Thompson did not comment. He followed the old man. They went through an opening in the wall that he had not seen before. But it was in a dim corner, difficult to see clearly.
They walked down a long hall. On each side of the hall were closed doors. The candle made shapes move on the walls.
"What's that screaming?" Thompson asked, a bit puzzled. "It seems to come from behind these doors."
"That's right," the old man said over his shoulder. "This is the Horror Book Club, you know. All of our members take an active interest in their reading. They participate. They get horrified. It's really a horrible book, you know."
"Is it?" Thompson felt a slight tingle of expectancy run along his back. He felt somewhat masochistic at the moment. A new thought struck him. "Is that the only book you carry?"
"Yes," said the old man. "We've had many editions made. It's the most horrible story in the world, you understand. The most horrible one ever conceived. That's why all our members read it."
The hall seemed to stretch on endlessly. Doors marched by. Screams faded, new screams took their place. "How late are you open?" Thompson asked.
"I stay here all the time," the old man said. "Members are always coming in. They usually stay for a long time. The book is irresistible."
"Must be," Thompson said.