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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/
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We Shall Always be Glad to See You
Drawn curtains blocked the sunlight. A single candle lit the cavernous entryway—an art gallery nearly forty feet long. Mahogany panels covering much of the walls added their own soberness. Marble busts of 13 Roman Emperors mounted on pedestals, two historic series of pre-Gobelin tapestries woven in 1640 for Louis III to present to Cardinal Barberine of Rome populated a side room. The draperies were green silk damask and blue velvet, the furniture of Louis XV gilded oak, the paintings signed by van Gough, Boch, Embiricos, Moueix, Geffen. In the half-light of my own home, I came face to face with an apparition, a man, with thin white, grizzled hair hanging like seaweed, frightened eyes the colour of crystal blue. His cheeks were hallow; although well-knit and well-proportioned his black attired figure, indefinitely grim. At first, I was alarmed. He looked like somebody who had risen from the grave. I am a very private person and the locals hereabouts would like nothing better than to have stories of “ghosties” and poltergeists up at The Winchester Mansion to giggle over. And God knows that the country rag would make of it. Up the wide mahogany staircase I preceded, shading the chamber candle with my hand, to protect it from the currents of bone chilling air. In such a rambling place, the spirits found plenty of room to disport themselves in. I conducted myself through a maze of rooms, and a labyrinth of passages, to the Hall of Fires where the fires were blazing. #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
The sumptuous fires were composed of a bushel of coal, wood enough to build a small cottage, piled halfway up the chimney, and roaring and crackling like the sound of thunder. This was comfortable. I sat in a big armchair against the wall for about an hour, holding Zip on my lap. He was tense and I was frustrated, for a sense of personal guilt was growing. I had insisted on building this house and bringing him into it. When my bones warmed, I went to bed but not to sleep. I lay awake and thought of my youthful days when I had been a wife and a mother. Until the untimely deaths of my infant daughter and my beloved husband, I had not realized how much I had rejected certain rigid orthodox beliefs. Inexplicably, something seemed to lurch within, an abrupt sagging of mood that left me strangely wearied. I wondered at my own unease. The tranquility of this hour is the tranquility of death. Nonetheless I had lived in two haunted houses. In one of them, a Dutch Colonial, had bore the reputation of being haunted. Much like Llanada Villa, it had a score of mysterious bedrooms which were never used. After a few tears shed, I covered myself up warm, and fell asleep. Upon awakening, slowly waving shadows waved on from the heavy trees. Coming down from the ninth floor, I passed the servants quarters. The mirror-paneled walls hid mysterious doors, which opened to an entire suite of rooms. Perhaps these doors were hidden out of whimsy, perhaps with an eye toward security. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
One of my fondest rooms was the library, warmed by a fireplace from a sixteenth-century castle in Germany, decorated with a tiger rug at the near and a bear rug at the front end, with armed knights standing guard as anions. The mantel was carved with a scene of rural revelry, with a Shepherdess, a bagpiper, and dancing men. The ceiling was of carved French mahogany from the 1500s, the room contained three stained-glass windows freed from a thirteenth-century abbey in Belgium. The library also featured the finest European furnishings. Its thousands of volumes included Juan Ruiz, Venerable Bede, Julian of Norwich, Mechthild of Magdeburg, Hildegard of Bingen, Layamon, Boethius, Heinrich Kramer, and Jacob Sprenger. With the contagion downs stairs, I sat in the morning room listening when I heard strange noises, which chilled my blood. There was suspicion and fear among us. The servants were always ready to go off with hair triggers. The year was dying early, the leaves were falling fast, it was a cold day. However, there was a coldness about Llanada Villa which only in part was to do with the shift in season. In certain rooms and corridors there was a darkness of air, in others a sense of emptiness because they had not been used nor entered in years. Zip grumbled somewhere in the shadows, but did not show himself. In the basement, the cellar which contained filled wine racks. It was with a mild sense of relief that I left the cellar to walk through the kitchen and scullery out onto the garden terrace. This was a fine place for a haunting. If one believed in such things. Looking out at the gardens, enjoying how magnificently laid out in formal yet interesting lines and curves, I breathed in deeply. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
The was a cold, creepy feeling running up my spine. I expected something profound, maybe something deeply moving, an insight into the spiritual World on the other side of my own life. Descending a short flight of steps, the stone path before me branched off in three directions around the flower beds. I continued along the center path. Reflecting on how it is only when we begin to understand what is going on inside our own minds that we will discover some answers to the paranormal. I reached a knee-high wall, which encompassed a large ornamental pond, almost a miniature lake, full of water lilies. Before my eyes was a girl. She looked past me at the pond almost as if it had come as a shock to her eyes. However, there was something queer in her movement as she backed away. I blinked and it was moments before I realised that I was back in one of the mansion’s rooms, and looking up at the figure of a man, someone who had his back turned toward me. There was something wrong with this vision, for it had wavered before me as if…as if I were watching him through water. There were moving fronds around me, reeds shifting like loose tentacles. Two naked arms reached for me, slender, pearl-white limbs, fingers clawed. And even though they stretched toward me, these arms were bloodless. They were dead things. Suddenly, an air of profound peace invaded the dwelling. I entered the hallway with a vague, uneasy consciousness of unfitness and treachery. #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
I switched the light off, and the door to the landing of the second-floor staircase was open. Just on that sport, I suddenly heard crashing noises as if somebody were rolling down. I was terrified. As soon as I switched the light back on, it stopped. There was nothing on the stairs. I sat on the chair for a moment, then decided it was my nerves, and turned the light off again. Immediately, the same noise returned, even louder. There was no mistaking the origin of the noises this time. They came from the stairs in front of the room. Wondering if this had anything to do with the terribly frigid area on the back of the staircase, I switched on the light again and they stopped. Before climbing into bed, I left the lights burning the rest of the night. I finally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. The next morning was a clam day. I was lying in bed, enjoying from my window the sense of winter beauty and repose; a bright sky above, and the quiet estate before me. In this state I was gladdened by hearing footsteps, which I took to be those of the housemaid Hilda, approaching the chamber door. The visitor knocked and entered. The foot of the bed was toward the door, and the curtains at the foot, notwithstanding the season, were drawn to prevent any draught. The housemaid parted them and looked upon me. Her gaze was earnest and destitute of its usual cheerfulness, and she spoke not a word. I had a curious sense that I was looking upon some unknown, ethereal World which might vanish. “My dear Hilda,” I said, “how glad I am to see you! Come round to the bedside, I wish to have some talk with you.” #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
She closed the curtains, as if complying; but instead of doing so, to my astonishment, I heard her leave the room, close the door behind her, and begin to descend the stairs. Greatly amazed, I hastily rang, and when the butler appeared I bade him call the housemaid back. The butler replied that he had not seen her enter the house. However, I insisted, saying, “She was here but this instant, run! Quick! Call her back!” The butler hurried away, but, after a time, returned, saying that he could learn nothing of her anywhere; nor had anyone in or about the house seen her either enter or depart. This strangeness of this circumstance struck me forcibly. While I lay pondering on it, I heard a sudden running and excited talk in the garden. I listened; it increased, though up to that time the estate had been profoundly still; and I became convinced that something unusual had occurred. Again, I rang the bell, to enquire about the cause of the disturbance. This time it was the scullery maid who answered it. “Oh, Mrs. Winchester, it was nothing particular,” she said, “some trifling affair.” Finally, however, my alarm and earnest entreaties drew from my servants the terrible truth that my housemaid had just been stabbed at the market and killed on the spot. There then follows a detailed account of the events in which Hilda Howitt lost her life. So great was the respect entertained for her, and such a deep impression of her tragic end, that the bell in the belfry tolled on this day. Comparing the circumstances and the extant time at which end occurred, the fact was substantiated that the apparition presented itself to me almost instantly after she had received the fatal stroke. At sunset, I sat at my desk and gazed dreamily at the Observational Tower, and that shimmering spire crowned complex of rooms in the distance of the labyrinth which provoked my fancy. Now and then, I was trained my eyes on the spectral, unreachable World of my estate; picking out individual roofs and chimneys and steeples, and speculating upon the bizarre and curious mysteries that we have created. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
My house seemed somehow alien, fabulous, and linked to the unreal, intangible marvels of the Spirit World. It stood out with especial distinctness at certain hours of the day, and at sunset the great tower and tapering steeple loomed blackly against the glowing sky. Some believed that my home was built of stone and had withstood more than a century or more of storms. Around the towers and belfry, when the delicate leaves came out on the garden boughs, they World was filled with a new beauty. Plodding though the endless halls, I felt I was within a long-known, unreachable World beyond the mists. And presently I noted the strange, faces of the drifting shadows, and foreign sounds over wafting specular music. Nowhere could I find a familiar room among the six hundred in existence. I half fancied that Llanda Villa was a view of a dream-World never trod by living human feet. Now and then a carpenter or housemaid came in sight, but never the ones I sought. As I climbed higher, the regions of my home seemed stranger and stranger, with bewildering mazes of brooding hallways leading eternally off hither and tither. Faces within my house had a look of fear which they tried to hide. Upon entering a turret, I saw a boy being placed under a large wicker basket of conical shape, and a hooded woman stabbed through and through by the fakir with a long sword that pierced from side to side. Screams of pain followed each thrust, and the weapon was discerned to be covered with flesh blood. The cries grow fainter and at length cease altogether. Then the juggler uttering cries and incantations dances rough the basket, which she suddenly removes, and no sigh of the child is seen, no rent in the wickerwork, no stain on the steel. However, in a few seconds the boy, unharmed and laughing, spears running forward from some distant spot. “We shall always be glad to see you,” the boy said. The crowd began to quiet down to whispers, now, for the stillness and gloom of the place oppressed their spirits. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mystery House
Wizards of medieval times, upon certain special days will with great ceremony appear in the temples, which are always thronged on these occasions, and whilst their disciples howl and shriek out invocations, they suddenly throw aside their robes and with a sharp knife seem to rip open their stomachs from top to bottom, whilst blood pours from the gaping wound. The worshippers, lashed to frenzy, fall prostrate before them and grovel frantically upon the floor. The wizard appears to scatter his blood over them, and after some five minutes he passes his hands rapidly over the wound, which instantly disappears, not leaving even the trace of a scar. The operator is noticed to be overcome with intense weariness, but otherwise all is well. Those who have seen this hideous spectacle assure us that it cannot be explained by any hallucination or legerdemain, and that only solution which remains is to attribute it to the glamour cast over the deluded crowd by the power of discarnate evil intelligences. The portentous growth of Spiritism, which within a generation passed beyond the limits of a popular and mountebank movement and challenged the serious attention and expert inquiry of the whole scientific and philosophical World, furnishes us with examples of many extraordinary phenomena, both physical and psychical, and these, in spite of the most meticulous and accurate investigation, are simply inexplicable by any natural and normal means.
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/
All Was Not as it Seemed
Late in the evening of Thursday May 1, 1890, the atmosphere of the mansion was eerie and certainly encouraged fearful impressions. The panic-stricken housemaid, Florence Farr, cried out, “fetch a doctor, fetch the constable!” As everyone watched in suspense, my heart was pounding, sending curtains of dread through me. Eliphas Levi was lying in bed with his throat cut. Mr. Hansen told me that it had been a suicide. He presented me with a note that was in Mr. Levi’s handwriting which stated: “I abandon myself wholly to thy power and I put myself in thy hands, acknowledging no other god; and this sense thy art my god. We say to the Devil that we acknowledge him as our master, our god, our creator. The Devil told me he was my God, and that I should serve and worship him.” However, when the coroner Aurther Philipp arrived, he said that the carpenter had been murdered. His throat cut so deeply that he was practically decapitated. There appeared to be no motive. The apartment of which he was in had to doors in it; the one opening into a passage, and the other leading into the Oxford Bedroom: there were no means of entering the sitting room but from the passage, and no other egress from the bedroom except through the sitting room; so that any person passing into the bedroom must have remained there, unless he returned by the way he entered. “This is horrid,” I said. “It is unspeakable that such a tragedy could happen. Who would want to butcher him in his sleep?” My eye happened to glance from the scene toward the door that opened into the passage, and I observed a tall, youth, of about twenty years of age, whose appearance was that of extreme emaciation, standing beside it. Struck with the appearance of a perfect stranger, I immediately turned to Mr. Hansen, who was standing near me, and directed his attention to the guest who had thus strangely captured my attention. As soon as Mr. Hansen’s eyes turned towards the mysterious visitor, his countenance became strangle agitated. “Mrs. Winchester, I see no one,” said John Hansen. “I have heard of a man being pale as death, but I have never seen a living face assume the appearance of a corpse.” #RandolphHarris 1 of 7
As I looked silently at the form before us, perceiving the agitation of Mr. Hansen, I felt no inclination to address it—as I looked silently upon the figure, it proceeded slowly into the adjoining apartment and, in the act of passing us, cast its eyes with a somewhat melancholy expression on Mr. Hansen. The oppressing of this extraordinary presence was no sooner removed than Mr. Hansen, seizing me by the arm, and drawing a deep breath, muttering in a low and almost inaudible voice, “Great God!” By that time, I was not sure. Maybe I had been working too hard and needed rest. Perhaps I had only imagined the apparition. However, I never had been possessed of an overactive imagination. I was a practical person, used to dealing with facts and figures. Then I thought again of the door to the chamber, could someone beside the maid have walked by us without anyone seeing? I was completely confused. No one could find much to say about a suspect. And I was too busy with my own chaotic thoughts. I certainly had been convinced that an intruder was in the house. But if so, where did he go? Why the mystery? I did not want to discuss it further at the moment for it would only make me unduly nervous. The following afternoon came, and waned to the twilight. The Santa Clara Valley mourned. Public prayers had been offered up, and many and many a private prayer that had the petitioner’s whole heart in it; but still no good news came. As details of the murder emerged, fears grew that it might have been done by something not of this World. If my guest were not safe on my palatable, exclusive estate, who could be? The 1890s in California were nervous times, teaming with immigrants, the unemployed, renegades, and vengeful spirits. #RandolphHarris 2 of 7
I resolved not to mention the occurrence to anyone, and persuaded myself that I had been imposed upon by some artifice, but I could neither account for the reasons nor suspect the author, nor conceive the means of execution; I was content to imagine anything possible, rather than admit the possibility of a supernatural appearance. However, though I had attempted these stratagems of self-delusion, I could not help expressing my solicitude with respect to the apparition I had seen or imagined to have seen; my frequent mention of my fears awakened the curiosity of the servants, and eventually betrayed me into a declaration of the circumstances which I had in vain determined to conceal. The destiny of the souls slain by the Winchester Rifle had become an object of universal and painful interest to the servants. It was clear that my mind was filled with thoughts that manifestly pained, bewildered and oppressed me: I drew near the fireplace and, learning my head on the mantelpiece, said in a low voice “my house is haunted.” I was under the impression that I certainly saw a spirit pass so mysteriously through the apartment. For a moment, I felt a twinge of apprehension, but it soon passed. The next morning, in the bright light of day, I had begun to doubt the reality of my impression. Everything had to have a logical explanation and I felt I would find one in this instance. Besides, so many were captivated by the aura that surrounded my imposing ancestral mansion. I took a sip of tea, washing away the sour debris in one swallow. There, you devils, I said in my mind, enough of your arrogance; now go about your business and keep this tired old blood flowing. I thanked the housemaid with a smile, then looked across the table at Daisy who was glumly eating an egg and anchovy salad. #RandolphHarris 3 of 7
“Aunt Sarah, you’re miles away,” Daisy’s voice interrupted. I blinked. “I am sorry. My mind wanders too much these days.” “Not unusual for a medium.” “Our thoughts need direction.” “Not all the time. This is lunch, remember. You can relax.” “Like you?” I gently chided. “When was the last time you completely relaxed, Daisy?” Daisy looked genuinely puzzled. “Aunt Sarah, you know I have no problem with that at all.” Daisy sliced egg and began to eat. “Incidentally, I think the case of Eliphas is one that might prove interesting—it could be a genuine haunting. I just hope you handle it correctly.” Picking up my knife and fork, I learned forward. “Are you worried?” I asked. Daisy smiled distractedly. “Not as much as I used to be.” “Now what does that imply? Does it mean you believe Llanada Villa is haunted?” “It is common knowledge that your home is haunted, Aunt Sarah. Why should it be a secret?” I tasted my fish and refrained from adding salt. “It is an unusual thing to acknowledge,” I said after a while. “I am surprised that you openly admit it.” “I didn’t say I had.” “Then—” “Aunt Sarah, you can sometimes be too absorbed in the cynicism of others to allow much for to let the truth develop.” “Or too absorbed in my work,” I suggested. “It more or less amounts to the same thing.” I pondered Daisy’s response. “I see what you mean…I have an active prejudice against all things spiritual.” Smiling, Daisy reached over and touched my arm. “It is nothing personal, Aunt Sarah. You are sensitive and sincere. I think the spirits appreciate the comfort you give to the bereaved in your home. It is the outrageous charlatans that I despise, the kind who gossip and spread deceptions for their own profit. You’re different, Aunt Sarah. I really believe you help people and spirits. You have balance. We need people with honest skepticism to give the supernatural credibility.” #RandolphHarris 4 of 7
There was a sparkle in my eyes, “And Daisy, when every instinct tells you otherwise, I know how often you accept the logical.” Daisy laughed and acknowledged my point with a raised cup. She sipped the tea, then resumed her half-hearted attack on the salad. I was uncomfortable, though I was reluctant to admit it. I had never admired her more. Daisy was a clam, unexcitable person who created scarcely a ripple on the smooth pond of family existence as she moved serenely through her busy days. “I love you, Daisy.” The hiring and keeping of servants were a persistent topic of discussion. Turnover rates were high, disasters frequent, and I got used to constantly being on the look out for good recommendations from friends. While valets are given the responsibility of being confidants and agents of their masters’ most unguarded moments, of their most secret habits, the servants themselves were rarely equal to the task being subject to errant judgement, aggravated by an unperfect education. The honour of having my niece live with me was such a blessing. When we got home, one pleasant late spring evening, with the sun lighting the art-glass windows on the first floor, the house was quiet. I saw the figure of a woman in the doorway of the dinning room, walking down the hall, and through the curtain, and I heard footsteps in conjunction with it. I thought it was the housemaid, Florence, and I called to her. I was hanging a picture in the dining room at the time. No answer. I was getting annoyed and called her several times over, but there was no response. Finally, she answered from the second floor—she had not been downstairs at all. I walked in the hall and there was no one there. The woman I saw had on a long shirt, and she had hair on top of her head, and she was slender. Florence is not very tall, but she does wear dark clothes. It was a perfect solid figure I saw—nothing nebulous or transparent. The front door had been latched securely and Daisy was in her bedroom. #RandolphHarris 5 of 7
Later in the year, Daisy met a woman on the stairway—that is, the stairway leading to the third floor. It was around Thanksgiving time. There was a party that evening, and she mistook the woman for a guest who had somehow remained behind after all the other guests had gone home. Daisy passed her going up while she was coming down, and she walked into her room, which Daisy thought was odd, so she went back to ask if she could help her, but there was not anyone there. I took a good look at the upstairs. No one could have gotten out of the house quickly. The stairs were narrow and difficult to negotiate, and the back stairs, in the servant’s half of the house, are even more difficult. Anyone descending them rapidly was likely to slip and fall. As I lay rigid upon that strange upstairs bed—lay there fully dressed, I became broad awake; but a kind of obscure paralysis nevertheless kept me inert till long after the last echoes of sounds died away. I heard the wooden, deliberate ticking of the ancient Connecticut clock somewhere far below, and at last made out the irregular snoring of a sleep. Just what to think or what to do was more than I could decide. After all, what had I heard beyond things which pervious information might have led me to expect. Had I not known that unknown spirits were now freely admitted to Llanada Villa? No doubt Daisy had been surprised by an unexpected visit from them. Yet something in that fragmentary discourse had chilled me immeasurably, raised the most grotesque and horrible doubts, and made me wish fervently that I might wake up and prove everything a dream. I think my subconscious mind must have caught something which my consciousness has not yet recognised. The peaceful snoring below seemed to cast ridicule on all my suddenly intensified fears. Did those beings mean to engulf us because we have come to know too much? Something, my instinct told me, was terribly wrong. All was not as it seemed. #RandolphHarris 6 of 7
At last, I felt able to act, and stretched myself vigorously to regain command of my body. Arising with a caution more impulsive than deliberate, I started downstairs. In my nervousness, I kept my ivory gripped revolver clutched in my right hand. As I half tiptoed down the creaking stairs to the lower hall, I could hear the sleeper more plainly, and noticed that he must be in the room on my left. On my right was the gaping blackness of the library in which I had heard voices. Pushing open the unlatched door of the living room, I traced a path toward the source of the snoring, and finally saw the sleepers face. The sorrowful sight presented itself in the dim twilight. With a sudden and dreadful sinking at the heart, I saw that it was none other than the late Eliphas Levi. He lay stretched upon the floor, dead, with his throat cut, bleeding, with his face close to the crack of the door, as if his longing eyes had been fixed, to the latest moment, upon the light and the cheer of the free World outside. I was touched, for I knew by my own experience how this wretch had suffered. The air seemed to shake and shimmer as I had never seen it: and as I looked, I began to feel something of a waviness and confusion in my brain. I looked away hastily. Just what the real situation was, I could not determine; but common sense told me that the safest thing was to find out as much as possible before arousing anybody. The Devil can deceive and trick the senses so that a head may appear to be cut off and blood to flow, when in truth no such thing is taking place. Regaining the hall, I silently closed and latched the living room door after me. As I turned around, I was startled to see a hideous black figure—working slowly along the hallway, looking from side to side. I was at my wits end. I screamed. In the still air the sound carried. #RandolphHarris 7 of 7
The Winchester Mystery House
The existence of evil discarnate intelligences having being orthodoxly established, a realm which owns one chief, and it is reasonable to suppose, many hierarchies, a kingdom that is at continual warfare with all that is good, ever striving to do evil and bring man into bondage; it is obvious that if he be so determined, man will be able in some way or another to get into touch with this dark shadow World, and however rare such a connection may be it is, at least possible. It is this connection with its consequences, conditions, and attendant circumstances, that is known as Witchcraft. After God Himself hath spoke of magicians and sorcerers, what infidel dare doubt that they exist? To deny the possibility, nay, actual existence of Witchcraft and Sorcery, is at once flatly to contradict the revealed Word of God in various passages both of the Old and New Testament; and the thing itself is a truth to which every Nation in the World hath in its turn borne testimony, either by examples seemingly well attested, or by prohibitory laws, which at least suppose the possibility of commerce with evil spirits. Even the ultra-cautions—I had almost said sceptical—Father Thurston acknowledges: “In the face of Holy Scripture and the teaching of the Fathers and theologians the abstract possibility of a pact with the Devil and of diabolical interference in human affairs can hardly be denied.” Plainly, a man who not only firmly believes in a Power of evil but also that this Power can and does meddle with and mar human affections and human destinies, may invoke and devote himself to this Power, may give up his will thereunto, may as this Power to accomplish his wishes and ends, and so succeed in persuading himself that he has entered into a mysterious contract with evil whose slave and servant he is become.
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/
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/
This is Not the Devil’s Work, this is Your Invitation to Paradise!
Nobody had visited my home for a while—but there were a few explorers who came here every winter, usually imagining they had stumbled on something darkly marvelous. After a silent evening, then—silent, not sullen—I retired to rest. Judge of my terror, when, not yet in bed, I heard what I can only describe as a distant bellow, and knew it for the butler’s voice, though never in my hearing so exerted before. His sleeping-room is at the father extremity of this large house, and to gain access to it one must traverse an antique hall some eighty feet long, a lofty panelled chamber, and twenty unoccupied bedrooms. There was a secret feeling, as I moved with great trepidation along these hidden halls. Deeper and deeper I went into my mysterious home. I felt as though phantom pursuers were almost upon me. Tiptoeing from room to room, ready to run at a moment’s notice. A voice sounded out of nowhere. It spoke in whispers and then not at all. Lightning flashed in the sky, silent, without thunder, and the trees shook their leaves and shivered down all their branches. In the last of these twenty rooms, the door stood in open in the darkness of the hall. Lightning flashed again, bright this time, like light on copper. I found the butler, his candle lying smashed on the floor. As I ran in, bearing a light, he clasped me in the arms and trembled for the first time since I have known him, thanked God, and hurried me out of the room. He would say nothing of what had alarmed him. “Tomorrow, tomorrow,” was all I could get from him. I doubt if his night more restful than mine. It was then that I came up to my room with a heavy foreboding of evil oppressing me, and went with a hesitation and reluctance I could not explain to my chest of drawers. #RandolphHarris 1 of 5
A cold feeling came over me as I opened the top drawer, in which was nothing but ribbons and handkerchiefs, and then the second, where was as little to alarm, and then, O Heavens, the third and last: and there was a mass of linen neatly folded: upon which, as I looked with curiosity that began to be tinged with horror, I perceived a movement in it, and a pink hand was thrust out of the fold and began to grope feebly in the air. I could bear it no more, and rushed from the room, clapping the door after me, and strove with all my force to lock it. However, they key would not turn in the wards, and from within the room came a sound of rustling and bumping, drawing nearer and nearer to the door. Why I did not flee down the stairs I know not. I continued grasping the handle, and mercifully, as the door was plucked from my hand with an irresistible force. I looked on in horror and in horror grasped. In the moment, a demon sprang from the room, his talons and teeth and eyes burned against the stars. He took to the air like an arow, unhindered, as if gravity did not any more exist, and crashed through the skylight. Now he was in the sky above me, a black star which had not been put out. At breakfast the next morning, the butler was very uncommunicative. However, afterward, he inquired of me if Mr. Hansen would be able to repair the skylight before the next storm rolled in. After throwing out a good many short remarks on indifferent topics, “It should be done by noon,” I said. He bowed to my acknowledgements. The trouble with Llanada Villa was that it was haunted, and what was worse, ghost did not merely appear and disappear, they would remain for hours. #RandolphHarris 2 of 5
The following evening, a ghost appeared promptly, and frighted Astrid out of the guest room quite out of her senses by sitting down beside her, and gazing with his cavernous blue eyes into her. In his long, bony finger bits of dripping seaweed were entwined, the ends hanging down, and these ends he drew across her forehead until she fainted away. Astrid was found unconscious in her bed the next morning, simply saturated with seawater and fright. As I stepped out of my study into the great hall that is next to it, and shut the door, my candle went out. I supposed I had clapped the door behind me too quick, and made a draught, and I was annoyed, for I had no tinder-box neater than my bedroom. However, I knew my way well enough, and went on. The next thing was that my book was stuck out f my hand in the dark: if I said twitched out of my hand it would better express the sensation. It fell on the floor. I picked it up, and went on, more annoyed than before, and a little startled. However, that hall has many windows and I know where the furniture is. So I went on through the audit chamber next to it, which also has very big windows, and then into the bedrooms which lead to my own, where the curtains were drawn. It was in the Daisy Bedroom that I nearly got my quietus. The moment I opened the door of it I felt there was something wrong. I thought twice, I confess, whether I should not turn back and find another chamber. At about 3 A.M. the whole house was aroused by cries coming from the butler’s room. #RandolphHarris 3 of 5
I rushed through the mansion and knocked at the door and asked if anything was wrong. The butler called out that he was sick. He would not open the door. I went back to my chamber and did not think much about. Then, this morning, I knocked to see how he was. The butler’s voice sounded strange. “Where is your roommate at this time?” I asked. “Mrs. Winchester, he’s away. His father died and he went home for the funeral.” When he would not open the door, I became quite concerned and told him I was going for help. He opened it—then I saw Dorian stretched dead on the blood-stained carpet, beaten, scratched, and mauled. I learned long ago the uselessness of weeping, I did not shed tears, though my heart began to break. Only an open window told what had become of our assailant, and many wondered how he himself had fared after the terrific leap from the second story to the law which he must have made. There were some strange garments in the room, but the butler said they did not belong to the stranger. That same night saw the beginning of the second horror—the horror to me eclipsed the plague itself. Llanada Villa was the scene of another terrible killing; a watchman had been clawed to death in a manner not only too hideous for description, but raising a doubt as to the human agency of the deed. The victim had been seen alive considerably after midnight—the dawn revealed the unutterable thing. I knew the demon must have returned. Those who found the body noted a trail of blood leading to the door-to-nowhere, where a small pool of red lay on the ground just below. A fainter trail led away toward the fruit orchards, but it soon gave out. #RandolphHarris 4 of 5
The next night devils danced in the Grand Ball Room, and unnatural madness howled in the wind. Through my mansion had crept a curse which some said was greater than the Black Death, and which some whispered was the embodied demon-soul of the plague itself. Thirteen rooms were entered by a nameless thing which strewed red death in its wake—in all, thirteen maimed and shapeless remnants of bodies were left behind by the voiceless, sadistic monster that crept through the twisting halls of my labyrinth. A few persons had half seen in the night, and said it was dark as night. It had not left behind quite all that it had attacked, for sometimes it had been hungry. The number it had killed was twenty-six. I went downstairs. Outside the air was fresh and crisp as I strolled through the garden. Something seemed to rush at me, and there was—I do not know how to put it—a sensation of long strong arms about my shoulders. The dagger had been taken from my waist. It fell to the ground. Then I heard a female voice, somewhere behind me. “You are a cruel man,” she said. Then there was no one visible. I do not think I was ever more horrified in all my life, that I could remember. However, frantic farmers captured it in the Observational Tower. A housemaid had reported hearing a scratching at a shuttered window, the net was quickly spread. On account of the general alarm and precautions, there were only three more victims, and the capture was effected without major causalities. After that, I could only get sleep in the small hours, when daylight was already strong, and then my dreams were of the grimmest—particularly one which stamped itself on my brain. #RandolphHarris 5 of 5
The Winchester Mystery House
Life in the 1830s and ‘40s was limited in scope for everyone. Individuals were known by all their neighbours and restricted by the mores of the culture. Men and women were very unequal under law but were more alike in real life. Society was not under great pressure; men and women had a much more even balance of power than they were to have fifty years later. The 1830s saw Watt’s improvement of the steam engine which made the railroads and steamboats possible. The completion of the Erie canal in the 1820s opened the near Midwest and the Great Lakes to commerce and settlement. The 1850 saw the discovery of coal and iron together in Pennsylvania, which permitted the cast-iron and steel industries to produce factories in cities and to produce railroads to ship their raw materials and manufactured goods. The Civil War caused the railroads to boom and heavy industry to flourish.
As a result, everything changed in the middle decades of the nineteenth century. American became urbanized. The 1870 census revealed that, for the first time, most Americans lived in cities. In small town or a farm village, everyone knew each other, and behaviour was controlled by the neighbours. In a big city each person was anonymous, and standards for behaviour had to be internalized and enforced by the individual. For most of history right and wrong were external rules; now personal morality had to prevail. The ideal of “self-control” for modern people became widespread in the late nineteenth century. At the same time, the family as an economic unit, a “little commonwealth,” disappeared. It was replaced by the modern cash economy where each person is an individual. By the turn of the century in America, most people worked in manufacturing or in offices. The new middle class worked in skyscrapers and took a commuter railroad or “el” (elevated railroad) or trolley to work.
Unlike Mrs. Winchester “home” for most people was an apartment or flat or row house. This was a new class of people. They were not the gentry of the eighteenth and early nineteenth century who made their living from owning land that others farmed or from shipping. They were not the “yeoman farmers” who grew their food with their own hands. They were clerks and office workers whose work was not manual and who saw themselves as newly arrived gentry. They Irish potato famine of the 1840s drove millions of immigrants to America while revolutions and repressions pushed millions out of Eastern Europe in the 1850 through the ‘80s. This labour was inexpensive. Even clerical, white-collar workers could have several servants, either live-in maids or daily cleaning ladies who returned to their (newly invented) tenements at night.
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Secrets and Lies—Good and Evil
Outward ceremonies will not compensate for the want of virtue. The impulses of love are so subtle, and the influences of false reasoning, when enforced by eloquence and passion, so unbounded, that no human virtue is secure from degeneracy. Heroes and villains are largely defined by their treatment of others. Ben Crawford is considered a hero because he is kind to everyone he comes into contact with, and he is also sensitive. Ben Crawford likes to pursue more happiness-seeking activates and experience good emotions, and we see this in him before the murder of Tom Murphy. After the murder of his son, Tom Murphy, Ben Crawford experiences a roller coaster of good and unpleasant emotional states, but he does not let this compel him to the dark side. While everyone is mistreating Ben, playing him for a fool, trying to trap him into a relationship, or sponging off of him, he remains emotionally stable and is still able to experience some happiness and satisfaction in life. We see that Ben is still happy when he takes his daughter and Jess Murphy to the county fare. When examining Secrets and Lies, it is easy to think of suspense as intense entertainment or something the audience is interested solely as a form of escaping from reality, for a while. However, by engaging in this program, the audience is using this World to learn to critically think and form conclusions about their own existence, relationships, and figure out what really matters to them.
People are able to explore their humanity, spirituality, and psychological nature. As you watch Secrets and Lies, you think about why some people do good things, why some people do bad things? You will also consider what factors influence the choices people make? The characters are all morally complex, and you see what motivates people do behave the way they do. Nonetheless, things are not always what they seem to be. In cases like Ben Crawford, many people in the audience wonder why no one speaks up against the atrocities committed against Ben Crawford and his family, and why do people add to his suffering? It is inconceivable that a righteous person would sit back and watch a man be tortured and do nothing to stop it. Those who do not act are looked at as being indifferent or evil. However, we know that normal people can do some very evil things given the proper motivation. Kevin Williams, the African America neighbor used to work for the CIA, and is used to being discriminated against, he has a grudge against society, and when he gets the chance, he returns the favor by kidnapping Ben Crawford and trying to force a confession out of him. Jess Murphy, had an affair with Ben and gave birth to his son in secret, when he will not engage in a relationship with him, she accuses him of rape to make sure he goes down in flames.
Christi Crawford is rather cold and professional, she feels betrayed by the situation and does the best she can to be a good wife and support her husband, but she is hurt because she made some choices that she is not necessarily comfortable with and feels a little concerned that she may be responsible for how this situation turned out. While someone else in the miniseries just wanted to eliminate someone, they found undesirable and inferior. Often times, when people are given power, and they are not mature, nor used to having power, they will more than likely try to punish others, will be hostile, and will enjoy the power they have other others. They seem to be compelled to commit atrocities, engage in abuse, and generally treat others as subhuman. And although many people feel like hating Christi Crawford, at least she never displayed those traits, like Kevin, Jess, and detective Cornell did. Many people in Secrets and Lies engage in harmful and atrocious acts toward Ben Crawford, and they also diffuse responsibility. They demonstrate how human nature can be truly painful due to the experiences others have, and are looking to blame someone else, in this case Ben Crawford, for the choices and decisions they made. It is not that Ben Crawford is a bad guy, however, the community members are hiding evil inside of their souls and Ben is the perfect target to release it on because he has been demonized by the police and the media.
It makes these people feel good to take their frustrations out on a mark and to sit back and judge him, as it takes the attention off of them and makes them feel superior and important despite the pain and suffering, they are inflicting on an innocent man. After people engage in this game, they feel they have no choice and must go on. Knowingly causing harm to Ben Crawford, the community is engaging in a war against this man. They know what they are doing is extremely painful, and none of them express concern for his health nor safety. Many of the participants demonstrate clear signs of distress, including nervous laughing, sweating, groaning, and psychotic splits with reality. It is like these people are all following some kind of demonic orders from an authority figure and go far beyond their moral limits to inflict physical and psychological torture onto Ben Crawford. For example, it comes to light the Tom Murphy, Ben’s son, was murdered by a blow to the head with a flashlight, and someone breaks into Ben’s garage and places several flashlights like the murder weapon in his garage, and takes a key and scratches his car with it, in addition to spray painting “Child Killer” with red spray paint on his garage. The people in the community relinquish personal responsibility for their actions to Satan, an authority figure. This is known as authoritarian obedience. So Ben Crawford is seen as disobedient as he refuses to submit to Satanic rule and take the case for a murder he did not commit and is cited for insubordination and could face execution.
Research indicates that capital punishment is not an effective deterrent to criminal behavior, but a murder has been committed and someone must pay and Ben Crawford is the perfect scapegoat. Also, after what the community has done to Ben Crawford, making him pay for this murder will alleviate them from facing any criminal charges for the unlawful acts they have committed against him. And still, the community members do not see themselves as evil because they have convinced themselves that Ben Crawford is evil, when he is a very good guy, and that it is acceptable to treat him anyway they want to. And that is where that saying, “It takes one to know one” comes from. Essentially, much like Tom Murphy, Ben Crawford is deemed inferior and oppression and slaughter of him is acceptable in the minds of these demonically possessed people. Their sense of morality seems alien compare with Ben Crawford’s compassion and empathy. People are taught that they are superior to Ben Crawford because he has been accused of a crime, and this legitimizes actions that would otherwise be seen as reprehensible. Anyone who speaks out on behalf of Ben Crawford is likely to be chastised and others conform to avoid negative attention. Ben Crawford knows he is under threat and that his life could be extinguished at any moment. And community members who threaten, oppose, or abuse Ben Crawford are seemingly rewarded because someone has to pay for this murder and they are all making the investigation easy on law enforcement. However, not everyone in the community embodies evil, Christi Crawford is one of Ben’s best allies. Ben Crawford is condemned by nature and fortune to an active and restless life.
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 Research and Development 