The door to Room Eight is completely ajar and is the only door of the Clock that the Family didn't change in the remodel. It matches the original structure of the House, chipping its yellowing white paint to scarcity on the pale wood. At the center is a hurried, black spray-painted number eight. The interior of the room is pitch black but for a flickering orange neon light claiming WE NEVER CLOSE.
MUSIC PLAYING IN THIS ROOM
It's easy to forget that Clyde knows everything. It takes a long time to understand what kind of creature he really is. He looks like the guy whom it was rumored was held back in high school for getting his English teacher pregnant.
His hair falls in tangled waves that brush his brutish shoulders over a tattered Platinum Blonde tour shirt. His jeans are always tight and always black and wrinkle at the tongues of his matching, immortal combat boots.
His silence mistaken for affable shyness, his slow speech mistaken for a charming drawl. His black spells of fury over a future he can't change are interpreted as a quiet intensity, his portentous babbling about future events seen as deeply sensitive poesy.
The room seethes in a rotting floral smell over burnt engine oil stuck to the insides of its minimalist, survivalist decor. Every piece of Clyde's furniture has it's origins in some derelict factory or junkyard. Function versus aesthetic creates an eerie echo off the white walls and exposed piping when he opens his mouth to inform you of your destiny.
Whether you're living in Gray House or not, Clyde watches you, takes into consideration the course of your life, the ways in which he knows your stories will end, and the moment; the moment you'll die, the moment you first felt joy, and the moment he fell in love with you. Ask him anything by using the form below or write to him at firstname.lastname@example.org.
A young Clyde reveals himself to an unwilling Rosie.
For the Gray Family, a people who can see into the infinite, mythology becomes a card catalog of where we've been and what we're experiencing. It's kind of like the existential version of stereotyping. We do it for better understanding, we do it as sport, and we do it to prove we're real. What fairy tale character do you feel like? Chances are good that you are that character and just don't know it yet. In Room Eight, you'll see what mythos means to us.