WIAN BHITE – THE WORST DETECTIVE IN THE WORLD in SHAFTED

My name is Wian Bhite. I solve mysteries. This story is about a mystery. One that I solved. Because my name is Wian Bhite, and I solve mysteries. What sorts of mysteries, you may wonder. I’ll tell you.

All sorts.

So there I was, trapped, alone in an elevator. no one else in the car with me when it lurched to a halt between floors. The lights went out and blackness swam in. A click, a pop and a small hiss later the emergency lighting came on, casting the metal coffin in a drab sickly blood red. I didn’t panic. I reached for the emergency phone.

“Hello?” I asked, the phone against my ear. “Hello? can anyone hear me? I’m trapped. Trapped in this elevator.”

“Excuse me sir,” a voice replied, “we don’t show a problem with any of the elevators.”

A mystery. If I was trapped, and I was, but no one saw a problem – then someone must be sabotaging the system. The question became who. Also why. Those were the questions. If I could work out who then it would tell me why. But also, I knew, if I only knew why I could probably work out who. That’s how mysteries work. You solve them. Then they’re solved.

I asked myself, pacing in the elevator, who would want me trapped in an elevator. And why? Laughingly I reversed the questions. Neither order gave me an answer. I tried the phone again.

“Hello?” I said into the mouth piece.

“Yes, we see now there is a problem, sir. Very sorry. We’ll have you moving again soon.”

Yes! That was it! The who was the computer that didn’t notice the problem. The why was simple entropy, my old enemy. I had solved it. Smiling, I leaned against the wall of the elevator and waited for the system to restart and for my imprisonment to end.

I was Wian Bhite. I solved mysteries.