Behind the Doors

I enjoy the character of very old homes and I had an opportunity to visit one once. The current owner of this particular house gave me a skeleton key and told me to go anytime, just please lock up when I leave. She described it as a creaky, musty, dark place. Someone's ancestor must have lived there a hundred years or so ago. Everything in the house was ancient. The day I made my visit, the house was bathed in soft moonlight. I could see lamps lit in the front window and the door cracked open just a tiny bit. I assumed the owner had been there already or had just left. Eagerly I grabbed my bag from the car and walked across the massive front porch. The front door was made from beautiful oak wood, and opened into a large, stately parlor. It looked like a room from the movies about southern, plantation homes. The belongings here looked like they had been sitting since the beginning of time. The covers on each piece of furniture had dust so thick I could not tell what was dust and what was the cover. Even the floor was dusty. Not the crumbly, outside-tracked-in dirt, but fluffy, sneeze-making dust that allowed me to see my footprints across the room. I had to see everything! The artwork, the homemade needlepoint pictures, the antique lamps and sofas. I could picture grand balls, magnificent balls, glorious formal dinner parties, and the daughter's (if they had one) coming of age celebration. It was obviously the most formal room downstairs and arranged for the maximum amount of comfort for the maximum amount of guests. The family pictures in this room revealed hints as to who lived there and when. Most of the faces were grim. The men looked stiff-necked and uncomfortable, the women with their hair pulled up in a tight bun, looked very severe, even the children were just miserable in their high-collared shirts. Why did they allow their family to be portrayed like that, or is that just how it was done back then?

The kitchen was the next room and it was massive, but very few modern amenities. No refrigerator, no stove or microwave, but it did have a sink, (sort of). One whole wall was rows of shelves, and on each shelf, a variety of dishes and utensils. I could only imagine how the silver would shine once polished, but now it was concealed in an ever thickening layer of dusty grime. There was a large island in the middle of the kitchen with cabinets for large pots and things. And finally, the sink was a large box with a hole in the bottom and a pipe leading from the hole through the wall and outside. A drain perhaps? Water came from a pump, which of course I tried, and of course it did not work. That well probably dried up years ago. At what should be a doorway into the next room, was actually a double-sided fireplace. A hook for a pot was patiently waiting on one side for the cook, and the other side revealed the family gathering area. Here the room was smaller... used... comfortable.

There was still knitting on the side of the settee, a box of old games on the table, and a very old piano in the corner.

As I went back toward the front door, I got a perfect view of the steps. Majestic, wide, carpeted steps with rolling banisters and ornate mahogany decorations spiraling upwards to the second floor. I would say "grand" is the only word to describe such a staircase, yet I could envision a young resident mischievously sliding back down the banister, screaming and laughing with glee. The walls in this beautiful place were a little odd, however, I noticed each one was created like a puzzle piece. Where the walls came together, the pieces were like the edge of the puzzle, but in the middle, every part of the wall was just a little bit different. The design was incredible, and the engineering was mind-boggling. Of course I had to see if the whole house had walls like that, so up the staircase I went.

At the top were three very large bedrooms and a water closet complete with a bathtub. With no faucet upstairs, hauling the water for a bath would be exhausting, and I couldn't find a drain, so how did they empty it?

The bedrooms, like the rest of the house, were dusty layers of what was once a resplendent home. Thick blankets on top of high, four-poster bed frames. One bed had a canopy over it for a young lady. Another bedroom was very masculine but with no ornate decoration at all, just expensive and mature furniture for him. The apparent master suite was functional and complete with a walk-in closet and nursery. All the while, the puzzle piece walls were holding it together.

Heading back downstairs, I put my hand on the banister and carefully wiped off a layer or two of dust where I saw it was worn smooth. Almost wistfully I stared at the railing. It was calling me. Challenging me. Daring me and I could not resist. Swinging one leg over the wooden rail I leaned forward and pushed off. The speed of the slide was impressive! Dust flew through the air almost choking me in my own wake! For ten seconds I sped downstairs, feeling as if I were actually flying! Just as abruptly I was off the rail and on my butt. I had forgotten how to get off the ride. As I picked up my bruised ego, I noticed a small door off to the left. I had not seen it before because it was part of the puzzle. My bounce off the steps must have been hard enough to jiggle the door open just a bit. Oh I was intrigued! A hidden room? A secret passageway? A tunnel perhaps for a quick getaway? I had to know!

Slowly, carefully, I opened the door and peaked in. Cobwebs sprinkled with dust blocked every inch of the entryway. It was tall enough for me to stand up, so, brushing the past out of my way, I started walking. The walls of the passage had started out as wood, and by the time I realized I was walking downhill, the walls had become softer, wetter, like earth or mud. I came to a small room that had two beds and a couple of doors. Curious, I opened one door and went in. Within a few minutes I was at a dead end. Back in the small room again, I tried the other door. This hallway was cool but stuffy so I walked faster to get to the other end. Another door. This time there was a key in the lock so taking a deep breath I opened it.

Looking around I realized I was outside in the back yard. There was an old hitching post, and a decaying barn. I could only assume the passageway was for someone to escape something. I wanted to go back inside and peruse the house again. I wanted to be the lady of the house and pretend to have a party with my royal guests. I wanted to hear the harpsichord and the lute beckoning us to dance. I really wanted to find the the owner and thank her for allowing me to tour the house and find out if she knew of the hidden place. All these thoughts were running through my head as I walked to the front porch and then immediately those thoughts were gone. As I took a step up, I realized the house was dark and the door closed. The house was as abandoned in the present as it had been in the past. In my imagination, the ghosts of the house granted me a glimpse of their lives, and when I went outside, they shut the door. I guess I had to be happy with that.