The Gray House

“Do you understand what this means? That it happened to you? It’s the House taking you in. Letting you inside. Now, wherever you might be, you’re a part of it. And let me tell you, it doesn’t like its parts to be scattered. It pulls them back. So all is not lost.”

Noble makes a face and flattens the cigarette against the long-suffering bowl.

“Do you really believe what you just said? Or are you trying to make me feel better?”

“I’m trying to make myself feel better, why? But as Ancient used to say, when words have been spoken they always have a meaning, even if you didn’t mean it when you spoke them.”

He laughs and rummages in the pack for a fresh cigarette.

“I have no idea who this Ancient character is, but if he really did say all that then I guess I can feel a bit better. ‘Ancient’ sounds important. Almost like ‘Aristotle.’ You can sleep here if you like. Looking at you, I’m not entirely sure you’re going to make it to the dorm.”

Sleep in the Sepulcher? Oh well, why not. I can see Noble doesn’t want to be alone here. I get up and go sit on the other bed. There are two of them here, just for the occasion. It even has linens on it, all tucked in and ready.

“You’re right. I’m not much of a conversationalist right now. And I also doubt I’d make it all the way back.”

I stretch out on the cot, on top of the slate-colored blanket. This is indescribable bliss.

“Thank you,” I whisper with my eyes already closed. “This is the second time today you are saving my life.”

He laughs again.

“Hey, Sphinx.”

I am not quite sure if he called to me right away or if I was already asleep for some time.

“Sphinx, listen, would I be able to go to the Underside from somewhere else? Like from the Outsides?”

I climb out of the sleep, clutching at it at the same time, like at a warm blanket being pulled off.

“What? Don’t know.” My own voice sounds alien to me, muffled by the nonexistent blanket. “I don’t think anyone’s tried. There wasn’t anyone to try. Also, you know what . . . Those lands, they’re not as harmless as you might think. There are some pretty scary places too. It’s just that I figure you weren’t stuck there for more than two months.”

I continue to mumble. It is important, the thing he’s asking about, I should try to explain . . . The sleep overtakes me, throws sticky cotton wool in my face, and it’s hard to speak. I crash into it. Into a heavy, suffocating dream, where a man with steel front teeth and a face covered in small scars calls me “little bastard,” thrashes me for the smallest of missteps, and threatens to feed me to his Doberman pinschers. He has five of them. Five scraggy, razor-faced, completely insane creatures in transport cages. My duties include feeding them and mucking out after them, and I hate them almost as much as I hate our common master. They hate me right back. I am thirteen, powerless and alone, and certain that no one is ever going to save me. It’s because of him that I learned to reach for beer when I was thirsty. There was never any water in his damn truck.

I awaken suddenly, screaming as if slapped, and jump up all covered in sweat. The hoary nightmare is still ringing in my ears with the throaty “ho-ho-ho” that makes me cringe in almost physical pain.

It’s dark, except for the nightlight above Noble’s bed. Goldenhead is hard at work over my cigarettes. He is still sitting up very straight, deep in thought. The tobacco smell has defeated the scent of the Sepulcher. No amount of airing is going to get rid of it now.

“Rise and shine,” Noble acknowledges me perfunctorily.

I lean back over the cot, still bearing the imprint of my body, over the damp spot where my head was, and wipe my forehead against the scratchy blanket. Then I go over to Noble’s side. There is an aching in my bones as if someone jumped all over me while I was sleeping. Come to think of it, that’s not far from the truth. Noble hands me a short stub of a cigarette.

“Sorry. No more left. I was bored. Here, they brought dinner.”

And they never said anything, either about the smoke or about my prostrate figure. Beauty is a horrible weapon. It even has an effect on Spider queens. Not much else does.

Noble inserts the cigarette end into my clamp, avoiding looking me in the eye.

“You were screaming. And talking. Scary stuff.”

I take a drag, scratching the itchy spot on my forehead under the tape with the rake-prong.

“It’s the Sepulcher. It gets to me. Almost always does. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep here.”

“Who was that man? Does he exist?”

The tiles reflect our voices in a barely perceptible echo.

“Could be. On the Underside. Unless someone snuffed him. Let’s not talk about it.”

“Let’s.” Noble pushes the hair from his face and finally looks at me full on. Like this is the first time he sees me. “It’s late. I guess you must be going. Provided they did not lock the front door.”