The broad shoulders of a plantation house are silhouetted against the moonlit swamp. A splintered wooden sign stuck in the mud at the mouth of the driveway marks your arrival: GRAY HOUSE. Around the House's title are various attempted mottos written in several hands, all scrawled in what looks like green Sharpie: In Nomine Amoris et Sanguine; Population: 69; Where Everybody Knows Your Name; Arbeit Macht Frei; You Must Be This Tall to Ride; ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK; Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Huddled Masses Yearning to Breathe Free; I'm a Toys-R-Us Kid; UNDER CONSTRUCTION.
Already live here? Click the door to CONTINUE ON TO the Foyer.
Gray House is a subscription-based, artistic experiment which connects you to the sprawling fantasy world of the fictional Gray Family, a secret society of otherworldly outcasts. By becoming a member, you will enter the lives of the Family and influence their misadventures through a maze of shifting reality and unending mystery.
This experience is intended for everyone who has ever wanted to live inside of the arts and literature they love.
The architecture is disjointed and anachronistic. You can tell where it has been remodeled, updated, or forgotten. The estate, once poised elegantly on the edge of the bayou, is now comfortably vacant and set into the earth. The rise of a certain way of life now stuck in time and forever decaying, the debutante wilting after sloughing off her petticoat and corset. The side of the House has Evelyn's name burned into it (care of Matthew) on a massive scale. This place has survived a hundred hurricanes, making it a safe place to weather more of them.
You remember this place. If not from a dream, then some déjà vu that makes you think you might be the only person who knows about it.
The lights in the windows are all different, making the front of the House into a kind of patchwork. The lights flanking the front door are warm and inviting while those from the upper floors become cooler by degrees, emulating rooms you know, from the harsh white bathrooms of shitty apartments to the soft rainbow of a nightlight. The 60-watt familiarity of every house you grew up in calls to you from the windows of Gray House, beckoning you to your sanctuary.
It doesn't look like much, but it's a hefty inheritance. Just as Gray House is Hotel California, it's also the house in horror movies slated for bulldozing or ruined by fire sparked by all it's magic. You can be sure it has been saved from those thousand destructions just for you. Welcome Home, Jack.