The old house was my new home. You can find it and many like it where I live in Richmond. Tall with a brick exterior. Narrow alley ways on either side, separating it from the neighbors. Large rooms, high ceilings, and creaky floors. But, that’s all to be expected in homes like these. I want to tell you about the unexpected. About what I found in the attic.
It’s a large attic. Solid floors you can walk across with ease, and enough standing room that you don’t have to worry about hitting your head against a joist. You’ve probably seen attics like it in movies, usually housing a cursed relic of some sort, hidden inside a chest or under a sheet. This particular attic was empty of all except one thing — a bookshelf.
“Is that yours?” My friend, Jeff, asked as he set a box of old photo albums down. I looked up to see him nodding at the bookshelf standing against the wall on the far side of the attic.
“No.”
Jeff walked over to it and tried to wiggle a couple of the shelves to see if they were loose. “Looks like it’s still in good shape,” he said.
“Want it?”
Jeff looked at me. “Really?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t need it.”
Jeff looked the tall wooden bookshelf up and down and said, “Deal. Just need your help carrying it out to my truck.”
I pulled some gloves out of my pocket and put them on and said, “Okay. Let’s do it now before we fill the attic.”
Jeff leaned into one side of the bookshelf and began pushing. “Damn, this thing is heavy,” he said.
“Let me try.”
He stepped away and I pushed against the bookshelf, but it didn’t budge. I dug my feet into the floor and put my shoulder into it and pushed even harder, but still it would not move. Next, Jeff joined me and we both pushed against it simultaneously, and again it remained firmly in place.
“Well, shit,” Jeff said. We stood back and examined it for a moment, then I stepped over to the wall, where I noticed something.
“It has hinges,” I said.
Jeff raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Secret room!”
For a second, I was just as excited as Jeff, but it quickly dissipated as I realized this could not possibly be the case. I knocked on the wall a couple of times and looked at Jeff. His smile faded as he came to the same realization as me.
“Exterior wall,” he said.
I nodded. “This is the front of the house.”
“Then what’s the point of this being here?”
I shrugged. “I guess it could be hiding something in a little alcove. It won’t be more than a foot deep at most, though. Probably less than that.”
“Maybe it’s money.”
“God, I hope so. Help me figure out how to open it.”
Jeff stepped beside me and we ran our fingers along each shelf and corner, until I found what felt like a button in the top left corner nearest to me. I pressed it and there was a click from the back of the bookshelf. Jeff and I exchanged excited glances, and pulled the right side of the bookshelf toward us and it swung open.
On the other side was another door. Similar to those found in the rest of the house, wooden with a brass doorknob. But with one major difference.
“There’s no keyhole,” I said.
“So what?”
“Every door in this house has a keyhole.”
“Well, it’s a door that doesn’t open, so I don’t think a keyhole matters.”
“How do you know it doesn’t open?”
Jeff pointed at the doorframe. “This door is meant to open outward. It’s already several inches into the wall, so if it does open, it won’t be more than a crack.”
I sighed. “Well, that sucks.”
“Yep.”
I gripped and turned the doorknob just for the hell of it and pushed, and to our utter surprise, it swung open several feet, causing me to stumble through the doorway and into a room. I caught myself and stood speechless for a moment, gawking at a room I did not think possible.
The room was about the size of a child’s bedroom and completely empty. The floor was wooden, like the attic, but clean. No dust or dirt or dead bugs. None of that which you’d expect to find in an attic. The walls were white plaster, and also, seemingly spotless. But most baffling of all, was the window at the far end from which daylight flooded the room.
“Guess we were wrong about this being an exterior wall,” Jeff said. “But I sure don’t remember seeing that window when we were outside.”
I stood in silence, staring at the window from the other side of the room.
“Why don’t you go over to it and I’ll go outside and see if I can see you,” Jeff added. He leaned in the doorway and looked at me and he must’ve noticed that the color had drained from my face, because next he said, “Are you okay?”
“Jeff,” I muttered and turned to him, “it’s nighttime.”
Jeff furrowed his brow, as if he didn’t understand why I’d mention the time of day, then it hit him and he looked to the window and gasped. “Hold on!”
He took off running and I could hear his feet pounding down the stairs, a moment of quiet, then him running back up the stairs, hollering, “It is! It’s nighttime. Lee, what the hell, man? This is crazy.”
The confirmation was enough for me to know that I needed to get out of the room. I turned to exit, catching a glimpse of Jeff jogging toward me, when all of a sudden, the door slammed shut.
On the other side, I could hear Jeff’s muffled voice, saying, “Lee?”
I desperately fought to turn the knob, but it would not move. “Open the door!” I yelled, even though I knew Jeff couldn’t have possibly been the one to shut it.
“I’m trying,” he yelled back. I let go and watched the brass knob jiggle as Jeff tried to turn it. “I thought you said it didn’t have a lock.”
“Stand back!” My heart racing, I reared back and kicked the door.
“Wait, Lee. It opens toward you, remember? Let me try.”
The door shook as Jeff kicked it, and again and again and again, but it would not break. “Hold on,” Jeff said. “I’ve got a crowbar in my truck.”
I listened as his footsteps faded away.
As I stood staring at the door, heart pounding in my ears, I heard what sounded like a slammed car door coming from outside the window. From where I stood, I could see only blue sky on the other side of the glass, a clear indicator of daytime. But there was no denying what I’d heard.
I moved toward the window, growing more and more nervous with each step. Maybe I could see Jeff or his truck. Maybe this was all a big misunderstanding. Maybe it wasn’t a window, but rather some sort of artwork or optical illusion. Those are the things I told myself. But those thoughts disappeared as I reached the window and saw the truth.
It was a window, and while what I saw outside was somewhat familiar, it was also different. The neighbors’ homes were different. The street was different. The cars were different.
And standing in my driveway was a stranger. A woman. She was dressed in black and had long black hair, and was staring up at me. People walked down the sidewalk past her. Ignoring her. Nobody looking to see what it was she was looking at.
As a couple walked along the sidewalk past the driveway, I pounded on the window and hollered, “Hey!” But they just kept walking, as if they never even heard me.
I looked back down at the woman and she lifted her arm and beckoned me with her hand. I should’ve turned and left, but it was as if I was under a spell. I couldn’t hear Jeff. He would’ve been back by then. All I could hear was the muffled afternoon outside the window — singing birds and barking squirrels, car motors and stereos, people talking as they walked by. And in contrast to the beautiful day, was the woman in black, beckoning me to her.
I lifted the window and the outside world flooded in — all the sounds, smells, and the summer heat. Propped just beneath the windowsill was an aluminum ladder. I climbed outside and stepped onto it and carefully descended, then when my feet touched the freshly mowed grass, I turned around.
The woman was gone.
“Can I help you?”
I spun around to see a man staring confusedly at me from my front porch.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“How about you tell me what you’re doing on my property first?”
“This is my house.”
“No, it’s my house. And that’s my ladder, too. What were you doing on it?”
I looked up and could see that above where the ladder was leaning was a solid brick wall.
“Where’s the window?” I asked.
“Excuse me?”
“The window. I came out of a window.” I pointed at the top of the ladder. “Right there. It was right there.”
The man furrowed his brow and said, “Do you need me to call someone?”
“Where’s the window!?”
“There is no window! I’m using the ladder to clean my gutters. Look, wait here, let me go make a call and see if we can get someone out here to help you.”
The man turned and went inside, and I watched as he walked by the living room window and dialed three numbers and lifted the phone to his ear.
I’m not crazy. I wasn’t going to wait around and let someone tell me otherwise. So I left.
The world outside the window is different than the one I know. But it’s the same world, I’ve come to learn. It’s my world and it’s your world. It’s Earth. But, nonetheless, I am a stranger in it. Everyone I know is gone.
It’s 2022 now. I don’t know if that room is still in the attic, but I need to try to get to it and climb through that window again, and maybe then I can get back to the world I know.
Back to 1948.