Here are a few general guidelines for authors writing Two-Minute Shadow Mysteries: 1. Length - the length should be between 300 and 500 words total, including solution. 2. Style - use Walter Gibson's writing style from the mid 1930's. Remember how he loved to give people unusual names (Winsel Felding, Rollin Tonk, Junius Groves) and sometimes created his own adjectives ("squatly" comes to mind). If you're not sure about Gibson's style, read a few Shadow novels to get a feel for it. 3. Settings - use the settings from the mid-to-late 1930's Shadow novels. Most stories will take place in dark and moody New York, although just as in Gibson's novels, they may occasionally take place elsewhere. Sometimes, I've left New York City and the lights of Manhattan. One story was set at Lake Ossipig, in upstate New York. One in the Mojave Desert. An island of undisclosed location. A Washington DC office. But usually, you'll want to use the familiar trappings of New York as remembered from the Shadow mysteries. Vary the locations within the city. I've written a couple set in the sanctum. One was set in Cardona's office. Let's not forget Chinatown. Try a nightclub. And of course the spooky old house is always a classic. For variety, I've written mini-mysteries at the circus, at a magic convention, at the theater, a Long Island estate, The Cobalt Club, the Hotel Metrolite, Dr. Sayre's clinic, the underworld dive The Black Ship, the streets of Manhattan and the sandy shores of Long Island Sound. 4. Characters - Vary who appears. It becomes tiresome always reading about Lamont Cranston. Find an appropriate way to use Kent Allard, instead. Or Henry Arnaud. Or Phineas Twambley. Or just use the black-cloaked Shadow figure alone. Similarly, use various agents, if appropriate. I have yet to work in Hawkeye; just haven't found the right story. But I've used Harry Vincent, Clyde Burke and Moe Shrevnitz often. Dr. Rupert Sayre and Yat Soon have appeared. And don't forget the lesser-used agents like Jericho Druke and Miles Crofton. (Margo Lane didn't appear in the pulps until 1941, but I've made an exception and used her a couple times as well.) 5. Categories - Mini-mysteries like these seem to fall into several categories: "The Hidden Clue," "The Escape" and "The Logic Puzzle." In a typical murder mystery, the vital clue is plainly before the reader but he fails to see it. The clue may point to the murderer. Or it may point to murder instead of suicide. This is what I call "The Hidden Clue." A good example is "Murder At The Cobalt Club" which you will find below, at the bottom of this page. "The Escape" is a different type of mini-mystery, in which The Shadow must escape from some trap using logic and the materials at hand. An example of this type is "Scorpion Isle" found below. In "The Logic Puzzle" type of mini-mystery, the application of logic to clues reveals the solution. "Portrait of Greed," found below, is a an example of a logic puzzle. There are mini-mysteries that don't fall neatly into any category. And there are combinations of categories. Feel free to play with different types of mysteries. Use your imagination; don't feel locked into any particular type. 6. Fun - most of all, have fun! Getting your mini-mystery published on this web page doesn't pay any money, unfortunately, so you might as well enjoy what you're writing. It's not a job; it's a hobby! Send submissions or questions to John Olsen. SAMPLE of "The Hidden Clue" type of mini-mystery: MURDER AT THE COBALT CLUB by John Olsen Lamont Cranston stood quietly beside Detective Joe Cardona in the kitchen of the Cobalt Club. The chef, Ernesto Capelli, lay dead on the floor, his skull fractured. Arthur Powell, the prim club secretary, entered from the grill room. "I trust you'll have this wrapped up quickly," he snapped to the detective. "Just a few more questions," returned Cardona. "What do you know about this?" "I've worked here for five years and nothing like this has ever happened before. When I discovered the body, I called the police immediately. Personally, I think it was that hobo who did it." "What hobo is that?" "About five minutes before I found the body, I came into the kitchen to check on some supplies. Ernesto was talking to an unshaven stranger dressed in dirty clothes. He was carrying a small worn satchel." Powell glanced out the back door to an alleyway where a small crowd had gathered. He excitedly pointed, "There he is! That's the man I saw earlier!" An unshaven little man in dirty clothes broke away from the crowd and started to run down the alley. Cardona shouted to a bluecoat who collared the derelict and hauled him back to the kitchen. "Look, mister, I don't know nothin'! I didn't see nothin'!" he squawked. "I saw you here earlier, just before the murder," accused the secretary. "Sure, I was here, but I didn't kill nobody! The cook was putting a big red lobster into a pot, and told me he was busy and couldn't be bothered. He told me to come back in a half hour. That's why I was waiting outside, just now." Cardona had one of his famous hunches. "I think it's more likely," he said thoughtfully, "that you realized Mr. Powell, here, had seen you. You knew we'd put out a net for you. Your coming back here was just a bluff. Now, where's that satchel you were carrying?" "I don't know nothin' about any satchel!" the man whined. "Honest, I wouldn't lie." "Someone in this room has given himself away by a lie," spoke up Cranston for the first time. "And I know who it is!" WHO DOES THE SHADOW KNOW LIED? SOLUTION: The hobo lied when he said the chef was putting a big red lobster in the pot. Lobsters turn red only after they're boiled and the chef wouldn't be boiling a lobster twice. The Shadow knows! SAMPLE of "The Escape" type of mini-mystery: SCORPION ISLE by John Olsen The hooded figure of The Scorpion jumped into The Shadow's sleek, black speedboat and started the engine. As he sped away from the island, he shot an emergency flare back in the direction of the small isle. The black-cloaked form of The Shadow stood in the center of the island, stranded. The small parcel of land couldn't have been over a half-mile in length and a hundred yards wide. Steep cliffs loomed far above the waves as they crashed on the sharp rocks far below. There were no hills or ravines, no buildings, no cover of any sort. Just dry scrub covering the entire island. There was no escape for The Shadow. The emergency flare landed on the east end of the island, catching the tinder-dry scrub afire. Within moments, it was a raging fire. A wind from the east fanned the flames and pushed them westward toward The Shadow. The Shadow had been lured into a cunning death trap by the international spy. The entire island would soon be consumed by the inferno. There was no place to hide, no escape to the waters far below. While The Scorpion was speeding off across the waves to safety, The Shadow was at the mercy of the flames. The fire advanced toward him, pushed onward by the constant eastward wind. With quick decision, The Shadow ran toward the shimmering wall of flame. What thoughts ran through his mind? What did he intend? An hour later, the raging inferno had consumed all the fuel on the island. The fire was out. In the center of the blackened island stood the silent form of The Shadow, the steady east wind still whipping his cloak about him. He was unharmed, not even a single singe mark upon his clothes. The sound of The Shadow's autogiro filled the air. Miles Crofton, his pilot, was coming to the rescue. As the wingless autogiro made a nearly vertical landing, The Shadow's triumphant laugh filled the air. HOW DID THE SHADOW ESCAPE PERISHING IN THE FIRE? SOLUTION: The Shadow ran toward the wall of flame and grabbed some burning brush. He raced back to the center of the island and used it to start a second fire. He stood back as the east wind whipped the second fire toward the west, consuming all in its path. As soon as the embers cooled down, The Shadow stood safely on the newly-blackened ground. When the first fire reached the point where the second fire started, it died out due to lack of fuel. The Shadow stood unharmed, and waited for Crofton to see the smoke and pick him up. SAMPLE of "The Logic Puzzle" type of mini-mystery: PORTRAIT OF GREED by John Olsen Wind howled around the eaves of the old Mulbreght mansion. Inside, four men sat in the gloomy study. Lamont Cranston sat at the desk, facing the other three. "Acting as executor of Hamilton Mulbreght's will, I've called you three together tonight." Cranston looked from one face to the next. Sitting in straight-backed chairs were three cousins, all nephews of old Hamilton Mulbreght. Wilson Hannah, young playboy who showed wear around the edges. Harlan Canard, a no-nonsense businessman of middle-age. Avery Tiffets, a mild-mannered, thin-faced fellow. Cranston removed a small, black record from its paper sleeve. "Shortly before he died, your uncle made this recording, to be played at the reading of his will." He turned and placed the record on a small phonograph. He adjusted the tonearm and lowered the needle to the beginning of the recording. "If you're listening to this, I'm dead," came the thin, reedy voice of Hamilton Mulbreght. "One of you three will inherit the fortune I've spent a lifetime acquiring. Not that any of you deserve it. You're a greedy, unworthy bunch. "I detest all three of you, thus I choose not to split my fortune equally. The one to answer my riddle will inherit it all. Harlan, since I dislike you the least, you may go first. Wilson will get the second chance, and Avery the third. If none of you can answer my riddle, my entire fortune will go to charity. Listen carefully: "A man stands before a portrait hanging on his wall and muses: "'Brothers and sisters, I have none, "'But that man's father is my father's son.' "Who is in the painting? Heh, heh, heh..." His sharp cackle was cut short as the needle reached the end of the record. Lamont Cranston quietly replaced the tonearm and turned off the phonograph. He turned to Harlan Canard. With a brusque manner, Canard snapped, "It's obviously himself." Cranston looked to young Wilson next. "It's his father," the young playboy growled. There was a pause as all eyes turned to Avery Tiffets. He thought for a moment, and then meekly offered, "I would say it's his son..." In his businesslike manner, Canard demanded, "Enough delay. Who's right? Name the heir." Cranston chuckled, a slight smile crossing his masklike countenance. "The answer should be obvious. The sole heir to the Mulbreght millions will be..." WHO CORRECTLY ANSWERED THE RIDDLE? SOLUTION: The man is looking at a painting of his son. The phrase "my father's son" could only mean "me" since he had no brothers. Replacing that phrase in "that man's father is my father's son" we get "that man's father is me." Or more simply, "I am that man's father." He's looking at his son. Hamilton Mulbreght's sole heir was the quiet Avery Tiffets, who correctly identified the portrait as being the son of the man viewing the painting. Return to Two-Minute Shadow Mysteries Legal Statement of Copyright Notice
