A PLACE TO HIDE

In our Federal house on Front Street, there was also a secret passageway - a bookcase that was actually a door that led down a staircase to a dirt-floor basement [...] That was just what it was: a bookcase that was a door that led to a place where absolutely nothing happened - it was simply a place to hide. From what? I used to wonder. That this secret passageway to nowhere existed in our house did not comfort me; rather, it provoked me to imagine what there might be that was sufficiently threatening to hide from - and it is never comforting to imagine that.
(John Irving | A Prayer For Owen Meany)