The Terrifying True Story of Skinwalker Ranch (Part 1)

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You ever stumble across a story that feels too strange to even exist? Out in the high desert of Utah, there’s a stretch of land where families have fled in fear. Scientists have walked away in disbelief, and even the government has quietly taken notes. And on this patch of Earth, the sky rips open, voices whisper from nowhere, and shadows don’t always stay where they belong. Whatever it is, whatever they are, it doesn’t stop at the fence line. Picture this. You’re a cattle rancher and you’ve just found what looks like paradise.
512 acres of prime grazing land in northeastern Utah. Rolling hills, endless skies, the whole American dream spread out in front of you. But within hours of moving your family onto this dream property, you’re standing there with a 357 Magnum, pumping bullets into something that shouldn’t exist.
Something that’s looking back at you with intelligence that makes your blood run cold. Something that just won’t [ __ ] die. I’m your host, Matt. This is Paranormal Directive 13, and tonight we’re going to Skinwalker Ranch.
Now, I thought this would be a good episode to do right after my recent camping trip where I went and tried to summon a Skimwalker myself. Now, my search kind of came up a little empty-handed besides me tripping in face first into a rock, but it was still fun and scary and an interesting experience.
But Skinwalker Ranch is a completely different level.
And what happened to the Sherman family at the place we now call Skimwalker Ranch isn’t your typical ghost story.
It’s a descent into madness where the laws of physics kind of take a coffee break and ancient warnings turn out to be survival manuals. It’s where a family’s nightmare becomes the government’s problem and where every attempt to explain the impossible only make things more impossible. But before we meet the Shermans, before we dive into their personal hell, we need to understand something that’ll chill you to the core. This land was never meant for people like us. Close your eyes and imagine you’re standing in the Utah basin of northeastern Utah. The high desert wind cuts through your jacket like a knife and the landscape stretches out forever. The red rock meases, scrub brush, and silence so complete it makes your ears ring. Beautiful, right?
Peaceful.
The you people who’ve called this place home for 15 generations would tell you to run. They grab you by the shoulders and explain that you’re standing on a highway, not for cars, but for things that move between worlds, things that shouldn’t be in our reality at all.
Picture the tribal elders gathering their children close as the sun disappears behind those red rocks and their voices dropping to whispers. They speak of something they call the skinwalker’s path. A supernatural corridor where malevolent shape shifters travel from their dark realm into ours.
The ranch itself, it’s not where these things live. No, they slither up from Dark Canyon, squeezing through cracks in reality like smoke through a keyhole.
using those 512 acres as their personal on-ramp into our world. You see those natural springs dotting the landscape.
To the ute, those aren’t just water sources. They’re reservoirs of pure negative energy. Black holes in the spiritual world where evil spirits bubble up like toxic groundwater, ready to poison anyone stupid enough to stick around. But here’s where it gets a little twisted. The name Skinwalker Ranch doesn’t even come from the Ute. It comes from the Navajo hundreds of miles south who speak about something called the Ye Na Delushi, which means with it he goes on all fours.
These are the skin walkers, former medicine men who murdered their own family members to gain the power to shapeshift into animals.
In Navajo culture, just talking about them is dangerous. Just saying the words can bring them to you. So, how did a Navajo curse end up haunting Ute territory? The stories vary, but they all end the same way with blood, betrayal, and revenge that spans generations.
Some say when the Ute helped drive the Navajo back from contested lands, the defeated tribe unleashed their darkest magic as eternal payback. Others tell of Ute raiders enslaving Navajo people and the skinwalkers sent as supernatural liberators who never left. But whatever the truth, both tribes agree on this.
The land is marked. It carries a reputation written in languages older than English, carved into the spiritual landscape like graffiti that says, “Danger, stay the hell away.” And for 53 years, one family seemed to prove everyone wrong. Kenneth and Edith Meyers weren’t the type to believe in curses or monsters or things that go bump in the night. From 1934 to 1987, they called this haunted land home, living what appeared to be quiet, ordinary lives. No UFO sightings, no cattle mutilations, no creatures stalking through the darkness.
And skeptics love pointing to the Meyers era as proof that everything that came later was [ __ ] Hysteria, fabrication, desperate ranchers looking to sell their story to the tabloids. But the Meyers family kept their secrets buried deeper than a body in the desert.
Fast forward to 1994, 7 years after the Meyers had packed up and left. Picture walking through their empty house with a real estate agent.
Your footsteps echoing in rooms that feel just kind of wrong.
Every door, every window are fitted with heavyduty deadbolts.
Not just on the outside, which would make sense, but on both sides of interior doors, kitchen cabinets locked tight with industrial-grade hardware.
You step outside and find iron stakes driven deep into the earth at both ends of the house. Heavy chains attached, worn smooth from decades of use. And this wasn’t the home of people living with peace in their surroundings. This was a fortress. This was a family that had battened down the hatches against something they never talked about, never reported, never admitted existed. In the stoic tradition of rural America, the Meyers endured their nightmare in silence for over half a century, leaving behind only the physical evidence of their terror. Deadbolts, chains, and the kind of security measures you use when your enemy can walk through walls and slip under doors. What were they keeping out? Or maybe the real question is, what were they keeping in? The Meyers took their secrets to their graves. But in 1994, a new family was about to learn what those secrets were, and they were going to learn the hard way.
Terry Sherman stood in the Utah sunshine on that summer day in 1994, watching his life’s dream come together. He was a cattle rancher, a family man, practical as they come, and he’d just scored 512 acres of prime grazing land at a price that seemed too good to be true. His wife Gwen was already planning where to plant her garden. And their kids were running around like they own the world.
This was going to be perfect.
Terry had zero interest in the paranormal. UFOs were for conspiracy nuts like us and people who’d watched too much XFiles. And ghost stories were campfire entertainment. He dealt in beef prices and hay costs, veterinary bills and weather patterns. real life was complicated enough without inventing monsters. But his education in the impossible began within hours of their arrival. So, let’s set the scene. Terry and his father are unloading boxes from the truck, shooting the [ __ ] about finally getting out of the city rat race when Terry spots something in the pasture that makes him stop midsentence.
It’s large, definitely canine. It looks like a wolf, but it’s bigger than any he’s ever seen. No big deal, right? Just part of ranch life.
But this thing, it’s not acting like a wild animal. Instead of running when it sees humans, it’s just walking casually toward their cattle pet, bold as brass, completely unafraid.
And Terry watches, as unease growing by the second, as this massive wolf approaches their calf pen and does something that makes his blood run cold.
It sticks its head through the metal bars, clamps its jaws around a cat’s nose, and starts trying to drag the terrified animal through the fence.
“Hey!” Terry shouts, grabbing whatever he can find to throw. “Get the hell away from here!” He and his father charge toward the pen, beating at the wolf with sticks, rocks, whatever they can grab.
But here’s where Terry’s world starts to crack apart. The animal doesn’t flinch.
It doesn’t retreat. It doesn’t even seem to notice two grown men whailing on it with everything they have. It just maintains that iron grip on the calf, pulling steadily and methodically like these humans are nothing more than annoying gnats. Now, Terry’s dealt with predators before. Coyotes, mountain lions, the occasional bear. You shoot them, they die. Problem solved. So he goes and he retrieves his 357 Magnum from the truck and approaches the wolf, which is still just calmly trying to extract a terrified calf through bars that won’t give. And he takes careful aim. You don’t miss at point blank range and squeezes the trigger.
The gunshot cracks across the desert like thunder. Terry watches the bullet strike the animal dead center in the torso. He is absolutely certain that he hit it. You feel it when a shot connects. You see the impact, but the wolf doesn’t react. Doesn’t yelp. It doesn’t stagger. It doesn’t even loosen its grip on the calf. If anything, it seems to bite down harder. Terry fires again. Same result. The creature finally releases the calf, but not from fear or pain. It’s more like consideration, like it’s decided this game isn’t fun anymore. It steps back and looks at Terry and his father with eyes that hold way too much intelligence for any animal. No blood, no visible wound, no sign that two rounds from a 357 Magnum had just punched through its body at close range. So Terry empties the cylinder, all six shots, center mass, close enough to see the animals whiskers twitching. And when the smoke clears, the wolf simply turns and trots away like absolutely nothing happened. They follow the tracks because that’s what you do when something impossible happens. You look for proof that you’re not losing your mind. Terry’s father was an old school tracker. Taught Terry how to read these signs like scripture. And the wolf’s path is clear in the soft earth. Large paw prints deeper than any normal wolf should make heading straight across the open pasture. and they follow for nearly a mile using tracking skills passed down through generations, reading the story written in the bent grass and the disturbed soil. Terry’s starting to think maybe he missed. Maybe the shots went high. Maybe there’s a rational explanation for what just happened. Then the tracks stop. Not at a fence line where the animal could have jumped. Not at rocky ground where prints might disappear. Not at water or thick brush.
In the middle of an empty field, the tracks just end like a thousand-lb predator had been beamed up by aliens or dissolved into thin air. Terry stands in that empty pasture, staring at the last clear paw print, feeling something fundamental shift in his understanding of reality. Something just shrugged off six bullets from a gun that could stop a grizzly bear and then vanished like it was never there.
This was day one. his welcome to Skinwalker Ranch. And things were about to get so much worse. A few weeks later, Gwen had her own encounter with whatever was calling the ranch home. She’s driving back from town as twilight settles over the basin, turning into their driveway like she’s done dozens of times before. Her headlights sweep across the property and freeze on something that shouldn’t exist. Another massive wolf. But this one is so large that when it rears up on its hind legs and presses its paws against her car window, its back becomes level with the glass. She sits there with the engine running, staring through the windshield at an animal that’s way too big, way too bold, and way too interested in her. And it stares back with an intelligence that makes her skin crawl. Not the wild instinctual gaze of an animal, but something calculating, something that’s studying her as much as she’s studying it. And then, just like Terry’s wolf, it drops back to all fours and walks away without a care in the world. And to anyone who’d listen, she would tell them that’s no natural wolf. And she was absolutely right.
What followed over the next 18 months can only be described as psychological warfare. The Sherman family documented nearly a hundred separate incidents.
Each one chipping away at their sanity, their finances, and their faith that the world made any godamn sense.
The skies above their ranch became a carnival of impossibilities.
Now, picture standing in your backyard on a clear desert night, stars scattered across the darkness like diamonds. It should be peaceful, right? It should be the kind of view that makes you feel connected to the universe now. Imagine lights that don’t belong there. Glowing orbs dancing through the darkness, blue, red, white, and orange, moving with the kind of purpose that no natural phenomenon possesses.
And these weren’t distant aircraft or satellites doing their predictable orbits. These things responded to observation. Sometimes they’d approach when humans spotted them, like curious pets coming to investigate. Other times they’d flee when people paid attention, darting away at speeds that should have torn them apart. But the dancing lights were just the opening act. The Shermans witnessed craft that made Star Trek look like a documentary. Small boxy objects no bigger than refrigerators hovering silently over their pastures like gravity was just kind of a suggestion.
Cigar- shaped vessels 40 ft long sliding through the night sky without making a sound or showing any kind of propulsion system. And the most mindbending was a massive triangular craft that Gwen estimated was larger than a football field. You’re looking up at something so enormous it blotss out half the stars moving without sound, without lights, like a piece of the night sky itself had come alive and decide to go for a stroll. It’s kind of like looking up and seeing a star destroyer with the lights off right above your head. And on one unforgettable evening, the entire family stood together in their yard playing the world’s most disturbing game of eye spy.
They counted more than a dozen separate craft above their property at the same time. Some emitted wavy red beams while others pulsed with multicolored strobe lights and several appeared surrounded by glowing green auras that bathed everything in this otherworldly light.
Terry grabbed his rifle with the high-powered scope, training it on one of the closer objects because damn it, he was going to get some answers. And through the magnification, he could see inside the craft. Two figures, tall and humanoid, one larger than the other. And they weren’t frantically operating controls or monitoring instruments. They were just watching, observing the Sherman family with the same calm interest that the bulletproof wolves had shown. But the most reality breaking moment happened when the family witnessed what Gwen described as a doorway in the sky. A large glowing orange circle that appeared against the stars like someone had torn a hole in the universe. From this impossible opening emerged a black triangular craft that flew away into the distance before the portal sealed itself shut, leaving only stars and the family’s completely shattered understanding of what was possible. The intelligence behind these phenomena wasn’t content with passive observation.
When Gwen drove home from town one night, one of the flying lights followed her vehicle for miles along dark country roads. Not randomly, it tracked her movements like a predator. Matched her speed like it was reading her speedometer.
It anticipated her turns like it had GPS access to her brain. And when she accelerated, it accelerated. When she slowed down, it slowed down. It was studying her, learning her, playing with her fear like a cat batting around a mouse before the kill. Whatever was happening at Skinwalker Ranch, it wasn’t just observing the Sherman family. It was interacting with them, and it was enjoying itself. And the aerial light show was only part of their nightmare.
The ranch had become home to creatures that violated every law of biology Terry thought he understood. Beyond the bulletproof wolves that had introduced them to this, neighbors started reporting sightings of tall, dark, hairy bipeedal beasts roaming the area.
Creatures that looked like every Bigfoot description ever recorded, shambling through the Utah desert where no such animal had business existing.
And the Sherman spotted exotic birds with this plumage that belonged to tropical rainforests, not high desert scrubland.
Brilliant blues and greens and reds so vibrant they almost hurt to look at.
Colors that seemed artificial, like someone had cranked up the saturation on reality.
But the most disturbing creature encounter happened when Terry discovered something attacking one of their horses.
He’s walking out to check on one of his animals and he finds a beast that looked like nature had gotten drunk and decided to play mad scientist.
was low to the ground but heavily muscled, weighing maybe 200 pounds with curly red hair and a bushy tail that belonged on no earthly animal. It kind of looked like a hyena crossed with something from someone’s nightmares. Too large and too aggressive and too smart for its own good. Deep claw marks scored the horse’s legs as this thing tried to bring down an animal 10 times its size with methodical precision. Terry approached to intervene and the creature turned to look at him with those same calm assessing eyes he’d seen in the wolves. Eyes that held way too much intelligence and too much understanding of exactly what it was doing. And then without warning or explanation, it simply vanished. Not ran away into the brush. Vanished. Gone as if it had never existed at all. These weren’t shy woodland creatures avoiding human contact like normal animals. They were bold and appearing in broad daylight, seemingly unafraid of witnesses, and they were acting with purpose and intelligence that suggested they understood perfectly well that normal rules don’t apply to them. And the message couldn’t have been clearer. We belong here, you don’t. And the phenomena extracted a terrible price from the Sherman family’s livelihood, systematically destroying their ability to make a living from the land they invested everything in. Over 18 months, they lost 14 head of cattle. Four vanished without a trace, and the rest died under circumstances that made the veterinarian shake their heads and reach for stronger coffee. The cattle that remained were often found dead with injuries that made no sense to anyone with a functioning brain. These weren’t predator kills. No large carnivores in Utah could take down a healthy cow. And even if they could, they wouldn’t leave behind what the Shermans kept finding.
The wounds were surgical and precise, completely bloodless, as if someone had drained every drop before starting their work, and a mysterious chemical odor lingered around the corpses. Something like antiseptic mixed with ozone and something else you couldn’t identify, but it made your stomach turn. One cow was discovered with a perfectly circular hole corded through the center of its left eyeball, but otherwise completely untouched. No struggling, no defensive wounds, no sign of how something could perform micro surgery on a living animal without leaving evidence of a fight.
Another bore, a similar eye, plus a 6-in circular hole carved from its rectum with surgical precision. Again, no tearing, no jagged edges, as if removed with advanced medical equipment by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. And the most harrowing case happened when the Sherman’s teenage son walked past a cow that was perfectly healthy, completely normal, just standing in the pasture doing his cow things. He noticed nothing unusual and he continued to the house for lunch, then returned the same route 5 minutes later. 5 minutes, 300 seconds.
The animal was dead with a 6-in wide, 18-in deep hole corded from its rectum directly into the body cavity. No blood at the scene, no footprints around the carcass, no evidence of how such extensive mutilation could occur in broad daylight with the family nearby.
Whatever was responsible had the surgical knowledge of a team of vets and the speed of something that didn’t exist in our reality. And they were sending a message that became clearer with each mutilated carcass. Leave now. And the strangeness wasn’t content to terrorize them outdoors. It invaded their home, their sanctuary, their last refuge from the madness that had consumed their property.
Heavy tools would vanish while in active use, only to reappear in locations that violated laws of physics. And Terry would be using a 70 lb postal digger, setting it down for a moment to wipe sweat from his forehead, and turning back to find nothing. It was gone, just vanish. And they’d search the entire property for hours before they would find it balanced 20 feet up in cottonwood branches perched there as if invisible hands had carefully placed it for maximum psychological impact. Inside the house, groceries moved themselves from bags to kitchen cabinets while the family slept. They would wake to find items organized and put away by helpful invisible servants who apparently had strong opinions about proper food storage. which that actually sounds pretty nice. You don’t have to put your groceries away. You just, you know, order Instacart and it comes and you just leave it in the kitchen. You wake up in the morning, it’s all put away.
That sounds great. But the most unsettling phenomena were auditory. And the family endured constant sounds of heavy machinery operating underground as if massive construction projects were underway beneath their property.
bulldozers and excavators that couldn’t possibly be there, working shifts around the clock on projects that made no logical sense. They’d be lying in bed at night, listening to the unmistakable sounds of diesel engines and hydraulics, operating directly beneath their bedroom floor, knowing there’s nothing down there but solid earth and bedrock.
And more disturbing were the disembodied voices. Clear, distinct conversations in unfamiliar languages emanating from empty air. Not whispers or mumbles that could be explained away as wind through the trees, but full conversations between multiple speakers talking what Terry described as choppy languages he’d never heard before.
Two voices, Terry would say, one deep, one higher pitched, having a full conversation in some language I couldn’t understand. And the sound was coming from about 25 feet above my head.
Nothing there but empty sky. And now when Terry shouted up at the unseen speakers demanding to know who was there and what they wanted, the deeper voice responded with rolling mocking laughter that seemed to hang in the air like a physical presence. The psychological toll was devastating. The entire family suffered from chronic nightmares and sleep deprivation. They began sleeping together in the main room, not for comfort, but for survival. Their home transformed from sanctuary into siege mentality.
18 months of this, 18 months of wondering if they were losing their minds or if their world had lost its mind instead.
18 months of living in a place where the impossible happened so regularly, it became routine.
And then something crossed the line that would change everything forever.
In May 1996, the phenomena graduated from psychological torture to murder.
What had been terrifying became lethal, and the Sherman family learned that whatever was toying with them could kill with casual indifference. Now, Terry’s outside on a clear spring evening with his three beloved cattle dogs. Loyal companions who’d never back down from coyotes or mountain lions. fearless protectors who’d follow him into hell if he asked them to. And the dogs are excited, happy to be working with their human when Terry spots something that makes his blood freeze.
A blue orb about the size of a baseball darting across a field near the house with erratic intelligent movements. But this isn’t like the distant lights they had grown accustomed to seeing in the night sky. This one is close and personal.
It appears to have kind of a shell-like exterior containing swirling incandescent liquid that moves like molten metal behind like glass.
And the thing emits an audible crackling sound as it moves in precise patterns just above the ground, clearly under some kind of intelligent control. And Terry stares at this impossible object, his mind racing through options. Is this some kind of probe? you know, a reconnaissance device sent by whoever or whatever has been terrorizing his family. Whatever it is, it doesn’t belong here and it doesn’t belong on his property near his family. So, he tells the dogs, “Go get it, boys.” Pointing at the blue orb. And the three cattle dogs charge after the orb, barking aggressively as they pursue it toward thick brush at the field’s edge. These are working dogs bred for courage, trained to protect livestock from predators that could kill them. They’ve never run from a fight in their lives.
And Terry watches them disappear into the vegetation, still barking, still in hot pursuit of something that shouldn’t exist. And then he hears three sounds that will haunt him for the rest of his life. Piercing, agonized yelps, the kind of sounds animals make when they’re experiencing pain beyond imagination.
Then silence. Absolute complete silence.
And Terry’s calling for the dogs. Come here. Come here. But his voice is cracking with panic. And there’s nothing. He searches with flashlights through the night, calling their names, following their tracks to where they’d enter the brush. The dogs had simply vanished.
And the next morning reveals a scene that shatters Terry’s last connection to a rational world. In the spot where his dogs had disappeared, he finds three round greasy spots on the ground. Each surrounded by a perfect circle of scorched earth. The vegetation is burned in precise circles as if intense heat had been applied directly from above with surgical precision.
The dogs themselves, loyal companions, beloved family members who trusted him enough to chase the impossible, had been reduced to unrecognizable organic residue in a matter of minutes.
Not killed, not even dead in any way Terry could understand. They had been processed, converted, destroyed at a molecular level by something that treated living beings as inconvenient obstacles.
This was the moment everything changed.
The phenomena had escalated from harassment to murder, demonstrating that it could take life as casually as turning off a light switch. The intelligence behind Skimwalker Ranch’s activity had revealed his true power, and that power was absolute.
Terry Sherman made a decision that would transform his private nightmare into public legend. He decided to tell the world what was happening to his family.
In June 1996, journalist George Knap published a Sherman family story in the Desert News. The same George Knap who interviewed Bob Lazar about his Area 51 and S4 experiences. And fun fact, Bob Lazar actually liked my Jeremy Corbell Instagram post the other day. So that’s pretty cool. We got a tiein to Bob Lazar on our actual social media. So that’s fun. But anyway, back to the story here.
The article laid out 18 months of hell in stark factual terms. Their financial losses, their psychological trauma, their complete inability to explain what had happened to them in any rational way. Picture the relief of finally telling someone who might believe you, of breaking the silence that had isolated them in their nightmare. But also imagine the fear. Would people think they were crazy? Would the attention make things worse? Would whatever was tormenting them punish them for talking?
The property once known simply as the Sherman Ranch became forever infamous as Skinwalker Ranch. And their story reached someone with both the resources and the obsession necessary to turn their cursed land into humanity’s first official paranormal laboratory.
That someone was a Las Vegas billionaire with a passion for the impossible. And that everyone is part one of the Skinwalker Ranch. I wanted to cut it here because this episode is going to be long. And the Sherman family story is really the bread and butter of everything that happened prior to Skim Walker Ranch being sold.
And since the Shermans lived there, this ranch has been bought and sold twice.
And there is so much stuff that these new owners have uncovered that we are just scratching the surface of what happened at Skinwalker Ranch and what is currently happening at Skinwalker Ranch.
But the story is crazy. It’s got everything. It’s got Bigfoot. It’s got UFOs. It has skinwalkers. It has ghosts.
It has alien technology. It has cattle mutilation. Pretty much every paranormal thing you can think of all happened at this ranch and is all currently happening at this ranch. So, this is like this weird treasure trove of paranormal experiences and it’s one of the most interesting and well researched areas out there. So, in part two, we’re going to dive into who bought the ranch first from Terry Sherman and that story and what they found and then how that has led into the modern era of Skinwalker Ranch and what they’re currently doing over there. So, you’re definitely going to want to stay tuned next week for part two where we dive into that because like I said earlier, this is just the surface basics of Skinwalker Ranch and it goes so much deeper figuratively and literally. But yeah, as I mentioned earlier, I really wanted to do Skim Walker Ranch this week because this past week, my family, my wife and my kids, we went up to the mountains and I made a surprise announcement in the car that we were going to go hunting skinwalkers while we were out in the woods and kind of freaked the kids out and I thought it would be a fun time to kind of introduce them to some more paranormal stuff. My kids like paranormal stuff as it is. I would hope so knowing that what I do here. Um, but I wanted to kind of involve them with some of the stuff that we’re doing. And so now, a little fun story. We get up there, right? And we got up there late the first night. So I didn’t do anything that night. The second night I’m getting ready to go make this skinwalker video and I try to get everyone going and all the kids chickened out. No one wanted to go. So I’m like, “All right, whatever. I’m going to go do it myself.” So I go outside the front door and not only is it raining, but there’s also a bear outside. And I’m like, “Well, I probably shouldn’t do this right now because it’s pitch black. I have a flashlight and there’s a bear sitting right here. And I wasn’t sure if I was going to get attacked by a skiw walker or not, but I was pretty damn sure that if I start screwing around next to a bear and her cubs, I’m going to get attacked by a bear. So, I was like, “All right, we’re going to wait. We’re going to do it the next night.” So, the next night, I go out there and I’m going out to the woods. I’m finding a secluded spot and I go out there and I’m yelling skinwalker out in the darkness and I hear nothing.
So I whistle out in the darkness and I hear nothing. So then I’m like, “All right, let’s do some tree knocks.” So I have a chunk of wood in my hand and I start knocking on a tree. And I got some [ __ ] on YouTube from a comment for the post about that saying how stupid wood knocks are and that people laugh at, you know, in the Sascotch community laugh at people who do wood knocks. It’s like, dude, I’m out here on a fun family vacation screwing around. It’s not that serious. So, I thought that was kind of funny. But I was out there for a good little bit and I didn’t see or hear anything myself. Now again, I was not out in a very special 512 acre plot in Utah. I was in the Aderandac Mountains in New York. So, I don’t know if that plays into it. It is Appalachia. It is the Appalachian Mountains and a lot of paranormal [ __ ] goes on there. So, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t see anything.
I didn’t hear anything. The best part about it is, you know, I do all this stuff and I’m recording myself in the dark and as I’m walking back, I’m walking and recording in the dark in the woods, which was a bad idea. And I trip face first into a rock and smash my leg all up. And it’s on the video. So, if you go on the social media, Tik Tok, Instagram, and YouTube, it’s on each one of them. And watch that post, you’ll see me trip and fall. And I just like I’m walking. And I’m like, “Yes, I didn’t see anything. I didn’t see fuck.” And I smashed my face on a rock. So, it’s pretty funny. So, that’s my skinw walker experience to date so far. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t hear anything. The weird part is after I did that, you know, I was a little creeped out just because I think I kind of psyched myself out. But I’m back in the cabin that night and probably like 3 4:00 in the morning, I hear a noise outside of the window and I had the windows open cuz it was like 40° out at night and I like sleeping with it cold and I hear this like footsteps and we weren’t close enough to other people to have footsteps. There was no one nearby and so it wasn’t a person and I hear this weird kind of growly snarly sound outside and it was probably the bear but it didn’t quite sound like one. It was a noise I hadn’t really heard before but it was probably the bear. But I was freaked myself out with that because of just doing all the skinwalker stuff. So, I reach over and I pull the curtains so I can’t see out the window and anything outside the window can’t see in at me.
All I can do is hear, but I didn’t hear any like voices or anything calling my name, you know, like you stereotypically kind of hear in skinwalker stories. So, I didn’t hear have anything really happen except for that weird noise, which was probably just the bear wandering around outside that had been in the area. But I thought that because of that, this was a great time to start doing Skimwalker Ranch. And like I said earlier, is such a huge crazy story that I had to split it into two because we have just done one story, just the Shermans at this point. And when we get into the next part, there’s so much more layers to this. and it goes so much deeper than just what they saw. So, please stay tuned for next week’s episode for part two because I think you’re really gonna enjoy hearing what comes next and what happens after that. But I hope you guys loved this first part of Skinwalker Ranch. If you did, please go on your podcast app of choice, give us a rating, leave a review, share the show. Please, please, please share the show. It’s the best thing you can do to help the show grow and reach new audiences. and it really means a lot to me and the whole community. So, please do that. Also, check out the Patreon.
patreon.com/paranaldirective13.
We have 14 mini episodes on there. We have pictures of every single episode and details and things like that. So, like pictures of Skimwalker Ranch will be up there at the airing of this episode and I’ll add another tidbit to it next week with more pictures of some of the more recent things. So check that out. Also the social medias, Tik Tok, Instagram, YouTube, all at Paranormal Directive13.
It’s really the best place to kind of interact with the community and grow and interact with me because I’m very active on there. Check those out. Send a message, leave a comment on a video, share some videos there because that does great things for helping us grow the podcast, too. And send an email paranormal directive [email protected].
any questions, comments, anything you want me to take a look at, any part of this story that you want to make sure I include in part two that if I don’t have it in my plans already, I’ll make sure to include that. So, let me know. So, remember, keep investigating the unknown because some places demand respect for their mysteries and this is one of them.
Heat. Heat.