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A Visit to the Ryen Murder House.
WARNING: What you are about to read may give you Nightmares and cause sleepless nights of cold, sweaty, fits of sleeplessness.
The California Department of Corrections states: ATTENTION PARENTS: The following crime summary contains a graphic description of one or more murders and may not be suitable for all ages.

Introduction.
It was a dark and stormy night… really, it was and I always wanted to start a Halloween story with that.

Part 1: The Entrance.
We approached the Ryen Murder House in the dead of night, the rain kept the streets free of dog-walkers, and such that would interrupt our nefarious trespassings. Kevin Cooper is on death row for killing, in the most violent way; the Father, Mother, daughter, and a young friend in a 1984 murder at this house. Only the son Josh survived by holding his neck, that was slit from ear to ear, until the father of his friend—one that was also killed—showed up. Perhaps you’ve heard the story.
We decided to check it out ourselves. What the heck? What’s the worst that could happen? The house has been boarded up, and for the last 20 years remains empty. Under the cover of darkness, we parked Rob’s inconspicuous Hyundai in front of a nearby ranch home, possibly the home in which Cooper himself stayed after escaping Chino prison. We climbed up the dark street to the hillock upon which the Ryen Home stands. A window at one corner of the house was open, lucky us. We climbed in and just looked around for a few minutes with our flashlights. Most of the carpet in the bedrooms was cut out, probably for evidence. It’s been twenty years since the bloody murders, and the place looked like it was a party spot for adventurous teenagers. But I still got the heebie-jeebies when Rob and I split up. “You go that way and I’ll go this way…” isn’t that the last thing they always say before the chainsaw-wielding-hockey-masked dude shows up?
But seriously, people, real people, died a horrible death here—nothing could get that outa my head. “Take the pictures and let’s get the hell outa here,” was all I could think.
I cannot imagine the horror they experienced: Hacked to death in the dead of night, asleep, with a hatchet, knife, and stabbed with an ice-pick. The defense, and all the “Free Mumai” crowd (Denzel Washington, Sean Penn, Mike Farrell, Jesse Jackson… you know the type), keep harping on the fact that one man couldn’t wield that many weapons, nor could he butcher so many in so short an amount of time. But the DNA evidence is now so overwhelming that even the Governator couldn’t, in all good conscience, stay the execution. He denied clemency, and it took the 9th circuit court of appeals to do that. Go figure.
What was that!? Did a shadow flick across the wall? In the darkness, I saw this written upon a wall: “I wouldn’t stay in here too long because people lock you in here, and you’ll never get out alive, check out the door it is a “dead” bolt lock. Good luck.” “Ahhh shit, let’s go Robert, I’ve seen enough,” I said. “Yeah, you’re right,” Robert replied, “this place is starting to give me the creeps.”
We climbed out the window into the chilled drizzle of the night, and decided to walk around to the back yard [read: bad idea]. We found an overgrown yard with a dilapidated swimming pool. Suddenly my imagination went into overdrive and I could see a family playing in the pool; mom and two kids laughing and splashing on a warm Summer day while dad grilled steaks on a barbeque that wasn’t there a second ago. And then, as quickly as it appeared, the vision changed back to the overgrown yard and slimy pool. I shined my Mini Maglight® onto my watch: MIDNIGHT. “Holey crap, did you just see that?” I whispered to Robert, dreading his response. “See what? Nothing’s here man, what have you been smoking?” he asked.
What the…? and, I replied, “Oh, never mind, I just thought I saw something… must have been a cat.”
I snapped a shot of the pool and said, “let’s go; now I know I’ve seen enough and the cops could show up any second.” I probably shouldn’t have taken that last shot of the pool since my flash could have been seen by a meddlesome neighbor.

Part 2: The Egress.
As we were walking back to the inconspicuous car, I said to Robert, “okay, if a cop shows up and asks us what we’re doing, let’s just pretend we’re gay lovers and we’re out for an evening stroll—they’d never bust a couple of queers.” “F*ck you,” Robert shot back. I kept going, “I’m serious, we could claim our civil rights were being violated. Here, hold my hand, I think I see a car coming and we’d better be ready to…” “Shut up!” Robert cut me off, “you’re creeping me out worse than the house.”
We made it back to his car and drove off without incident. I’ll never forget my visit to the Chino Massacre House, and I hope they fry Cooper. If ever there is a person who deserves it, it’s him.
Happy Halloween to all the readers of Chapin Nation, and me… both of you, stay safe.

This entry was posted on Sunday, October 31st, 2004 at 11:48 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. | 107 views | Trackback | Print this page |

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