It was a very short story. He finished it almost immediately. And it certainly was horrible. Almost too horrible. He closed the book and got up. His face felt very pale. He went to the door. He tried to open it. It would not open.
"Old man," he yelled. "Old man, old man." He was so insistent in his yelling that he did not stop to think about the other screaming out in the hall. He expected the old man to come, and he did.
The old man's voice said through the door, "Yes?"
"I don't like this book," Thompson said.
The old man said nothing.
"And the door's locked. I want to leave."
"You can't."
"What do you mean I can't? What kind of a place is this anyway?" His tone was threatening, belligerent. And weak.
"You're a member now." It was very final.