Furnace of Faust

During my early years, school felt like drudgery, never sparking the fire of interest. Grade school was tantamount to being a slave sentenced to serve aboard the galley of a Mediterranean rowing ship. Each slave student manning an oar while the task-master teacher lashes a whip, screaming “You’re here for one reason and one reason only… to work!”

To offset the mind-numbing monotony of the daily rowing exercises, I sought out anything strange and usual. Prone to fantasy and daydreams, I was the sort thrilled by watching terrible B grade science fiction movies on a Saturday afternoon. Fiction and fantasy released the powerful lock of conformity the educational system labored so hard to enforce. Gradually, I found myself with a growing obsession for dark places. Spaces such as the school basement possessed foreboding atmospheres, acting like a magnet, dragging me ever closer to investigate.

Upon entering the basement, one was confronted with a multitude of ominous shadows. Several narrow slit-like windows and a lonely light bulb provided barely enough light to see into the far corners. On the west side of the basement was a strange narrow cubbyhole running the length of the wall, receding back into the upper ledge. With the light unable to penetrate its depths, the cubbyhole was a perfect spot to vanish during games of hide and seek. A narrow stall containing the discarded remains of broken furniture occupied half the Eastern wall. The stall’s original purpose remained an enigma worthy of much pondering. One could easily imagine it serving as a stockade to imprison children who foolishly stepped out of line with mischievous behavior.

Next to the stall was the darkest, dankest room ever known to mankind, the pump room. A narrow door provided a solitary opening into the musty old room containing remnants of an abandoned water well. Several unused plumbing fixtures lay scattered about the floor like skeletons of beasts long since dead. Near the center of the room was a feeble source of light, a pale white orb suspended from a tattered wire. Pulling the dangling chain switch caused the bulb to swing eerily back and forth, like a body hanging from a noose.

But the single most terrifying occupant of the basement was without a doubt, the furnace. Gigantic in stature, the furnace occupied a third of the basement floor. The monstrous hulk conjured forth images of an ancient tree of death with two massive branches clawing at the ceiling, as if to capture some unseen entity passing above. In the center of the furnace lay a single massive fiery eye restrained behind a corroded iron vent. Occasionally, the furnace would wake from its slumber, making an ominous roar as it sprang to life. The flames from the fire cast flickering fingers of light that danced about the basement walls. Bellowing and belching, it would eventually consume sufficient food to satiate its seemingly endless appetite, eventually drifting back into a slumbering state.

In the classroom above, a large metal grate dominated the center of the room, covering a massive heating duct. The duct, stretching downwards to the very floor of the basement, eventually coiled itself around the body of the furnace. During cold weather, it was common place for one or more of us to stand upon the grate to warm bones chilled by the cold. Without fail, someone would start horsing about only to drop a toy or piece of candy from their hands. One could only watch in horror as it bounced about, finally succumbing to invisible forces, slipping between the grating. Once consumed by the beast, all hopes of retrieval were lost. As if to taunt us, one could see multitudes of pencils, pens, and small toys strewn haphazardly about the base of the heating duct. So close, yet so far.

Each year, stories passed along the grapevine about legendary objects lost in the furnace from years long past. With endless schemes, each child dreamed about the bounty of lost treasures hoarded by the pit of doom. Without fail, someone always devised a plan involving a hook tied to the end of a string to snag and raise treasures from the depths. As for myself, I envisioned sneaking into school after hours, removing the grate, and descending into the dark netherworld to pillage treasures galore. One could always dream.

Growing older and a bit less innocent, we realized the furnace contained useless items possessed by mere common mortals. The sparkle and appeal of indescribable artifacts once imagined was only a vague memory. Building forts from fallen tree limbs and digging tunnels in the snow would push aside the fantasy of furnace treasure hunting. That, too, would eventually give way to the inevitable desire to chase girls. For the short time it lasted, the furnace provided hours of entertainment for at least one six-year-old boy.