Hidden in the hills of Southern California, way off the beaten path, there lies a place of contradictions. It lies in a no-man's land between public and private property. It's shaded and quiet when everything surrounding it blisters in the unforgiving sun. It's at once serene and sinister. But mostly, it's just creepy as fuck.
As I descended into the canyon, mid-morning, it was a cool 72 degrees. This didn't last long as the temperature soon jumped to over 90 degrees. I didn't subscribe anything supernatural to this, but I saw how this place got its name: Hell Hole. I hiked for about a mile and, despite not really knowing at all where I was going, walked directly to the location I sought. I came upon my quarry with deceptive, almost suspicious, ease.
The site is located in a wooded glen at the bottom of the valley, as dark as any holler in Kentucky. The dirt "road" to the site is blocked by an old camper trailer that ran aground and was abandoned. The entire area is strewn with old appliances and decaying buildings. The interior of one building strongly suggests that it was once used to manufacture illegal drugs; low-rent knock offs of Walter White once called this place home. Yet, the back room of the far trailer appears to have been a child's room.
The holler is a strange place: it's completely silent and serene, except for the chirping of birds, yet it feels like the hills have eyes and every crackle in the brush makes you instinctively dart your head to look behind you. Your spine tingles. Also, it's a solid 20 degrees cooler than the area surrounding it. It's an unwelcoming oasis, a sinister sanctuary.
Its hard to put my finger on exactly what unnerved me so much about this place when I'd trekked so boldly into places ostensibly much worse. Was it because I was alone? I usually explore alone so that couldn't be it. Was it because I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched? Was it because it reminded me a little too much of Reggie Ledoux's house in True Detective? As I snapped pictures and continued exploring, I thought of these things, my apprehension slowly ratcheting up. Ultimately, I decided it was precisely the fact that I couldn't put my finger on it that was making me so unnerved. This place was just...wrong. Something intangible was off about it; intangible but very real.
I'd gotten my fill and started out of the canyon. As soon as I left the valley, the heat hit me like a blast furnace. I got lost immediately, the way no longer clear to me, the going no longer easy. My GPS refused to connect to anything, despite a clear line to the sky. Nearly out of water, I began telling myself not to panic. The sun was an oppressive, burning eye above punishing me for trespassing on the Devil's den. Slowly, through thick and spiny brush, I trudged back up the hillside toward the homes in the distance.
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