Secrets

“You know what’s wrong with America?” George frequently said. “Storage Units.”

His wife, Suzanne, listened, nodded and mentally added closets, attics, garages, and barns. Specifically, barns full of stuff, not hay and animals.

In attempting to clean out her parents’ home so it could be sold, her brother’s room was off-limits.

“Keep away from my stuff,” he growled, but he never came over to clean it out.

George whispered, “It’s the dead body.”

The dead body became a running private joke.

The dead body became the reason her brother, who hadn’t lived in that house for decades, kept the door to his bedroom locked.

On the news one day Suzanne heard about bodies discovered in a storage unit. It made her stomach twist inside. Someone complained about the smell. When the unit was opened, there they were, rotting. Maybe George was right.

Finally, the realtor was scheduled to come look at the house so it could go on the market. The room had to be opened.

Suzanne fiddled around with the ring of skeleton keys until she found one that worked.

The room was mostly empty. A dusty dresser. A dusty bare bed. A dusty desk

Dust was the predominant feature in the room.

She opened the closet, though, and gasped. It was packed full of red prom dresses.

Oh, the secrets her brother had kept. She wanted to tell him that it was okay.

At least there were no dead bodies.

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This is my submission for the Unicorn Challenge. The rules are easy — no more than 250 words and use the photo as a prompt.