See? Trapdoors are not as cool as a bookcase that swings open at the push of a button or hidden lever. They are frightening, and not always reliable. I really do wonder what is going on in this play, though. Whiteley’s ORIGINAL Hidden Hand — do not be misled by false pretenders who come after. Or it WILL BE THE KISS OF DEATH! (Image via Wikimedia Commons)

I’ve been thinking about homes lately. If you followed the Friday Sprint Adventures of Porky Pie the Wonder Dog (summer of 2019; particularly episode five and six), you’ll remember the secret passage that leads from summer breakfast room to the gazebo by the creek. I just love a good secret passage! Built-in features like safes behind paintings, or a vault hidden in the floorboards really thrill me as a reader, and I like to incorporate them into my writing.

Two early influences were The Adventures of Scooby Doo, which often seemed to involve hidden passages or secret doors, and the Nancy Drew mysteries. There were little secret compartments in several of the books, if I remember correctly.

Attics were also great places for hidden treasure, or mysterious diaries, or even the odd prisoner of the house. To my great regret, I’ve never lived in a house with a proper attic. When I was a child living in Panama, I remember we were forbidden the attic because of the snakes, bats and other wildlife that might be up there. And, dear readers, I was NEVER tempted to explore.

The basement is usually where you’ll find the secret tunnels – it just makes sense to have them handy to the ground. You could hide the staircase and all, which will make your tunnel even more secret – people may not even suspect you have an underground component! But it’ll run you some money. Best to hide the tunnel behind the wine rack or cleverly disguise it with rutabagas.

I’m not a huge fan of the trapdoor. There’s just too much fiddly business – thrust aside the carpet, lift up the whole heavy thing, and then inelegantly scramble or crouch through the thing. Then after you’ve closed the door, you need an accomplice to put the rug back on properly.

But a dumbwaiter? Oh, I like those! You get in your dumbwaiter (which doesn’t necessarily have to be hidden, but could be), and slowly descend or ascend dramatically out of sight without ruffling your petticoats. Pop out into the third-floor ballroom, then make your way across the rooftops to freedom!

I may have been inside a little too much these days.