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Haunted attractions, scream parks and ghost tours in Portland, OR. Each listing’s name, address, phone and website come from the business’s Google Business Profile and were checked against its own website. Seasonal attractions keep their own open dates, so check the business’s site before you go. Historic haunted places on this page are folklore, credited to the source site named on each place.
7 listings shown.
Haunted place
The pub's basement cigar room connects to the old Shanghai Tunnels and is said to be haunted by David Campbell, a firefighter killed in the line of duty who appears in full gear. S…
This story is folklore told about a real place. It is not presented as documented fact.
Haunted place
The pizzeria occupies the old Merchant Hotel lobby above the Shanghai Tunnels, and its best-known resident is Nina, a woman said to have been thrown down the hotel's elevator shaft…
This story is folklore told about a real place. It is not presented as documented fact.
Haunted place
Finished in 1914 for newspaper owner Henry Pittock and his wife Georgiana, the West Hills mansion was enjoyed by the couple for only a few years before they died in 1918 and 1919. …
This story is folklore told about a real place. It is not presented as documented fact.
Scream park 🗓️ Opens 10/28
Ghost tour 🗓️ Opens 10/28
Haunted house 🗓️ Opens 10/28
Haunted place
Opened in 1905 in a rough waterfront district, this McMenamins saloon earned the nickname "Bucket of Blood" for its brawls. Staff tell of a former prostitute named Rose said to lin…
This story is folklore told about a real place. It is not presented as documented fact.
Portland's haunted geography is underground. Beneath Old Town runs the network known as the Shanghai Tunnels, and above one stretch of them stands the Merchant Hotel, built in 1880 by three successful lumber barons, per the tour operator's own account. The hotel catered to Portland's finest patrons, and its lobby survives: Old Town Pizza sits in the original lobby today, and the window where customers place a pizza order is the original hotel's reception desk, flanked by the lobby's original decorative cast-iron beam posts. Under the floorboards are the tunnels, connecting the block to the wider Portland underground.
The neighborhood around the hotel was the Old North End, a district the operator's history describes as having "a rather questionable reputation," and the hotel itself was known for prostitution among its offerings. Old Town Pizza was founded in 1974, when the Accuardi family converted the lobby into a pizza restaurant; the Milne family keeps it running today. The tunnels below, the hotel above, and the restaurant inside the lobby are all documented fabric — which is precisely why the legend attached to them has lasted.
Across the river, Oaks Amusement Park — described in Travel Oregon's coverage as one of the oldest amusement parks in the country — supplies the city's second haunted anchor: a historic pleasure ground that a seasonal scream park takes over each fall.
The Merchant Hotel's legend has a name: Nina. As the operator tells it — and it is told explicitly "as legend goes" — Nina was one of the young "working women" of the hotel, sold into that life by a thriving white-slavery market. Traveling missionaries trying to clean up the neighborhood persuaded her to share information in exchange for freeing her. She cooperated — and soon afterward was found dead in the hotel, thrown down the elevator shaft. She is reported to have never left.
The reports are specific and attributed: the tour operator says Nina is "a constant presence" at Old Town Pizza, often seen in a black dress observing diners and wandering the basement, announced by a presence felt behind you or a faint waft of perfume. The operator even asks whether it was Nina who carved her name in the brick of the old elevator shaft, now the backdrop of a booth in the rear of the restaurant. The tunnels carry their own legend: they were said to be used to nab unsuspecting sailors in the early 1900s — "shanghaiing" — and transport them to ships docked on the river. Said to be is the correct register; this is Portland folklore, presented as the operator presents it.
Hountix lists 7 places in Portland, OR. Seasonal attractions keep their own open dates, so check each business's own site before you go.
This tour sells the rarest thing in the ghost-tour business: square footage. Its own site promises "over 14,000 square feet of underground space" at the haunted Merchant Hotel — the Portland underground, explored with a guide, finishing with beer tasters and a pint at Old Town Pizza above. The site also reports the venue's press: named one of the most haunted places in America by Condé Nast, USA Today, Thrillist and Cosmopolitan, featured on the Travel Channel, and a People's Choice Best Tour winner in Portland. Those are the operator's citations of its own coverage, quoted as such.
The documented bones are solid. Three lumber barons built the Merchant Hotel in 1880; its lobby is now the restaurant, reception desk and iron posts intact; the tunnels run beneath the floorboards. The legend is Nina's. As legend goes — the operator's own framing — Nina was a young woman sold into prostitution at the hotel, who agreed to inform for missionaries working to free her, and was found dead soon after, thrown down the elevator shaft. The operator reports her still present: a figure in a black dress observing diners, wandering the basement, announced by perfume. Her name is said to be carved in the brick of the old shaft. None of this is asserted as fact here; it is the story the building tells about itself, and it has been told for, the operator says, more than 100 years.
The tunnels themselves carry the second legend: pathways said to have been used to nab unsuspecting sailors and deliver them to ships on the river. Tour price shown on the site at fetch time was $38 per person — confirm current pricing and schedule on the operator's page.
What the research does record is the shape of the show. Coverage of the attraction's 2026 season in Portland Living on the Cheap describes a 13-attraction lineup, with its featured house, The Mansion, presented as a decaying mansion filled with restless spirits. Presented is the operative word: the restless spirits are the attraction's fiction, written for its guests — a storyline, not a report, and not folklore that predates the business. The season reported in the research was a fall run (late September into early November 2026), consistent with a seasonal haunt; current dates belong on the attraction's own site and should be confirmed there.
That may sound like faint praise, but it is the correct Hountix treatment for a modern haunt: Portland has genuine haunted history — the Merchant Hotel and its tunnels are in this same file — and a seasonal attraction does not need to borrow it. The Fear PDX stands or falls on production: thirteen attractions, a headline mansion, and a fall season. Its own site is the source for its current lineup, schedule and tickets. If the business publishes lore of its own in future, this story can quote it, attributed; until then, the honest sentence is the one the research wrote: attraction storyline only.
The distinction matters for how this story is written. The park's age is real, and Travel Oregon's description of it is the source for it. The curses are not: Forbidden Fortress is "cursed" the way a roller coaster is a "killer" — as the attraction's own storyline and marketing, presented here as exactly that. What a century-old amusement park supplies a scream park is atmosphere that cannot be manufactured quickly: old grounds, old rides, and a midway that was already nostalgic before the first scare actor clocked in. The attraction's contribution is the overlay — named houses, a scare-zone format, and a season.
For visitors, the practical summary writes itself from the sources: a seasonal event, in a historic park, run by an operator whose own site carries current dates, attraction lineups and tickets. Confirm the season there. For Hountix, ScareGrounds PDX is a scream-park candidate in a genuinely historic setting — and that sentence, without a single invented ghost, is the whole pitch.