September 2006 Issue The Horror Library, your Haunted Home for Horror Fiction, Dark Art, Horror Games, Movie Reviews, Book Reviews, Non-Fiction, Alternative Music, Horror Authors, Horror Short Fiction and featuring The Terrible Twelve - RJ Cavender, Bailey Hunter, Boyd E Harris, Megg Roper, Jason Beirens, CJ Hurtt, Eric Stark, Cordelia Snow, Chris Perridas, Curt Mahr, Stephen Sommerville, M Louis Dixon, Kerry Drummond
The fascination with the forbidden and secret runs pretty deep in me. Haunted houses, banned books, conspiracy theories, demonology; anything I am not supposed to see or know draws me in like a magnet.
You say that house is haunted? Well I know where I'm staying tonight!
I am a full blown sucker for this stuff. Always have been. As a result of this possibly unhealthy fascination (or obsession as some would call it) I have seen many strange things, and had many near heart attacks. I've been chased by the police, unmarked vehicles, and things I have no name for. And it's all been worth it. Every paranoia induced, freaked out, terror filled second of it. I have seen things other people have not and will not. I know things other people do not. Secret forbidden things. It's a high unlike any other, and addictive beyond belief.
With the numbing quality of heroin, the sped up clarity of meth, the disassociated paranoia of pot, and the cognitive dissonance of acid, being face to face with that which does not officially exist will have you hooked after just one go around. Trust me. Once you have had your first run in with the unexplained, your regular everyday life will just disappear. Your whole world will change, you'll change. You don't come back from this trip. It calls everything that you assumed was true into question. And you'll want more.
Over the next few months I plan on sharing with you my past experience as well as my ongoing excursions into the land of the strange.
I'm going to kick this off with my most recent experience. On April 24th 2004 I took my first trip out to the Mecca of weirdness, the capitol of crazies, the high summit of Looneyville. I went to Area 51. It was a trip unlike any other.
The day started out pretty slow and lazy like any Saturday should. My fiancé, Mary, and I waking in the midmorning and having a late breakfast of coffee and email. She and I had been planning on going to the Grand Canyon that day, but we had gotten up too late. So, we rethought our plans. I suggested Area 51. She agreed. We began gathering supplies.
The desert area surrounding the most famous "secret" government installation in the world is not for amateurs. In winter, there's snow, in summer temperatures can reach 120 degrees easily. Sidewinders, scorpions, mountain lions, and psychotics with guns all call this area home. All humor aside this is not a place you want to get stranded in. There is no cell phone service, towns are few and far between (the nearest town to the famed Groom Lake Road is over 20 miles away), and after dark, you're pretty much on your own as traffic tends to die down late in the evening. If you plan your own trip to this place DO NOT come unprepared, you might die. And that's without bringing up the EG&G security, or "cammo dudes" that patrol the area.
Security company EG&G holds the contract for security for Area 51. This publicly traded (but highly secretive company) has employees patrolling the perimeter of the base 24 hours a day. They usually drive unmarked tan Ford trucks. As soon as you are detected (pretty much the second you turn onto Groom Lake Road) they appear. They are under orders not to interact with you so you will not be hassled. However, these are not the mall security folks. These people are authorized to kill you if you cross the perimeter. They usually sit on a hill just inside the border and watch you through high power binoculars. If you for any reason get out of visible range and the security guys and/or the surveillance cameras hidden nearby can't see you (you are almost always visible on Groom Lake Road but, there are other less known about roads that approach the base) a Blackhawk helicopter will be dispatched to check you out. While the trek out there is fun, it isn't the time to act stupid.
Not wanting to face any of the above situations I did what any good, smart, suburban occult chaser would do: I went to Target. There, I found bottled water, a cooler, some cheap soda, and a new found appreciation for civilization. Next was the gas station. Jerky is a must for any sort of adventure and yes, it must be bought from a gas station. Lastly, I went to Borders'. Since you lose all radio stations by the time you've made the 140 mile trek from Las Vegas to Groom Lake Road we needed something to listen to. David Sedaris' audio book of "Me talk pretty one day" seemed a good buy. After this, Mary and I loaded the car and we were off. Like some mutant white bread soccer family complete with a cooler and NPR friendly audio book, we made our way out of town toward Dreamland.
As we made our way north on I-15 I thought briefly about the Janet flights. If you have ever been to Las Vegas you've no doubt seen one. They are the white737's with a red stripes on either side coming into and going out of Mccarran airport. They have their own secure terminal and make up to 12 trips a day. They come in as far away as Oklahoma and Texas but all share one destination: Area 51. The Janet flights (as they are referred to as by air traffic control) are the private airline of EG&G security and they shuttle workers to and from Area 51. If you stake out the terminal parking lot (located near Hacienda street) you will sometimes see a white bus that also carries workers to their secret place of employment. Guess even covert-ops people might be afraid of flying.
Just outside of Vegas we take the US 93N toward Reno/Tonapah and relax as we feel the weight of Las Vegas slip off our shoulders. With every mile the desert becomes more beautiful. Hills that I have only seen in the distance and on postcards are right outside my window. The sky is a pale blue and the sun, while bright, has yet to take on that hellish quality that signals the beginning of summer here in the Vegas Valley.
For the next 85 miles Mary and I eat jerky and drink soda while laughing at David Sedaris' anecdotes about this and that. After awhile, we even stop thinking about what we originally set out to do, opting to just coast through the most amazing desert afternoon imaginable.
David, Mary, and I are still having a great time when we turn onto Hwy 318. We are only on it for a minute though and when we hit Hwy 375 it is enough to change the mood.
At the junction of 318 and 375 there is a large yellow abandoned building. This building, once a casino, has no window, doors, roof, or interior anymore. What it does have though is cars in its parking lot. The white bus that leaves Mccarren airport everyday stops here to pick up and drop off workers. Also, in the parking lot is a giant sign advertising "Alien Jerky". Someone has a sense of humor.
The very second that you turn onto Highway 375 you are met with a state issue road sign declaring this stretch of road "Extraterrestrial Highway". These signs were commissioned at the behest of one Merlin Merlyn II, a man who believed his body was host to a Seraphim Angel. Somehow, he got the state of Nevada Government to do at least some of his bidding. And that is why I don't vote.
A few yards down from the sign is a billboard for the world famous A-LE-INN in Rachel. After that there is...nothing. Nothing but hills, free range cows, and God's country.
It was a minor bump in the mood to see all that and we easily went back to eating jerky and laughing our asses off at David's stories. For once, the fear junkie in me seemed to not need a fix. Strange to say the least.
Before too long though, we saw the dirt road that leads to a place so well known that it isn't on any map. Just seeing this fabled road made my heart stop. This was the gateway to the place that loomed so large in my imagination after years and years of hearing about it that it came to symbolize the unknown itself. This was the homeland for people like me. This was Dreamland.
Mary turned off the radio. Shut up David. No time for your jokes.
We pulled off the highway onto this dirt road known as Groom Lake Road. In the distance we could see the Medlin Ranch. Steve Medlin, owner of the ranch owns the only ranch in the entire area. He has signed a lifetime secrecy agreement and since his cows are free range (and a road hazard so be careful) one can only assume that he has permission to retrieve his cattle from the restricted zones of Area 51 if need be.
If you've read anything about the Groom Lake Road then you know that you are under surveillance as soon as you get there. Here in Vegas, being on security camera is nothing unusual. If you walk into a casino, you're being watched. But here, out in the open, with nothing resembling civilization for miles the feeling is disconcerting to say the least. The road sensors, the cameras hidden in the Joshua trees, and the guy in the ford pickup with the high power binoculars watching us was enough to send chills up our spines.
Mary pulled out the camera and snapped some pictures. I walked around a bit. I tried to convince Mary that we should go down the road 13.8 miles to the absolute border, the limit that you are allowed to travel down the road but, she was having none of it. I might have been having the equivalent of a spiritual experience but she was getting a might bit nervous about the security truck. We got in the car. When we started backing up, I noticed a strange looking black object on the ground off to the side of the road. Hmmm.
Five more miles down 375 is the infamous "black mailbox". Strange thing, that mailbox. It used to be a mystery and it used to be black. Now everyone knows that it is in fact Steve Medlin's mailbox and is now white bulletproof and padlocked. The road it is on intersects with Groom Lake Road and so it is used as a meeting point for saucer enthusiasts and weirdos. It also happens to be the only mailbox for many miles around and sticks out like a sore thumb. Since the Medlin ranch is so far from the main highway, at first glance the mailbox looks to be seriously out of place.
One last thing about the mailbox, DO NOT park next to it. Even though it is the most photographed mailbox in the world and everyone feels the need to write their names on it (which has prompted Steve Medlin to add a donation dropbox to the mailbox to help pay for repainting it from time to time) it is still someone's actual mailbox. Don't block it and if you see Steve or one of his sons coming to check the mail, please leave the area for a little bit. They tire of tourists.
After taking a few shots of the now white box, we headed down the road to Rachel. As soon as you hit town (population 65) it's easy to spot the A-LE-Inn. This is THE main meeting spot for professional kooks and weekend warriors alike. The service is great, the bumper stickers that decorate the place are reactionary, and the souvenirs are... everywhere. When we pulled into the parking lot, I took a picture of the tow truck out front that has a saucer hooked up behind it. The camera chose then to eat the film with a sickening mechanical whine. Something inside the camera malfunctioned and the film got shredded. Very weird. We went inside.
Pat, the woman who runs the place, has had more written about her than some movie stars. No report of Area 51 is complete without a mention of her. And yet, she puts on no airs. A very nice talkative person who makes a mean cup of coffee.
While we sat in the A-LE-Inn and drank our drinks and looked about Pat filled us in on the local goings on. Joe, her husband, was something of an icon for the UFO crowd and unfortunately he passed away last year. While most in the place wanted to talk about aliens and black-ops and the like, she just missed Joe and wondered how she was going to repay the medical bills. It was an unexpected but profound re-centering experience. Cast a different light on a place that could be written off by the cynic as a tourist trap dive.
Far from being a tragic character though, Pat is just an honest person.
Before we left with our arm loads of tourist stuff like coffee mugs and the like (as well as new film) I leafed through the 2004 guide to Area 51. In it I saw a picture of what I had seen on the Groom Lake Road. The caption identified it as a sensor. Again, my blood ran cold. I had just mainlined the thrill I get from these kinds of hunts. I showed it to Mary. She thought it was pretty cool but, probably did not get the jolt I did. I had seen secret stuff!! Did she not understand?
We went back out to Groom Lake Road to retake the pictures we had lost and a few new ones of that road sensor I had found. This time, the security guys made a beeline straight for our car. We watched them for a few seconds as they barrelled down the road. I think I OD'ed at that point.
Mary grew concerned and coerced me back into the car. We took shot out of there quick.
The camera ate the film again. Hmmm.
The ride home was quiet. David resumed his storytelling and started laughing again. I had never been so high on my favorite drug before. All the way home I smiled. The weight of Vegas didn't even faze when we hit town.
When we woke up the next day (12 hours ago as I write this) I was still whacked out of my skull on the thrill. I got on the internet and looked up Area 51 sites to vicariously live the thrill again through others. I found page after page that claimed that the use of road sensors had been abandoned by the government since anything outside the restricted zone was public land and road sensor use was therefore illegal. Well, I thought, I know something you don't.
Mary came into my office and said, "You know, Pat was real nice and all but, she did ask a lot of questions. 'Where you folks from', 'What do you do for a living?', and so on. She's been there how long? Would make sense that she'd have some kind of deal worked out with the security folks or maybe even the government...maybe drop a line to them if some 'suspicious' tourists came through."
