![]() We came across bodies lying on crematorium tables, covered with white sheets, who would spring up as we passed rats scurrying through exposed pipes a chef who spoke of preparing bloody body parts for dinner an ax-wielding eccentric who swayed proud beneath his wall of human heads spiders leaping from the corners and a constant alert, knowing that the walls were alive in their expiration and hungry to make us scream. The dark halls still held a grip of vibes as we maneuvered through, having to dip beneath some of the low-ceiling corridors that zigzagged to and fro, pockmarked with staircases that lead only to a wall or ceiling, a floor that had encased a window, steps that were short and wide, as they had been built to accommodate Sarah’s arthritic bones, allowing us to move from one of the home’s 160+ rooms to the next, many of which housing a decorated plethora of ghoulish offerings. A carnival barker welcomed us and told us we couldn’t take any photos inside because ghosts are often camera shy, so our journeys would remain in the mind’s eye alone. We lined up to explore the halls adorned with the quixotic expansion that had once been home to the troubled Winchester widow, den to countless unfortunates who had been products of the success of a tool for murder. We went to the Spookeasy for some spirits as we roamed the scene, all of us getting creepily excited to enter the foreboding mansion that towered above us, beckoning with a greedy grin.įinally, they opened the doors and our tour began. They’d set up a carnival of the macabre Lady Fortuna, a Tarot card reader who told misfortunes a freakshow mistress who mousetrapped her lip and tried to staple a balloon to her face (she was apparently out of face staples, maybe they don’t carry those at Office Max) a duo of musicians who serenaded expired souls to a folklorian rhythm the one and only Madame Nightshade herself, who ushered an assistant from beyond the grave to pull a handkerchief from her mouth and a cast of characters who wandered, lost and ready to supply frightful enjoyment as the dusk expired. ![]() They let us in early so we could get a lay of the land outside the home. There it was, a cask of wonders, heartache and turmoil, all spinning amongst its cast, Purgatorily askance, with a crew of mimics dressed up to embody lost souls. Its plethora of windows glinted down at us in the early evening shadows like eyes, beady and sneering. There it was, the legendary abode, once a Rubik’sian structure alone on the west coast frontier, now a diamond of nostalgia settled within strip malls and perpetual development. We pulled up to the house and I could scarcely believe it. ![]() Four brave souls willing to devour the labyrinthine byways of a trouble soul’s innards. My wife Candice and I got in touch with some dear friends who live in San Jose, and before long we’d assumed a troop of ghost hunters. When I was given the opportunity to experience the haunted theatrics of Winchester Unhinged: Nightshade’s Curse I had zero hesitation to pull the trigger. The mansion achieved the coveted Helen-Mirren-movie-status, and gave new meaning to the term close-up shot. This lead to generations of curious ghost searchers coming far and wide to San Jose to see if they could catch a glimpse of the phenomenon. It was after Harry Houdini’s visit in 1924, when he confirmed the home’s reputation as a hub for countless souls, that the mansion grew mythical in the public eye. Renovation to her home would remain a constant for the rest of her life, as rumor alleged it that the constant noise of re-construction, coupled with a shitload of nonsensical corridors, would keep the spirits at bay, roaming the halls without MapQuest.ĭespite Sarah’s death rebuking a fortune teller’s claim that she would assume immortality, her very name became the foundation of legend… ![]() However, as her Winchester-in law had invented the repeater firearm, the countless folks made ghostly by her family rifle soon followed. She then made an effort to leave her woes behind in Connecticut and come out west, where she bought a farmhouse and began renovation. You see, Sarah had experienced a rash of tragedy in losing her infant daughter to illness, then losing her husband a few years later to TB. The Winchester Mystery House of San Jose has been perplexing and terrifying visitors since 1922, nine months after the death of Sarah Winchester, widowed heir to the rifle baron of the same name. Living an hour drive from one of the most fabled haunted houses in the country, the only mystery for me was why the hell I’d never been there.
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