Finally they came to a door. The old man stopped. He seemed to pull at the door and it opened, although there was no handle on it. He motioned Thompson inside.
The reading room had one chair and one table. An unlit candle stood on the table. The old man applied flame from his candle.
"Severe," he said, indicating the room, "but functional. All you really need to enjoy a good horror story."
"Well, thanks," Thompson stammered. The old man put the book down on the table. "Do ... er ... is it customary to pay, or tip?" Thompson said awkwardly.
"Oh no. The Founders take care of that."
"Um. Founders. Still alive, eh?"
"Oh, certainly."
"Must like horror stories, to set up a place like this."
"They do," the old man assured him. "Well, I hope you like the book."
He walked out and closed the door. Thompson said, "Well," a couple of times, saw that no one was listening, laughed foolishly and sat down on the chair. He picked up the book, feeling the tingle on his spine once more. He opened the book. He began to read.