The Room

Let me tell you, when I went into the abandoned mansion on the top of the hill, I was expecting a lot of strange things, but what I found was stranger than I expected. The mansion had belonged to an old recluse, a Mr. Heizmann. He built it after he fled from the Nazis in WWII. Some of the stories say he was just a rich banker, and that's where he got the money. However, the more fantastical (and interesting) stories say that he was actually a high-up official in the Third Reich, and when he saw that things were going downhill, he stole a bunch of the confiscated jewelry and art from the Nazi storeroom, and pawned it off piece by piece to pay for his house.
No one at the town at the bottom of the hill, Spring Grove, knew quite what to expect from him, but I don't think anyone expected him to enter it when it was done, and never come out again. Maybe he was haunted by the sights he'd seen during the war, or he just hated everything about the world, and so he didn't want to see it ever again.
Flash forward sixty years, and there's me entering the now-abandoned mansion on a dare. I walk through the front doors wreathed in ivy, and step onto the worn wooden floor of the entryway. Looking around me, I see some evidence of graffiti, but not much. My flashlight beam illuminates the surprisingly neat interior of the old house, elegant and sophisticated decor, and layers upon layers of dust.
My dare was to go in, grab something that would prove I was there, and get back to my friends who were waiting in our apartment. While saw plenty of things that could do the trick, I was intrigued by the mystery of the house. Opening a door to my left led into a large ballroom with crystal chandeliers, a room that looked like it hadn't been touched by anyone since Mr. Heizmann. Now that I think about it, no one even has any idea if he is alive or dead... I shook off the chills that suddenly raced up and down my spine like sparks, and pressed on into the house.
I spent what must have been several hours exploring the Heizmann mansion. I wandered through dozens of rooms filled with fine, expensive furniture, that I wondered hadn't been stolen yet. I wandered through expansive hallways filled with paintings of whom I recognized several artists: Monet, Vincent van Gogh, Renoir, and Cezanne. They must be left from the loot he brought with him from Germany. There was, surprisingly, no dust in any of the rooms, other than the main foyer and a couple rooms branching off of it. I worked my way slowly up to the highest level of the house, which was best preserved of all. It was so well preserved that I half expected Mr. Heizmann to walk out of one of the doorways.
The hallway ended in a set of the most beautiful wooden doors I'd ever seen. A tree was carved into the cherry-wood panels, the handles looked like branches in bloom, and I could almost believe that at any moment the little birds flying around the tree and nesting in it would come to life.
Very slowly, I opened the doors, and found myself in the largest room I'd seen yet. It must have taken up almost the entire upper floor. Books lined the walls, and a wall of windows gave a beautiful view of terraced gardens that must be hidden behind the house. in the center of the room, a long table stood. It was unassuming, just a plain wooden slab with four plain, unadorned legs. It seemed to be a set for tea, with cups and plates and pitchers and bowls all along the length of it. I approached the table, as it seemed there was light and sound coming from it, though I saw no candles or other lights.
I heard something that sounded like footsteps behind me, but saw nothing. I moved to pick up one of the cups, and my fingers had hardly closed around the handle, when a scratchy, accented voice behind me said "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
I spun around and came face to face with an old gentleman, for that was truly what he was. He wore a shirt and waistcoat, creased trousers and dress shoes. In his eye balanced a monocle, and his hair was grey. He looked rather intimidating. "Mr. Heizmann?" I asked hesitantly. He nodded.
"Yes, that is my name. And who might you be?"
"My name is Elliot."
"Elliott. Yes. Well, tell me what business you have trespassing on my private property?" He raised his eyebrows, bushy and black, betraying what his hair would've looked like years ago.
"I came here on a dare, and-"
"A dare?"
"Yes, my friends told me to come here and bring back something that proved I was here, and if I didn't do it they would call me a coward."
"Hmm, yes. Well, I think you've proved you're no coward, and you seem to have a decent head on your shoulders. Can you keep a secret?"
A little bewildered, I nodded. What was he getting at?
"I will show you the greatest secret this house has to offer, as you've already seen several others." He motioned me over to the table, and pointed to the cup I was about to pick up. "Look closely."
I strained my eyes, but all I saw was a teacup. I shook my head.
"What is there to see?"
He just repeated his earlier command, and I thought back to the light and sound I had remarked earlier. Slowly, almost so slowly I didn't notice it, something appeared. A little spot of light, a hint of ocean air, and there was a beautiful scene of what can only be described as a world within a cup. I could hear the gulls crying, and the clouds swirled around the cup.
I looked at the old hermit in amazement. "What is this?"
"This is perhaps the greatest treasure ever found, and I didn't want them to sit carelessly around an old nazi bunker for years, or worse, destroyed."
"So the stories are true? You stole a bunch of nazi art?" He smiled and nodded.
"I like to think of rescuing it."
"So all of these dishes contain worlds?"
"No, not all of them. Only about half. They're not all the same ones as when I took them. Some new ones appeared, some old ones died."
"They just appear and disappear?" He nodded. I spent some more time looking at different dishes. There were jungles and prairies full of animals, cities of knights and kings, and an undersea palace of mermaids and mermen. My favourite though, was one that showed a scene of a tranquil glade, hemmed in by hedges and a large golden gate. Inside the wall, a large tree with golden apples stood, and around the tree sat many figures, most indistinguishable, but I could make out a pegasus, several men, and a lion.
"You like them?" I nodded.
"How could I not?" I paused, then asked a question I'd been wondering. "How do you keep people out of here?"
"Most people are scared enough by the stories to stay away. Those that are curious see the dusty foyer and assume no one is home. You are the first to have made it past the first floor in many years." He looked at me curiously. "I have a proposition for you. Now you don't have to take it, but if you don't, I'm afraid I can't let you remember this place. I don't want people coming to find these." I gulped. "Would you be my apprentice, and come guard these dishes and this house when I'm gone?"
I looked at him in surprise. I didn't really have plans for the future, but to come live here would be giving up a lot. Not that I wouldn't want to live here, it was a gorgeous house, and I could make so much of it. "You don't have to keep things the way I have them, but i would ask that you keep these a secret. You may clean the place up, do what you like with it, but keep these a secret." Decision time. He was looking at me, waiting for my answer.
"I... I would love to. I probably will change some things, but I would love to." He smiled and extended his arm.
"Elliot, welcome to Heizmann Manor."