I’ve watched this town through its every incarnation. Goldfield, my Goldfield, once filled with life and promise, became a ghost with a story forgotten. But then, it came back to life, unlike me. I’m still here, bound to my saloon—a building that has seen more laughter, heartbreak, and ghosts than most places care to reckon with. My name’s Lilah McBride, of McBride’s Saloon. No one alive remembers me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a story to tell.
Goldfield Boom Times

It started in 1893, when the gold rush thundered through these Arizona hills. The ore here was richer than anything we’d dared imagine, and Goldfield sprang up almost overnight—hotels, mercantiles, a school, and saloons, of course. My saloon, with its polished brass railings and glowing gaslights, was a staple of Main Street.
Men roared in after long shifts underground, desperate to spend their hard-earned wages on whiskey, a lively card game, or a tune from the upright piano in the corner. I kept the chaos under control, ran a tight ship. People respected me for it.
The Flood of 1893
The veins of gold were deep, but not endless. Even at its peak, I knew the prosperity wouldn’t last forever. Miners whispered about tunnels growing sparse, about accidents down in the dark that left men maimed—or worse.
I sipped my coffee early one morning at the bar, listening to a miner rant about a flooded shaft, how the aquifer had swallowed everything below. His voice cracked with anger and fear, but I had no words to comfort him. What could I say? That all things end, even wealth and towns and lives? Nobody wants to hear that.
Goldfield — a Ghost with a Forgotten Story
The flood was the beginning of the end. By 1897, the mines shut down, and one by one, people packed their belongings and left. I stayed as long as I could—this saloon was my lifeblood—but you can’t run a business without customers. The laughter vanished, replaced by the occasional croak of a crow or whistle of the wind that cut through the empty streets. The boards buckled, the paint peeled. The ceiling above my piano leaked sunlight. And then, like the others, I left too—though not in the usual sense.
I couldn’t tell you how I died. Perhaps it was illness, or an accident, or simply heartbreak. All I know is, one day, I was still here, and no one else was, save the shadows and the creaking of my saloon. I was alone. My Goldfield had become a ghost town, and now I was among its ghosts.
Decades passed. Rain razed the rooftops; dust choked the alleyways. I remained tethered, wandering my saloon, brushing my spirit fingers across the warped bar, mourning every sun-bleached board of this forgotten place. Occasionally, scavengers or road-weary travelers appeared, poking through debris, ignorant of the history they trampled over. I wanted to scream at them to treat her—my town—with reverence, but my attempts to rattle or shift objects always fell flat.


The Resurgence
Something curious happened in the 1950s. People returned—not miners this time, but entrepreneurs. They were the dreamers who saw Goldfield not as ruins, but as a ghost town with history and a story worth saving. They repaired the remaining structures, painted over the scars of decay, and renamed her Goldfield Ghost Town. Even McBride’s Saloon came back to life, though not as it once was.
Tourists wander the floors now, cameras in hand, amusing themselves with stories of phantom miners and cowboys. Meanwhile, I linger quietly, neither living nor entirely forgotten, watching.
Oh, the tourists—they’re a curious breed. Most saunter through my saloon with lazy gazes, treating it like some theme park façade. But a few, every so often, touch something real. The young couple who whispered about the miners who’d died for the gold. The child who stared at the piano, swearing it played a single mournful note when no one was near. Do they notice me? Perhaps. A chill, a flicker of movement in the corner of their eye. Enough to remind them that this place is alive in its own way.
It’s bittersweet, to see my town reanimated in this strange guise. The spirit of Goldfield endures, certainly, but it’s no longer the town I loved. Where I once served hot stew to weary miners, now costumed actors stage mock shootouts for entertainment. The grit is gone, smoothed away by glossy brochures and guided tours.
Late afternoons are my favorite, when the tourists leave and the shadows deepen. Sitting at my old bar, I watch streams of golden light through the cracks in the planks, and I reflect on what we were and what we’ve become. Goldfield isn’t dead, not really. Her bones still tell a story, one of riches and ruin, of people who lived and loved and worked beneath these endless skies. And me, I carry that story, as I always will.
Ghosts don’t get endings—we linger. But as far as endings go, watching my town rise again—not as she was, but renewed in her own way—it’s one I can live with. Or, well, you know what I mean.
Final Thoughts and Looking Ahead
I hope you enjoyed Lilah’s story. I certainly enjoyed bringing it to you, and I hope you’ll leave a comment below letting me know if you liked it and what your time was on the puzzle. As for the future, I’ve got one more ghost town story to bring you next week. In February, I’ve got more surprises for you, and, of course, one of those will be Valentine’s Day! Until next week, thanks for being here!
See all my Friday Morning Posts here. If you missed last week’s post, you can use this link to view The Stark Family Heirloom Heist.
Lovely puzzle. 12:47
Nice puzzle. My time was 8:40.
7:09, love the story! I wonder how much gold is left in some of these mines…
6:07 I liked the story told from the ghost’s point of view. I think it could be developed into a longer and more detailed book if you chose to do so.
It could be a fun story to tell!
9:17
6:32 for me!
12.37
I really enjoyed reading Lilah’s story. My time today was 5:56!
My time is 8:47. I really enjoyed reading Goldfield’s Ghostly Story! You are very creative in the perspectives you use to tell a story. I’m looking forward to the next ghost town story.
9:51 today. Happy Weekend!
8:19 my worst time yet i think!