The House of Grey Prologue - The Original Modern Fantasy Thriller

The House of Grey - Chapter 11 The Original Modern Fantasy Thriller

Chapter Eleven

A Class and Teacher Like None Other

The bell rang as the two entered a very large room. It did not look like a traditional classroom, but was long and rectangular, almost like a lodge of some sort. The deeply stained polished wood floor gave the room an ancient feel.  The same brick Monson saw on the outside of building was inside as well, giving a clear indication of the building’s age. Windows draped with ivy outside lined the wall and bathed the students in an earthy ambiance. It was nice, but he wondered why the building was here at all. Everything else on campus was new. Why keep this?

 As a boy bumped into him on his way into the classroom, Monson suddenly remembered he was late.   He scanned the room full of older students still milling around, chatting idly. A large group congregated near the front of the room around someone he could not see. He spotted an empty seat in the back corner and started for it, glancing over his shoulder at the boy in the wheelchair. The boy smiled and nodded, indicating that Monson should continue. Monson made a beeline for the seat.

 How uncomfortable. He could actually feel the eyes of the older students sitting around him, many gazing at him in distaste. The boy in the wheelchair was looking at him from across the room. Monson smiled and the boy nodded back, and then shifted his chair forward.

Crap, thought Monson, letting his attention trail off. He had forgotten to ask the boy his name, though he should not be too hard on himself; their conversation was not exactly extensive.  Monson felt pleased by the boy’s change in attitude from when he tried to help him earlier. Monson stopped as something occurred to him.  The boy had said “Grey” in the hall. That could not be right. Monson did not remember telling him his name. How did he know?   He racked his brain trying to remember if he had seen him at the assembly or the reception. Consequently he found the chattering of the students very annoying.

A creak sounded as Mr. Gatt entered the room carrying a large box. The sound caught Monson’s attention and he looked up towards the door.   Mr. Gatt looked as slick as ever in the same dark blue three-piece suit. He placed the box on the table and opened it, still not speaking, not even looking at the class. Most of the chattering died down as the students became interested in what Mr. Gatt was doing. After the box was open, he reached inside and fiddled around with some unknown objects. He pulled out two glossy sheets that looked like posters and set them facedown on the table.  Monson tried to get a look at them but Mr. Gatt moved too quickly.  Monson had an inkling that he did not want the class to see. The teacher smiled a toothy grin as he surveyed the class.

“Good afternoon, everyone. Welcome to my class.” He looked excited, almost buoyant. “We should start with the roll. I don’t know all your names; the class is bigger than I expected.”

There were far more people than Monson had anticipated as well. He looked around counting, although his back corner seat made it difficult to see everyone. As far as he could tell, there were at least thirty students, probably more. That was odd.  What normal, healthy, high school student wants to take a class in analytical history? Monson finally looked to the seat beside him. He gawked. 

“Were you always there?”A pair of deep green eyes sparkled as they peered into his. “No, I saw you sit down and thought I would come and keep you company.”

Monson’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Now why would you do that?”

She smiled her wicked smile. “Why do you think I would do that?”

Monson had no idea. This girl could not be interested in him, could she? No, of course not.  He blurted out without thinking, “I don’t know, my dashing good looks?”