There is another story on here that originated out of my little Podunk town of Ware Shoals, but this one is a lot more recent. Our schools did some rearranging in 2014 and the tiny two story building next to our high school that had been the junior high for many years was transformed into our new district administration building. They put all the administrative office rooms on the second or lower floor and the top floor was nothing but unused classrooms, except for one. It was our home economics room that had four little mini kitchens each with their own sets of kitchen cooking utensils and stoves. Our home economics teacher, who we will call Mrs. A, also taught other electives like child development.
I was a junior in 2015, or about to be, and I had taken Mrs. A cooking and nutrition class and her child development class the year before. Which was the first year that building was being used with the upper floor completely empty. But it didn't have an eerie atmosphere because Mrs. A was always out in the hall greeting us as we came in. I was signed up to take her child development two class that year and it was about a week or two before school was due to start when we all got the news that she had tragically passed away the day before. Out of nowhere. All of her classes were cancelled and a new computer class was created to put her students in that had signed up for her classes that year. The room was left empty except for all the stoves and cabinets. The pots, pans, and sewing machines were donated.
To get to the administrative offices from the high school you have to go into the top floor of the old junior high building and down the stair just to the right of the door. It was about four months into my junior year when one of the senior office workers, who was also a fellow band member of mine, told me about what happened. One of her friends and fellow office workers was asked to take some paper work to one of the district administrators in the "district office". The worker took the papers and went about her way down to the second floor of the high school and into the top floor of the junior high.
This student had just stepped onto the first step of the stairs when she heard it. The sound of someone banging pots and pans around as if they were rearranging or cooking. She felt an eerie feeling, like you get in an empty building, pass over her. A feeling no one had ever gotten in that building before. She could swear it was coming from the home economics room where Mrs. A had taught since she became the home economics teacher several years before. But no one had been in that room and it had been locked when school started. We all wrote it off as one thing or another because we had enough "ghosts" haunting our high school. We didn't need one more.
Then about three months after that, I was sent down to offices in the building by my band director to take a list of parents due for a background check so they could continue to chaperone for the band program at contests and such. The room was confirmed as clear of pots and pans at this point and had still been locked since the beginning of school. No one had been in or out of it and all the stoves were unplugged. Giving the aforementioned office worker a little credibility. As I walked into the top floor, I could hear the faint sounds of someone upstairs but I pegged it as a janitor or maintenance person since the school used the empty classrooms for storage.
But as I stepped down onto the stairs to go downstairs, the sound got louder and I recognized it from my time in home economics as the sound of pots and pans banging around. Along with that sound I could swear I recognized the sound of sewing machines going and my mother had sewed for as long as I could remember so I knew the sound quite well. An eerie feeling came over me and I went down the stairs as quick as I could. When I came back up the sounds were gone, but I could smell freshly baked cupcakes as if I was eating them. I left the building like someone had lit a fire under my heels and I never went in the upper floor again.
They say when someone dies an unexpected or violent death, they linger in our world. So to me, that teacher who was meant to teach that year went on teaching like normal. If you ask anyone still at that school (I graduated almost four years ago) who has been on the top floor of that building during the school year, one or two will tell you they heard it too. The sounds of someone in that room cooking or sewing. As if Mrs. A is still there.
She never left.
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