“Have you not wondered at our extreme difficulty in finding our way around?...Time after time we choose the wrong doors, the room we want eludes us.”—Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House.
My house has rooms that play hide and seek with me. Rooms that are so obvious from the outside of the house. One has floor-to-ceiling bay windows and the other, literally projects off the house, having once been a large balcony. Yet, once inside, the house hides them.
I remember when we first moved in, I often found myself walking in circles looking for a room I couldn’t find, but knew was there. An unsettling feeling, especially for a new mother. Imagine, for a moment, the idea of feeling lost at home. Yet, I’ve never felt frightened, for unlike Hill House with dark, snaring intentions, my home merely teases me like a capricious child.
It’s like this—up the turning stairs, a narrow passageway branches off the main corridor and leads to my writing room. Beyond, the little hall opens to an alcove with a long, mullioned window. This nook deceives me into thinking it’s a dead end. From the hallway, the room is hidden from view, until I round the corner and step deeper into the alcove. Sometimes, I still get tingles of excitement when I find it.
