Forbidden Room

            The hallway was silent. George crept out of his bedroom and tip toed down the long passage. When he reached the door at the end he stopped and looked all around. The 12 year old new he shouldn't be doing this, but he couldn't help not knowing. He had to know. Know what was beyond the door. He had been told to not even look at the door, but he couldn't help it. He was too curious. “What was that saying?” he wondered, “Curiosity killed the cat? Yes, that was it. I don’t care, I just have to know!”

            He slowly lifted his hand to the knob on the door, quietly turning the handle, it swung open easily. “Unlocked! Fantastic!” he thought. There was an old desk in the middle of the room; behind it sat a chair covered with a large furniture cloth. When George turned to close the door, he heard another door opening at the other end of the hall. “That’s Mother’s room!" he thought, "She’ll kill me if she sees me in here!” He left the door open as he panicked; his eyes ran around the room, looking for a suitable hiding place. To the right of the door was another door, George crept as quickly and as quietly as he could to the closed oak door. He jiggled the handle, it was locked! He could hear footsteps coming closer. Hiding behind the desk was impossible, she would see him before he even got there, “The window!” he thought. He could hide behind the long curtain, it would suffice long enough.

            George ran over to the window and hid behind the long blue curtain; he tried to calm his heart and silence his breathing, but he was filled with adrenaline and he couldn’t be silent. He heard the footsteps stop at the doorway, they didn’t move for a minute but then took a few more steps into the room. George held his breath. The feet walked out of the room after what seemed like minutes, closing the door behind them. George let out a huge sigh of relief, he moved out from behind the curtain. Proud of his hiding skills he took a second to congratulate himself, like every 12 year old does after he accomplishes something.

            Most of the rooms in his grandfather’s mansion were modernized, but this room seemed to have missed the renovation. It was dusty and smelled old. An antique rug was lying on the wooded floor under the desk. George lifted the cover on the chair to reveal a small wooden one with a small cushion on the seat. He dropped the cover, allowing it to fall back in place. On the desk there was a small lamp with a chain to turn it on, George pulled on the little chain, but nothing happened, there was no bulb. “That’s odd,” he thought, “why would you have a lamp that didn’t work?” By the moonlight George could see the headline of the newspaper article sitting by the lamp. America Officially joins WW11. There was a huge bookshelf the covered the length of the left wall; it was covered top to bottom with old books, a small globe, what appeared to be a whole shelf a journals, and a couple awards that George had never heard of. Opposite the lamp on the desk was a figurine of a horse head, there was an engraved plate on the bottom but it was too dark for George to read, he tried to pick it up to get a better look. It wouldn’t move. It seemed to be stuck to the table, he twisted it, checking to make sure there wasn’t anything keeping it there; as he twisted, the bookshelf creaked. George jumped and stared as the middle of the bookshelf turned, revealing a secret room behind the wall. Little George, amazed and excited, crept into the little room.

            It was furnished relatively the same way as the office, bookshelves all around it, no windows, however. Instead of a desk in the middle there was a small stool facing an easel. Upon the easel was a painting of a lady, one he’d never seen before. He’d never known his grandfather to be creative at all, this couldn’t be his painting. “Who did this?” he wondered aloud.

            “It’s mine,” said an old voice. George jumped around, terrified, he saw his grandfather leaning against the wall in his pajamas, holding his cane in one hand.

            George tried to speak, but nothing came out, he was too stunned.

            “Don't worry, I was a curious lad once too,” his grandfather walked over to George, limping with the cane. He brushed off the stool with his free hand and sat down.

            “Who’s the lady in this painting?” asked George.

            The old man patted his good leg with his hand, “Sit right here, let me tell you the story of the most beautiful girl I've ever met…