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The Property is a Most Desirable Residence
Sometimes certain things happen in Victorian houses that are hard to understand. Llanada Villa is one of those places. I am convinced that there is another level of consciousness or activity of some kind that occupies my home. A juxtaposition between entities in physical bodies and those in astral form. When I first purchased the original eighteen room farmhouse, there was the most peculiar thing outside. A large barn, to the south side of the house, and a stone in front of it that looked not quite natural. Upon close inspection, I wondered whether perhaps it was not an Indian tombstone, or perhaps an Indian altar of sorts. It looked far too regular to be completely shaped by nature. The original owner had no idea how it got into the garden, nor did he know anything particular about the history of the barn. All he knew was that the barn was old. Inside there was a passageway, or cave, tunnel, call it what you will, leading from one of the stables out to another part of the estate. It was shored up by four-by-fours on the side, but with very thing boards on the top; and dirt and water was trickling down these broken boards at the top. The tunnel was about seven feet tall. It was quite tall. I heard some noises and was afraid to have anyone go in. After I purchased the property and started to expand my estate, I simply had the carpenters fill it in and raze the barn. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
It was now long after nightfall, my home with lit with a wan glimmer having no point of diffusion, for in its mysterious lamination nothing cast a shadow. A strange sensation began slowly to take possession of my body and mind. However, I felt rather conscious with a mysterious mental assurance of some overpowering presence, while some supernatural malevolence swarmed about me. A shallow pool on the floor reflected in the light, as from a spill, met my eye with a crimson gleam. I dipped my fingers into it. It stained them; it was blood! Blood, I then observed, was about me everywhere. Defiling the walls and were broad maculations of crimson, and blood dripped like dew from them. All of this I observed with terror. It seemed to me that it was all in expiation of some crime. To the menaces and mysteries of my surroundings the consciousness was an added horror. So frightful was the situation—the mysterious light burned with so silent and awful a menace. From overhead and all about came so audible and startling whispers and the sighs of creatures so obviously not of Earth—that I could endure it any longer, and with a great effort to break some malign spell that bound my faculties to silence and inaction, I screamed. My voice broke into echoes and fluttered away into the distant reaches of the labyrinth, then died into silence, and all was as before. This place becomes more queer at night. Often, I must persuade myself out of the notion that eyes are watching me. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
After that time, I often knew things before they really happened—such as who would be at the door before the butler answered it, or just before the telephone rang, who would be calling. From the very first night I moved into Llanada Villa, I felt right at home in it, as if I had always lived here. Even during expansion, if before me unknown horror or behind me, with heavy tread, something moved relentlessly upon me, driving me on and down; I found it easy to move along the stairs, and in the dark without the slightest accident or need to orient myself. It was almost as if the house, or someone in it, were guiding my steps. I was always acutely aware that the house was alive: There were strange noises and creaking boards, but there were also human footsteps, and there were those doors. The doors, in particular, puzzled me. The first time I noticed anything unusual about the doors in the house was when I was reading a book late one night. Suddenly, I heard footsteps on the ceiling above my bedroom. Then the door of the stairwell opened, steps reverberated on the stairs, then the door-to-nowhere opened, and a blast of cold air hit me. I looked up, and there was no one there. Annoyed, I rose and went to check the servant’s quarters. They were indeed fast asleep. Not satisfied and thinking that one of them must be playing tricks on me, I woke them one by one and questioned them. However, they had trouble waking up, and it was evident to me that I was on a fool’s errand; the servants had not been down those stairs. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
That was the beginning of a long succession of incidents involving the doors in the house. Occasionally, I would watch with fascination when a door opened quite by itself, without any logical cause, such as wind or draft; or to see a door for me just open as I was about to reach for the doorknob! At least, for now, whatever presence there was in the house was polite: It opened the door to a lady! However reassuring it was, it could also be frightening. One evening, I was reading in the library, and an intolerable discomfort overcame me. Through the thudding of my heart, I heard the stealthy footsteps of someone echoing in the distance. Then there was a sound behind one of the bookshelves that sounded like somebody suffering—making all kinds of noises. It hurled me into sufferings almost more than I could bared. I got up and started pulling books away from the shelves and that is when I discovered a panel. It was wide enough to be a passage, and the passageway itself was blocked with a piece of concrete; maybe thirty inches wide and forty inches long. Standing for a moment listening, I could hear a faint sound like a stumble from within. Although I was filled with curiosity to find out what was beyond the wall, it did not match the desire to tear the wall apart. I slipped noisily out of the library and flattened myself against the closed door. As the grandfather clock tick-tocked in a hollow monotone, I knew that somewhere in the thick darkness there was an apparition. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
For a time, which seemed so long that the World grew gray with age and sin, and my haunted mansion, having fulfilled its purpose in this monstrous culmination of its terrors, vanished out of my consciousness with all its sighs and sounds, the apparition stood within a pace, regarding me with the mindless malevolence of a wild brute; then thrust its hands forward and sprang upon me with appalling ferocity! The manifestation released my physical energies without unfettering my will; my mind was spellbound, but my body powerful and limbs agile. For an instant, I saw this unnatural contest between a dead intelligence and a breathing mechanism only as a spectator—such fancies are in dreams; then I regained my identity almost as if by a leap forward into my body, and the straining automaton had a directing will as alert and fierce as that of its hideous antagonist. However, what moral can cope with a demon? Despite my strength and activity, which seemed wasted in a void, I felt the cold fingers close upon my throat. Borne backward against the floor, I saw above me the dead and drawn face within a hand’s breadth of my own, and then all was black. Dazed with agony, I opened my eyes. The silence was stifling. And out of that unbroken silence crept slowly to my significance sharper than any outcry, the clock had stopped ticking. In my mind’s eye I could see the key in the clock door, and then slowly, soundlessly, I began to drift toward the clock. Six paces from it I caught the dim glint of a key in the clock—my eyes were now accustomed to the darkness—and then beneath my foot a board treacherously cried out in the stillness. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
I stood there, holding my breath and as I stood, I saw the clock door slowly open, and two fingers slid round the edge of it! Lunging, I flung myself on the door. There was a strangled animal cry from within the case, the fingers jerked and vanished, and I banged the door tight and turned the key in the lock. I heard pounding on the stout mahogany door of the case as I ran to the wall switch and flooded the room with light. Blinking, I started at the tray of trinkets untouched in the window. Then appeared a gentleman, walking alone in the hallway. Thinking he was a servant, I was just about to have a word with him, when he vanished. Suddenly, a coffee cup rose from a side-table, nobody being nigh, and flew to the other side of the room, breaking itself against the wall; for my further confirmation, that it was neither the tricks of the wags nor the fancy of a servant, but the mad frolics of witches and demons. The front of the house was so haunted in all the room, that they stood empty for a long time. In the latter part of the autumn of 1887, after retiring to my bedroom about eleven o’clock, I thought I heard a peculiar moaning sound, and someone sobbing as if in great distress of mind. I listened very attentively, and still it continued; so I raised the gas in my bedroom, and then went to the window on the landing, drew the curtain aside, and there on the grass was a very beautiful young girl in a kneeling posture, before a soldier in a general’s uniform, sobbing and clasping her hands together, entreating for a pardon. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
However, alas, he only waved her away. So much did I feel for the girl that I ran down the stairway that wound down into blackness to the door opening upon the lawn, and begged her to come in and tell me her sorrow. The figures then disappeared gradually, as in a dissolving view. Not in the least nervous did I feel then; went again into my bedroom, took a sheet of writing paper, and wrote down what I had seen. The following evening, a few steps from the living room to the rear section, which was the original portion of the house, a man suddenly appeared, striding towards me, and going in a direction opposite to mine. When first seen he was standing exactly in front of the fireplace which dominated the room. Young and ghastly pale, he was dressed in evening clothes, evidently made by a foreign tailor. Tall and slim, he walked with long measured strides noiselessly. A tall white had covered thickly with black crepe, and an eyeglass, completed the costume of this strange form. The moonbeams from the skylight falling on the corpse-like features revealed a face well known to me, that of a former butler. A housemaid was in the room with me. She stopped abruptly, as if spellbound, then rushing towards the man, she gazed intently and with horror unmistakable on his face, which was now upturned to the Heavens. She indulged in her strange contemplation but for a very few seconds, then with extraordinary and unexpected she ran away with a terrific shriek and tell. However, this woman never have I seen or heard of since, and I could not explain her presence, nor the man’s. A week after this event, I was in my bedroom reading my letters, and it was very, very late. News of the butler’s death reached me. Then suddenly, the door opened, and the butler stood there looking at me reproachfully. But, he had been dead for more than a week. I screamed and went under the covers. A housemaid rushed upstairs to see what was the matter. When she arrived, the door was wide open! #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mystery House
It is possible that events in The Winchester Mystery House can be charged with such powerful emotion that their traces linger in the setting where they occurred. That may at least be the explanation for the ubiquitous sighting of figures in the Grand Ballroom or gibbets upon which they have been hanged—unless of course popular superstition has attracted presumed ghosts to these localities.
Please come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
It is Not Always the Same Time Here
It was a wet November afternoon, rather windy, rather warm. Outside the window great trees were stirring and weeping. Between them were stretched of green and yellow country, and blue hills far off, veiled with rain. Up above was a very restless and hopeless movement of low clouds travelling north-west. If you call it work—I had suspected my work—for some minutes to stand at the window and look at these things, and at the greenhouse roof on the right with the water sliding off it, and the nine story Observational Tower. It was all in favour of my going steadily on; no likelihood of a clearing up for hours to come. I, therefore, returned to my desk. By this time, I was somewhat tried. The clock struck four, and it really was four, for in 1889 there was no saving of daylight. So, I settled myself in the Hall of Fires. And first I glanced over some of the blueprints for additions to Llanada Villa. The clock struck five. This, I knew, meant tea. I lifted myself out of the deep chair, and went to the parlour. As I sat down in my favourite chair, the housemaid, Engrid Sebald, poured my tea. When I pick the cup up, she witnessed it fly out of my hand as it smashed at her feet. She glanced out of the window and saw what appeared to be a man’s face. It was unspeakably evil. There was something curious and ghastly about the way the sun began to sink into the west. The long shadows of the trees obscured the face from sight. Engrid was blanching with fright, as I was in a misery of fear. A considerable degree of darkness came on. I managed to calm Engrid by suggesting she had seen some sort of shadow, but the incessant barking of Zip, for no apparent reason, made matters worse. #RandolphHarris 1 of 6
As the blackened darkness reigned, and all was silent. The perfect stillness was interrupted only by the mutterings of distant thunder. Without saying another word, the young lady went crept up the stairs trembling to her room. Shortly after, her things all packed she came down again to say goodbye. Under intolerable distress, I was once again without help. The adventure of the day mightily tormented my dreams that night. As I lay in the early morning recalling the incidents of the pervious night, it seemed curiously subdued and far away—as if it had happened in another World, or in a time long gone by. A few days later, a new housemaid arrived. Her name was Atina Kossert. A simple and quite unimaginative person, she had put no stock into all the tales of goings-on she had heard and was quite willing to prove her point. On going to her room, she found nothing out of order. On the next night, Atina complained of a shuffling or scraping noise in her bedroom. It sounded to her as if the chair was being moved, or as if someone was shuffling across the floor in slippers. She removed the chair from the room. When she turned the light off, however, she herself heard the sound. She turned on the light, and the noise stopped. She turned off the light, and the sound of scraping began again. The phenomena soon increased in intensity. A chest of drawers moved approximately thirteen inches from the wall. Atina pushed it back again. When she turned away the chest of drawer moved out again, and proved impossible to return to its original position. The drawers in the chest also came out, and could not be moved. #RandolphHarris 2 of 6
Atina, now thoroughly alarmed, changed her tune. “Someone is watching me,” she complained. She complained of things flying off the shelves seemingly by their own volition and of the chest of drawers moving and the drawers opening as if someone were looking for something or other. She wanted to leave, but Atina simply could not afford to, things were difficult enough in the physical World to allow the unseen forces to add to her problems. Atina when on to complain about noisy children in the halls. When she was informed that there were no children running about unattended, she became annoyed. Setting about to prove she was not going crazy, she was determined to catch one of these shouting, squealing, laughing kids who was disturbing her sleep. One night, Atina was extremely frustrated. She heard the kids in the hallway and rushed from her bed and nearly grabbed one of the little rascals, but was astonished to see the child disappeared before her eyes. Amid the chaos taking place, a rumbling sound began in Atina’s bedroom. The sound intensified, and as it did it took on a physical manner, moving out from under the bed towards the center of the room. The floorboards vibrated as the spirit rolled under the floor. The spirit made its way across the room, went out the door and disappeared into the hall. Terrified beyond reason, Atina found her voice and began to pray. She found herself looking over her shoulder, certain someone was there with her, only to see no one. Atina started putting thing back in place. As she was facing the fireplace, he heard a soft rapping at her door. She rushed over to open the door, there was a young man, about six foot, three inches with a hole in his head, signaling that he had been shot. #RandolphHarris 3 of 6
Atina quickly slammed the door and jumped into bed, shivering with fear. A flush of warmth cascaded over her, and the room turned fuzzy. She tried to regain her equilibrium. As if invisible fingers caressed her hair, Atina’s scalp tingled. Then an inescapable sensation took her breath away. The room seemed infused with a new, unfathomable energy—she had become sensitized to a dimension just beyond the range of normal. Light from the chandelier sparkled, and the tall, stained-glass windows created kaleidoscopic pools throughout the room. Atina wiped the moisture from her eyes, drew a deep breath, and cried herself to sleep. In the following days, Atina became frail and listless. Her once beautiful features became waxy and pale, her gorgeous brown eyes no longer sparkled. She began to believe that the house itself was dangerous prolonged life in it could only destroy those who remain in it. On an early Wednesday morning, Atina saw a form cross from the window, over her bed, and then down the stairs. This brought her out screaming and demanding to know what was going on. The light from the apparition was so intense they it hurt her eyes. She felt an icy chill as the form passed her. “Atina, my dear,” I said. “I insist it was only lightning.” However, instead of triumph, I found terror, and my talk with Atina boasted not of victory but a plea for help and advice in saving both myself and the World from horror beyond all human conception or calculation. I slipped out of the room so quietly that no one had seen me depart or knew that I had gone. I had gone upstairs, where a bit of my fear must has surged back; for I was heard to cry out in a highly terrified fashion upon entering the library, afterward trailing off into a kind of choking grasp. #RandolphHarris 4 of 6
When, however, the butler had come to inquire what the troubles was, I appeared at the door with a great show of boldness, and had silently gestured the man away in a matter that terrified him unaccountably. After a time, the shadows began to gather, and the sunset cheer gave place to a vague growing terror which flew shadow-like before the night. Something frightful and unholy seemed to haunt. About the middle of January, a queer nocturnal incident occurred. In the early evening, there had been some noise and thumping in the sewing room upstairs, and I was on the point of investigating when it suddenly quieted down. Meanwhile, although she was more frightened than ever, Atina grew very curious about the mansion. She inspected the walls of her bedroom and found hollow spots. A bookcase turned out to be a false front. She discovered hidden passages. Of course, the house was honeycombed with areas not visible to the casual observer. Atina also discovered that the front portion of the wall seemed to block off another room beyond it, not accounted for when measuring the outside walls. When she managed to pry it open, she found a stairwell, narrow though it was, where apparently a flight of stairs had once been. As she treaded the stairs, the air became still, as a winged demon emerged. He looked like a monstrous gargoyle with large horns curling inward on his head, and he had razor sharp talons; perfect for ripping prey apart. He had two, vampire-like fangs that were bigger than the rest of his teeth and resembled a wolf’s, and his eyes shimmer crimson-red. Atina’s blood went cold. “Demon! He’s a demon.” “Witch!” The demon’s voice shook the walls, his voice deeper and louder than Atina’s. #RandolphHarris 5 of 6
Atina jumped away as the demon stared at her. Red welt covered her torso and legs, the angular shapes of ancient letters and symbols. “Go home, Witch! Go back to your house and pray to you God.” Smoke rose from where the demon was standing, and he vanished. It was a terror too profound and real, and in conjunction with what Atina already knew evoked too vivid hints of monstrosities from beyond time and space to permit of any sensible explanation. That midnight, after the household had retired, the butler was locking the back door when according to his statement Atina appeared somewhat blunderingly and uncertainly at the foot of the stairs with a large suitcase and made signs that she wised egress. The young lady spoke no word, but the worthy butler caught one sight of her fevered eyes and trembled causelessly. He opened the door and young Atina went out, but in the morning, she presented her resignation to me. There was, she said, something unholy in the glance butler had fixed on her. It was no way for a man to look at an honest woman, and she could not possibly stay another night. I allowed the woman to depart, but I did not value her statement highly. To fancy my butler in a savage state that night was quite ridiculous, for as long as I had remained awake, I had heard faint sounds from the room above; sounds as if of sobbing and pacing, and of a sighing which told only of his despair’s profoundest depths. I had grown used to listening for sounds in the night, and could often hear he was. There were nameless horrors in my home; and no matter how little one might be able to get at them, one ought to stand prepared for any sort of action at any time. #RandolphHarris 6 of 6
In 2010, while clean the basement, a ghost of a boy appeared a caretaker, he appeared to be four of five years old. “Mrs. Winchester is dead…but not dead forever,” he said in a faint voice. In terms of psychic research, a ghost appears to be a surviving emotional memory of someone who has died traumatically, and usually tragically, but is unaware of his or her death. Ghosts, then, in the overwhelming majority, do not realize that they have died. Those who do know they are “dead” are confused as to where they are and why they do not feel quite as they used to feel. When death occurs unexpectedly or unacceptably, or when a person has become very attached to a place he or she has lived in for a very long time, sudden, unexpected death may come as a shock. Unwilling to part with the physical World, such human personalities then continue to stay on in the very sport where their tragedy or their emotional attachment had existed prior to physical death.
Come and enjoy a delicious meal in Sarah’s Café, stroll along the paths of the beautiful Victorian gardens, and wonder through the miles of hallways in the World’s most mysterious mansion. For further information about tours, including group tours, weddings, school events, birthday party packages, facility rentals, and special events please visit the website: https://winchestermysteryhouse.com/
Please visit the online giftshop, and purchase a gift for friends and relatives as well as a special memento of The Winchester Mystery House. A variety of souvenirs and gifts are available to purchase. https://shopwinchestermysteryhouse.com/
Randolph Harris II International Institute 