It was already getting dark as I arrived at the large painted wooden doors of the old creepy house. The creepiness didn't bother me at all, it was the only place I'd saw for miles after I had to ditch my car, all the while ignoring that nagging voice of hindsight that kept telling me I should've checked the spare tyre. If anything I felt more relieved than anxious as I pushed the doorbell. Soon I could call a tow truck and go home to my nice cosy couch with a cup of tea and hopefully soon I'd be laughing about the whole affair. A muffled ringing sound emanated from deep within the crumbling walls as I pressed the button, and the whole house seemed to creak and shudder under the vibrations. Oh wait, no... that was just the door opening. Behind it was a wrinkly old, somewhat gormless looking butler who inquired as to my wandering about so late in the middle of nowhere. After I explained my predicament, he invited me in and told me to wait in the hallway while he went to inform the master of the house what was going on.
I sat myself down on one of the plush seats in the main hallway and squinted through the dim candle light at the probably once magnificent, but now slightly run down looking hallway. Hung up around the walls were the obligatory portraits of relatives long deceased that are so common in houses of its kind. My eye was drawn to an ornate wooden staircase which had previously remained unnoticed to me in the dim light. Curiously I took a wander over to have a closer inspection when a voice from the darkness startled me. It was the butler! "If you'd just like to follow me sir, Master will see you now" he croaked as he led the way upstairs.
I chuckled to myself en route as I tried to picture the owner of such a house. Images of tweed jackets, cups of tea and elbow patches fluttered comically through my mind as the butler led the way through the winding dusty corridors, until finally we reached the end. The butler opened the door and quickly ushered me in before closing it quickly behind me.
Inside I was greeted, not what you could call warmly, but not unkindly either, by a fairly young man, possibly in his mid to late 20's. He was a far cry from the podgy polo enthusiast I'd imagined him to be; stick thin and no tweed in sight, rather one of them old style ruffle shirts, pale white skin that looked smooth to the touch framed by a full head of long dark hair which flowed so freely down past his shoulders. In his spindly fingers he clutched a glass of what I assumed was port or perhaps maybe red wine. He motioned me to sit down in one of two chairs facing the relaxing glow of the fireplace as he poured me a drink aswell.
As we both sipped our drinks, I explained to him what happened with the car and asked to use the phone. He told of a nearby village with a garage, though they wouldn't be open until the following morning, I was more than welcome to stay the night and sort it out in the morning. What choice was there?
It was nowhere near as bad as I thought it was going to be though, we actually got on really well, amusing each other with anecdotes for a while. As the night drew on, drowsiness beginning to sneak up on me, I was starting to find myself not paying attention to what my host was saying, more just nodding and agreeing with what he was saying while lost in the soothing darkness of his eyes. I hate to admit it, but I could actually feel a slight tingling between my legs. I ignored it as best as I could and shifted position in the seat a few times in a bid to stifle that which wasn't really welcome in male company, all the while hoping he didn't notice.
