The Spooky Woodworking Room

Musings From Middle School

I’m a person who hasn’t had that much life experience when it comes to woodworking. However, time and time again, I have flashbacks to middle school, where we had this scary-looking woodworking room.

It was tucked into the back of the school, away from any natural source of light. To get into this room, you had to take the back doors, which were often locked by many bolts and chains.

You had to ring a fancy bell to get in. After eons, one of the teachers would answer, after cautiously opening the door. The teachers always made sure that you were an actual student, in case you were some nosy nobody who lurked in the shadows.

The intercom was sometimes broken, and everyone had many stories surrounding this rarely seen room. You also had to specify the purpose and meaning of the visit. It was a restricted area for almost all students — except for those upper years who were taking a woodworking course.

Now, I was not a woodworking student but I needed to get some kind of prop from the physical education teacher who practically lived and breathed in the haunted room. I think I had a mandatory drama class at the time and the teacher needed something that only this teacher, a physical education specialist, would have.

You see, he also taught woodworking too, and his office was sequestered in there for whatever reason. As for the room itself, everyone claimed it was haunted — so no one ever dared to go inside anyway. However, I was the sacrificial lamb, selected by the drama teacher to enter the forbidden fortress of the woodworking room.

Rumours circled that this crummy little middle school was once a glorious and well-respected high school back in the early 1900's— one that used to reportedly pump out some Olympic runners back in the day.

The rumours technically had some merit. Some of us students had local school projects involving the neighbourhood where local archival research confirmed the majority of these rumours, even if the specific details were shrouded in secrecy.

For example, if you looked through the old school yearbooks in the library, you would not find any pictures or drawings of these famous Olympic runners, but those same Olympic runners would have archived interview articles where they mentioned having a soft spot for the neighbourhood.

No one ever solved that mystery.

Anyway, the same school became disregarded with time, especially as more and more of the local people moved out of the neighbourhood into the deep inner-city regions, where their services were in top demand. You see, where’s there money, people will follow.

By the time the 1980s rolled through, the school converted into a middle school. The neighbourhood population consisted of young children and their families, so the decision to rebrand the school made sense at the time.

Since the school carried fragments of an older era, we ended up with a middle school where it had things like roaring kilns, woodworking rooms, and an alleged secret basement tunnel that was sealed away from the school and the public.

As for the tunnel, no one was ever able to substantiate those claims — but the whispers are still there, the last time I checked.

Now, you’re wondering what this has to do with the woodworking room itself. Well, the room was once used during World War II. Some teachers told us glorious stories surrounding the room where there were the scrapping and organizing of metals, rubber, scraps, and steel during the war effort.

Now, since this is a middle school, these kinds of stories added to the spookiness and lore of that drasted room.

Once you entered the secret fortress surrounding the room, you had to climb down some dusty steps into the dark recesses of the workshop. The workshop was in the basement level of the school and there were no windows.

It was jarring in comparison to the actual school. Our actual classrooms were well-lit, had colourful posters on the walls, and had one of those interactive digital whiteboards instead of regular chalkboards.

Down here, it felt like being in another world.

The walls of the workshop were concrete and painted white. The lights were also super dim. I remembered thinking it looked like a jail cell of sorts. There were also hundreds of large tables — the kinds you would see in a science classroom, but the tables were full of sawdust, regular dust, and unfinished wood projects.

In the distance, I could hear someone cutting wood with an electric saw. There were also a billion posters scattered throughout the walls, including those workplace safety posters where you could see the skull and crossbones jeering at you, judging your every step.

It was also chilly down here and there was a draft — you could almost see your breath. However, this was a basement floor. Where was the draft coming from if there were no windows?

Little me was so terrified, but I tried my best to not let it show.

After carefully walking towards the office of the physical education teacher, I managed to get my prop. As for what the prop was, I literally don’t remember. I just remember obtaining the prop and bolting it out of there until I could see the great outdoors again — and then went back to class.

After escaping that place, I was briefly popular. Everyone wanted to know what the room looked like. It’s strange to think how much power a woodworking room could hold, especially with all the lore surrounding it.

As for me, I hope other woodworking rooms aren’t as spooky as the one from my old middle school, many years ago. I’m sure the woodworking rooms of today look a lot more inclusive. Maybe they look a lot safer too — since the workspace safety laws are constantly updating.

For more articles from the author, please read: