Welcome home, Jack.

The giant front door is gray-washed wood splintering along cracks in the plane of its face. The silver knob is loose, and gently, it turns in our hands. The front door of the House gives with a popping and creaking so loud, it's as if it's never been opened before now. The light from within is a bath as dim as it is warm.

The Foyer of the House is flanked by a set of grandly sweeping spiral stairs on either side of the entryway that leads into a formal sitting room inside which a television is playing Golden Girls reruns on mute. Bea Arthur's face scrunches sour at the expense of Betty White, splashing soft blue light on the walls to the familiar sound of clanging pots from the kitchen beyond.

MOST RECENTLY IN GRAY HOUSE

THere have been complications caused by Bacchanalia which have pitched much of the house in complete disarray. a sacrifice was demanded, a secret uncovered, and A formerly demolished wing of the house has come back from the dead. Needless to say, we have experienced some delays in bringing you the confessions of the last 2 weeks' events. Bear with us as we revamp the way you receive updates so that we can bring them to you properly and live.

-The Gray Family

The interior of this floor of the House is dressed in the drab paint of an undecided shade, and the floors are splintered and worn of their whitewash in footpaths connecting each doorway and archway. The air within smells like cooking oil embedded into damp wood, something herbaceous lurking beneath the tattered fabrics of the House's original furniture, never reupholstered. The light from the inconspicuously placed lamps is dusty and cloyed with the feel of old money and older secrets.

NEW ITEMS AVAILABLE IN THE MENU OF MAYHEM

ADAM'S 2018 Summer Assignment is now available in the Laboratory

A small closet beneath the stairs is standing open, the contents strewn carelessly across the floor of the otherwise impressive entrance. Old board games, umbrellas, a bicycle, a set of shackles, stacks of antique pornographic magazines, a box of pixie stix, and a plastic gallon of unspecified liquid.

On the wall between the staircases is an enormous, disturbingly morose painting of Nicholas, in clean tweed, having just come back from an extensive hunting excursion, circa 1812. He sits on a throne of purple velour over ornately carved gold, delicately pinching a fully bloomed lily in his pale and elongated fingers.

REMINDER: None of these events are static in time or space, they all occur perpetually and everywhere. So, if you’ve missed an event, you can go back in time to experience it. It’s never too late to write about it or engage us about it. Nothing expires. We are endless.

The Ghost Boy of Gray House has been fiddling with the website again. Should some of your favorite pages be moved or rearranged at random, don't be surprised, but don't complain to us either. Just consider it all part of the whole being caught in an endless maze of shifting time and space thing.

Want more updates? You can find everything in one place and organized by date, room, and who's involved here.