The Green Lorelei

And now, another tale well calculated to keep you in... ...suspense. The Green Lorelie, written for suspense by George Bamber. My name is Adams. Roger Adams. Maybe you've heard of me. I write for the pulp magazines.

Mystery stories, horror stories, a two and three cents a word. But then again maybe you haven't. because it's been a long time since I've written anything, and even longer since I've sold anything I've written.

Maybe that's why nobody believes me, because of what I did for a living, and what happened afterwards. It all happened in Los Angeles, the place they call the city of the angels. I was living in a broken-down apartment house that overlooked that cultural desert that is the city of Hollywood.

It was late at night, One hot, smobby August. I'd spent the whole day sitting, staring at a typewriter that sat staring back at me. I hadn't been able to write a word for days. Finally, I got fed up with it all, and I took 50 cents of my last two dollars.

I went down, and I bought two bottles of cold beer. And on my way back up to my... Well, Mr. Adams. Oh, Mrs. Snyder. I thought if I listened to my door long enough, I'd catch you sneaking up and down, say...

No, I wasn't sneaking. I'd like to know what you call it, walking on the sides of the steps that way. Mrs. Snyder, you have an extremely suspicious and unpleasant nature. When are you going to pay me the money, Omen?

At the end of the week. You've been saying that more in a month now. Well, now this time it's true. I just sold another horror story to authentic mysteries and the check is in the mail.