Ralph walked calmly through the throngs clogging the airport terminal, in much the same way that neutrinos pass undisturbed through ordinary matter...Or this attempt to fuse the detective and supernatural genres:
"Good God, Holmes! You don't seriously believe that the Faversham homicide was committed by..."It was all too much to bear; authors were vermin, and editors, rightfully, their hunters. At times like this the only solace lay in his desk drawer. He withdrew the 12-gauge shotgun, loaded it, and aimed it at his office door.
"Elementals, my dear Watson!"
On the other side, his secretary was saying, "Go right in, Mr. Grisham, but I should warn you. I think he's off his lithium again."
--Paul Penna (622)