China, 1934.
Lamont Cranston had come to the Orient two years before to train his mind and body. However, due to fate and random luck, he had gotten caught up in an opium ring, and events pushed him to a place he wasn't sure he wanted to be.
In that brief span of only two years, Cranston had become quite feared in the drug world. He became a kingpin with the most wrath. No one dared mess with Cranston. Cranston soon became so engrossed in this business, and so far deep into it, that he very nearly forgot who he really was. He had adopted the name Ling Ko, as a way to bury his past, and to keep anyone from finding out who he really was. However, sometimes even he wasn't sure who he was.
One fine afternoon, a car came driving through the opium fields. It pulled up to a fine building, reminiscent of a temple. Two Chinese men climbed out of the front seats. The driver opened the door behind the driver's seat, and pulled another out. The man's wrists were tied. The second man came over, and helped the driver lead the man into the building.
They entered the building. The main room was only halfway lit, just the way Ling Ko preferred. Ling Ko sat in a large chair at the end of the room. He reached down, and picked up a piece of opium, and then put his hand down beside him. His dog quickly ate it, and then licked Ling Ko's hand and long fingernails.
On either side of the room, many men and women sat. Some were for Ling Ko's pleasure. Most of the others were there smoking, and getting a high from opium. A man, dressed in fine Chinese robes, stood on the left side of Ling Ko. He held a tablet.
The two men untied their prisoner and forced him to the floor. He stood up. Ling Ko's assistant stepped forward.
"Wu," the man said, quietly.
"You and your brothers murdered three of our men, Li Peng," Wu said.
Li Peng looked at Ling Ko. "He would have done the same. Send three more and I'll kill them too. He already controls the opium trade, all across Asia. May no one prosper but Ling Ko! My poppy fields are tiny. They are nothing compared to his. Well, I, Li Peng, am entitled to at least my little piece." Li Peng looked at Ling Ko. "Ling Ko," he said, "if you kill me, I promise, my brothers will come for you."
Ling Ko leaned forward, and his face was finally free of the shadows. His hair was long and stringy. He was the silent sort of person, and when he spoke, his words were meaningful, and powerful.
"And I promise you," Ling Ko said, "I'll bury them beside you." He turned to the two large men who were now standing on each side of his table, as well as the two men standing behind his prisoner. "Kill him."
One of the men who had brought Li Peng in drew a dagger. However, Li Peng wrestled it away from him and took Wu as his hostage, holding the dagger to Wu's neck. This action caused Ling Ko to stand. He stood in front of his table.
"Let me go," Li Peng said. "I only wish to leave. I'll cut his throat." He tightened his grip on the dagger and pressed it harder against Wu's neck. "Your men are not marksmen enough to shoot around him."
Ling Ko put his hands in the air, as if he were surrendering. "You're right," he said. "You're right. Wu, you are a wonderful friend." He turned his back, and whispered to the men beside him. "Shoot through him."
Both men opened fire with their pistols. The bullet ridden bodies of Wu and Li Peng fell lifeless to the floor. Ling Ko turned back around and said something in Chinese. Everyone laughed.
That evening, Ling Ko slept in his own room. He was sleeping peacefully until his mind became filled with images of a certain person. This person was a young man, maybe in his twenties. He was Chinese, and wore expensive robes.
Ling Ko awoke with a start. He got out of bed and looked out his open window. As he turned around, he was attacked by a very large man, and knocked unconscious.
The man dragged Ling Ko outside, gave him a worn robe and threw him up on a horse. He then climbed on himself, and motioned for the rest of his traveling group to join him.
They traveled all night. Ling Ko regained consciousness during the night, but did not try to flee. It would be useless, anyway. Instead, he sat upright on the horse.
It was well into the next morning when the group arrived at their destination.
"Where are you taking me?" Ling Ko asked.
"A Tulku wishes to see you," the kidnapper replied, "at his temple."
"A holy man wants to see me?" Ling Ko looked in front of him. All he saw was a shack. Behind the shack, there was a dense fog. "You call that a temple?"
The kidnapper shook his head. "No!" he said, and pointed above the shack. "There."
Suddenly, the fog dissipated and Ling Ko was able to a grand temple built into a mountain. In any of his lives, he had never seen anything as grand as this.
"Where did that come from?" he asked, stepping forward.
"The clouded mind sees nothing," the kidnapper said, as he ripped the robe off of Ling Ko, and motioned for two of his assistants to drag him in. All Ling Ko was wearing was a pair of black silk pants.
Ling Ko was dragged into the temple, very much in the same fashion as Li Peng had been dragged into Ling Ko's lair. He was tossed into a room, similar to his own. However, it was well lit and brightly colored; a bold contrast to his own home. Men beating drums lined each side of the room. They beat the drums with a steady beat. Ling Ko walked forward.
When he reached the front of the room, the drummers stopped, and two men rang bells. Everyone in the room retreated and somehow left.
Ling Ko could sense someone else in the room with him. "Who are you?" he asked.
"Your teacher," a deep voice replied.
Ling Ko turned around, and then bent down to scratch his leg. "Do you have any idea who you just kidnaped?"
"Cranston."
Ling Ko was shocked. He stood and saw a person standing before him. It was the person from his dream.
"Lamont Cranston," the man said.
"You know my real name," Cranston replied.
The Tulku nodded. "Yes. I also know that for as long as you can remember, you've struggled with your own black heart and always lost. Your very face has changed as the beast claws it way out from within you. You're in great pain, aren't you?"
Cranston lunged at the Tulku, but the holy man was able to use some sort of trick to move out of the way. Cranston was lying on the floor, propped up on a stand behind him.
"You know what evil lurks in the hearts of men," the Tulku said, "for you have seen it in your own heart. Every man must pay the price for redemption. This is yours."
"I'm not looking for redemption," Cranston replied.
"You have no choice. You will be redeemed, because I will teach you to use your black shadow to fight evil."
Cranston grabbed the knife that was on the stand above him. It was a very interesting weapon. The handle was a serpent's head. The blade looked as if someone had put two blades together.
"I wouldn't do that," the Tulku said.
Suddenly, the knife began to swirl around in Cranston's hand, as if it had a mind of its own. Cranston let go, and the knife flew up in the air, and then came back down. Cranston ran after it. However, he slipped. The knife saw this and came rushing back down. Using quick reflexes, Cranston swung his legs out, so the knife would miss. He lunged for it once more, but it flew up again. Cranston stood up.
The knife flew back down and lodged itself in Cranston's right thigh. Cranston screamed in pain. He reached down and pulled the knife out, using both hands. He held on very tightly. However, the serpent's head bent down and using its razor sharp teeth, bit into Cranston's hand, long and hard.
Cranston screamed once more and fell back against a column. The knife flew around and shot through the column, doubled back, and came back towards Cranston. He stopped only an inch short of his throat. Then, the head roared at him. Cranston grabbed the column.
"Pobah!" the Tulku exclaimed. The knife bent its head, looked at its master and then turned back to Cranston. It roared once more and then flew back to its master. The Tulku grabbed it.
"Am I in hell?" Cranston asked.
The Tulku was silent for a moment. Then, keeping the same level of coolness he had had during this whole encounter, he replied, "Not yet."
The price of redemption for Cranston was to take up man's struggle against evil. The Tulku taught him to cloud men's minds, to fog their vision through force of concentration.
Thus armed, Cranston returned to his homeland, that most wretched lair of villainy we know as --
New York City, seven years later.
A new decade had dawned. The Great Depression of the 1930's was over, and America couldn't be better. Sure, there was a war over in Europe. But as long as it didn't involve the United States, no one really cared. The 1940s would be wild and full of excitement and fun.
New York had become the center of the glitz and glamour - at least on the East Coast. Out west, Hollywood was king. All of the big bands either lived or came through New York at some point. The parties were excellent, and the energy level after dark was sky high.
The city was very different than when Lamont Cranston had last been here. After spending nine years in the Orient, mostly cut off from the rest of the world, Cranston was disoriented to an extent. However, he hadn't gotten the chance to really brush up on the past decade since he had returned.
Because of his social status, his return was big news. He spent at least one solid week at many parties, just to humor those who had invited him. At least he was able to engage in many conversations, and learn of the major events of the past few years.
It seemed as if a whole new breed of people had arrived: the "superheroes." None of them seemed to have any connection, but they were coming out of the woodwork. These people had names like Sentinel and Flash and wore colorful costumes.
When Lamont heard these stories, he had a strange feeling. Other people with the same mission as his own? He wondered why they chose to do what they did, and how they got their powers. But he was never able to follow up on that, because he was busy for quite a while.
Because he was rich, the girls flocked to him. Cranston was able to keep them charmed with his small talk. Most of the tricks he had learned prior to his trip still seemed to work. Lamont figured that being rich, handsome, and single would always be the same.
Lamont Cranston had gotten off of the boat in early March. By the end of that month, he still had not had any real free time to himself.
One night, he was at yet another party. However, after being at so many, there was nothing more he could find out just by using small talk, nor by even the more involved conversations he had with the police commissioner or the mayor. It was early, but he was tired, and decided to leave.
He walked out, and instead of going to his limousine, he called a taxi. The taxi pulled up, and Cranston climbed in the back.
"Where ta, mister?" the cabbie asked.
Lamont gave his address.
"Say, youse look familiar," the cabbie said. "Ain't you that rich guy that just came back from overseas?"
Cranston nodded. "I guess my return was big news."
The cabbie shrugged. "Ehh. Yer picture was in th' paper. Had a front page article. That was 'bout it."
"Wish that was all it was for me," Cranston said.
"Whatcha mean?"
"I really haven't been able to have much time to myself. I've been so busy at these parties that everyone has invited me to. It's almost too much."
"I dunno if I could do it," the cabbie replied. "Me, I'm happy here in my cab."
"Cabbie?" Lamont asked. "What's your name?"
"Moe. Moe Shrevnitz."
"Nice to meet you, Moe."
"Yeah, same here. I don't know what it is about you, Mr. Cranston, but youse seem different than most of my other riders." The cab pulled up to Cranston's penthouse. "Here youse go, Mr. Cranston." Moe looked at the meter. "That will be three dollars."
Lamont climbed out of the cab and checked his pockets. "It's the strangest thing, Moe," Lamont said. "I can't seem to find my wallet. Oh! Wait." He pulled out a ring. Suddenly, the cab seemed darker and Cranston's voice seemed to drop an octave. "Will this do?"
Moe's eyes lit up. The ring was bright gold, with a fiery red stone. "Sure."
"Now, Moe, if the stone in this ring ever turns bright, it means that I need you. You are to come to this address immediately."
"Yes, Mr. Cranston," Moe replied, half in a daze.
Lamont handed Moe the ring. Using his normal voice he said, "Good night, Moe."
"Good night, Mr. Cranston!" Moe called out as he drove away.
Cranston walked up to his penthouse.
Across town, a delivery van pulled up to the back of a museum. Two men got out of the van. One opened the back of the van, the other knocked on the museum door.
The museum curator opened the door. The deliveryman handed him a clipboard to sign. Meanwhile, the other deliveryman pulled out the ramp.
The curator called out two of his own people to help. The second deliveryman climbed up into the van to help his partner. Together, they rolled the large wooden crate down the ramp on a special dolly. At the bottom, the other two men helped to steady the load as it was wheeled in. The crate was at least seven feet long, and had quite a bit of weight to it. The curator held the door open as the four men wheeled the crate in and set it down on the floor. The deliverymen left, and the curator examined the crate. It contained many interesting markings. He nearly cried for joy. This was something he had wanted to see for so long. He couldn't wait to get it opened.
But that would have to wait. There were many other exhibits that needed his attention, and they had to come first. It would be at least a week before he could get back to this.
He walked out, followed by the other two men. The lights were soon turned off in the room. Then, ever so quietly, the crate twitched. No one was around to see it; no one was around to say that it was impossible.
But it happened.
Continued next issue! Lamont Cranston finally gets back into the swing of things, and readjusts to life in the Western hemisphere. Plus, he meets a woman who will change his life! All this and more as Dark Beginnings continues!