The House of Grey Prologue - The Original Modern Fantasy Thriller

The House of Grey Chapter 6 - The Original Modern Fantasy Thriller

CHAPTER SIX

Reception

"So where does a brotha go to find some grub ‘round here?" Casey inquired in a loud, obnoxious voice. "Arthur, isn't there supposed to be some sort of student store?"

"Don't call me Arthur, Cassius."

"Holy-Hannah-freaking-Montana, you're annoying. Are you gonna answer my flipping question or am I going to have to beat it out of you?"

Artorius contorted his face in a comical fashion, crossing his eyes and showing Casey a silly smile. Casey tried to fight it, but before long busted out in chuckles. They had a good laugh.

"OK, but seriously," Casey wiped a tear from the corner of his eyes, "Grey is scarred and scary. He shouldn't be ghastly and malnourished too. That's just bad form."

"Casey!" Artorius glanced over at Monson as he attempted to whisper. "What did I tell you? You can't say crap like that. Grey might be sensitive."

Monson raised an eyebrow. "Umm . . . I can hear you Arthur, and don't worry, I don't mind. Casey's complete lack of tact or anything resembling charm is refreshing."

Casey smiled and bowed. Monson chuckled as his eyes wandered toward the window. The image of a cruel smile from underneath the unnatural blackness of a hood jumped out at him so unexpectedly that he flinched.

He quickly regained his composure, but Casey and Artorius noticed. 

"Dude, are you OK? You seem a little jumpy."

Monson looked back at the window. Nothing. He rubbed his eyes and tried to think of something, anything, to tell them. "Well . . . you see . . . I was just thinking about these . . . weird . . . things on my bed."

Casey yawned. "Now that was an articulate and well-expressed thought."

Monson rolled his eyes. "The bed . . . there were these weird markings on the bed and I was just thinking about them. I found them when I was trying to stretch earlier."

They stared at him vacantly.

Monson smiled. "So I stretch! Apparently scar tissue makes it hard to move. Who knew?"

Artorius scratched at his head. "Grey, what do you mean by weird markings?"

"Well, weird is not exactly the word—more like comical. Here, I'll show you."

Monson pulled back the bed and mattress to show Casey and Artorius the heart and initials.

They both giggled like schoolgirls. Artorius was having a difficult time breathing. "Who seriously does that?"

Casey wasn't any better off. "Did we magically fall into a 1920s flick without me knowing it?"

Artorius shook his head. "Those films were silent, like, there was no sound."

He stared at Casey. "If only."

"Har Har Har, Arthur," Casey sneered. "Notice no one was laughing?"

They both faced Monson expectantly.

"Don't look at me. I'm just a bystander. Besides, I maintain that neither of you are very funny. So I'm not sure what you’re arguing about."

Both Casey and Artorius tried not to smile.

"Now, back to the food problem—"

"I think I can help you with that particular issue, Master Grey."

Brian entered Monson's room carrying three pairs of slacks, button-ups, sweater vests, and shoes. He arranged them at the foot of Monson's bed.

"Boys, if you would be so kind as to line up." Brian gestured to the bed.