Psycho...Again?

I just moved into the house on the hill. What attracted me to it was that it looks just like the Psycho house from the Alfred Hitchock movie. As a kid, that movie scared the bejesus out of me! After seeing it without my parent’s permission I couldn’t take a shower by myself for months! My older brother teased me unmercilessly for years about me having to have my twin sister in the bathroom with me whenever I showered. I loved that movie so much even though it scared me. But then I have always been a sucker for thrillers.

It’s Saturday afternoon and despite the hubbub with the moving company moving in my meager furnishings, the grandkids running around exploring, and a few delivery people bringing in the needed furniture items like a bed, refrigerator, washer and dryer, just to name a few...I also took more time to explore my new surroundings. When I decided to purchase this spooky place...those were the words the realtor used when he showed me the house...what caught my attention was its similarity to the original Psycho house. 

Since my daughter decided to take over telling everyone what to do, I wandered throughout the house. I would tell the movers more specific locations for the larger pieces of furniture while my daughter would glare at me whenever she caught me doing it. It doesn’t matter to me...I always ignored her glares...after all, it is my house. I wandered around rather aimlessly for most of the afternoon. Eventually the movers left and the deliveries stopped when the last one, pizza for dinner for the family who wanted to be there for the occasion had finally arrived and the driver had been paid and they left. Finally, with all the pizza eaten, my family has left for the night, and I wearily make my way upstairs and head for bed.

Tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep. Sleep was always something difficult for me whenever I was someplace new. I expected for it to be the same tonight. I thought I was prepared. I had brought a good book with me...one I thought would be boring. I was trying to read “The History of Paper Mache”, and had read the same paragraph several times when I noticed the old curtains in my bedroom seemed to be billowing just a bit. I got up and checked the window. It was tightly closed and had been so for many years. It was on the list to have the remodelers fix...when they started their work on Monday morning. As I checked around the window in the area that I thought I saw movement, I started tapping on the wall. I was surprised at how hollow it sounded. It had caused me some thought when I first saw the house...why was the window so close to the wall...there was about three inches between the window frame and the wall that I thought was housing all the closet. I ducked my head inside the closet. There seemed to be a discrepancy in the space.  Less space than I thought there should be for the closet. So, why did the wall sound so hollow?

Sunday was church and more unpacking. Now it’s Monday morning and the contractors are about to arrive. I find myself sitting on the front steps waiting for their arrival. The sound of an approaching vehicle stirs me from my reverie and I look up to see the contractor’s truck climbing the hill and then come abruptly to a stop. I stand to greet the workers.

“Good to see you, Sam,” I began. “I have something I would like you to take care of right away.”

“What?” Sam asks thinking it could mean more money for the job he was about to begin.

“I’ll show you,” I said, leading Sam upstairs and into my bedroom.

“Please knock down this wall,” I said. “I don’t think it’s all closet.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” Sam said.

“Do it now,” I insisted. “And start by the window and stop when you reach the closet wall.”

Sam looked at me rather quizzically, nodded his head, then left to get a sledge hammer. He shortly returned and began knocking down the section of wall that I insisted he open up. In all, he opened up about five feet of wall. I watched Sam work. He gave a low whistle when he was almost done and motioned for me to come and see.

Behind the hollow sounding wall was a short hall and a door. I waited for Sam to finish removing the wall.

“Shall we see what’s behind that door?” I asked. 

Sam silently nodded, stepped aside, and let me lead the way. It took some doing, but Sam and I eventually got the tired, old door open. It led into a dark hallway. I groped around for a light switch, but couldn’t find one. 

“I got a torch downstairs,” Sam said as he left to retrieve it.

I just stood there, wondering what we would find when we explored the dark depths with Sam’s torch. In a few minutes, he was back with the torch. I took it from him and cautiously shone it into the depths of the hallway. We slowly crept down the hallway. It smelled as if it had been closed up for a hundred years. The floorboards creaked under our weight. I could feel light gusts of moving air on my face. Cobwebs entangled themselves in my hair as we crept forward. After about ten feet, we encountered a staircase leading up to what I thought could be the attic. 

It led us to a hidden room at the back of the house! I had often wondered about why there were two tiny windows on each side of the house that were dark and hard to see unless the sun was shining directly on them. The room was dark except for the small amount of sunlight coming through the tiny windows. It was sparsely furnished with a table, chair, and bed. It was clear that someone at one time lived in this room. I quickly decided that the two windows needed to be enlarged and possibly the entire room be enlarged as well and made plans with Sam to get this done. I knew it would add thousands to the cost...but I didn’t care! I had a hidden jewel in this room.

Now, for me, the real sleuthing began. I just had to know the history of that room! While Sam tackled the list of things to update in my house, I was off to the local library. Libraries, I thought would be the best place to start on my quest for the history of my new abode. The librarian led me to the newspaper archives. I looked for an hour or so to find out about who originally owned my house, but found nothing of note. Turning off the microfiche machine, I decided that maybe the public records may be more forthcoming with information. 

So I moved my search to city hall and the public records department. I easily found the records for my house. They even had the original plans for the house. The original plans only had two usable floors plus the attic and cellar. No hidden room was in those plans. A little more digging and I found the plans for a renovation done in 1910. They added a third floor...the current attic. I had copies of these plans made and scurried back to the library. I remember seeing something about a young man who went missing around the time of the 1910 renovation. He was never seen again, according to the only article I found. Now I was getting really curious! Who was he? Why was he hidden away? It was clear that there was more digging to be done.

Over the next few days, people in town began knocking on my door and wanting to know more about me. While I answered their questions, I asked a few of my own...especially from the senior citizens that ventured my way. Seniors loved to talk about the good old days...or so I thought. One day, an elderly lady named Edith crossed my path. Edith was best friends with the daughter of the owner in 1910. Her friend, Sally, was in love with a black man. That was such a scandal in those days! According to Edith, he ran away from home and Sally hid him in the attic-turned-hidden-room for at least a year...until she could leave home, herself. Edith said Sally went away to college and never returned home again. But who was this young man? Where is he now? Did he and Sally marry? So many questions, so few answers. Oh well, I guess that time will tell...