I never believed in hidden doors or secret rooms; those were things from mystery stories. But when Florence and I decided to renovate our cellar, we found more than just a door behind the old wallpaper. It was something we were never meant to discover, and now, I wish I had never opened it.
You never truly understand a house until you’ve lived in it for some time. That’s what I always believed. Florence and I bought this old Victorian house five years ago. We called it our dream home. It had history, charm, and unique details, the kind of house with a past you could feel in every room.
When we started the renovation project, we thought we knew what we were getting into. The cellar was dark, damp, and unused. Peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles told us it hadn’t been touched in years. But we were excited about turning it into a useful space, maybe a wine cellar or storage room. That’s when we noticed something odd—a section of the wall that didn’t match the rest.
I never believed in hidden doors or secret rooms; those were things from mystery stories. But when Florence and I decided to renovate our cellar, we found more than just a door behind the old wallpaper. It was something we were never meant to discover, and now, I wish I had never opened it.
You never truly understand a house until you’ve lived in it for some time. That’s what I always believed. Florence and I bought this old Victorian house five years ago. We called it our dream home. It had history, charm, and unique details, the kind of house with a past you could feel in every room.
When we started the renovation project, we thought we knew what we were getting into. The cellar was dark, damp, and unused. Peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles told us it hadn’t been touched in years. But we were excited about turning it into a useful space, maybe a wine cellar or storage room. That’s when we noticed something odd—a section of the wall that didn’t match the rest.
In the back corner, we found something even stranger: an old wooden chest, covered in dust and cobwebs. It was locked, but the lock seemed weak, like it could easily break. Florence begged me to leave it alone, but I was too curious. I forced it open, and what I saw made my heart race.
Inside were old documents, letters written in a language I didn’t understand, and something wrapped in a faded cloth. When I unwrapped it, I froze. It was a small, strange object that didn’t belong in this world. Florence screamed and ran out of the cellar, terrified.
I should have followed her, but I was too deep into it. I put everything back in the chest and closed the door, but the feeling that something had changed wouldn’t leave me. Since that day, things have been different. Strange noises, cold drafts, and shadows moving where they shouldn’t.
Now, I regret opening that door. Florence refuses to go back into the cellar, and I can’t sleep at night. I don’t know what we uncovered, but I fear we’ve let something into our home that we can’t control. Every day, I wish I had just left the door hidden behind the wallpaper, where it belonged.
Now, the cellar remains locked. I’ve sealed the door with heavy boards, hoping that will keep whatever we disturbed at bay. Florence refuses to go near it, and our once happy home feels suffocating with the tension between us. It’s like the house itself has changed, like it’s watching us.
At night, I hear whispers coming from the floor below. I try to convince myself it’s just the wind or my imagination, but deep down, I know something’s wrong. The object I found in the chest haunts my thoughts—I’ve hidden it away, but it’s like it calls to me. Florence says I need to get rid of it, but I’m too afraid to touch it again.
I tried contacting the previous owners, but they didn’t know anything about the hidden room. They had lived here briefly before selling the house. No one in the neighborhood seems to know its history, and records of the house are vague. It’s like this part of the house was meant to stay forgotten.
I keep telling myself everything will be fine if I just leave it alone, but the strange occurrences are getting worse. Lights flicker, doors creak open on their own, and sometimes, I catch glimpses of something moving in the dark corners. It feels like the house is alive—angry that we disturbed its secret.
Florence is talking about moving, and maybe she’s right. But part of me knows that whatever we let out, whatever we disturbed, might not stay behind. And now, I wonder if sealing that door was just the beginning of something far more terrifying.
I never should have opened that door.
SEVENTY YEARS AGO, SHE WAS KICKED OUT FOR BEING IN LOVE WITH A BLACK MAN. NOW, SEE HOW THEY ARE DOING TODAY.
Jake and Mary Jacobs marked their 70th anniversary of a happy marriage last year, but their journey wasn’t simple.
Mary, who is White, and Jake, who is Black, lived in the same city in 1940s Britain. At that time, there weren’t many Black men there.
Even though Mary’s father told her to leave, Mary chose love over easy choices.
“When I told my father I was going to marry Jake, he said, ‘If you marry that man, you will never set foot in this house again.’”
Mary and Jake first met at a technical college where Mary was learning typing and shorthand, and Jake was undergoing Air Force training. They met during the war when Jake moved from Trinidad to Britain.
Jake impressed Mary with his understanding of Shakespeare, and they got to know each other. One day, they invited Mary and her friend to join them for a picnic. Unfortunately, someone passing by saw them and reported Mary to her father. The woman was shocked to see two English girls talking with black guys. After this incident, Mary wasn’t allowed to visit her father again.
After Jake returned to Trinidad, they kept in touch through letters. A few years later, he came back to the U.K. to find a better-paying job.
Jake surprised Mary by proposing, and she, at 19, said yes. However, when she told her family, they kicked her out.
“I left with only one small suitcase. No family came to our registry office wedding in 1948.”
Mary’s father was upset about her marrying a black man, and Mary didn’t realize that society felt the same way.
The early years of their marriage in Birmingham were tough. Mary cried every day, hardly ate, and they faced many challenges. Nobody would talk to them, they couldn’t find a place to live because nobody would rent to a black man, and they had little money.
Even walking down the street together was hard because people would point at them, Mary explained.
Mary and Jake were excited to become parents, but at eight months, Mary gave birth to a stillborn child. She mentioned it wasn’t due to the stress she was under, but it deeply saddened them, and they didn’t have any more children.
As time passed, their lives improved. Mary became a teacher and eventually an assistant principal, while Jake found a job with the Post Office. They made new friends, but Mary felt the need to explain to people that her husband was black before introducing them.
“My father passed away when I was 30, and even though we reconciled by then, he never approved of Jake,” she shared.
Currently, Jake, 89, and Mary, 84, live in Solihull, a town south of Birmingham. They recently celebrated 70 years of marriage.
Jake said he has no regrets, but he also mentioned that today’s black youth may not fully understand the challenges he faced in 1940s Britain.
“When I arrived in the U.K., I faced abuse every day. Once, on a bus, a man rubbed his hands on my neck and said, ‘I wanted to see if the dirt would come off.’ Back then, working in an office as a black man with white girls wasn’t considered safe,” Jake explained.
Despite all the challenges, bias, and abuse, the pair is still deeply in love and has no regrets about being married. They have been happily married for more than 70 years.
These two are a true inspiration, and I wish them a lifetime of pleasure because of the love they have for one another.
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