While on our travels earlier this summer I encountered two completey unrelated odd situations that had a common theme of locked doors and secret passages. Here is the first story, tune in tomorrow for the 2nd.
Today's guest writer is my husband:
While walking around a small town in Virginia, a man sitting in a folding chair on the sidewalk asked us if we were "antiquing" we said no but we might as well have said yes. As we were soon to find out he was a retired gentleman farmer and former teacher who owned a vaguely frightening antique store. This involved going down a junk filled alley and into several padlocked windowless rooms and passageways filled with even more junk. It also involved repeatedly referring to Pam as my daughter which she liked, and cryptic illusions to some sort of government resistance militia he was involved with. He had some weird little book for sale about this which we declined, but bought a couple things just so he wouldn't lock us in a vault and kill us.