by Gary Yao

Los Angeles is a scary city. Angelenos and visitors have a smorgasbord of neighborhoods to choose from in which stereotypes and reality collectively instill the fear of physical endangerment. Finding a place that plays on the mind’s more irrational fears, however, seems much less doable. Of course, there are the annual Halloween iterations of local theme parks, but less contrived and expensive experiences exist few and far between. Being the cheapskate I am, though, I said to hell with paying for actors and décor to spook me, did a little research, and embarked on a mini-tour of creepy LA locales that require no entry fee.

Murphy Ranch, Rustic Canyon

Last Sunday, my roommate Jason and I hiked away from civilization to hunt for Nazis. Well-kempt lawns faded into wild brush and tree-strewn hillsides. The sprinklers' pulses and the growls of cars yielded to buzzing insects, the whir of bikes, and sometimes, actual silence.

The trailhead begins at the back of a neighborhood in affluent Brentwood, leading to an allegedly haunted Nazi commune in Rustic Canyon. According to a Los Angeles Times article and personal accounts, a German-American Nazi spy named Schmidt convinced a wealthy American couple to establish an isolated community in the 1930s to ride out the predicted anarchy in America following the Third Reich's victory in Europe. After 1945, it apparently became an artists colony before burning down in the 60s to become the ruins that it is today.

Following a 30-minute climb up Sullivan Fire Road, we approached the grand entrance to the abandoned compound-a pair of black cast-iron gates ironically not unlike the entrance to a concentration camp. Descending into the canyon, the former water reservoir comes into view on the right amidst a tangle of brush. As is the case for most of the camp's remaining structures, graffiti blanketed its walls.

Courtesy of Gary Yao

As Jason and I walked farther down the dirt path, we encountered more clues of human settlement: fallen window mullions, a deformed fireplace, and rusting household appliances intertwining with vegetation. The Nazis lost to the world at large. Their legacy here lost to shrubs.

On the way down to more residential ruins and an overturned Volkswagen van, what we presumed to be another hiker, seated on one of the steps, asked for some water and engaged us in conversation. This eventually devolved into a one-sided speech like the ceaseless nagging of mothers during a never-ending telephone call. Except, imagine your mother as a mustachioed and balding middle-aged man spewing only sporadically comprehensible sentences.

Jason attempted in vain to make sense of the conversation, but I was having none of it. Jason asked the man how he knew so much about the place. "I grew up here 30 years ago," he said. "My girlfriend, Rose, lived over that way...When they said, ‘hoy,' they came out of the woods. They did her in first."

Courtesy of Gary Yao

Jason and I walked away as nonchalantly as possible and, thankfully, the man stayed put. We explored the area briefly before finding another way back up to the main road, lest we cross paths with the man again. Finding only one other set of stairs, Jason and I made it about 5 feet before being forced to crawl on hands and knees by the overgrowth of vegetation. Near the top, the stairs disappeared completely into the hillside. At this point, the drama queen inside me couldn't shake a sense of impending doom. Jason and I correctly agreed that moving up would be sounder than moving horizontally, and made it back onto the Murphy Ranch's main road. We laughed nervously about our awesome adventure.

"Thank God I didn't end up coming alone," I told him as I exhaled a sigh of relief.

Lower Arroyo Seco Park and
Colorado Street Bridge, Pasadena

I did, however, end up tackling the next photo shoot alone. At night.

Courtesy of Gary Yao

Nicknamed the “Suicide Bridge,” the Colorado Street Bridge is the site where dozens of people plummeted to their deaths in the early 20th century. Having already photographed night shots from the bridge deck previously and not encountering any of the rumored paranormal activity, I swithced gears and decided to shoot a set from the completely unlit Lower Arroyo Seco Park below.

I arrived at sundown, and the park still hosted a lively mix of strollers, joggers, and dog-walkers. Two other photographers had set up their equipment below the bridge as well. As the sun set, with my sense of sight almost out of commission, my ears perked up at every noise—every rustle and every voice made me a little less motivated to stay.

Once finished, I hummed my way back to the car, trying to convince myself that what I’d heard came from small animals and local kids, and that nothing would step out of the closed Port-A-Potty as I rushed past it. Mine was the last car to leave the lot.

Courtesy of Gary Yao

It took a little mental pep talk to convince myself that heading over to the Old L.A. Zoo at that point would be a wise decision. Once notorious for its mistreatment of its animals, the zoo has since moved to a new site in Griffith Park. The old zoo is now home only to abandoned cages and storage sheds. Despite being claimed as one of the safest abandoned sites in Los Angeles, I hoisted white flag to doing anything in a pitch-black unfamiliar environment besides photographing a sign marking the old zoo’s location.

For People More Daring:
Linda Vista Hospital, Boyle Heights

Linda Vista Hospital embodies all the trappings of a classic haunted place. Judging by pictures by others, the random noises, the flickering lights, and cold spots, among other things make the setting a terrifying visit.

Unfortunately, the hospital has been officially closed to all except for production companies renting out the place for filming. Yet, this will surely not stop the most enthused aficionados of haunted locations. Not that I condone trespassing or anything...