A sunrise view from our front deck...in the Hills of Horror.
As if my recent issue with the post office weren't enough, Hollywood is pushing me again to flee to someplace more sheltered and rural. Only this time, the city's gone balls-out scary.
I should back up and say we've had a stint of shady activity over here recently. First there was the guy who went on the shooting rampage a couple miles from our house. Then there was the New Year's arsonist. And yesterday a horrific discovery on a hiking trail I frequent.
I was sitting at my dining table, chatting on the phone with a friend when I noticed the hum of several helicopters overhead. This is far from uncommon in our area, but they were lingering for awhile so I decided to check my #1 source for local news to find out what was going on: Twitter. I logged on and did a search for Hollywood only to discover a series of posts and links about a human head being found in a bag on a hiking trail. A trail I love to visit because it's pretty and safe. A trail that connects with the one where I took my nieces hiking over the weekend. A trail that is a few streets over from our house.
I immediately felt a sick wave of panic wash over me.
I IMed Mr. W at work to tell him and he replied, "It's time to move." Then, still shaky and filled with fear, I texted a friend who lives nearby, IMed another one and called my mom. I have a tendency to try to suck other people into my stressful situations so I don't have to experience them alone.
When my mom picked up, I asked if she and my dad were watching the news (by that time, the story had traveled from Twitter and a couple websites). She said no, so I told her what had happened and that I was afraid there might be a serial killer on the loose.
"Oh, there's serial killers all over the place," she replied.
Words of comfort in my time of need. Thanks, Mom.
I was semi-glued to the television and the laptop after that, trying to find some piece of reporting that would make me feel better. But once I got the tidbit that made me feel relieved, I also felt a little guilty for not maintaining my stage-five flight of terror.
It was a 40+year old man's head. Not a 30-something woman.
Just knowing it wasn't my in demographic made me somehow feel safer. I told myself maybe it was an Armenian mafia hit or a drug deal gone bad.
I know terrible things can happen anywhere—and even small towns have their share of creepy situations—but if the trend here in Hollywood continues, Mr. W and I may need to consider moving up our moving date.