cooler. The Shadow fought mostly regular crooks while the Spider dealt with threats to the world. Like this issue: “King of the Fleshless Legion,” with al
sorts of skeletons on the cover and the Spider rushing in to save a woman locked alive in a coffin.
Neat.
He wished he could buy posters of these covers. Some of the posters he had now—especial y the one of Devo in their flowerpot hats—were getting
ratty. Besides, he hardly listened to Devo anymore. He certainly wasn’t going to replace his Phil ies pennant, not when they looked like they had a shot at
the World Series this year.
His beloved Eagles, however …
After that stupid footbal players’ strike last season they went a whopping three and six. Wasn’t easy being an Eagles’ fan these days. Maybe with
Vermeil out and that new coach—
He jumped as he heard a single knock on his door. He looked up and saw his father enter.
“How’s it going, Jack?”
“Fine.”
He sat on the edge of the bed. “You sure? Finding that … body today isn’t bothering you?”
Jack realized this was a side Dad didn’t show much. He tended to be the stiff-upper-lip sort: If you fal down you pick yourself up and keep going without whining or complaining.
“Real y, I’m fine.”
In fact, what the bad guys were doing to the Spider and what he was giving right back to them had pretty much wiped the body from his mind.
“You going to be able to sleep okay?”
“Think so. I’m not scared, if that’s what you mean. It was gross, but I won’t be dreaming about him coming for me or anything like that.”
At least he didn’t think so. He figured if anything kept him awake it would be questions about who was dead and who had done it and why he was kil ed
and what sort of ritual was used. The last time he’d been too scared to sleep had been a couple of years ago, right after reading
look at his window for fear he’d see Eddie floating outside it.
Dad patted Jack’s leg. “Good. But if you have any problems during the night, don’t be afraid to give a hol er.” His gaze drifted to the magazine. “Good
God, where’d you get that?”
Jack handed it to him. “Mister Rosen’s got a bunch.”
Dad stared at the cover, a smile hovering about his lips. “I used to read these as a kid.”
Jack did a quick calculation: They’d celebrated Dad’s fifty-third birthday last month, which meant he’d been born in 1930. So he would have been nine
when this issue was printed. Nine might have been kind of young, but yeah, he could have read this very copy. Jack knew his father had been a kid once,
but this made his childhood …
“Did you like them?”
“You kidding? Doc Savage, the Shadow, and this guy … I loved them.” He flipped through the yel owed pages. “Can I borrow this?”
Jack was only halfway through the story and didn’t want to give it up. He reached into his nightstand drawer and pul ed out another issue he’d already
finished.
“How about this one?”
Dad grinned at the cover: High atop the George Washington Bridge, the Spider battled with a guy in some sort of diving suit over a girl in a shredded
red dress.
“‘Slaves of the Laughing Death.’ I love it.” He rose and slapped Jack on the leg. “Thanks. This’l bring back old memories. And I think you’l be just fine
tonight.”
Jack thought so too. But he was concerned about the magazine. Mr. Rosen would have his hide if it came back damaged.
“Just return it in the condition you got it.”
