The Secret Room

photo by Kevin Mizner  used with permission.

drawing by Kevin Mizner used with permission.

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.


About Life in the 50's and beyond...

Welcome to Life in the 50's and 60's and beyond .... where I write about my childhood memories, music of the 60's and about life in the country. I am a mother, grandmother, farmer's wife, business owner, and retired teacher.
This entry was posted in My Life and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

10 Responses to The Secret Room

  1. 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. 🙂


  2. Grace says:

    The mystery surrounding the secret room is intriguing. That generation did maintain silence, kept hush.


  3. maesprose says:

    That is quite the story. I had grandparents that would have done something like that. Very practical!


  4. Luanne says:

    Woohoo, what a great story. It’s going to drive me crazy!


  5. LB says:

    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!


  6. 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–


  7. Maxi says:

    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


  8. Ann says:

    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.


What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s