After several years in the beautiful, isolated farmhouse, the number of running home repairs reached a critical point. Gregory Goodman couldn’t ignore them, or the disapproving looks from his wife, any longer. Sighing, he demolished the bedroom wardrobe with a lumphammer, chunks of old plaster crumbling everywhere. When the dust finally settled, there behind the wardrobe, beneath a thin coating of plaster dust, was an ancient, heavy, dark door.
A rusty key hung from the lock, invitingly.
Gregory wasted no time.
He boarded up the door, re-plastered, and hoovered, before his wife came home.
Gregory was lazy.
Picture credit: flickr.com/photos/veganflower/13989744424