The (Mis)adventures of Jyl: The Territorial Enterprise

This week Jyl takes us to Virginia City in Nevada, and the Territorial Enterprise!

Welcome back, misadventurers! I’m writing to you from the Cave of Chaos with my newest misadventure. This week, we’re heading to the dusty, ghost-riddled streets of Virginia City to visit the Territorial Enterprise—a newspaper so wild, even the ghosts still have deadlines (honestly, I feel this).

The Territorial Enterprise is one of those places where history and hauntings go hand in hand, where you can almost hear the clack of typewriter keys echoing through the halls even when no one’s around. Tucked into the mining town of Virginia City, Nevada, the Enterprise has a reputation as colorful as the characters who once walked through its doors. And yes, that includes a few who may not have left.

So, let’s rewind to the 1800s. Virginia City was booming with two of my favorite things, silver and sin, and the Territorial Enterprise was right at the center of it. First established in Genoa in 1858, it moved to Virginia City in 1860, just in time for the big Comstock Lode silver rush. The paper quickly became one of the most influential in the West, known for its sharp wit, political commentary, and often outrageous stories. A young reporter named Samuel Clemens started working there in 1862. You probably know him better as Mark Twain. He got his start in journalism at the Enterprise, spinning tall tales and making people laugh—and sometimes fume—through his clever, often biting prose. He even came up with the pen name “Mark Twain” while working there.

The building has burned down and been rebuilt more than once, because that’s just how things went in old mining towns. Fires were frequent, and Virginia City had more than its fair share. But the spirit of the Enterprise always came back, like some stubborn ghost who refuses to retire.

And speaking of ghosts, the place has plenty of those too. The Territorial Enterprise office is said to be one of the most haunted spots in Virginia City, which is already a contender for Most Haunted Town in America. People have reported all the classic signs: footsteps when no one’s there, cold spots, phantom voices, and even the occasional full-body apparition. One of the most commonly seen ghosts is a man in old-fashioned clothing who wanders through the building and then vanishes into thin air. Some say it’s a former reporter still chasing a scoop. Others think it might be the spirit of Joe Goodman, one of the original editors and a real character in his own right, known for his love of pranks and whiskey. Maybe we can be friends in the afterlife…

There’s also the sound of a typewriter clicking away when the office is completely empty. Visitors have sworn they’ve heard it from the next room, only to walk in and find . . . nothing. No typewriter. No person. Just that eerie sense that someone—or something—is still working the night shift. And then there are the shadowy figures that flit across rooms, the lights that flicker for no reason, and the mysterious cigar smoke that sometimes wafts through the air, even though smoking has been banned in the building for years.

Is it all just the imagination of tourists and ghost hunters hopped up on too much history? Maybe. But there’s something undeniably spooky about the place. It doesn’t help that Virginia City itself feels like a time capsule stuck somewhere between the Wild West and the Twilight Zone. The wooden sidewalks creak, the saloons are still in business, and almost every building seems to have a ghost story attached to it.

The Territorial Enterprise is no longer a bustling newsroom, but it still stands as a tribute to the wild days of Western journalism, and possibly as a halfway house for the restless spirits of newsmen past. It is now the Mark Twain Museum at the Territorial Enterprise. It has antique printing presses, stone composing tables, and even Mark Twain’s desk. Whether you believe in ghosts or not, it’s hard to walk through those halls without feeling like you’re being watched. Maybe it’s just the weight of history. Or maybe, just maybe, Twain and the gang are still hanging around, waiting for one last headline.

Jyl Glenn is a writer, editor, formatter, anthologist, poet, and a medical-legal writer and consultant. Her lifelong love affair with horror began at a very early age when she was left unattended on the weekend Poltergeist debuted on HBO. And then she figured out she could read any horror book she liked as long as she hung out at the public library, even if the librarian deemed it not to be age appropriate. Jyl was born and raised in New York and now lives in Tulsa with her dog. She loves creepy art, dark poetry, and pink dinosaurs. When she isn’t dabbling in the macabre—she’s most likely asleep.