The House of Grey Prologue - The Original Modern Fantasy Thriller

The House of Grey 12 (End Volume One) The Original Modern Fantasy Thriller

Chapter Twelve

Bokken

“Yo, Hero!” said Casey, greeting Monson the second he walked into the gym. Casey looked at him curiously. “Dude, what the flying flip took ya so long? Coach Able has already called roll.”

“I couldn’t find the dumb place! Who puts a huge brand-spanking-new stadium in the middle of the freaking forest? Seriously?” demanded Monson.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” said Casey, with a knowing look on his face. “But you have to admit that though the location sucks, a dedicated stadium is pretty sick.”

“Yeah, you got me there,” admitted Monson. “If this is the Training Ground, I can’t imagine what the Battlefield looks like.”

The “Training Ground” was more akin to a multi-sport complex than a typical high school gym, and Monson could have sworn that most of the school was here. Students were scattered all over the place engaged in various activities. Some played volleyball or basketball. Several others were dressed in karate gi or fencing attire. It was quite the sight.

“The Battleground, Monson! It’s called the Battleground and it’s where Coren plays its football games. Everything else is The Training Ground. You’re standing in one of the most advanced indoor stadiums in the world. More than five billion dollars, dude, I kid you not.” 

It didn’t surprise Monson; the place felt like it was chiseled from pure gold. Monson looked around and notice a lot of people staring at him.  

“Come on bro-has. We’d better get you a locker and inform one of the coaches that you're here.”

As they started off, Monson looked around. “How was your fifth period?”

Casey glanced in either direction. “I didn’t go.”

Monson turned to him. “Why not?”

Casey put his finger to his mouth, which plainly indicated he didn’t want to talk about it right now.

Monson cocked the eyebrow. OK, Magnum, P.I., I’ll play along.

They walked in silence as they made their way across the gym, through a large pair of doors marked “Men.”

“Where’s Artorius?” asked Monson.

“Over yonder somewhere talking to some chickadees,” said Casey. “We need to find that boy a woman. I think he may lose it soon.”

“Whatever that means,” Monson chuckled. Then, remembering Kylie, Monson asked, “Speaking of women, Casey, when are you going to tell me what happened between you and Kylie?”

“We’d better hurry before we get busted.” Casey sounded stressed as he quickened his pace.

“Oh, come on!” exclaimed Monson, rushing after him. The fact had not been lost on him that Casey was doing his best to blow him off, which made him even more curious.

Monson attempted to catch up with Casey, whose smile was more like a grimace, as if he was in pain.   They arrived at the double steel doors at the same time that a group of boys dressed in dark blue gym shorts and plain white t-shirts came stumbling out, pushing one another around.

The last boy saw Casey walking towards them and apparently without thinking, held the door open while standing to one side. Casey acknowledged this gesture with a simple nod of the head.  He passed the boy, entering the locker room without a backwards glance. A few steps behind Casey, Monson, too, was about to slide through the door.

He had just made it over the threshold when a sharp pain erupted in his head, neck, and upper back. A blow from the door hit him with enough force to make him stagger and drop to one knee. The ringing in his aching head echoed as he turned around to see what had happened: The boy stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame and laughing with his friends.