There is a famous house in California built the widow of the same Winchester who invented the famous rifle of the same name.

Winchester

I. The Arrival
by Michael Doyle

The bell tolls in the dark of night
While the man awakes feeling less than right
She wakes with a start and down the stairs
All falls into place with her haunted stare

Blood drips down the muralled wall
While the doctor asks that she might recall
It is pointless after all to live life in fear
He offers up as though that might bring cheer

To take back control is to move past illusion
Removing all that which causes pain and confusion
It's only in the mind that fear takes control
And when you move past this, you regain your soul

A mother reaches out beyond her son's death
On a spiritualist journey unto her last breath
Repeating like the rifles that constantly fire
A wounded mother's heart will never tire

Her husband also gone, the widow builds in expansion
Endless rooms going nowhere in her chaotic mansion
Reclusive and staggered into endless cycles of grief
What then is too great a price to find relief

The good doctor arrives at the end of his journey
To a house greater than any else he might survey
The medium had declare the the need to build and build
And such was a mother's desperation revealed

Though the drapes of wind blowing through a window
Every creak and groan lends its fear to the shadow
All for the hope that in at least one of a hundred rooms
The widow might yet find escape from her gloom

Wishes to be respected are set as her vapid rules
Time then becomes the tempest suffered by fools
Doubt is self whispered into the mirror
Where self-inflicted horror is always ever nearer

(c) July 31, 2020  Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved