SIE BROWN

This story was submitted as a class exercise in one of my short-story
classes at Columbia University. At my request the author, Elsie Brown,
contributed it to this volume.

A Shady Plot

BY ELSIE BROWN

So I sat down to write a ghost story.

Jenkins was responsible.

"Hallock," he had said to me, "give us another on the supernatural this
time. Something to give 'em the horrors; that's what the public wants,
and your ghosts are live propositions."

Well, I was in no position to contradict Jenkins, for, as yet, his
magazine had been the only one to print my stuff. So I had said,
"Precisely!" in the deepest voice I was capable of, and had gone out.

I hadn't the shade of an idea, but at the time that didn't worry me in
the least. You see, I had often been like that before and in the end
things had always come my way--I didn't in the least know how or why. It
had all been rather mysterious. You understand I didn't specialize in
ghost stories, but more or less they seemed to specialize in me. A ghost
story had been the first fiction I had written. Curious how that idea
for a plot had come to me out of nowhere after I had chased inspiration
in vain for months! Even now whenever Jenkins wanted a ghost, he called
on me. And I had never found it healthy to contradict Jenkins. Jenkins
always seemed to have an uncanny knowledge as to when the landlord or
the grocer were pestering me, and he dunned me for a ghost. And somehow
I'd always been able to dig one up for him, so I'd begun to get a bit
cocky as to my ability.

So I went home and sat down before my desk and sucked at the end of my
pencil and waited, but nothing happened. Pretty soon my mind began to
wander off on other things, decidedly unghostly and material things,
such as my wife's shopping and how on earth I was going to cure her of
her alarming tendency to take every new fad that came along and work it
to death. But I realized _that_ would never get me any place, so I went
back to staring at the ceiling.

"This writing business _is_ delightful, isn't it?" I said sarcastically at
last, out loud, too. You see, I had reached the stage of imbecility when
I was talking to myself.

"Yes," said a voice at the other end of the room, "I should say it is!"

I admit I jumped. Then I looked around.

It was twilight by this time and I had forgotten to turn on the lamp.
The other end of the room was full of shadows and furniture. I sat
staring at