Inside Room 2 of the Silver Queen Hotel in Virginia City, Nevada, the absence of windows creates a heavy, claustrophobic atmosphere. A small sign on the door warns guests against using matches or lighting cigarettes, a directive that felt particularly ominous given the city’s history with devastating fires. In 1875, a massive blaze leveled much of this mining town; standing in that windowless chamber, I couldn’t help but feel that if a fire broke out, I would simply become another one of the spirits said to haunt these historic streets.
My journey through the Silver State wasn’t about seeking cheap thrills or jump scares. Instead, I was on a spiritual quest for evidence—a sign that life continues in some form after we pass. This search for proof led me to some of the most storied and allegedly haunted locations in the American West.
Room 2 itself was a study in decay. A layer of dust coated every surface, swirling into the air whenever the ceiling fan hummed to life. The decor featured a peculiar Victorian-era illustration of a boy with a penny-farthing bicycle, while a leaking shower provided a rhythmic, dripping soundtrack. Most intriguing, however, was a small, mysterious door positioned directly behind the iron headboard of my bed.
When I questioned the bartender downstairs—who functioned as the hotel’s de facto front desk clerk—about the door, she described it simply as a “crawl space.” Before I could press for more details, she turned her attention back to the crowd, announcing a scheduled “robbery” reenactment for the following day. This is the essence of Virginia City: a place where the Wild West is constantly performed for the benefit of visitors.
The Violent History of the Comstock Lode
The town’s legacy is rooted in the 1859 discovery of the Comstock Lode, a massive silver strike that provided the financial backing for the Union during the Civil War. This sudden wealth attracted fortune-seekers and, along with them, a culture of lawlessness. Mark Twain, who famously worked as a reporter for The Territorial Enterprise here, noted in Roughing It that social standing was often measured by one’s capacity for violence. To be “respected,” one had to have “killed his man.”
Today, that rugged spirit persists, though in a different form. During my visit, motorcycle clubs descended on the town. These modern-day outlaws, clad in leather and denim, marched along the wooden plank sidewalks of C Street, their heavy boots echoing like a reminder of the desperados who once walked these same paths.
Inside the Silver Queen: Room 2 offers a glimpse into the dusty, historic atmosphere of Virginia City’s past.
Eerie Encounters at the Gold Hill Hotel
At the nearby Gold Hill Hotel and Saloon, I met local historian Taylor Hamby. She shared the lore of the Silver Queen, including the story of a woman who supposedly took her own life in Room 11. Legends say she still appears in the beds of male guests, gently caressing them in the dark. While Taylor hadn’t seen that particular spirit, she recounted a chilling night in Room 14.
She had been pet-sitting a large, friendly dog named Akira. At 3 a.m., the dog suddenly became terrified, jumping onto the bed and shaking uncontrollably. Moments later, the transom window above the door shattered, raining glass down onto the floor where the dog had been sitting just seconds before. No physical cause was ever found for the break.
That night, back in Room 2, I found myself awake at exactly 3 a.m. I listened intently, hearing a dull thudding sound that seemed to emanate from the wall behind my bed. Fuelled by a mix of curiosity and liquid courage, I pushed the bed aside and opened the small crawl space door. Inside, I found a narrow compartment with dirty green carpet and names scrawled on the door frame. More unsettling was a rumpled pillow and a discarded sheet, suggesting that something—or someone—had recently been sleeping within the very walls of my room.
Into the High Desert: Tonopah’s Grim Legacy
Leaving the hills of Virginia City behind, I traveled across the vast Nevada desert toward Tonopah. This remote town announced itself with the sight of the “world-famous” Clown Motel, located right next to the town’s historic cemetery. The graveyard is a sobering record of the dangers of the early mining industry, with headstones citing causes of death like “struck by a runaway ore car” and “blown up by dynamite.”
Tonopah was founded in 1900 by Jim Butler, who reportedly discovered silver ore after throwing a rock at a stubborn burro. The resulting boom led to the construction of the Mizpah Hotel in 1905. The name “Mizpah” comes from the Book of Genesis, translating to “Watchtower” or a prayer for God to watch over travelers. Unlike the Silver Queen, my room at the Mizpah featured windows and a bed shaped like a stagecoach.
The Mizpah Hotel: A grand landmark on Tonopah’s Main Street known for its paranormal reputation.
A Seance in the Conference Room
I joined hotel manager Siobhan Smith for a seance held in the hotel’s conference room. Using an EMF reader and divining rods, Siobhan attempted to contact the spirits of the Mizpah. The rods allegedly pointed toward me, and through a series of “yes” and “no” questions, Siobhan claimed we were speaking to an unhappy entity. She identified the spirit as a “demon” who was upset because she had moved a mirror that served as its “portal.”
While the experience was theatrical, it highlighted the deep-seated belief in the supernatural that permeates these Nevada towns. Siobhan even warned the group to verbally command any entities not to follow them out of the room, a precaution intended to prevent spiritual “hitchhikers.”
Spirits of the Tonopah Liquor Company
Later, I visited the Tonopah Liquor Company, a bar owned by Tiffany and Marc Grigory. Tiffany shared that their century-old building is home to several regulars from the afterworld. These include Hattie, a former sex worker from the building’s days as a brothel, who is said to be particularly fond of children, and George, a former owner who enjoys playing pranks on the staff.
There is even a legend that if you rub a bottle against a specific corner of the bar, the spirits will hold it afloat. We tested the theory several times, but the bottle fell every time. Perhaps the spirits weren’t in the mood for parlor tricks that evening.
Commercializing the Macabre in Las Vegas
The Nevada ghost trail eventually leads to Las Vegas, home to Zak Bagans’ Haunted Museum. Bagans, known for the television series Ghost Adventures, has curated a massive collection of “haunted” artifacts housed in an old mansion. This is the commercial side of the paranormal—a high-priced tour where photography is strictly forbidden, and “RIP Access” grants visitors entry to a “Satanic” basement.
The museum features items like Bela Lugosi’s mirror and various dolls alleged to be cursed. However, the experience took a darker turn with exhibits dedicated to notorious serial killers, displaying items like Ted Bundy’s ski mask and grisly crime scene photos. This transition from “kitschy” ghost stories to the display of real-world suffering felt like a stark reminder that many ghost stories are built on foundations of genuine tragedy and pain.
The Craft of Death at Coffinwood
My final stop was in Pahrump, at the home of Bryan and Dusty Schoening. Known as “Coffinwood,” their property serves as a headquarters for Bryan’s unique craft: making authentic six-sided coffins. Bryan, an ordained minister and craftsman, explained the distinction between a casket (a simple rectangular box) and a coffin, which requires meticulous carpentry to achieve its iconic symmetrical shape.
The property is a testament to their dedication to the theme, featuring coffin-shaped gardens, ponds, and even a gazebo. Bryan shared stories of their life together, including their media appearances and their church, the Church of the Coffin. He even showed me “Voodoo,” a turtle that had supposedly frozen to death but was “resurrected” by Dusty after she thawed him with water.
The Master of Coffinwood: Bryan Schoening continues his craft in the desert of Pahrump, Nevada.
In a workshop filled with coffin-shaped jewelry and speakers, Bryan finally invited me into his home. As he processed a souvenir purchase, he pointed to a beautifully crafted, coffin-shaped box mounted on the wall. He then shared a heartbreaking truth: Dusty had passed away two years earlier. He spoke of her in the present tense, keeping her memory and her presence alive through his words and his art. He had already planned his own final resting place—a coffin built to hold both of their urns together.
Final Thoughts on the Search for Spirits
Throughout this journey across Nevada, from the dusty halls of the Silver Queen to the ritualistic rooms of Las Vegas, I searched for proof of the afterlife. While I encountered many stories of demons and restless souls, the most profound “ghost” I met was Dusty in Pahrump. Through Bryan’s enduring love and his refusal to speak of her in the past, she remained a vivid part of the world. My travels taught me that while we may look for ghosts in the shadows and the static of EMF readers, the most real evidence that “dead is not gone” lies in the memories we keep and the stories we continue to tell.
