Ghosts, spirits, lost souls, did not, could not exist. And hopefully in a day or two, everyone will be convinced. A couple by the door, both approaching middle age, sat close enough together for their thighs to touch, and listened overattentively to whatever the other was saying in the manner of a man and woman each married to a different partner. By the fire was a group in tweeds and mufflers, the men mostly satisfied listening to the conversation of their womenfolk while they sipped their gin and tonics and pondered the virtues (or the boredom) of retirement. I turned my back to the group. After a time, the quality of darkness seemed to change. I frowned. I thought I could see the faintest glow of gathering light coalescing near the door-to-nowhere. The light was not strong enough to collect the attention of my guests yet, but it was certainly visible. After several moments, the light began to form an indistinct shape. Of course, everyone in the room was seeing it, too. The chatter suddenly stopped as they gasped for air. With wonder, we were witnessing a supernatural manifestation right before our eyes. Two children, a boy, and a girl, he, in a blue suit and tie, and she in a white communion dress with a blue sash tied around the waist, hovered just out of our reach. My heart leaped with surprise, as I became flushed with tears. My guests, conjuring their own horror, were at a loss for words. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5
The children slowly rotated around the room before coming to rest. The girl cried out, “Mommy!” And at that moment, the room was completely darkened. I screamed because the room had become extremely cold. I had a fragile hope, one that was beyond the tight and restricting bonds of sanity, that the faintest essence of my daughter was within the walls of my home. I listened for a moment, wishing that the peripheral voice would rouse my attention. However, there was no sound from the room and grief had exhausted our bodies as well as our spirits. I stared into the darkness, terribly afraid, even more terribly, compelled to ask my guests to leave. At the foot of the stairs I paused, glancing back over my shoulder as if seeking reassurance from the spirit World. There was still no sound from the apparitions. No sounds in the house at all. Not even the voice. From ahead, at the end of the corridor in which I hesitated, came a soft glow, a shimmer strip of amber. Slowly, each footstep measured, I went to the light. I stopped outside the closed door and now there was a sound, a quiet shifting, as though the house had signed. It could be no more than a breeze stealing through. The light was not constant; it flicked. My hands grasped the door handle. My grip was tenuous, slipping over the smooth surface before lodging and turning. A brief thought that there was someone clutching the other side, resisting my effort; then the handle catches and the door is open. I pushed open a heavy door and my face was flushed by the lambent glow. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5
The chill followed behind me in darkness. “Is any one there?” I called from the doorway. The room was a display of burning candles: their light bowed with the opening of the door and their waxy smell welcomed me. Shadows momentarily shyed away then rush forward in their own greeting as the myriad flames settled. Against the back wall and facing entrance was a large walk-in fireplace that could easily accommodate a six-foot log. “At least the carpenters made sure I have heat,” I laughed. I started opening the other doors. One disclosed stairs to the servants’ quarters above; another opened a stairway to the basement which contained thirteen rooms. A third door led to a stairwell in the backyard, and it was securely locked. Still another one opened into the butler’s pantry and that was provided with its own exit under the broad stairway that faced the front door. I found myself in the entrance hall. Walking a bit further through a short hallway to the right with a great sliding door of heavy mahogany and leaded glass at its end. Pushing it open, I discovered a library at least twenty-five feet wide that extended to the back of the house, and it had its own exit into the backyard. Filled with bookshelves, at least seven feet tall, extended around three sides fo the room except where deep windows with built-in seats were set into the walls. The spirits had built my house to last. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5
There was another immense fireplace in the library. Two 1879 Winchester Rifles were crossed above the mantel like medieval swords. A long antique davenport was placed in front of the fireplace. Behind it was an old-fashioned library table with a lamp for reading before the fire. Two crystal chandeliers gave an ornate touch to an elegant and charming room. However, nothing could prepare me for what I saw. At the furthermost point of the room, resting on lace-clothed tables, were two coffins. I stared. My steps were leaden as I approached the open caskets, and my eyes were wide. The moisture on my skin glistened under the light. I did not want to investigate those coffins. I did not want to see the figure lying there, not in such an alien state. However, there was really no choice. My mind had become open to unnatural possibilities. A voice whispered my name and I had responded; I had my own reasons for grasping the inconceivable possibilities. I drew closer. The forms inside the silklined caskets were gradually revealed. She was wearing a white communion gown, a pale blue sash tied at her waist. And the boy—why these were the same two children we had seen earlier. Their hands rested together on their chests as if in supplication. Dark hair framed their faces, and, in their death, they looked serene, sleeping, untroubled children. The light played upon the corners of their lips so that they suppressed smiles. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5
Despite my yearning to disbelieve, I knew there was no life within these pallid shells. I wished to speak to these children, but my throat was constricted by the wretchedness of my emotion. I blinked, dislodging a swell of tears. I leaned forward as if I might kiss the dead children. And their eyes snapped open. They grinned up at me, their young faces no longer innocent. And their hands stirred as if to reach out to me. I was frozen. My mouth was locked open, lips stretched taut and hard over bone, the scream beginning but only breaking loose a few moments later, a shrilling that cuts through the quietness of the house. My cry wanes, dissolves, and by eyes close as reason seeks sanctuary behind Llanada Villa’s walls. A warm mass of air carried the faint sound of music. Castigating myself in silence, I stepped with authority to the rear of the room, placing my hands on the wooden door. As I turned the handle and opened the door, I had a feeling there was something there, but I let it pass, thinking it was my imagination. However, there was something on the landing upstairs that seemed to stare down at me. Something within me made me say, “Whoever you are, you must be lonely!” On Saturday night, as I was sitting down for dinner, the servants had prepared roasted chickens, sausage pie, and Yorkshire pudding. The servant-girl threw some coal on the boiler fire, only to have it all thrown back again on the floor. No one can explain the cause of the occurrences, and it remained the only topic of conversation for days to come. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5
The Winchester Mystery House
Tours had been going on in The Winchester Mystery House for 100 years, when by degrees caretakers decided that it had become rather “noisy.” It began with the windows being violently shaken at night, and then they began to hear steps where no steps should be. They were perturbed still further when they began to hear deep, long sighs at all hours of day and night. There were other odd manifestations. There were occasions when caretakers would approach the door-to-nowhere, when the handle would turn, and the door would fly open. One caretaker wrote that “I have once seen this happen, and it is a curious thing to see, when on the other side of the door there is a two-story fall into the garden.” Then another caretaker heard the sounds of stitching of some hard material in the sewing room; and in the Witches Cap, they would often hear the noise of children playing and a heavy weight being dragged across the floor, when there was no object in sight, and most alarmingly of all there were times when they experienced the sensation of their hair being pulled.
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/
Randolph Harris Research and Development 