"Oh!" The doctor exhaled. "You write the stories down?"
"Naturally. They're great."
The doctor walked around to the desk, picked up one of the manuscripts.
He whistled softly. "Just relax," he said, turning to Thompson. "I'm
going to read these over."
"Sure, doc." Thompson stretched out comfortably on the bed.
* * * * *
An hour later the doctor was finishing the last story and humming
softly to himself. He laid down the manuscript and fluttered his
fingers airily. His face was a mask.
"Now, Thompson," he said. "Look around the room. Are the little green
men still here?"
Thompson opened his eyes and gazed about the room. "Yep," he said
finally. "Over there in the corner, up by the ceiling."
The doctor didn't even look. He took off his spectacles and inserted
them carefully in his coat pocket. Then he fished a quarter from his
hip pocket and held it up between two fingers.
"Thompson," he said softly. "Look."
Thompson looked. The quarter spun. The lamp above his face cast a soft
green light.
"The little green men aren't there, Thompson."
"Yes, they are," remarked Thompson petulantly.
"No, they're not," soothed the doctor.
"Yes."
"No," said the doctor firmly.
"No?" inquired Thompson sleepily.
"No.
"You imagined them," breathed the doctor. "They aren't there. Not there
at all. Can you hear me, Thompson?"
"Yes."
"Now forget all about your little green men. You can forget about them.
You will forget about them." The doctor's voice was a monotone.
"They ... never were there. You will never see them again. Never,
Thompson. Never see them again. Never again. Thompson. Now go to sleep.
You've been dreaming."
Thompson relaxed.
"Thompson?"
The sleeping man lay still, eyes shut, breathing even. The doctor
exhaled softly.
* * * * *
"Why did you do that?" queried the nearest green man. "He's convinced.
He'll never see us again."
"Naturally," said the doctor. He didn't even turn around. He got his
spectacles out of his pocket and adjusted them on his nose. He turned
to face the little green men.
"Come on," he said, waving a hand toward the door. "All my life I've
wanted to be a great author. You fellows are going to tell me what to
write!"
The green men shifted several feet nearer to him. "Crime, weird,
mystery, adventure, or romance?" said the nearest gnome.
"Fantasy," said the doctor, "Let's go!"