On October 13th, of 2014, my wife and I visited Tombstone, Arizona. It is a tourist town, still set up much like it had been back in the late 1800’s when Wyatt Earp walked the streets. The town is ripe with old style saloons and dressed up characters to bring back the aura of the Old West.

We visited the O.K. Corral, Big Nosed Kate’s Saloon, the store where Morgan Earp was shot and killed, and Boot Hill Cemetery, taking numerous photos and having a great time.

We bought tickets for the Bird Cage Theatre. From 1881 to 1894 it was the center of entertainment in the old west silver mining town, where musicals, magicians, comedians, and wrestling could be enjoyed. Stage shows weren’t the only entertainment that the Bird Cage had to offer.

If one wished to walk on the darker side, drinking, gambling, opium and prostitutes were all available. The establishment was frequented by Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, George Hearst, Diamond Jim Brady, Bat Masterson, Adolphus Busch, and numerous other Old West figures.

The theatre was no stranger to death. Twenty-six people reportedly died at the Bird Cage Theater during various disputes. With that kind of history, it is no wonder that claims have arisen that it is haunted. None of that bothered me because I was a staunch non-believer in ghosts.

The man taking the tickets told us that we were fortunate to have come on Monday, because we currently would be the only people in the building. My wife and I entered the front room of the theatre which was a large barroom. Behind the bar was a huge mirror that sported several bullet holes from various Old West altercations. It was a great start to our self-guided tour.

In the next room were the twelve balcony boxes where the prostitutes serviced their clientele. They were off-limits to tourists because they had become unstable and were no longer safe. As we walked by, I heard a clear female voice call, “Yoo Hoo.”

“Did you hear that?” my wife looked at me in disbelief, verifying that we had both heard it.  The sound had wafted through a crevice between the back of the boxes and an outer wall that they sat against. The only place that it could have generated from was up in the boxes. We stood around for a bit, but it didn’t happen again.

I didn’t think much more about it. We snapped pictures of the pool table where Morgan Earp had died, the infamous Black Moriah hearse, and of the table where the world’s longest poker game occurred 24/7 for eight years in which ten million dollars exchanged hands.

Upon returning home, while studying our pictures, we noticed something incredible. In our photo of the Black Moriah, there was a clear image of a woman who looked distraught. It was no reflection, flash distortion, or distant picture. During our visit, it seems that perhaps our tour wasn’t so unguided after all.