Yours is an old house, distinguished as much by its history as by its adamant defiance of decay and weathering. Its halls are lavish and narrow, its chambers dark and calm, and its rooms never quite feel large enough to fill its frame. One evening, the lady of the house calls you to her side. She beckons you from within her canopy bed, the drapery down and her voice unusually coarse. She says 'Come here, dear listener,' as she crawls on all fours. She says 'A little nearer...' as you part the...