There lies a room in any house in America. This room is not very big and sometimes it can be overlooked or goes unnoticed by the guests or even some of the occupants of the house. When there is nowhere to put something, it just gets tossed unheeded into the dingy little corner of the tomb. It is where things that are no longer needed, but still wanted go to retire. This room is piled high with boxes, exercise equipment, mystery bags of stuff left over from a stash and dash run to clean up the house, discarded shoes, half-finished projects of this and that and let’s not forget the numerous family photos on the walls and in piles on any surface that would hold it at the time of retirement. My family has dubbed the spare …show more content…
As you approach you walk past a cherry little bedroom that is tidy and neat you can only think that is what lies behind the closed door would be the same. The door used to be white, but has yellowed over time. To enter you must push the old door open with a shove. The squeak that is heard vibrates through the house causing fear and panic to overtake the occupants of the home. Who has dared to enter the tomb of Igor? Who has interrupted his sleep?
When the door creaks open you will see a window on the opposite wall. To the left of the door is another window. The windows are covered with a cheap plastic blinds to keep the prying eyes from looking into the room. No one must get a glimpse of Igor’s stash of treasures. On the same wall as the door there is a closet. This is a small closet at best. It has not been opened in a long time. It really is unknown what items lurk in that closet. Igor keeps the door closed tight not allowing any admittance into the closet. The sliding doors on the closet are from about 1950 and the rollers are rusted and will not move anyway. On the wall to the right side of the room there are two shelves cutting the expansion of wall with two horizontal lines. On these shelves are Igor prized possessions. They are …show more content…
Today is the day we pry open the door and declare it is National Treasure hunt day. I weave my way around a stack of boxes, over pile of forgotten shoes, bumping into the stack of papers lying precariously on the desk to make my way to the windows to pull up the shades and open the windows. Everyone grab a box. Sort through a bag. Everyone is eager to help. For the first part of the morning we make progress. There is a path through the room now. We break for lunch. By the afternoon the enthusiasm has waned and the family is getting caught up in memories of this picture or that treasure. Evening comes and there is little progress from lunch. We close the windows and lower the blinds bathing the room into darkness once again. We pull the door closed again, leaving Igor alone with his treasures once