Ihave been warned. This much is clear within minutes of ducking out of a helicopter onto the high-desert oasis of Skinwalker Ranch in northeastern Utah one searingly bright October afternoon. As a visitor approaching the dark and inscrutable paranormal forces patrolling this property, I could be targeted.
The admonition has come in several forms. There was the prayer for safe deliverance given by chopper pilot Cameron Fugal, brother of property owner Brandon Fugal, as we approached the ranch. This didn’t necessarily rattle me, as I’d recently watched Cameron deliver a similar invocation on season one of The Secret of Skinwalker Ranch, the hit History channel show that has generated mainstream attention for the property.
There was the surreal experience of being greeted on the helipad by about half the show’s cast, whom I felt I’d come to know during my hours of binge watching—standing stone-faced and shoulder to shoulder like some official tribunal ready to deliver grim news. Long-suffering ranch superintendent Thomas Winterton, looking typically Marlboro Man, shook my hand first, followed by glowering security chief Bryant “Dragon” Arnold. Erik Bard, the spritely scientist, and red-bearded security man Kaleb Bench chatted nearby. It was as if my arrival was the only thing holding up the start of the season five shoot. When we go inside, Winterton presents me with a liability waiver, which strikes me as highly unusual—there’s nothing on the day’s agenda beyond an in-depth conversation.
But what truly tweaked my antennae was a conversation I’d had an hour earlier, at the Fugals’ hangar in Provo. Brandon was on the phone, tending to his day job as a commercial real-estate titan, and Cameron and I were chatting amiably when he suddenly pivoted from a story about becoming a grandfather. “Every time we bring somebody new, the ranch interacts a little different,” he said. “Usually it’s been mostly mild. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” This struck me as a roundabout way of saying I should at least be a little worried.
“We’ve had some guys that are like, ‘This is so stupid—we’re gonna show those aliens who’s boss…’” he continued. “And it’s messed with them.”
“What happened to those guys?” I asked. “Something physical, or their cell phones wigged out, or—?”
It was indeed bodily harm, Cameron said. The previous owner, Robert Bigelow, was haunted by the place, both during his time there and after, when “all the negativity followed him home,” Cameron explained. This sounded a little like the aftermath of a bad Red Lobster meal, but I’d seen the entire series at that point, and I knew what he meant. I’d just never thought of it happening to me.
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