My daddy passed away when I was just a little boy, about 9 years old. A year or two later we moved into a shotgun house. In the very far back room of that house- you had to walk through several bedrooms to get to it- we stored an old rocking chair, his antique bed, and a dusty old trunk containing his mementos, including a photo album and several relics from his service in the World War. Well, as a little boy I was scared of that room. The door stayed shut and I stayed out.