VOLCANO – A young girl, an apparition dressed in white, is said to roam the halls of the St. George Hotel here, startling guests and housekeepers alike. She comes and goes, as does the equally mysterious, well-dressed gentleman who skulks through the three-story inn with a cane.

For years, strange things have supposedly taken place at the hotel, set at a sharp bend of a narrow road that winds through the thickly wooded hills of the historic Gold Rush town, 60 miles southeast of Sacramento.

Ghosts, if you choose to believe, have lurked in the place for years. Voices, footsteps and otherworldly creaks have given some the creeps. 

Lights are said to fade in and out. Beds, fresh and crisp one minute, are in disarray the next. Things go bump, deep into the night.

"Do you ever get the feeling that you need to get the hell out of someplace?" said Elsa Seeger, the hotel's office manager since 2001. Her eyes widened and her voice stiffened. "I've heard so many stories, but to tell you the truth, I've only experienced something strange just once."

For at least one night, though, the chatter in the corridors, the shadowy figures, the flashes of light – all the weirdness of the night – weren't the work of poltergeists.

On Saturday, a small swarm of ghost hunters gathered at the St. George Hotel in search of the little blond girl and the dashing gentleman.

The ghost hunters, as they call themselves, set up video cameras, sound recorders. They used dowsing rods to lead the way. A handheld Geiger counter sought to measure radiation, if not ghostly vibes. They cajoled the spirits to appear.

When the "science" was done, a psychic swept from room to room, sniffing out the spirits.

"I feel so very emotionally and physically drained," said the psychic, Jason Lindo, after visiting one of the darkened rooms.

"It was like something grabbed me by the shoulders," said Lindo, who in the parlance of the paranormal is referred to as a "sensitive."

Richard Winters, one of the new co-owners of the hotel, said he knew little of the ghost stories when he and his partners bought the Amador County hotel.

"One day, a guest asked whether we had any ghosts," he said. The guest claimed she had spoken to a gentleman who identified himself as Charles Osgood, who Winters claims was among the hotel's first customers more than a century ago.

In the room called "Soldiers Gulch," a guest in September reported speaking to a little girl in a white dress. Journals located in every room tell of other brushes with the paranormal.

"Enjoy the ghost. We did. … Knock on the walls – you will get a knock back," said one recent, but undated, entry.

Investigators claimed they captured on tape the sing-songy voice of a little girl during Saturday's hunt, although they acknowledge that whatever made those sounds is open to interpretation.

Robin Little, whose family also has a share in the business, contacted a friend well-known in the paranormal field and invited her out to investigate.

"We're not taken very seriously all the time – I know you find that hard to believe," said Amy Bruni, who produces "Beyond Reality Radio," a broadcast hosted by two members featured on the popular sci-fi network show "Ghost Hunters."

Bruni doesn't mind skeptics, and she has quick answers for nonbelievers.

Why for example, must ghost hunts occur at night?

"The theory is, ghosts manifest themselves in the dark," Bruni said. "In broad daylight, a misty figure walks by you – not that it happens very often – but you're probably not going to see it in broad daylight.

"But even among us paranormal types there's a debate," she added. "Some of us think you can ghost hunt in the day."

She and other believers endure the jokes. Bruni laughs along with the naysayers. But there is a serious side.

"Ghost hunting is almost a belief system. It's about trying to figure out what happens when we die," she said. "People want to know what happens when we die, and ghosts are a lot more tangible for a lot of people. In the paranormal, there are a lot of people who aren't naturally religious, but they believe in ghosts."

Instead of spooking potential guests, Winters thinks the ghosts at the 21-room hotel could become a draw.

The St. George is the third hotel built on its site on Main Street. Its predecessors, the Eureka and the Empire, both built mostly of wood, burned down.

When the hotel was rebuilt, someone finally had the bright idea of using brick – and naming it St. George to ward off the "demonic fire dragon," as the hotel's Web site says.

In March, scores of disciples of the paranormal will convene at the hotel for a "Ghost Rush," a weekend of seminars on ghosts and other hard-to-explain spiritual phenomena that will double the population of the town's core of about 100.

Volcano, named for the caldera-like valley in which it is located, was a hub of California's Gold Country. It once bustled with miners, but these days can seem, well, like a ghost town when tourists don't swarm the place.

"We just want to be sure we don't scare away all of the people," joked Ann Overhiser, whose fiancé, Dave Bender, led the team of investigators – including one staffer whose task is to debunk his colleagues' claims.

Suzanne Anderson, a graphics artist from Carson City, Nev., swears she felt a presence in her room – dubbed "Hell's Delight" – as her husband slept. Someone, something, was walking behind her tracing her steps as she moved, she insisted. During a previous visit, door latches seem to release themselves.

"Yeah, I would have to say I'm a believer now," said Anderson. "Do I want to be? No."

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