being banged into a coffin. The most blood-curdling and blasphemous whispers of things reverberated in a kind of mad half-existence before the Earth and the other inner Worlds of the solar system were made and drawn back through nameless aeons and inconceivable dimensions. These streams of life had trickled down and become entangled with the destinies of our own Earth. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5
I knew no one would be able to understand the fears that had come from the curse of the Winchester Rifle and I was ready to do anything in my power to keep people away from these wild spirits by continuing to be to appease them. Even after time has dulled the impression and made my half question my own experience and horrible doubts, as I walked out into this passage, facing me is another room, then the stairhead, then two more rooms, one looking out to the back, the other to the south. At the south end of the passage is a widow, to which I went, considering with myself that it was rather a shame to waste this moment of solitude. I thought I would take just five minutes to looking at other rooms in the passage, which I had never seen. So I explored. The room facing the Daisy Bedroom was undisturbed; the two next to me on the side of the passage were gay and clean, both with several windows. Remained the south-west room, opposite to the last which I had entered. This was locked; but I was in a mood of quite indefensible curiosity, and feeling confident that there could be no dark secrets in a place so easily got, I proceeded to fetch the key of my own room, and when that did not answer, to collect the eyes of the other three. One of them fitted, and I opened the door. The room had two windows looking south and west. Here there were bare boards; no pictures, no washing-stand, only a bed, in the farther corner: an iron bed, with mattress and bolster, covered with a bluish check counterpane. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5
As featureless a room as you can well imagine, and yet there was something that made me close the door very quickly and yet quietly behind me and lean against the window-sill in the passage, actually quivering all over. It was this, that under the counterpane someone lay, and not only lay, but stirred. That it was some one and not some thing was certain because the shape of the head was unmistakable on the bolster; and yet was covered, and no one lies with covered head but a dead person; and this was not dead, not truly dead, for it heaved and shivered. What was to be done? First, lock the door at all costs. Very gingerly I approached it and bending down listened, holding my breath; perhaps there might be a sound of heavy breathing, and a prosaic explanation. There was absolute silence. However, as with a rather tremulous hand, I put the key into its hold and turned it, it rattled, and on the instant a stumbling padding tread was heard coming towards the door. I fled like a rabbit to my room and locked myself in: futile enough, I knew it was; would doors and locks be any obstacle to what I suspected? but it was all I could think of at the moment, and in fact nothing happened; only there was a time of acute suspense—followed by a misery of doubt as to what to do. These morbidities were an incarnated nightmare. My home was in possession of secrets deeper and more dizzying than any formerly known to man. There was always something loafing arounds corners, practising insidious deeds. A cultivated male voice then said, “Et cum exspirasset puer, deposuerunt corpus de cruce, et nescitur qua ratione, euiscerarunt corpusculum; dicitur autem, quod ad magicas artes exercendas.” #RandolphHarris 4 of 5
It was with a trace of genuine dread and reluctance that I listened to these words. The morbid echo winging its way across unimaginable abysses from unimaginable demonic dimensions. It stunned me as I listened in a sort of abstracted daze. It seemed plain that there were ancient and elaborate alliances between my home and hidden forces from other Worlds. This led to a lot of horrified speculation. In the way it happened, a boy named Dobber, who was the son of one of the farmers disappeared from the estate in the late summer and was not reported missing; nor was any trace ever found of him in the hose or on the grounds; through we all found ourselves looking for him. I wandered through distant corridors and rooms in the house discovering part of it I had never seen before; ascending narrow, creaking staircases, poking into closets, peering into attics. Outside I found myself drawn to the barns, the grape vines, wisteria arbors with their look of romance, the plush green lawns that extended for acres like an inland sea. Yet Dobber’s features were beginning to fade in my memory. At times I thought I could hear a faint, reproachful voice calling out Mrs. Winchester! and when I would pause, it would fade into the incessant wind. I wondered if that had been him in the room I was too afraid to enter? The floor boards were creaking, and there was an eerie atmosphere about it. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5
The Winchester Mystery House
A series of remarkable occurrences, which have caused great excitement in The Winchester Mystery House, have taken place over the years. While a gust was chatting with a caretaker downstairs, a young girl walked up the stairs by herself. In one of the upstairs parlours, she saw a man sitting in a chair in the corner. She assumed he was another caretaker. When she turned around to ask him a question about the room, he was gone. Since she had not heard him leave, that seemed odd to her, especially as the floorboards would creak with every step. However, being young, she did not pay too much attention to this peculiarity. A moment later; however, he reappeared. As soon as she saw him, she asked the question she had on her mind. This time he did not disappear but answered her in a slow, painstaking voice that seem to come from far away. When he had satisfied her curiosity about the room, he asked her some questions about herself, and finally asked the one which stuck in her mind for many years afterward—“Is Mrs. Winchester building the Observational Tower?” The young lady was taken aback at this question. She was young, but she knew that Mrs. Winchester passed away in 1922. Tactfully, she told him this, and added that tower had been removed after the 1906 Earthquake. At this information, the man looked stunned and sat down again in the chair. As the young lady watched him in fascinated horror, he faded away.
Come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Much Was Forbidden Knowledge
It was a grim winter’s night and rain pelted the windows. Horses clacked slowly along the cobblestone roads. There was a perpetual teasing wind from below like departing spirits of the dead. I had dinner in the Venetian Dinning Room in front of the fireplace. The windows suddenly lit up, and a few instants later there was a crash of thunder from outside. A sword that had previously hung on the wall, clearly was suspended in the middle of the room with its point towards me. About a minute later, it fell to the ground with a loud noise. The great candles in the hall were burning down to their sockets. One by one they spluttered out. A ghostly, flickering light fell upon the floor. As I pressed forward, I became conscious that my way was haunted by invisible existences whom I could not definitely figure to my mind. From among the walls on either side, I caught broken and incoherent whispers in a strange tongue which I partly understood. It was now nightfall, yet the interminable labyrinth was lit with a wan glimmer having no point of diffusion, for in its mysterious lamination nothing cast a shadow. A shallow pool in a depression on the floor, as from mop water, met my eye with a crimson gleam. I stopped and plunged my hand into it. It stained my fingers; it was blood! Blood, I then observed, was about me everywhere. It was spattered everywhere. Defiling the furniture, and blood dripped like dew from the ceiling. All this I observed with a terror which seemed not incompatible with the fulfillment of a natural expectation. #RandolphHarris 1 of 8
To the menaces and mysteries of my home my surrounding consciousness was an added horror. So frightful was the situation—the mysterious light burned with so silent and awful a menace that my home took on a melancholy or baleful character, so openly my sight conspired against my peace; from overhead and all about came so audible and startling whispers and the sighs of creatures so obviously not of Earth—that I could endure it no longer. On approaching the Morning Room, I noticed that a light was on and the door open, although I distinctly remembered having left it shut. I walked into the room pushed aside the heavy draperies at the entrance to the room itself, and stopped in amazement. In the middle of the room, a single lamp plainly revealed a stranger behind the large chair; the man wore a tall black hat and a dark billowing velvet coat. In the light from the hearth his probing eyes glowed red. He possessed a face so cadaverous and death-mask-like, that it set me screaming! I could not detect even the faintest whiff of a soul. Lightning flashed again, and I learned forward to hear his words over the loud thunder. His voice broken, it seemed, into an infinite multitude of unfamiliar sounds, went babbling and stammering away into the distant reaches of the mansion, died into silence, and all was before. Standing under one of the gaslights in the mansion, he said: “I will not submit unheard. There may be powers that are not malignant traveling through this accursed spiritual fortress. I shall leave them record and an appeal. I shall relate my wrong, the persecutions that I endure—I, a helpless mortal.” #RandolphHarris 2 of 8
The man then walked off toward the dark room at the other end of the hall. Then I realized my visitor had dissolved into thin air. There was no one in the dark room. The door was securely locked. The skylight, 150 feet above ground, could not very well have served as an escape route to anyone human. I thought more about the mysterious forces…“How can this be happening to me! I deserve better for God’s sake! I am innocent for God’s sake! Dear God help me to restore all that I have lost. Make us happy again, make us ourselves again, raise my daughter and husband from the dead, snatched by supreme ghouls from the crypts, and return them to our home and make the name of Winchester a name of pride.” The thought of being lost in utter darkness without my loved ones amidst this mysterious labyrinth World of nightmares. A further flash of thunder seemed to split the Heavens wide open. From the open space in the narrow corridor, a glow was coming from the door on my right. In a moment I had reached it and was standing in the secret library, trembling with relief, and watching the sputterings of the lamp which had brought me to safety. Then I noticed a small door at the father end of the room, and clamed myself enough to approach it and examine the crude-sign chiseled above. It was only a symbol, but it filled me with vague spiritual dread. Outside, the night sky was riven yet again by a dart of lighting. The large roof windows of the attic shook in their frames as the gale beat at them. I took a deep breath and raised my lamp higher. A wave of nameless fright rolled out to meet me, but I yielded to no whim and deferred to no intuition. There was nothing alive here to harm me. #RandolphHarris 3 of 8
Although the room had no furniture save a table, and a single chair, I deciphered a huge pentagram in the center of the floor, with a plain circle about three feet wide half way between this and each corner. In one of these four circles, near where a black robe had been flung carelessly thrown on the floor. Connecting stairs and a secret rest room had long been walked up in the many structural changes in the mansion. Only the window of the walled-up room was still visible from the outside. It was in this area that I felt that restless spirits were trapped. Walled in like demons sleeping through the day and close to the premises for roaming through the night. I allowed myself to rest for half an hour, listening to the thunder roar and thump in the Heavens above. The flickering light of the lamps made the room seem almost as if it were malevolently alive. Another thunderbolt crashed across the Heavens, and I screamed of fear. As the echoes of my scream died away, I leaned forward in my chair, watching the shadows floating in front of my eyes. There was no need to tell all the dismal and horrid thoughts that flitted through my head as I ran. When I made it to the Observational Tower, I clambered to the top as quick as I could to take breath and look out upon my estate if by chance I would see anything. However, a moment’s rest I must have. I had run a mile through my home at least. Nothing whatever was visible ahead of me, and I was just turning to go down to the main part of the house, when I heard what I can only call a laugh: and if you can understand what I mean by a breathless, a lungless laugh, you have it; but I do not suppose that you can. #RandolphHarris 4 of 8
It came from below, and swerved through the halls. That was enough. I walked down the stairs. There was a carpenter at the bottom. You do not need to be told that he was dead. His tracks showed that he had run along the hallway, had turned sharp round the zig zag stairs, and, small doubt of it, must have dashed straight into the wall, and his teeth and jaws were broken to bits. I only glanced over his face. At the same moment, suddenly I felt another presence in the room, and I could not breathe anymore. Zip started to bark and insist that I follow him out of the room. I distinctly felt someone there. I went straight up to my room. I had my bath, and went and lay down on my bed, and slept for about ten minutes. It was as quiet, as quiet as only a country house can be. Soon I was in a deep trance on the other side. I saw things and people the ordinary eye could not perceive. I was walking around. There was a man lying dead in the middle of the room. Small nose, not too much hair in front. There was a plant near him. He came here to die. He was here to find a place to rest. He usually stays in the Crystal Bedroom. With the fern. By the bed. I broke out of trance and had facial stiffness, as well as pain in the shoulder. The curtains of my bed were violently agitated, accompanied with a loud and almost indescribable motion of rings. However, the curtain, four in number, to prevent their motion, were tied up, each in one large knot. Every curtain in the bed was agitated, and the knots thrown and whirled about with such rapidity that it would have been unpleasant to be within the sphere of their action. This lasted about two minutes, as if it were a wild beast seeking freedom. I also heard footsteps walking by me and around me, and was, also, conscious of candles burning near me, but could see nothing. #RandolphHarris 5 of 8
A low, wild pal of laughter broke out at a measureless distance away; I paused a moment, and rappings started; I suddenly opened the door, with a candle in my hand, yet I swear I could see nothing. I have been in one of the rooms which has a large modern wind, when, from the noises, knockings, blows on the bed, and rattling of the curtains, I really did begin to think the whole chamber was falling in. And growing ever louder, the laugher seemed approaching ever nearer; a soulless, heartless, and unjoyous laughter, like that of the loon; a laugh which culminated in an unearthly shout close at hand, then died away by slow gradations, as if the accursed being that uttered it had withdrawn over the verge of the World whence it had come. However, I felt that this was not so. A strange sensation began slowly to take possession of my body and my mind. I could not have said which, if any, of my sense was affected; I felt it rather as a conscious—a mysterious mental assurance of some overpowering presence—some supernatural malevolence different in kind from the invisible existences that swarmed about me, and superior to them in power. I knew that it had uttered that hideous laugh. And now it seemed to be approaching me; from what direction I did not know—dared not conjecture. All my former fears were forgotten or merged in the gigantic terror that now held me in thrall. Powerless to cry out, I found myself staring into the sharply draw white face and blank, dead eyes of a phantom. #RandolphHarris 6 of 8
The darkness filled me. Whatever my thoughts had been, they so possessed me that I observed not the lapse of time. I came to my senses an unknown time later to find myself in a brightly lit room with a pleasant fragrance. Someone was wiping my forehead with a damp cloth. For a few minutes, I simply enjoyed the sensation, not thinking about the terror I had experienced, but the memories flooded back. Confused thoughts and troubled emotions ran through my mind. “Wh-Where am I?” “Mrs. Winchester, you’re in the new east wing of your home.” Now I recognized the voice. “Uta!” I said. “But how did I…?” “I found you,” said Uta. “I hadn’t seen you for days, and was worried about you, so the day after the great storm I scoured the mansion looking for you. You were lying in a mass of blood and broken glass and rainwater. I…” Uta paused momentarily, clearly still upset from the experience—“I thought you were dead.” A little later I felt a warm spoon against my lips and instinctively opened my mouth to let a little of the soup dibble in. Under Uta’s care, I slowly regained my health, but it was another ten days before I was well enough to make my way around the garden. When I reached the Daisy Bedroom, I paused for a moment and looked around. From here there was no sign that anything at all unusual had taken place thirteen nights ago. #RandolphHarris 7 of 8
I began to climb the stairs, feeling in my pocket for the key. At the door to no-to-nowhere, I forced myself to calm down, taking several deep, measured breaths before putting the key in the lock. Suddenly there was a terrible, godless wail from the pits whose inhuman cadences rose, and feel rhythmically in the distance through the darkness. “What on Earth was that?” I exclaimed. Then a huge hand grabbed me. The door swung open with a creak, and I saw a ghost standing there. A woman appeared, she had long blonde hair, was wearing a long white night dress, was frail and ethereal, old age had rendered her thin and somehow tired. And yet, her eyes had an unusual bright sparkle in them that belied her frail and aged appearance. She walked very softly through the threshold of the door and sat down inside. She put her hand on her forehead and said, “Will you please help me? A looter has taken my tombstone, and now my soul is unable to find rest.” The bewildering character of the swirling flood of spirits caused confused thoughts and troubled emotions to run through my mind. I sighed and relaxed slightly. I turned around to reach for a lamp. My back was not turned for more than a second. However, when I looked up at my mysterious visitor, the lady was gone. I quickly walked down the hallway, everything was suffused with a soft, red glow in which I then saw my own shadow projected before me. Ceaseless buffetings of a most tempestuous wind made me feel weary. #RandolphHarris 8 of 8
If you live in New Haven Connecticut, you are well aware of the hell and brimstone variety preaching, and are bound to hear about the devil now and again. To some people, the devil is real, and they will give you an argument filled with fervour and Bible quotations to prove that he exists. Mrs. Winchester had a beautiful face like a mask. A porcelain-cosmetic mask. Mrs. Winchester was not one of those who were impressed by demonic outbursts, however, and she could not care less whether there was a devil or not. She had grown up in a well-to-do family and spent her adult years in the World of business. At age nineteen, she met and married Mr. William Wirt Winchester, and they had a short, but happy life together. There was one child, and at first, no problems, and no difficulties whatever. She was always active in her husband’s manufacturing business. After she gave birth to her first child, Annie Winchester, Mr. Winchester decided to slow down, it was just as well that she started to enjoy life a little more fully, until tragedy struck.
Back in her early years, Mrs. Winchester had what are now called ESP (extra sensory perception) experiences. When she talked to a person, she would frequently know what that person would answer before the words were actually spoken. It scared the young girl, but she refused to think about it. Her parents’ home was a thirty-room mansion in a good section of New Haven. It was just a pleasant house without any history whatever of either violence or unhappiness. And yet, frequently she would hear strange rappings at night, raps that did not come from the pipes or other natural sources. Whenever she heard those noises, she would simply turn to the wall and pretend she did not hear them, but in her heart, she knew they were there. Then one-night, young Sarah was awakened from a deep sleep by the feeling of a presence in her room. She sat up in bed and looked out. There, right in front of her bed, was the kneeling figure of a man with extremely dark eyes and a pale face. She thought that he was from another time or place. After rubbing her eyes, Sarah looked again, but the apparition was gone.
Before long, Sarah had accepted the phenomenon as simply a dream, but again she knew this was not so, and she was merely accommodating her sense of logic. However, what had the stranger been? Surely, the house was not haunted. Besides, she did not believe in ghosts. Young Sarah had no idea that this was the beginning of the accursed invasion from beyond. Six weeks later, she had another supernormal experience. Again alone in her parents home, with all the doors locked, she saw a strange man. Quickly she reached for a candle to examine her visitor, but he had vanished. From the day on, Mrs. Winchester heard strange noises, frequent banging about the mansion, and uncanny feelings and chills in certain areas of the hose. On one occasion, Mrs. Winchester clearly heard someone coming up the stairs leading up to the attic. She went to see who it was, but no one came. The steps were those of an unseen man! Mrs. Winchester had no idea who the ghost could be. She was reluctant to discuss her experiences with other people let they think her mad, yet she was healthy and realistic and was quite sure of her memories.
As many know, after the death of her new born daughter and husband, Mrs. Winchester moved to Santa Clara Valley and spent nearly 40 years, of non-stop construction, building one of the most beautiful and complex mansions in the World. It is possible that some ghost followed her, and others manifested because she was born with extra sensory perception (ESP). After her death, two serious young men went to stay in the house to see if what they were saying about the Winchester Mansion was true. They had sleeping bags and stayed up in one of the attics. It was a chilly December night in 1931, and everything seemed just right for ghost. Would they be lucky in their quest? They did not have to wait long to find out. “As soon as we entered the room, we heard strange noises on the roof They were indistinct and could have been animals, I thought at first. We went off to sleep until my partner woke me up hurriedly around three in the morning. I distinctly heard human footstep on the roof. They slid down the side to a lower level and then to the ground where they could be heard walking in leaves and into the night. Nothing could be seen from the window and there was nobody up on the roof. We were the only ones in the house that night, so it surely must have been ghosts.” After a while, a gruff man’s voice was heard: “Get out…get out of my house.” There were additional requests for the two men to get out of his house. And finally, they left. Evidently the ghosts did not approve the sale of the house by Mrs. Winchester’s executors, but wanted it to stay in her family. Perhaps that is why it remains unoccupied by humans.
Come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
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Secrets and Lies—a Look into the Mind of Ben Crawford
Virtue, sooner or later, meets the good it merits. There is no casting of swine’s meat before men worse than that which would flatter excellence as though its true origin were not good enough for one, but one must have a lineage, deduced as it were by spiritual heralds, from some stock with which one has nothing to do. Virtue’s true lineage is older and more respectable than any that can be invented for one. Ben Crawford is so attentive to details and sees the entire perspective. With thoroughness and honesty, carefulness, ethical behavior, and morality, Ben Crawford strives to be structured, logical, and efficient, while he uncovers a mystery. Ben Crawford displays all of these good qualities when investigating the murder of his son and trying to protect and keep his family together, by addressing the problems with the police investigation, before they can grow larger. By addressing his concerns, Ben Crawford will maintain better healthy overall, and live a more quality life because he does not just sit back and let stress eat him alive, he takes action. Conscientious individuals like Ben Crawford perform better at some jobs than others like Detective Cornell.
Although Detective Cornell is reliable, she tends to be excessively meticulous, and may be less efficient than Ben Crawford. While Detective Cornell spends all morning try to craft Ben Crawford as a suspect, only paying attention to details that make him look guilty, she is being unproductive because she is ignoring other possible motives and suspects, as her job is to solve a murder by noon. Adhering to procedure while trying to frame Ben Crawford for killing his son, Tom Murphy, makes the actual criminals, who really killed him leave an orgy of evidence behind because the real suspect knows he or she is not under suspicion. And this is why Ben Crawford take charge of the murder investigation on his own. Because everyone else in his life, including investigators, seem to be so lackadaisical, self-absorbed, and unethical, Ben Crawford develops an anxiety disorder known as obsessive-compulsive personality disorder (OCPD) because he is going to lose his freedom and possible his life for a crime he did not commit just because it is easier for the police to label him as a suspect and close a case, than to figure out who actually committed the crime.
People with obsessive-compulsive personality disorder (OCPD), which in this case we are jokingly calling “Obsessively Corrupt Police Department,” is a mental condition in which a person, Ben Crawford, is preoccupied with rules, orderliness, time awareness, vigilance, self-direction, and attention to detail because he worries that he has not done everything necessary to feel safe and secure. As a result of his OCPD, Ben Crawford cannot see everything wrong with his behavior. Ben is overly aware, scrupulous, rigid, inflexible, suffering a great deal of stress, and this is becoming deeply ingrained in his personality pattern so much that people cannot stand to be around him, as they know he can see through their vices and snarky comments. At first critics could not tell if Ben was connection, because he knew something was wrong, but seemed to be in some type of a mental fog, but now everyone fears Ben Crawford because they see he is highly cognitive. So to push him over the edge, or disrupt his mental state people play games with him, and taunt him, and even physically assault him, as a method of trying to drive him crazy because they think he is on the verge of a breakdown, after all, under these conditions most people would be.
Ben Crawford is looked at as guilty by everyone in his community, they spray paint “Child Killer” on his garage, start to fire him from his jobs, and no one will hire Ben because he is so demonized by his community. Others jump in on the game by vandalizing his car, planting evidence, breaking into his home, and even turning his wife and children against him. To make matters worse, Ben’s neighbor kidnaps him and tortures him and tries to kill him if he does not confess. And the man that thinks he is the father of Tom Murphy, strangles Ben Crawford and also tries to beat him to death. So the entire community has turned against Ben, even his wife and children, and he has no money, no one to turn to for help, and is about to lose his house, who would not go crazy, right? Well certainly NOT Ben Crawford. Ben Crawford has proven himself worthy of retaining this higher state of consciousness, it makes him who he is. Ben Crawford proves that he is not lost in the wilderness, but mostly everyone else is. He is a hero and gaining skills and performing heroic deeds, and his journey is also spiritual. Virtue is God’s empire.
Randolph Harris II International 