At the front of my Grandma’s house was a secret room. There was no way in. No door. A huge shrub hugged the only outside window to the room. My eight year old self was curious. ” Why is there a room you can’t use?” To me it was the stuff mysteries were made of. Was there a hidden treasure inside, stolen property being hidden from the authorities? Had there been a crime committed in that room and the evidence boarded up? My imagination ran wild and I would often make up stories about the secret room. I kept asking questions. Finally, my mom explained that when the house was remodeled, they just closed it off because they didn’t need it anymore. I didn’t believe it for a minute. A few times I tried to squeeze between the shrub and the grimy aperture, but I was too short to peer inside. I was confident there was a story behind that dusty glass. There were other things regarding my grandparents that were secretive; events not discussed,things hushed so children would not know. My grandparents lost a child to a childhood disease. She was just a toddler. Years later a son was killed in a car accident shortly after returning home from the Korean War. After the accident, my grandmother was gone for a while. Even her absence was not spoken about when I was around. A nervous breakdown. A mental illness. Shock treatments. Comments overheard, but never explained. Together, the questions in my mind made the secret room all the more enticing. My conclusion was romantic and tender. I was convinced that all the painful memories from the sadness in my grandparent’s lives were boxed up and stored in that room. Baby clothes and blankets, a teddy bear, a ribbon from her hair, maybe even a lock of hair. Many years have passed. My grandparent’s house shelters another family now. There is no one left to ask about the secret room.
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About Life in the 50’s and Retired Ruth
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I really enjoy stories like this , full of mystery. My grandparents’ home was shrouded in mystery too. I don’t know that it’s polite adding links to my blog but if u are interested it’s under the tag Dreaming – Future and Past and is called Dundas dreaming. 🙂
The mystery surrounding the secret room is intriguing. That generation did maintain silence, kept hush.
That is quite the story. I had grandparents that would have done something like that. Very practical!
Woohoo, what a great story. It’s going to drive me crazy!
Do you get tired of hearing me tell you what a great story teller you are? Within the first sentence of two you manage to pique my interest and curiosity, and soon I am hooked.
I, too, would have been fascinated by that room!
I do NOT get tired of you telling me anything! Thank you so much….. you don’t happen to be a publisher, do you? 🙂
I remember my grandparents’ homes as being such curiosities– loved exploring. One grandfather had a special room in the basement- tools I think. It always seemed so exotic.
Now I see my grandkids enjoying exploring our house–
Now that’s a story, Ruth. It has everything – mystery, romance,curiosity, sadness, family, illness, death. Still, not to ever know about the room. Wow!
blessings ~ maxi
Thanks, Maxi! Your comments are always welcome.
Until I read your story I had forgotten a hidden room in my grandparents house on Main Street in Mt. Blanchard. I love your stories and wish that I had the discipline to write about everything I am experiencing.