Greed, crime, and apathy plaque all. Evil lurks around every corner as well as within the hearts of men. There are but few who seek to bring Justice to those who would harm others. Among them, a lone figure with the power to cloud the minds of others and the ability to meld with the darkness which sprung him. Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?

The Shadow knows!

"Chaos Club"

The SHADOW Episode #6
1938

by Andrew Morgan

Tibet, 1935

Lamont Cranston, the real Lamont Cranston, had just reached the shore after being thrown off of his own ship by Kent Allard. He wiped the salty water out of his eyes and as his vision began to return to him he saw a young Asian man standing in front of him. The man's eyes were a dark crimson color, which frightened Lamont. He wanted nothing more than to wake up from the nightmare he was trapped in. The man forced Lamont to his feet, and without saying a word forced Lamont to start traveling the mountains.

Several days later the Asian man stood on the top of large rock cliff with a foot on top of Lamont. Lamont was forced into the push up position. "Up you fat piece of shit," echoed the brash terrifying voice of the Asian.

"M...Master Chin," Lamont said straining to hold his belly above the ground. "W...wh...why?" he asked.

"Why, why am I trying to get your sorry excuse for a human body into shape instead of killing you. Why am I torturing you with exercise? The answer to that is simple, it's because the look of you disgusts me, and yet I need you. Across these mountains lives my older half brother Tolku. In effort to prove that I am better than him in every way conceivable I have chosen you to kill his latest student. Tolku will then have to admit that I am the greater teacher," explained Master Chin.

"B...But why me?"

"Because you sack, it seems we have a common enemy. The man who took your ship from you, humiliated you, and is walking around pretending to be you, making a mockery of your life, the man that you hate is Tolku's last student. I will teach you to use that hate and channel it's energy through you. Your desire for vengeance will make you a powerful contestant against him. Before we can do anything about your mind we must repair the lifetime of damage you've done to your own body. Your body is a temple for your mind if it falls then you will lose the rest. Now stop talking and move faster." His voice was powerful and demanding. There was no reason for him to threaten Lamont, his voice did all the work.

New York City, 1938

For the fourth night in a row Kent Allard in his Lamont Cranston identity was out on the town with Margot Lane. She distracted him from his vigilante duties and he knew it. He just didn't care; with Margot around he felt a sense of peace and relaxation that he hadn't felt since he was an adolescent. He was falling for her, in love with the quite lifestyle she seemed to offer. All though he had already discovered that the real Cranston was coming for him he seemed to lose sight of all of that. She fulfilled him in a way that the cape and mask never could.

As the two left the downtown theater and climbed into Moe's cab they laughed and giggled at each other like school children or drunks. "Take us home Moe," Allard ordered.

"Ken-" Margot started to say but stopped realizing that she must maintain his name as Lamont Cranston. "Lamont, I must go home tonight. To my own home, I've got a busy day planned tomorrow, and a surprise for you tomorrow night so please let me go home and rest."

"Alright." Allard smiled. "You heard the lady, Moe." The cab wasted no time in getting her home. Moe himself felt a little anticipation building up. He was excited hoping to see his employer jump into action once again. After Kent walked her to her door and kissed her goodnight, he was back in the car in a flash.

"I had your stuff all cleaned for you, boss, it's all in the usual spot. Where are we headed? A dark alley or an abandoned warehouse?" Moe asked impatiently.
"No none of those Moe, just take me home. I'm feeling a bit exhausted." Moe didn't need any other orders he simply did as he was told and kept quiet while doing so.

Meanwhile as Margot entered her apartment she slid off her heels as she shut the door. Feeling the freedom of living alone she undressed as she walked through out her home. Soon she stood in front of her vanity mirror in nothing but her underwear. She examined her body in her reflection, feeling confident by the affection that Lamont had been giving her. She felt attractive. She ran her hands over her smooth belly as she turned to the side. She admired how beautiful and young she still looked. She ran her hands back up the sides of her body as she reached up to the back of her neck. She began to unhook the claps of her necklace that was back there but her time alone was interrupted.

Screaming streams of pain shot through her body as visions of graphic violence were forced into her mind. Dead animals, train wreaks, burn victims, all of the most gruesome events you could ever think of flashed in images. She doubled over onto the floor and screamed as the visions invaded her consciousness. She screamed out but one of the restrictions of living alone is that no one is there to hear you. Well almost no one, lurking in the shadows was a strange figure. Slowly as the figure walked out of the darkness his appearance became visible. It was a man that looked remarkably like the Lamont Cranston impostor, in fact it was the real Cranston.

"Hello, darling," he said in the same mysteriously dark echoing voice that the Shadow uses. His outfit actually matched that of the Shadow’s as well, with the only exceptions being that he did not wear a hat or mask. "You've been busy lately, running around with Allard." Her body was tense and the visions continued to go through her. As she began to twitch on the floor Cranston knelt down beside her. "No no, don't pass out on me just yet. I need you to give a message to your boyfriend." That's when Cranston touched her. Her body convulsed as if she were having a seizure. She screamed again at the top of her lungs, but that was the end of it. He used his psychic powers to torture her in ways that no normal non-psychotic person could think of.

Eighteen hours later Kent Allard aka Lamont Cranston stood in the Insane Asylum just outside of the city watching through the glass as the doctors checked Margot Lane in. "She's completely catatonic," one of them said as he pushed a needle through her hand and she didn't even notice. She just sat on the examination bed staring off into whatever void her mind was sent to. Allard tried to glean through her mind but a million voices responded with one word, "CHAOS". Allard just stared trying again and again to reach her mind with no luck.

Eventually another man interrupted Allard's concentration. "I'd like to know how a perfectly normal, sane girl like that gets turned into a vegetable over night. What nightmare could she have come across to end up in a place like this?" asked the stranger. He was the same height and weight as Allard and they both shared the same dark demeanor.

"Lamont Cranston," Allard said as he offered his hand to greet the stranger. "And you are?"

"My name is Richard, I'm the inspector assigned to the case," the man explained.

Allard gave the man a nod as he shook his hand. "Any idea what happened to her," he asked.

"Not yet, but don't worry I always get my guy. I was hoping you could shed some light on what happened Mr. Cranston."

"I don't know what help I could be, we went to dinner and afterwards I took her home and went home myself."

"Do you have anyone that can verify that story?" asked the inspector.

Allard jumped when he realized he was a suspect. "Is this an interrogation, inspector?"

"This, no but if I find any reason to believe you're lying to me I'll make you wish we were talking downtown. And I will find out." The inspector got up in Allard's face. He was clearly not a trusting person, then again neither was Allard. They stared at each other's eyes for a moment, sizing each other up. The contest ended when Allard looked over to see if the condition in the room on the other side of the window had changed.

The inspector walked away toward the door. "You know this is a pretty strange case, the kind that ends up being unsolved. Usually those cases are given to the lousy cops. You seem like you're a pretty good one, so why did they pick you?" Allard asked the man.

The inspector stopped at the coat rack, he picked a yellow trench coat and matching fedora off the hanger. He swung the jacket around his shoulders and put it on quickly. "I guess it's because in a city filled with as much craziness as this one, I'm the only cop with the balls to do something about it," the inspector replied as he put the yellow fedora on his head and walked out.

Later that evening, the inspector walked freely through the police station corridor toward the front desk. His mind was on the mysterious man that he had met earlier but was suddenly stopped when a sharp pain went through his hand. A young woman in her early twenties was handcuffed to the bench but had reached out with her mouth and bit him on the hand. She nearly bit off his whole little finger before he slapped her across the face. She growled at him like an animal. She was dressed in a nice evening gown with fancy jewelry on. With the exception of having blood splatters all over her she didn't look like the typical wacko that got arrested. "Let me out of these cuffs or I swear when I get free I'm gonna rape your mother in the ass with a broken broomstick," she shouted in a sadistic voice. She struggled to free herself but the cuffs were too tight.

"Whoa watch yourself, Tracy," the officer behind the counter said.

"Another one? What is that seven this week," asked inspector Richard Tracy.

"Yeah, look at her, she's only twenty-three, same age as my daughter. What are these young people getting into that's making them behave like this," asked the other officer.

"Drugs, messes up your brain," the inspector replied.

"Dick, my office now," shouted the police chief interrupting the conversation.

The inspector grabbed a cleaning rag nearby and wrapped his hand with it. He glared over at the restrained girl as he was walking past her. "Mmm, you taste so good, Dick," she said as she licked his blood off her lips and chin.

As Tracy walked into the chief's office he barely had a chance to shut the door before the chief started grilling him. "What's going on with the crazy girl case? Anything yet?"

"Not yet, I've barely been on the job an hour give me some time, chief, I'll get to the bottom of it," Dick Tracy replied.

The chief grunted, he was often impatient for results. "Time is something we don't have, this city is going to hell in a hand basket and the only people that know it are in this building. Did you see that pretty little brunette out there in the hall?"

Tracy looked at his hand. "Yeah I saw her."

"We found her about a block away from that new place, what's it called, the Chaos Club. She was eating a dead dog, in fact I think she killed it with her bare hands and then started to eat it. I know that club has something to do with it. I know it."

"If you know it, chief then what do you need me for?" Tracy asked while he settled into his seat.

"We can't prove it. We've had hounds over there sniffing around, we've raided the place twice, and we can't find anything that would make these people act this way. And the owner Kent Allard, he's about as slippery as they come. I need my best cop on it, not chasing down UFO's or mysterious creatures or whatever it is you think you're going to find at the bottom of this one."

"Alright, chief, all right," Tracy said trying to calm his superior down. "I tell you what, if it makes you feel any better, I'll swing over there tomorrow night and sniff around. If I find anything I'll let you know." Tracy quickly stood up and made his way to the door.

"You do that," the chief said as he settled down. Lately New York City, his city, has been falling apart. Between vigilantes, ghosts, monsters, and now zombie creating nightclubs, the chief was getting worn down. His only relief being that as long as the man's man Dick Tracy was on the case, those ugly nightmares didn't stand a chance.

To Be Continued...

Shadowy Casefiles

So you might have noticed that this latest episode of The Shadow is a bit different from the previous ones. That's because Dave has graciously stepped down and let me take the reins. I hope you like the direction I'm headed in. I'd like to keep the old time Noir in there while throwing a twist or two of my own special blend.

I've always loved the underdog and the older pulp fiction characters that have been forgotten over time have always seemed to me like the underdogs. It's not their fault they never got never got remodeled to reflect the changing times. Perhaps in another project I'll be able to recreate them to live in the modern time but for now this will have to do.

For right now I'm only signed up to finish off the story arc but if things go well then I might start another arc and see how things go from there. Also was thinking about doing a Dick Tracy run just because that guy's a lot of fun to work with. He's the Bruce Willis of comics.

As always comments and suggestions or even hate mail is always appreciated. Andrewmorgan.m@gmail.com

And on that note, a review from Kim Johnson, Assistant Editor of JLU: 2001

Editor's note:

A good issue and interesting to see you pull Dick Tracy into a Shadow story. I added a few commas but didn't make many changes other than that.
My biggest stumbling block with issue is that I haven't read the previous 5 issues and so was a bit lost and had to take the issue on face value. The switch, that Lamont is really Kent, and Kent is really Lamont, is interesting but I'm not sure what it accomplishes other than being a cast change. Perhaps something at the beginning of the issues like: PREVIOUSLY IN SHADOW and then outline the story up to that point would help because I had several questions about what was going on at the end of the issue; things I felt someone who'd read the other 5 issues would know - such as, Margo knows that the man she knows as Lamont is really Kent, but does he know that she knows? Does Moe know that Fake Lamont is really a man named Kent? If the switch happened 3 years ago, why would either of them care? If Kent didn't know she'd figured out who he really was, why was she reluctant to tell him? Why has Fake Lamont been shirking his Shadow vigilante activities ever since going out with Margo?

I think putting a brief summary, 2 or 3 sentences, of what the reader should know, would help clear up some confusion. Or remember to pepper some extra exposition in the right places to give the reader more to work with. Having a reader who has following the story from issue #1 is really the optimal situation, but don't forget that you should make allowances for people who are picking it up mid-stream. Every issue you write could potentially be someone's first issue, you've got to make sure that they aren't lost and that you grab their attention enough to make them want to see the next issue.

The second issue I have with this is, there are no really likeable characters. Dick Tracy is potentially likeable but we didn't see much of his personality, and besides, this is a Shadow story, not a Dick Tracy story. Of the main Shadow characters, none of them struck me as likeable. Fake Lamont (Kent Allard) stole a man's life 3 yrs ago, with just that to go, not being told why he did such a thing, it seems too much a villainous thing to do. Also, with him taking the crime-fighting responsibilities of the Shadow so lightly, he seems more like a bored/ thrill-seeking dilettante. And in the scene after Margo's attack, he seemed considered but not really broken up seeing what happened to her. He seemed more curious as to what happened rather than shedding any tears over it, which didn't win me over to him.

I was prepared to like the real Lamont Cranston, seeing him as a wronged man come back to reclaim his life cruelly taken by Kent Allard... until Lamont tortured Margo and left her as a mindless vegetable, firmly putting him among the villains too.

So, who am I (the reader) supposed to be rooting for here? The life/identity-stealer or the sadist torturer?

To Be Continued...