"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!"