The San Pedro Poltergeist | When LA Police Responded to the Unexplainable — Ep. 45

Two Los Angeles police department officers are standing in a small living room in San Pedro. The only light in the room comes from the ceiling fixture above them, bright and steady. Jackie and her family stay near the kitchen doorway, leaving the center of the room open. One officer keeps an eye on the hallway to the bedrooms while the other stands beside the coffee table. They've already walked through the bedrooms in the kitchen. They check the front door, the back door, in the window latches along the living room wall. They're still in the room because the family says things have been moving. For a moment, nothing happens. One of the officers shifts his stance and scans the room again. Ceiling, shelves, table, walls, like he's expecting someone to step out and admit it's a prank. Then the ashtray lifts off the coffee table. It rises straight up and crosses the living room before striking the far wall hard enough to leave a visible mark in the drywall. It drops to the carpet just a few feet from where they're standing. Both officers saw it leave the table. The one closest to the wall walks over and presses his hand against the drywall where it hit. He checks the window latch beside it. He slides his fingers behind the picture frames, checking for fishing line, loose nails, or anything threaded through the drywall. He doesn't find anything. While he's still near the wall, one of the framed photographs jerks forward and drops to the floor behind him. He turns at the sound and the other officer does the same. They exchange a quick look before moving at the same time, one heading down the hallway toward the bedrooms, and the other turning slowly in place, scanning the ceiling, the shelves, and the coffee table. The hallway is empty. When the officer steps back into the living room, a small religious figurine slides off the shelf and hits the carpet just inches from his boot. He stops mid-step and looks at it, then at the shelf it came from. The other officer doesn't move toward the hallway this time. They both remain in the center of the room, scanning the walls and the table, waiting. By the time officers were standing in that living room, it had already been going on for days. It hadn't started with something dramatic. It was smaller than that. A bedroom door that wouldn't stay closed after it had been shut. Items falling in rooms that had just been checked, something shifting and then stopping the second someone walked in to see what made the noise. At first the family tried to explain it. Maybe a draft. Maybe a shelf that wasn't mounted right. Maybe just stress in a house that had already been tense. That felt easier than calling anyone. But it kept happening. And eventually it started happening while people were watching. Doors moved after they'd been secured. Objects shifted even when someone new entered the room. Neighbors saw it, and the officers saw it too. And once other people were standing there seeing the same things, it stopped being just a family trying to make sense of their own house. It became something that had to be written down. To understand how it reached that point, you have to go back to when the house still felt ordinary. Tonight, we're looking at a case from the late 1980s in San Pedro, California, where activity inside a family home led to repeated police responses, clergy involvement, and growing public attention. What began as movement inside a private residence escalated in front of officers who were standing in the room. This is the story of what became known as the San Pedro poltergeist. Let's get into it. Before officers were standing in that living room, Jackie Hernandez and her children had already started noticing that something inside the house was changing. It didn't begin with objects crossing the room. It began with small things that were easy to dismiss. A bedroom door that wouldn't stay closed, even after Jackie checked the latch twice. It would ease open a few inches and stop. A hallway light that shut off seconds after one of the children walked beneath it. A dining chair that looked slightly turned from where Jackie was sure she had left it earlier in the day. None of it felt threatening. It felt irritating. The house wasn't new. Hinges loosen, wiring flickers, wood shifts when temperature changes. Jackie mentioned it out loud, almost jokingly. Maybe one of the kids bumped a chair and didn't remember. Maybe the door frame wasn't square. No one was frightened yet. Then it happened while all of them were in the same room. One evening, Jackie and her children were in the living room. The television was on at low volume, casting a dim blue light across the walls. Jackie was near the end table. One of her children stood near the kitchen doorway. A small ceramic dish on the end table began to move. It didn't jump or tip. It slid slowly across the surface, steady and straight, until it reached the edge and dropped to the carpet. It didn't shatter, it made a dull sound and rolled slightly before stopping. Jackie stared at it. Her children looked at her. No one had touched the table. Jackie bent down, picked up the dish, and pressed down on the tabletop. The legs were firm and the carpet underneath didn't shift. They stayed in the room. A few minutes later, the bedroom door at the end of the hallway eased open again. This time they were watching it. It moved slowly, stopping halfway, as if pushed by a steady pressure. Jackie walked down the hallway with her children behind her and checked the hinges, the latch, and the frame. Nothing appeared loose. When they came back into the living room, no one sat down. And while Jackie and her children were standing around the coffee table talking through what they had just seen, a framed photograph slipped from its hook and fell straight down, landing face down on the carpet. It hadn't crossed the room, it hadn't been thrown, it had simply come loose. That was the moment the explanations began to feel thinner. Jackie stepped outside into the driveway with her children, leaving the living room lights on behind them. From the street, the house looked completely ordinary. The conversation was brief. Jackie went back inside and called the police. Two LAPD patrol officers stepped inside while Jackie and her children remained near the kitchen doorway. The living room looked the way it had when Jackie called. The coffee table was centered in the room, and the ashtray sat in the middle of it. One of the officers asked Jackie to describe exactly what had happened and where everyone had been standing. The other moved toward the wall near the coffee table and checked the window latch, running his hand along the frame and pressing lightly against the drywall as if testing for movement. Everything felt solid. They walked the hallway and checked the bedrooms, opening closet doors and scanning the windows from inside. One of them stepped briefly into the yard to look back at the house from the outside before returning through the front door. Nothing appeared disturbed. When they came back into the living room, Jackie and her children were still standing near the doorway, leaving the center of the room open. For a few seconds, the house was quiet. Then the ashtray lifted on its own. It rose straight up from the coffee table, hovered for a brief moment, and crossed the room before striking the wall hard enough to leave a visible dent in the drywall. It fell to the carpet beneath the impact point. Both officers saw it leave the table. The officer nearest the wall stepped forward immediately and pressed his hand against the dent. The paint was scuffed and the indentation was fresh. He checked the window latch again and ran his fingers behind the frame photographs hanging nearby, looking for anything loose or threaded through the wall. He didn't find anything. While he was standing there, one of the frame photographs snapped forward and hit the carpet. Both officers reacted at the same time. One moved down the hallway toward the bedrooms. The other turned slowly in place, scanning the ceiling, the shelving, and the coffee table. The hallway was empty. When the officer stepped back into the living room, a small religious figurine slid off the shelf and landed less than a foot from where he was standing. Both officers stopped moving. They didn't separate again. They just stood in the center of the room, watching. After several more minutes without further movement, the officers took statements and stepped outside. They didn't say what they thought had happened before getting back into their patrol car and driving away. Jackie locked the front door. She turned off the living room light, gathered her children, and told them to try to get some sleep. It didn't stay quiet. Sometime after midnight, a cabinet door in the kitchen slammed shut hard enough to wake everyone in the house. When Jackie and the others stepped into the hallway, the kitchen light was still on, and the cabinet door was swinging slightly on its hinge. No one had been in the kitchen. They checked the back door and the front door again. Both were locked. They called the police. When the patrol car arrived, the street was mostly dark. The same two officers stepped inside and moved through the house more quickly than they had earlier. They opened closets, checked under beds, and pulled down the attic access panel while shining a flashlight upward into the insulation. Nothing shifted and nothing moved. Back in the living room, the dent in the drywall was still visible under the overhead light. The ashtray had been placed back on the coffee table earlier that evening. One officer stayed near the hallway while the other stood closer to the shelving along the wall. This time it didn't wait. A small porcelain figurine came straight off the shelf and struck the wall near the original dent before dropping to the carpet. The officer nearest it stepped forward immediately and ran his hand along the shelf and the metal bracket underneath, pressing against the wall as if checking for a loose anchor. While he was doing that, a framed photograph lifted from the same shelf and traveled several feet in the opposite direction, landing near the coffee table. It moved in a straight line from the shelf to the carpet without wobbling. Both officers shifted toward the center of the room. Before they could say anything, a wooden decorative box slid off the coffee table and struck the leg of the chair hard enough to push it several inches across the carpet. Jackie and her family stayed near the kitchen doorway. The officers didn't separate this time. They remained in the living room, turning slowly as they watched the shelves, the coffee table, and the walls. Another ceramic figure came off the shelf and hit the drywall. Before it finished sliding down, a glass paperweight followed, striking lower and bouncing once across the carpet. The time between impacts shortened from minutes to seconds. One of the officers told everyone to stay where they were. The ashtray on the coffee table lifted again. It didn't cross the room like it had earlier. It rose cleanly off the surface and dropped hard enough to make a sharp sound against the carpet. For several minutes after that, items continued to move in short bursts, a figurine from the shelf, a small object from the table, without anyone in the room touching them. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, it stopped. Nothing else moved. The officers remained where they were for a moment longer before lowering their flashlights. No one rushed to speak. Neighbors began timing the lights. People notice which nights the cruisers arrive and how long they stay. Conversations start at mailboxes and continue over fences. What began inside one living room had started to ripple outward. At first, it was a curiosity. Then it became attention. A local reporter eventually heard that officers had responded multiple times to the same address for unexplained disturbances. That alone was enough to draw interest. Within days, a small camera crew parked across the street. They weren't part of the investigation, and so of course they weren't invited inside. They were there because something unusual had drawn repeated official response, and repeated official response creates a record. That evening, when officers arrived again, the camera was already set up. Inside, the living room looked controlled. The dent in the drywall was still visible under overhead light. The shelving appeared intact. The coffee table sat centered in the room. There were no overturned chairs, no signs of forced entry, no damage beyond what had already been observed during prior responses. But there was a difference. The officers were aware that what happened inside could no longer remain informal. Whatever they saw might be described publicly. Whatever they said might be quoted. Jackie and her children stayed near the kitchen doorway just as they had on previous nights. The officers walked through the bedrooms again, checked the doors and windows again, and returned to the living room. For several minutes, nothing occurred. That silence carried more weight than it had before. Then an item from the shelving area moved while officers were present. It wasn't dramatic. It didn't cross the room with force. It shifted and fell without contact, consistent with what had been reported on prior nights. The officer nearest the wall examined the bracket again, pressing along the anchor point. It held. A short time later, another item moved. The officers remained in the center of the room rather than splitting up. They watched instead of searching. What had changed was not the violence of the movement. What had changed was the context. Outside, neighbors stood in small clusters at the edge of the sidewalk. The camera remained fixed on the front windows. When the officers eventually stepped outside, the reporter approached before they reached the cruiser and asked what had occurred inside. They declined to comment. They closed the doors and drove away. The camera did not. From that point forward, the case existed in two forms. The experience inside the living room and the narrative forming outside of it. It was no longer simply a call for service. It was a documented event. And that changed what happened next. It didn't take long after the media arrived for the tone inside the house to shift again. On one of the later responses, officers were already inside when the activity began. The camera remained across the street. Neighbors stood outside watching, and Jackie and her children stayed near the kitchen doorway as they had on previous nights. The officers had just finished another sweep of the house and were back in the living room when something moved from the shelving area. At first, it followed the same pattern the officers had already described in earlier reports. An item fell without being touched. The bracket was checked again. The wall was pressed. Nothing appeared loose. But then the direction changed. Instead of dropping near the wall, one of the items traveled outward across the open space of the living room. It didn't simply fall, it crossed the room before striking and landing closer to where the family was standing. A second object followed in a similar path, again moving away from the wall rather than straight down. That was new. The officers stepped forward together and positioned themselves between the shelving and the family, not splitting up this time. The movement continued in short intervals, not constant, but close enough together that no one relaxed fully between them. More than one item traveled beyond its original position, covering distance rather than simply tipping or sliding. After several minutes, the activity stopped as abruptly as it had started. The living room was quiet again, but it no longer felt contained. Broken pieces remained scattered across the carpet. The dent in the drywall had widened slightly from repeated impact. The officer stayed longer than they had on previous nights, clearing debris and examining the shelving again before finally stepping outside. When they left, Jackie and her children didn't linger in the driveway. They went back inside and sat at the kitchen table. They had already called the police more than once. Officers had witnessed movement. Neighbors had gathered, a camera had recorded from across the street. And now the objects weren't just falling near the wall, they were crossing the room. That was when Jackie reached out to a local priest. When he arrived, he did so quietly. No announcement, no spectacle. He listened as Jackie described what had been happening and where everyone had been standing. He examined the dent in the drywall and ran his hand along the shelving brackets the same way the officers had. Later that evening, while he stood in the living room with the family, the movement began again. Items shifted from the shelving area while he remained in the center of the room. At one point, he placed his palm flat against the section of wall where objects had been striking and held it there, as if testing whether vibration might explain the motion. He later stated that he felt none. He didn't attempt to define what was happening. He told the family to remain calm and not to address it directly, and he stayed until the movement stopped. Over the following days, according to the family and local reporting at the time, the activity became less frequent. Police responses slowed and neighbors stopped gathering outside. The camera crews eventually left. In time, The house went quiet. The family moved out, and years later, the structure was demolished. No formal explanation was ever issued for what multiple officers said they observed inside that living room. When you step back from the San Pedro case, the question isn't just whether the officers were mistaken. The bigger question is if what they described really did happen, what kind of phenomenon would it fit? In paranormal research, there are a few frameworks people use to interpret cases like this. The first is what's often called RSPK, recurrent spontaneous psychokinesis. It's the idea that intense emotional stress, often centered around someone in the household, can manifest physically. Objects move, doors slam, things break. Not because of a spirit, but because of unconscious human energy that somehow discharges into the environment. San Pedro checks some of those boxes. It happened inside a family home. It escalated over time. It centered around domestic tension and repeated exposure. That's familiar territory in poltergeist research. But there's a complication. RSPK theory usually suggests chaotic movement, not directed movement. In San Pedro, several reports described objects traveling across the room, sometimes towards specific areas where people were standing. If those accounts are accurate, that introduces direction, and direction implies intention. That leads to the second framework, the intelligent haunting model. This is the idea that the phenomenon isn't just an energy discharge. It's responsive, it adapts, it reacts to who's in the room. In some cases, activity increases when authority figures arrive. In others, it shifts when a new person enters the space. In San Pedro, the pattern reportedly changed once media became involved. And later, it shifted again when a priest was present. If that's coincidence, it's a strange one. If it isn't, then you're not just looking at a random force, you're looking at something interactive. The third possibility is psychological and environmental amplification, high stress, heightened awareness, multiple witnesses influencing one another in real time, memory consolidating into a shared narrative after the fact. That explanation is often the most comfortable one. It doesn't require rewriting physics. But here's the tension in this case. You have repeated police responses, officers inside the room, adults trained to look for mechanical causes, and they stayed, they checked, they pressed on the drywall, they inspected the shelving. That doesn't prove the paranormal, but it narrows the room for easy dismissal. And here's where this starts to matter beyond one house in San Pedro. I've researched enough of these cases to see the patterns, domestic setting, escalation under observation, authority involvement, media attention, then eventually a decline. That pattern repeats often enough to make you wonder whether you're looking at psychology or something we haven't defined yet. Because if even one of these cases is genuine, not exaggerated, not misremembered, not staged, then something about the way we understand consciousness is incomplete. Not necessarily supernatural in the way pop culture imagines it, but incomplete. And if that's true, the question isn't just what moved inside that living room, it's what else might be possible. And that's where this case is. Not with an answer, just with that question. What unsettles me about this case isn't just that officers said they saw objects move. It's those patterns. Different cities, different decades, different families, but certain events show up again and again. Activities centered in one room. Movement that happens in front of witnesses, objects traveling outward rather than simply falling. The involvement of police, and eventually clergy. Not always, but often enough that you start to recognize the structure. Now, that doesn't prove anything. Patterns can form because stories borrow from each other. They can form because stress looks similar across households. They can form because once a case becomes public, people interpret events through a familiar framework. But if the accounts are accurate, if even some of them are, then you're looking at something else. You're looking at events that don't sit comfortably inside our normal understanding of physical cause and effect. And that's where the bigger question creeps in. If something persists after death, if consciousness or intention can exist separate from the body, then cases like this stop being isolated incidents. They become data points. I'm not saying that's the conclusion. I'm saying that's the implication people quietly draw. Because once you admit the possibility that something non-physical can act on the physical world, you're no longer just talking about a shelf in a living room. You're talking about whether death is an ending. And that's a much larger claim than one house in San Pedro. This case doesn't answer that question, but it keeps it on the table. This has been State of the Unknown. The San Pedro case doesn't end with a definitive explanation. The activity reportedly slowed. The family moved out. The original house was later demolished. What remains are the reports, the media coverage, and the statements from officers who said they stood inside that living room and watched objects move. Whether you see this as a misperception under pressure, a deliberate staging, environmental factors, spiritual interpretation, or something else entirely, one fact remains. Once police, clergy, and cameras became involved, the events were no longer private. They were documented. If you've been enjoying the show, leaving a rating or review in your podcast app really does help more people find it. On Spotify, it's just a tap of the stars. On Apple Podcasts, you can even leave a short written review. I read them all and I appreciate everyone. If you know of a case or a story that would make a great episode, you can tell me about it at state of the unknown.com slash contact. Until next time, stay curious. Stay unsettled. Because sometimes the part of the story that lingers isn't what moved. It's that it moved it all.