The Missing Room
When I was between 4 and 6, there was a playroom in our unfinished basement. It was accessible through a door beside the freezer and my dad’s workshop. When you opened the door, there was this medium sized white-walled room with a grey carpet, a used fabric sofa, an old cathodic tv and SNES.
There was a doorless closet with few boardgames and hard-cover comic books. There was also a tiny restroom with only a toilet. There was 2 small windows in that room, facing our backyard.
I would go there to play with one of my big sister and sometimes a neighbor friend or another. I remember the smell of the dust and the way it danced in the afternoon light. My parent didn’t want us to go there too late at night.
One day I wanted to go play but the door wasn’t there anymore. I searched, but there was no access and I was angry at my parents. I yelled at them in incomprehension and they told me there never was such a room in our house.
I went to bed super upset that they made a fool out of me. After a few weeks I kind of forgot I guess, but would remember that every 3-4 years or so, asking what was up with that room, only to be weirdly looked at and dismissed.
I once brought it up as an adult (around 21, I’m now 29) and both my dad and sister try to evade the question, saying there was never such a room in our former home.
I tried to talk about it to my psychiatrist because it really feels like a missing piece, but I received no help in deciphering this mystery. I guess I imagined it? I still miss the secure feeling of that place tho’. It feels good to be able to talk about it.
Story credit: Reddit / hkkhpr