Jensen had built up a fire for me, and the fireplace smoked to add to the discomfort of the room while its flickering redness made the shadows dance ominously. I seized the poker from the fireplace and cleared away the cobwebs as well as I could, crushed those plump spiders into smeary masses on the floor, then decided to take his advice and do some reading while I waited to see if any more eight-legged roommates would reveal themselves.

The bookcase upon closer examination proved to be a sham, most of the books were in fact carved into the case and were quite immovable. The book Jensen had mentioned, the Chesterfield book, was bright red and prominent among all these dull brown imitation books.

Well, I had read the works of Franklin Chesterfield, and his stories, while filled with horrifyingly evil men dominating their young wards, were a better pastime than sitting and watching for vermin among the bedclothing. I reached for it and it tilted back in my hand, the top went out to a forty-five degree angle from the perpendicular, and there it stopped, there was a mechanical click...and the entire bookcase opened out! A secret passageway! The inside of the passage was covered with more cobwebs and the avenue looked as if it had not been disturbed for many centuries.

Other tales of my coworkers entered my mind then, the tales of the lost treasures of Hanson Manor, hidden centuries before during the reign of Cromwell and the Restoration that followed. As sleep eluded me in this dank, unfriendly place, I decided then and there to take my candle and see what lay in the passage beyond.

The dust-covered floor billowed up, as if angry at my disturbing its long slumber, and it curled as if trying to form itself into a ghost with which to frighten me. The squeaks of rats in the hall behind me, however, urged me rather to continue in my exploration of this forgotten passageway.

I came to its end at another door, and this one had a horizontal handle that I worked, first down which did nothing, then up, and the door swung aside, in the same manner as the bookcase of my own room.

I walked into a room of dark walnut and golden tones. In the light of day, this room would become cheerful and delightful I could see, and even in this doleful place, it was less forbidding that the rest of it. It was as if, in the midst of darkness and impending horror and stench of evil long dead, I had found an oasis of paradise.

But the sheets, golden and clean, stirred, and a golden-bodied young man raised up from his slumber and regarded me. “Who are you?” he asked of me.

“I...I beg your pardon.” I said. “I am a guest of this house. I could not sleep, and in my idle investigation, I ventured across the passageway behind a bookshelf, and I followed it here. I shall leave you at once.”

“No!” he said hastily. “Please don’t go. Stay a while with me and talk, if you cannot sleep. Please.” He gestured me to sit on the edge of his bed.

I cannot say what there was of him that made me promptly decide to stay. I sat on the bed as he requested, and I regarded him as he sat in the bed, leaning back against the headboard.

“I am Vincent Lord Hanson.” he informed me. Undoubtedly some younger noble relative of the Lord Hanson whom I had come to see. His hair was black that shimmered its vitality in the deeper, plainer black of night. His body was smoothly clean and well-formed, his face was regular and shapely. A large, intelligent forehead was above deeply liquid eyes that glimmered with good humor and kindness. His arms were nearly hairless, clean and fluid in their graces as they moved. His chest was a broad platform from which his nipples perched upon the twin precipices, and below were the graceful bulges of his abs. At the navel, a barely visible slit in the middle of his body, a small tangle of his body hair depended down, growing thicker and more confident as it approached his manhood. But the bedsheet covered up any more of his body, hiding it from my inspection.

Vincent asked first for my name, which I gave him gladly, then in kindly tones he inquired of my mission and I answered while keeping the details privy, saying only that I had papers for Lord Hanson. Somehow I felt no great curiosity about his own presence in this doleful house, and contented myself by satisfying his curiosity.

When I concluded, he said, “Jensen placed you in the red room? That is scandalous, it hasn’t been properly cleaned and aired for a guest.”

“I was a last-minute arrival, my Lord.” I defended Jensen.

“Still, you can’t return to that place. I know it to be infested with spiders and while their bite may not be poisonous, it can be painful and require medical attention. Come, you’ll stay with me this night.” And Vincent pulled back the covers, exposing his lower body to my vision.

I saw the legs, sturdy and well-shaped, but my attention was rapt upon his manhood, for it was abundant in size and stretched languidly across his ballocks and down to the mattress beneath. As I observed it, it began to stretch and lengthen in size, filling its bulk and rising up.

I looked into Vincent’s eyes, his manner silent now, serious but inviting, and the last of my reserve fell from me.

“I can imagine nothing more congenial than to pass the night with you, my Lord.” I said. And rather to my surprise, I stood up on my knees and brazenly unfastened my trousers to expose my own masculine tower to his sight.