When I was very young, we visited my grandmother's house in the hills of Tennessee. She had previously passed away in her sleep, and the family gathered to see what was left in the house. The stairs to the second floor were blocked off, as my grandmother had lived alone on the first floor. My curiosity unrestrained, a skeleton key in my pocket, I found a way to get up to the second floor. The rooms of the second floor were filled with furniture, and the dust indicated a lack of human traffic. Antique dressers, and feather beds and a baby crib were scattered about.
Being in detective mode, I noticed that the wall in one room did not match the edge of the roof. After taking a closer look, I found a small wooden latch built into the wood panels. As soon as I twisted the latch, a concealed door above the floor opened to a crawl space. An adventure into the darkness was inevitable! The first thing I found in the crawl space was an old chest, filled with papers, a military uniform, and a WWI Doughboy helmet. I later learned these items belonged to a relative killed in the war - the Great War, the War to End All Wars.
Crawling around in a crouched position, I reached out to steady myself. To my surprise, the wall felt soft. It appeared to be a dull gray, but when I pushed it, it revealed layers of old newspapers used for wallpaper. Intrigued, I tugged on the papers to take them off, and was suddenly dazzled by a burst of vibrant colors! As I removed more papers, it became clear that the wall was actually made of quilts, stacked on top of each other. The riot of hues was like a firework display, with new bursts of color every six inches up the wall
I wasn't sure if I was "someplace I shouldn't be," so I went down the stairs to tell the family what I'd found. The group followed me up the stairs and made a circle in the room in front of the the crawl space door. I began to toss quilts out of the door - and everyone cheered. My Grandmother had been keeping her treasure of quilts in a secret hideaway. The quilts, handmade gifts she'd given to visitors over the years, were divided up among all of us for protection and preservation.
Shortly after our visit to grandmother's old house, the entire place burned to the ground. My mother went back to visit, but could only find a single brick from the fireplace as a remembrance to take home. Every other item from the house -- the dressers, feather beds, wood-burning stoves, dishes, rocking chairs, clothing, lamps, and clocks -- had all vanished forever
.
Sometimes the locals have a hand in it. I would not be surprised to find some of the household contents scattered around the area or in second-hand shops.
The house was just waiting for someone to find and recover the quilts before burning down. And they say that buildings have no voice or soul!