The Washoe House, on the corner of Stony Point Road and Roblar Road, has been a stop for highway travelers for over 160 years. Built as an inn and stable house during the burgeoning years of the California Gold Rush, it stands today as one of the few preserved historical landmarks where you can get a meal and enjoy its lively interior. Ornate lanterns, wooden walls and jovial guests; you could easily come to imagine a similar experience well over a hundred years ago.

Becky Ritter, 54, has been a server at the Washoe House for over seven years, and has not just heard about other employee’s encounters but has had her own fair share of odd occurrences.

One day on a morning shift, Ritter had opened the restaurant and found that one of the dollar bills that was pinned to the ceiling had fallen on the bar counter. In the Washoe House, it’s a tradition to pin money with your name written on it on the ceiling, an old practice dating back to the gold mining days when a dollar could get you home in an emergency. With so many dollars that could fall, it didn’t really catch Ritter’s attention until she saw her name written on it.

Although it was a bit weird to her, she dismissed it as being a coworker’s prank and continued her shift. Everything continued to be normal until she told the story to a father and his daughters at one of her tables.

“I was telling them the story about the dollar, and then one of the girls suddenly screamed,” Ritter said.” At the moment I told the story, a dollar fell from the ceiling and landed right between my feet.”

Ritter is one of the many who have had a similar supernatural experience in the old haunts of Sonoma County. The bright, happy valleys and hills of Sonoma County hold a welcoming community with gorgeous places and beautiful views that it’s hard to imagine it is all that spooky. After all, it has been a long time since the asylums shut down, old mining caves filled in, or the little remembered Californian slave trade when frontiersman flocked to the state in the gold rush; where dreams and gold dust became lost at card tables or in the shady back alleys of flap houses. And that is not to mention the dozens of cults that have sprouted up over the years.

As the intentions of Sonoma’s history falls to the wayside in the rush of the modern day, it becomes easy to soak in the a-historical bliss of the unmarked graveyards that surround the ruins of the Jack London’s Wolf House, the silent halls of the Sonoma Developmental Center, or the bustling Washoe House diner which has been serving patrons for over 160 years.

It’s without this bliss, but rather an open mind and a proper regard for history that draws one to those very places to investigate them, to speak with the people who know their history, and to help you decide: Is Sonoma County haunted?

Wolf House

Built by the successful and award-winning novelist Jack London, the Wolf House was constructed from 1910 to 1913 as London’s dream house on a massive 1,400 acre property. However, anyone who has heard of the esteemed Wolf House also knows it was the victim of a fire that left only the rocky foundations and fireplaces that still stand today.

This incident traumatized the London family, who had put so much effort into its construction, that they then vowed to rebuild the mansion. Reconstruction was put into motion, but Jack London’s health rapidly declined and he soon passed away in 1916, leaving the mourning London family to abandon the project and move on.

Now, the monument to lost dreams rests silently among the beautiful hills of Glen Ellen as part of the Jack London State Historic Park, just a short walk from the gravesite where Jack London and his wife Charmian London rest.

Locals who have visited in the past have said that there have been very odd and paranormal activities at the park and around the house. Some posters on online forums claimed to have felt an ominous presence, and even had visions of the building on fire.

But upon entering the park and beginning the hike to the Wolf House, the sight of the quiet forest and the wafts of fresh warm air energizes one’s spirit for exploration. The hike was calm, even as the grave site of the Londons drew closer. Utilizing modern technology like the Spirit Box , a phone application that claims to let you communicate with the dead, one can try to see how lively the connection to the spirit world is at this hallowed site. Immediately upon opening it, there was a ton of chatter from the app, more than had presented itself at other haunts such as the Washoe House. Voices saying to leave, to explain why someone would trespass on this otherworldly ground, asking questions interspersed with gasps and random classical music notes all filled the air.

However, that wasn’t all too scary. A skeptical person should realize this was a phone app that had who knows what in its coding to make it say certain words. That is until entering the Wolf House and bringing out the app once more to cheekily ask if anyone wanted to make a deal.

“That is…possible…however,” the spirit box said, stopping into silence, the sounds of forest critters scurrying through dead leaves made my skepticism lapse. Every sound of the forest heightened as the spirit box remained worryingly silent.

Sonoma Developmental Center

Shut down in 2018 after a long standing operation spanning well over 130 years. It was once an institution for people with developmental disabilities, with housing, gardens, small parks and dozens of smaller amenities that made it a small town rather than just a hospital. However as the need for developmental facilities shifted and citations on patient deaths mounted, the hospital was given no choice but to close down.

Now after six years of closure, the sprawling complex lays dormant with locked doors and empty interiors. No one was willing to go on record about any hauntings, since they would be admitting to a misdemeanor to go inside the buildings. However, there are many local rumors that one could hear about this place, some legends which make some not want to visit at all: hearing weird noises, seeing apparitions, feeling a sense of dread. All of these occurrences in an old hospital setting are the thing of nightmares and horror movies.

Touring the premises gave a perturbed sensation looking through the dusty old windows, peering into desolate hallways and dusty waiting rooms bathed in a sterile fluorescent light. Even upon finding an unlocked door to one of the main hospital buildings, nothing could entice this reporter to delve into the derelict space ahead which held a sort of solemn sanctity one dare not break. The morbid curiosity continued to peak curiosity as cold air filled with the melange of stale air and old chemicals. The discolored walls and dusty floors screamed with mystery, the terrifying silence of a building that held nothing but the unknown was deafening. My heart racing, I ignored the enticing cosmic offer for adventure. The creaking of wood, the rustling of debris, and I gently closed the door.

Washoe House

Ritter, the waitress, approached my table with a menu and asked if there was anything she could bring besides my water.

“Actually yeah, do you have any ghost stories about this place?”

Barely finishing my sentence her eyes became alert, her gaze on the wall over my shoulder.

“There have been times where I just have to walk out, ‘I’m done’,” she said.

Excited by the stories and atmosphere of this restaurant, this reporter was even more elated to be given a short tour upstairs where supposedly the most activity takes place. As soon as the stairs came into view, there was this weird sensation as if someone were watching from the top step. The feeling dissipated up stairs into the ballroom, a large empty place lined with mirrors where guests would sometimes catch the glimpse of a woman in a ball gown. Staring into the mirror intently, the mirror cascaded in itself and pulled passerbyers gaze into reflections of reflections as mirror reflected mirror. Each glint of light from the passing cars below put my mind into overdrive as my eyes tried to catch every movement.

We left the ballroom and Ritter pointed out a small room to the right of the stairs, where some employees at the Washoe House refused to go. One ghost hunter had gotten Spirit Box responses so clear that a bartender who had been overseeing his hunt had bolted out the room and down the stairs.

“Once when I was alone up here closing for the night, I saw the chain on the door swinging like someone had just walked through the door,” Ritter said matter-of-factly as we entered the room, which let out a burst of cold, old-timey air that smelled reminiscent of dusty leather. As we stood in the room, I had brought up the Spirit Box app on my phone on muted volume as we talked. But upon realizing the phone was muted and turned it up to start asking questions, an annoyed voice asked, “Can you hear me?” I stayed there a bit longer, but the Spirit Box didn’t say anything else remotely that audible.

After that, the room started to have a rather foreboding feeling, as if lingering in someone’s bedroom after they asked you to leave. And so I left, the increasing awe for the Washoe House stirring inside me like the onion rings I had ordered there.