Free Who's There? by Herschel Cozine

Who’s There?
    By Herschel Cozine
    As I was walking up the stair
    I met a man who wasn’t there.
    He wasn’t there again today;
    Oh! How I wish he’d go away.
    Hi. Nathaniel P. Osgood III here. I have been involved in a lot of strange cases in my career. Missing sheep, cooked birds, murdered robins and pumpkin dwelling wives to name a few. I have learned to take these things in stride. But the man who wasn’t there was weird, even for this place. I never solved the case, but…well, let me tell you about it and you can decide for yourself.
    It all started on a miserable Monday morning. Ah, but that’s redundant. Mondays have always been a challenge for me, coming on the heels of a weekend filled with inertia. I would be willing to bet that Isaac Newton formulated his laws of motion on a Monday.
    I had just walked into my office, a small, not very tidy room across from the Nurseryland Nursery. Their display of silver bells and cockle shells seemed out of tune with the rest of the environment. I took little pleasure in their presence. I scowled at the pile of paper on my desk, set my cup of lukewarm coffee on the heap, and sat down.
    It wasn’t until he spoke that I noticed the gentleman seated in the chair across from me. How he got in I don’t know. But I have learned over the years not to question such events. The answers never address the problem, so why bother?
    “Good morning,” he said.
    I didn’t challenge the statement, but looked him over before replying. He was a portly man with graying hair and a spreading midsection. He smiled at me and extended his hand. I took it.
    “What can I do for you?” I said.
    “My name is Griswold MacPhee,” he said. “I would like to engage your services to rid me of a problem that has been plaguing me for a long time.”
    “Certainly,” I replied. “I am at your service. At a price, of course.”
    He waved a hand. “Money is no object,” he said. “I am well off.”
    I shuddered inwardly at the remark. Those who claim that money is no object are the ones to scream the loudest when they see the bill.
    “And what exactly is it that you want me to do?” I asked.
    Griswold shifted in his chair uneasily, and I could see that he was having difficulty expressing his problem.
    “Well, you see,” he started. “It’s rather difficult to explain.”
    “Why don’t you start at the beginning,” I said. “That works for me.”
    “There is no beginning,” he replied. “In fact, there is nothing at all, and that is what bothers me.”
    ”I don’t understand,” I said.
    “But you must,” he said. He took a deep breath, expelled it and frowned.
    “It’s this person,” he said finally. “He is never there.”
    “Where?” I asked.
    “There. At home. Where I live. He wasn’t there again this morning when I left the house. And it is beginning to get on my nerves. I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.”
    “I see,” I said, the first of many lies I would tell in this case. I didn’t have an inkling what he was talking about.
    “I want this man to go away.”
    “Go away? But you told me he wasn’t there. How…”
    “Exactly!” Griswold said.
    “Exactly what?”
    “He isn’t there! That’s the whole point.”
    My headache suddenly got worse. I studied Griswold through bleary eyes, but said nothing. This conversation was going nowhere. I could think of nothing to add to it.
    Griswold ran a hand through his thinning hair and sighed deeply. “He’s driving me crazy. He’s not there all the time. Don’t you see?”
    He was becoming visibly upset. I had to do something fast or have a raving maniac to deal with. I decided to humor him. “Of course,” I said. “But just what is it you want me to do?”
    “Find him. Talk to him. Make him stop.”
    “I see,” I said. “Do you know where he lives?”
    “No.”
    “What does he look like?’
    “I couldn’t tell you,” he said. “I have never seen the man.”
    “Well, it’s not a whole