Some years back, we had a “Special Report” on Stanley Milford, an official law enforcement officer for the Navajo Nation on its massive 2,700-square-mile reservation spanning several states, especially Arizona.
The reason for our interest: Milford, once the senior investigator for the nation’s white-collar crime unit, now partnered with another official overseeing the Special Projects Unit, whose responsibilities included investigating reports of the paranormal or supernatural.
That’s right: the Navajos had a special united to look into everything from ghosts and UFOs to possessions, poltergeists, cryptids (“big foot,” ghostly cats) to phantom hitchhiklers.
Interviewing left little doubt that Milford was both a good investigator and a sober one.
It also left no doubt–as evidenced in his can’t-put-it-down new book, The Paranormal Ranger—that remarkable phenomena occur in that part of the U.S., no doubt propelled in large part by the mysticism of Native America forebearers.
What we didn’t know was that Milford’s intrigue with what the subtitle calls “The Unexplained” had roots in his own youth.
That included an astonishing experience with what Indian people know as a “skinwalker.” (A skinwalker is a shapeshifting creature and was the subject of a popular reality television show, “Skinwalker Ranch”).
This is supposedly an entity that is/was human (usually a medicine man or, take heed, “witch doctor”) but can transmogrify into various forms.
One thing is without question: reports of paranormal phenomena are rife around Native American burial spots as well as former settlements across North America.
Not all of it is inviting.
Let’s hover here over just one anecdote in this book filled with them.
It occurred in 1986 when Milford was twenty years old and spending the summer with his father in Fort Defiance on the reservation.
That July night, he had gone to see “Maximum Overdrive,” a horror movie based on a Stephen King novel.
The movie let out at midnight, and as he left, Milford had spotted an elderly Navajo man sitting on a bench against the wall. He asked for a ride (he was in his mid-eighties, not exactly the type to see in a movie lobby, especially late at night), and Milford did.
They hardly talked, but the guy seemed normal–except when, recounts the ranger, he asked to be let out on the side of a road that was nowhere near any house.
Soon after taking back to the long, lonely highway, he sensed a movement out of the window on the passenger’s side. He expected to see a horse.
“But what I saw made no sense,” he asserts in the book. “suddenly, this thing jumped the fence, coming within three feet of the passenger side of the car. The creature was white from head to foot and ran on all fours.
“Its overall form appeared like that of a greyhound, except much larger. It was about four or so feet tall to the top of its back. I couldn’t tell if its feet were actually touching the ground or not. It had canine-like features, including a long snout like a dog’s or wolf’s.
“But that was where the similarity ended.
“The creature was running alongside the vehicle, its speed and strength apparently limitless. It wouldn’t be left behind no matter how fast I went.”
That was plenty fast–nearly sixty miles an hour. Then seventy.
“I looked away from the road to get a better look at it and immediately wished I hadn’t,” writes Milford of the white-knuckled ride. “This thing had a mouth full of long, jagged, gleaming-white teeth. It turned its head and looked straight at me. Its eyes were glowing a fiery yellow-orange like hot burning coals glowing in the darkness.”
The word “hellfire” came to mind.
“Its lips were stretched backward in a sort of sinister grin, exposing its wicked teeth. It looked straight into my eyes like it was seeing right through me, into my soul. It’s gaze was intelligent, sinister, hypnotic, and evil, and the message was clear: I could grab you, rip you into pieces, and eat you alove, if I chose, and there would be nothing you could do about it.”
For your discernment.
There are certainly many such legends out west–especially alongside an old highway that runs through Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico that was once Route 666 (no kidding).
At any rate, what we do know is that the devil and demons can take many guises. Our holy angels protect us (especially when we invoke them).
Was this thing the wold man?
When, breathless, it recounted the encounter to his dad, his father nodded sagely, with no indication of disbelief, and said what young Walker already suspected (and would later document as a ranger, as the book so mesmerizingly details):
“Son,” said his father, “you just saw a skinwalker.”
[resources: The Paranormal Ranger]
