When the Signs Lead to a Ghost Town, My Trance Experience at Jerome Grand Hotel

We arrived. This home would be ours for the next week. I stood at the living room window, quiet in a way I rarely am. The view held me there. Red rocks stretched across the horizon, ancient and unmoved by anything I had ever worried about. Words felt unnecessary.

Each morning, I carried a warm cup of Don Francisco coffee onto the balcony and sat facing those towering formations. The air felt wide and clean. I closed my eyes and settled into meditation, offering quiet gratitude for the strange and beautiful path that had led me here.

Desert chipmunks ran lightly along the balcony rail, as if they too had somewhere important to be.

All the signs had pointed to Jerome, Arizona. And now the day had come to see this ghost town for myself. I wondered, if a place could still hold the stories of those who once lived there. I wondered what might be waiting.

We piled into the oversized black SUV, GPS set to the Jerome Grand Hotel, and began the drive. The road twisted into one switchback after another, each turn revealing a steep drop into the vast desert below. My heart beat faster with every curve. Fear and exhilaration lived side by side in my chest. I have always loved the feeling of being suspended between the two.

At last, the Jerome town sign appeared. We followed the GPS, trusting the blue line as it wound through the mountains. Something felt off. The hotel never appeared. We kept driving, slowly realizing the GPS had rerouted us past it entirely. We found ourselves leaving town before we had even arrived. We all thought this to be a bit ghostly.

We pulled over at a scenic lookout. The view stretched endlessly, layered with distance and time. For a moment, we simply stood there, taking it in. Then we climbed back into the SUV and tried again. This time the GPS stayed steady, guiding us directly to the Jerome Grand Hotel.

Excitement bubbled inside me as we stepped into the lobby. The building had once been the United Verde Hospital, and something about the space felt both preserved and alive. Pictures and memorabilia from the 1920s and 1930s lined the walls, delicate reminders of another era. I felt drawn to everything. I took photo after photo, wanting to capture the atmosphere before it slipped away.

A vintage hotel front desk room call bell board,

late 1800s

A sketch of the United Verde Hospital signed Scott Culver 1944

My friend began speaking with the desk attendant about the history of the hotel. Somehow, the conversation led to us securing a room.

We stepped into the original 1926 Otis elevator. It moved slowly, deliberately, as though time itself had agreed to slow down with it.

1926 Otis Elevator Outside

1926 Otis Elevator Inside

Jerome Grand Hotel Hallway

We watched the floors pass one by one. When the metal gate opened, followed by the wooden door, we stepped into a quiet hallway that immediately stirred recognition inside me. I laughed softly and told everyone it reminded me of The Shining.

Synchronicity Sweetheart in the Sun Porch Jerome Grand Hotel

Sun Porch Jerome Grand Hotel

Bathroom Jerome Grand Hotel

We entered what had once been the garden room, a space designed so long term patients could receive sunlight and fresh air. The porch opened outward, inviting light inside. The room was simple, dressed in the style of the 1920s and 1930s. Nothing elaborate. Just the unmistakable feeling of stepping into another time.

The bathroom stopped me. The moment I crossed the threshold, chills moved through my body. Not fear. Familiarity. The kind that arrives without explanation.

My friend called us to gather in the main room. We sat together on the couch and prepared to enter trance.

To me, trance feels like the mind becoming a radio. Most days the signal is crowded with static, thoughts layered on thoughts, noise layered on noise. In trance, the volume lowers. The signal clears. Something quiet becomes easier to hear.

The session began quietly, with someone recording as the room settled into stillness. When I returned from trance, the first words came without effort. That was him. The recognition felt immediate, gentle, certain.

I found myself wondering if this had been the reason so many small signs had guided me to Jerome. Not for spectacle, not for curiosity, but to offer this man a moment to be heard. A chance for his story to move again through time. In my heart, the answer felt clear.

I could not recall every word spoken while in trance, yet the presence remained with me. The feeling of him lingered, steady and unmistakable. The emotional imprint felt strong, as if something sacred had passed through the space we had shared.

When the circle closed and we stepped back into the ordinary world, a quiet sense of completion settled within me. Nothing dramatic, nothing forced. Simply the feeling that something had been asked, and I had said yes.

On the drive back to the house, we entered the address into the GPS once more. Once again, the route shifted, guiding us in a direction we did not expect. This time, in an entirely different area than when we first arrived in Jerome.

I could not help but wonder if the land itself holds a presence, something subtle yet perceptible, something capable of influencing more than mood or memory. Is it possible for energy to exist in a way that interferes with signal, gently bending the path, asking to be noticed?

I found myself quietly wondering if places hold memories more deeply than we can understand or comprehend. Jerome is called a ghost town. I am left curious about what that name truly means.

Another sign appeared before we even left. I had taken four photographs of a building without thinking much about why I felt drawn to stop. Something about it asked for my attention, and I listened.

When I returned to Phoenix, a woman shared her experience of a place in Jerome where she had stayed, a place she felt carried an even stronger presence than the Jerome Grand Hotel. As she spoke, a quiet recognition moved through me. The building she described was the same one I had photographed. All four images, taken without plan, without explanation, now felt gently accounted for.

It seems Jerome is not quite finished with me yet. I have learned not to rush these things. When the timing settles, when the path becomes clear again, I trust I will find my way back.

The film footage will be shared on my YouTube channel, with a podcast episode to follow, where I will speak more about what unfolded inside those walls and what I felt while listening to the quiet signal.