My Boss Hid Something Terrible in the Back Rooms

About twenty years ago, I used to work for a company in Glasgow that made furniture in an old rundown warehouse by the River Clyde. While I was there, I saw something that has haunted me ever since. I'm still not sure what it was. Maybe you can help me out with that.

The workshop was owned by a man named Bill Miller. I was 17 at the time and hadn't gotten on well at school. I had almost no qualifications, but Bill gave me a shot at learning how to craft and build wooden furniture.

Initially, I hated the idea. It sounded like something an old man should have been doing, not a 17-year-old. But my parents were over the moon that I had at least found work and even a possible trade.

The workshop was filled with old machinery way past its prime, and the warehouse was far larger than it needed to be. I think at one time Bill's business had prospered when he had employed a large team for decades, but it looked to me like those days were numbered. He now worked on his own. Still, he took me in. I think more than anything he wanted to pass on skills that were soon going to be lost forever as everything modernised.

Bill must have been in his sixties at the time. He was eccentric and used to wear brightly coloured clothes in his workshop like he thought he was an art teacher. From my first day, I was put off by how happy he always was. I guess I was a bit of an edge lord back then and thought he was passed it. I'm ashamed to say that it took me a while to come around to him and see him for what he was: a sweet guy who just wanted to help a kid who had no prospects.

For the first few weeks, he shadowed me closely and showed me the ropes, teaching me the names of all the tools and what they did. Then he moved me onto some basic tasks I was to repeat over and over.

He was always saying 'this is how I got my start' or 'in three years you won't believe what you'll be able to make'.

He had a strange view of the world. The way he taught carpentry and other skills, he talked about it like it was secretly so important, and that we as furniture makers were sharing in that secret. That we were creating something new in the world and were making furniture that would last a hundred years and bring joy and comfort to people.

'Who knows who'll own some of these pieces in the generations to come?' he'd say, a twinkle in his eye and a kind grin behind a bushy greying beard. He was so enthusiastic about it all.

The first time I saw that smile melt away was one day when I headed to the rear of the warehouse during my lunch break. Bill was upfront working on a set of dining chairs. When he was focusing like that, he rarely looked up to see what I was doing.

I guess I was bored having no one else to talk to, so I decided to explore the building a little.

At the rear of the main workshop room, there was a faded, brown wooden door. I had noticed it a few times, though never thought much of it. As I wandered to the back of the large main room, I found myself turning the door handle and going inside.

There was a windowless corridor made of red brick that moved off to the left. It was lit by some dull yellow incandescent bulbs overhead. As I stood there, I thought I heard a noise, though I couldn't quite make it out. I started walking towards the end of the corridor where it turned to the right at a sharp angle. As I did, the noise got a little louder. But I still couldn't put together what it was in my mind.

I remember that when I reached the sharp turn, I suddenly realised that Bill was behind me. He nearly made me jump out of my skin.

'What are you doing?' he asked.

I'd never known his voice to be so blank, so lacking in emotion. I turned and saw that all the happiness that so easily flowed from the man had gone. He had a stern expression like one of my old teachers about to chastise me.