I have a friend. Let’s call her Kirsten.
Kirsten is a bit of a conspiracy theorist. She has a dad with a machete, so it’s best to have her on your team. A year or so ago, we were gchatting and she sent me a link to a story about a home in the Los Feliz area of Los Angeles that had been the scene of two murders in the late 1950s. From what peeps surmise, the owner of the home – Dr. Harold Perelson – found himself in financial straits, despite running a cardiology practice in Inglewood. That or he was depressed. One night in December 1959, he went bat-shit crazy and bludgeoned his wife to death with a ball-peen hammer, beat his daughter like, really badly (she got away), told the two younger children to go back to bed when they got up to find out what was happening (“It’s just a nightmare”) and poisoned himself with acid before the police got there. Case closed. (The three children are still alive but their whereabouts are unknown.)
But that’s not the nutso part. Apparently the house was sold the next year in a probate auction (whatever that means), and the two people who purchased the home (Emily and Julian Enriquez) never actually lived in it. They have since died, and their son Rudy – who is based in the valley – is now the owner. AND THE HOUSE REMAINS IN THE CONDITION IT WAS IN WHEN THE MURDERS TOOK PLACE.
I took my cousin and mom to see it last weekend, because – let’s be honest, who doesn’t want to be a part of such a miracle trip? (A disgusting number of pics after the jump.)