Sampton, Georgia

KRACK! KRACK! K-KRACK!

The boy's shoes made the wet twigs beneath his feet crack with an almost sickening sound. This sound was aided by the deafening gush of rain falling above, and the impossibly loud thunderclaps that filled the night air, and the heavy, tortured breathing of a young boy who feared for his life. One might think it strange, that amidst the cacophony of sound in the dark, secluded forest, the cause of the boy's terror was as silent as twilight itself.

He ran blindly, his long white robe and hood tripping up his feet, and covering his eyes. His head was already bruised from collisions with hidden tree branches. Wet, trembling hands pulled the white mask away from his face, and the boy cursed the white costume, and his two friends, who told him it would be fun, and the stupid, stupid black kid, who started bringing his filth to little Sampton, Georgia, and making life miserable. The frightening creature behind him would have been the victim of those same curses, but courage could not be found to spit out the words.

A large, thick root, one which had broken the surface of the ground, was the end of it all. He tripped, and his body seemed to take an eternity to fall.

K-KRACK!

His eyes didn't even bother to look at the broken ankle, which rooted him to the spot in which he sat. Instead, his eyes looked desperately through the black shadows surrounding him, hoping in vain that his pursuer was not there.

In vain.

B-BOOM!

A flash of lightning, revealed the passionless face, no longer hidden in the dark. Only the lower half of the man-ghost's face was visible, as the rest was masked in shadow, cast by the figure's hood. A long, green cloak flowed around its body, and only one long, white arm stood stretched out from the depths of the cloak.

And what that arm was attached to made the figure's petrified victim recoil in horror.

Where a hand should have been, the wrist stretched out into two strands of white rope. And those strands where wrapped around the necks of the boy's two best friends, as their lifeless bodies were dragged along the ground.

"P-P-Please...Please!" the boy's pleading fought for dominance against the incredible silence which seemed to have followed the silent terror before him. The cloaked man took two steps toward his victim.

"Judgment has been passed. Punishment must be delivered."

The man lowered himself over the boy, and let his cloak envelope him. And the half-face of the man, which had been frozen in an unmoving frown as he chased his prey, showed the slightest of smirks, as the screams of a young boy dying filled the night.

Someplace bright

"Something must be done," says the one to the other.

"Indeed. It must," replies the other to the one.

"The Spirit of Vengeance is no longer truly needed. It has been decreed that it is now time for humanity to evolve past the initial black and white of life for the good, and death for the wicked. Man's minds are soon to be gifted with an increase in enlightenment once again, and a new set of rules will emerge."

"The Spirit of Vengeance, this Spectre, is now the embodiment of the old way. His most capitol of punishment, which he had carried out in God's name, is no longer God's will. His purpose is outdated. In the past, the Spectre could have just been reclaimed, his mission ended, but...."

"But the Spectre has changed. Once, an indomitable spirit, with no true conscious thought, the Spectre would carry out punishment with no motive other than to see his task done. But now... Now, he consciously wishes to exact vengeance. The spirit has developed a bloodlust, and enjoys taking the lives of those who do evil."

"What can we do?" questions the one of the other.

"What indeed," replies the other to the one.

Downtown- Atlanta, Georgia

SLAP!

"Aw! Dammit' Mike!"

"You gonna' do it?"

"Mike....C'mon, I-"

SLAP!

"I said, are you gonna' do it?!"

"M-Mike, please! My brother's gonna' hear!"

"What the hell do I care? You wanna' keep your little brat breathin', you'll do what I say. I need that punk T'Sani dead. You put a bullet in his brain, and I'll pay you your money. Sweet and simple, right?"

"Right?"

SLAP!

"Right! Right, Mike!"

"Good. See you later, Shawn. Oh, and give Corey a hug for me."

Mike Minzitti was a crime boss of downtown Atlanta, perpetrator of evil, and puller of strings. He walked out the door of the shoddy old apartment, with no weight on his conscience, and only a tired hand to remind him that he had even visited Shawn Jobe that night.

And Shawn Jobe, sat on his couch, and wept. They were tears of despair. Despair at having to choose between the life of his brother, and the life of an innocent stranger. He sat, and wept, oblivious to the listening ears of his brother in the next room over.

Uptown- Atlanta, Georgia

"Squad Two...this is Sung...do you copy?" Police officer Amy Sung, whispered into her radio. She was in an almost pitch-black warehouse, standing next to a solitary green door. Her gun was raised, and she was the only cop for five miles.

"We copy. Where are you Sung?"

"I'm at forty-fourth and main, in the Reed warehouse...I've got a perp holed up in the room next to me. He grabbed a five-year-old girl away from her mother and ran here. He's armed."

"...Okay, stay put, we're sending back-up."

Amy knew that the man on the other side of that door wouldn't wait.

"You can send back-up, but I'm going in."

"Sung? Wait, Sung!"

Officer sung turned towards the door, and grabbed the railing behind her for support. But as she raised her leg, preparing to kick down the door, she recoiled at the sound of a blood-curdling scream. Thinking it was the child, she let her anger loose, and kicked through the door.

"Nobody move!" She barked, as she flew threw the doorway with her gun drawn. But if she was noticed at all, it didn't show. Officer Amy Sung felt whatever words she might have said leave her mind as she took in the scene around her. The man who grabbed the five year old... was no longer a threat. He had been split completely down the middle, and now one half of his body lay on the right side of the room, it's arm and leg bent in strange positions. The other half was hanging from a broken light fixture above the floor.

And the little girl...The little five-year-old girl who had been taken from her mother, sat in a corner, her legs crossed, sobbing her tender eyes out.

Amy Sung's heart broke as she walked over to the poor child. "Come on baby, let's take back to Mommy," she cooed as she lifted the child into her arms. But the child didn't hear at all, and just cried.

Somewhere bright

"So, somehow, the Spirit of Vengeance has been tainted, and cannot be reclaimed into heaven. How in the universe could this have happened? The Spirit has been served in its mission faithfully for centuries. What could have possibly gone wrong?" asked the one, more to himself than to the other.

"...Ah-ha. That is the question! What has kept the Spirit, who, throughout its existence has basked in the dark glow of evil, from crossing the line itself?"

"Hmmm....What has happened to Jim Corrigan?"

Ditko's Soup Kitchen

The food here stinks. It doesn't look too nice, seeing as how some days people aren't even sure what kind of animal they're eating, but most people don't even notice the look. No, the look is made unimportant in light of the foul, overpowering stench carried by the assorted meats and vegetables being cooked in this downtown soup kitchen. Yes, the food here stinks.

And Corey Jobe knows it stinks. But that doesn't stop Corey from considering that putrid stink, the best smell to ever reach his nose. He's no idiot. He knows that this just might be the last meal he eats in a long time, and the only food he'll smell for a long time. So to Corey, the food stinks beautifully.

And he's not the only one who thinks that either. He knows that every other person in line next to him might be starving tomorrow. He tries not to think about it, as he gets shoved around line, as the beans and turkey are dropped onto his plate by a pretty, eighteen-looking girl in a hairnet. He smiles at the girl, but waits a second too long, and gets shoved forward in line.

Finally, the food is on the tray, and Corey can find a seat somewhere in the back of the room. Corey Jobe is fourteen years old, but small for his age. His dark black skin makes his bright blue eyes stand out. Those two traits got him picked on a lot. His slight frame, with skinny girlish wrists and legs, along with his big baby eyes, earned him a lot of beatings from the other boys at school. 'Til he dropped out of course. Dropped out, and left with his brother, Shawn.

They both had to leave when Corey was about four or five. He barely remembered his parents, just a couple blurry images, along with one very clear image, of when his father took a bullet for Shawn. That was when they had to leave down.

Shawn filled him in on the rest. Their mother was no good, and had run out on the family about a year before their father died. Their father was a decent man, a lawyer, who was the prosecutor in a case against a big-time crime boss. The boss's family kept pressuring their dad, but he would never budge. The one day, when they made a house call, Shawn mouthed off to them, and one of the gangsters pulled a gun. So did Shawn. Two bullets were fired. One hit a gangster, the other would have hit Shawn, but their father jumped in the way. He was dead in less than a minute. Shawn never forgave himself for being so stupid.

Ever since then Shawn and Corey had been on the road, running from town to town, laying low to escape the wrath of the crime family with a grudge against the Jobe name. Shawn had been changed by his father's death. No longer flippant or careless, he refused to ever let anyone suffer for his mistakes again. So he took Corey, and protected him through whatever means possible. Unfortunately, this usually meant taking money wherever it could be found, and this meant doing dirty jobs, like stealing, or pushing drugs, for employers. Shawn had always been a good person, he just wanted to protect his brother. And Shawn was always there for Corey.

Always there....

Corey looked down at his food, but couldn't find the strength to eat it. He stood up, grabbed his tray, and set the untouched food down in front of a dirty family of six. Hunger screamed at him, but he ignored it.

All the sacrifices his brother made for him...It's time for those debts to be paid. Corey knew what Shawn was about to do, and no matter what, he wasn't going to let him do it alone.

A small house, in the suburbs of Atlanta

C-CLICK

I was almost hoping the lock would stop me. Then I'd be able to turn tale, walk back up to Mike and say, "Sorry, dude. I ain't no locksmith." But it ain't gonna work like that. This guy, who's house I'm breakin' into. This guy, who I'm s'posed ta' kill, has to be a fool. He don't leave his door locked.

Damn moron like that, almost deserves to get his ass killed. From what I heard 'bout him, this T'Sani boy, was watching when Mike killed somebody. Now he's a material witness in a murder case against a ruthless asshole like Mike, and he doesn't even lock his door.

I'm trying not to think of how sad it is. The guy's got a nice house down here in the suburbs, with the picket fence, and front lawn and everything, but it's not that nice. He's only a couple hundred bucks from bein' me and Corey.

Corey.

I just gotta' put Corey in my head. Remember how I gotta' keep him safe. Just thinka' Corey, and don't look at the cross hanging on the guy's door, or that "Bless this home" thing on his wall. But I can't stop myself from looking at the family pictures. One old, happy black man, and a buncha' kids. Dammit he's a grandpa. I hate myself for this.

I'm lookin' down the barrel of the gun, and Corey's the only reason I don't do myself right then. I was stupid and I got Pop killed. I'm not gonna' let Corey die.

Five blocks away

He knew perfectly well, that the money he spent on the bus ride down to these small suburbs was the last money he'd have for a long time. But Corey Jobe couldn't have cared less. Corey had to be with his brother, and he ran his legs off, determined to be with his brother. He had to save Shawn.

But a nagging thought wouldn't leave his mind. Shawn needed saving? But he was the killer.

Someplace bright

"Of course! Jim Corrigan is gone, so the Spectre is not anchored to a human soul! But what in heaven's name could have happened to Corrigan? I can't find him anywhere. This is very bad."

"Very bad, indeed."

"The Spectre is a great and terrible force. If there was evil to be punished, nothing could stop him on his quest. But his mission, his deed to take the lives of others, was kept in check by a human soul, which would be a reminder of the value of life. Why without that anchor...the Spectre could become an enemy of heaven itself. What will we do without Jim Corrigan?"

A dark back alley

"ARGGGGGH!"

The Spectre listened to the man's screams as long as it brought him joy. And once the high that was brought from the dying breath of another faded, the drug dealer's head was removed.

"Judgment has been passed, and justice has been delivered."

But the Spectre's smile once again faded to a frown, as he once again was forced to ponder a thought that had wormed it's way inside his head. The Spectre had been exacting vengeance on others for it's entire existence, and it was nothing more than a task to carry out. Why now, the Spirit of Vengeance asked itself, was it able to enjoy taking the life from sinners?

The question was erased though, as the ghastly, white head of the angel of death, snapped to the side. A murder was about to be committed, and innocent blood would soon fall.

Justice must be delivered.

And the Spectre smiled as he prepared to go to work.

Andrew T'Sani's house

A plastic bag was all I needed. Mike said no one should now T'Sani was even dead. It was going to look like T'Sani got scared and skipped down. His body would be dumped someplace secretly.

Not that Shawn actually cared. He knew this man had never done anything wrong. He just hoped that no one depended on Andrew T'Sani like Corey depended on him.

So as the two men fought in the closet, Shawn shut his eyes, both to hold back the tears, and also to imagine he was murdering Michael Minzitti. That Mike was the one with the plastic bag tied around his throat, and that Mike was the one clawing at the door, and screaming for mercy.

And when the screaming stopped, and T'Sani's jerking body ceased to move, Shawn kept his eyes closed, imagining going home to his brother, who was happy, and his dad, who was alive.

But when Shawn opened his eyes, Andrew T'Sani, an innocent man, was dead, not Mike. He let go of his fantasy world, and fully realized that he had killed another man. And that the soul of this innocent man, who had never done anything wrong in his life, cried out for vengeance.

The very same place

The Spectre's chill, pale fingers closed around the doorknob and turned. His feet left no imprint in the carpet, as he walked through the house. The Spectre's eyes roamed over the cross on the door, and the sign which said "Bless this home" on the wall, and the various family pictures. But his face remained impassive, even as he heard the sounds of weeping coming from Andrew T'Sani's bedroom.

"Shawn Jobe. You have killed, and your punishment is at hand.

Outside Andrew T'Sani's house

Corey feels like keeling over and dying, right on the front lawn of this man's house. He remembered all the verbal taunts he had received in gym class as a child, and why when he had to drop school, he was most happy about leaving gym behind. Maybe he would have been better off had he stayed in gym class, he thought to himself.

The idea of lying down and sleeping was actually starting to look like a possibility to Corey. Shawn had probably already done what he came for, killed the man Mike wanted dead. So what harm would lying down and sleeping do? He was so tired.

But then Corey's eyes fell on the weird man, in the long green thing, walking into this house.

"What the hell is this guy doing here?" he asked to no one in particular, but he knew it didn't matter. His brother had to be warned. Corey couldn't stop now. Corey ran up the front lawn, and into the house.

"SHAWN! SHAWN! LOOK OUT!"

But it was too late.

Someplace bright

"Jim Corrigan is gone. The Spirit of Vengeance is no longer anchored with a human soul. In time he will grow in his bloodlust, cross the line into darkness, and become a terrible enemy of all that is good. Unless he is anchored to a new soul. Sir, have you found a suitable replacement?" asked the one of the other.

And the other turned to the one, and pointed to the domain of Andrew T'Sani, the Spectre's current whereabouts. "Indeed I have," answered the other to the one.

Andrew T'Sani's house

The Spectre smiled as his fingers closed around the neck of Shawn Jobe.

"So strangulation was the method through which Mr. T'Sani left this world, so shall it be for you."

Shawn Jobe, for his part, had left his earlier despair, for terror and confusion. Who was this awful creature that wanted to kill him? At first, he let the hands begin to choke him. It was true. He had killed an innocent man. He deserved to die. And he looked forward to meeting his father in heaven, if that's where Shawn was to go. But what about...

"SHAWN! SHAWN! LOOK OUT!"

Corey!

Shawn summed up all his strength. He lashed out, trying to knock the creature's hands from his neck. He gasped for every breath he could take. What was Corey doing here? How could he have brought his brother into something this terrible? He had cursed his brother, just like his father. He couldn't let Corey die for his sins. He had to fight.

"C-Cor-Corey...."

"SHAWN! GET OFF SHAWN YOU FREAK!"

The Spectre just sat on Shawn, and increased his pressure. Shawn Jobe was a murdered, and had to die for his acts.

The energy left Shawn's body and instant before he realized it. He continued to try and breath, to try and lift his limbs to attack the thing that sought to take his life, but he couldn't. And as the energy left his body, taking the life with it, he prayed to God for the first time in his life, that maybe his sins would be forgiven, but most of all, that Corey would be kept safe.

And the Spectre heard these prayers.

Heard them...And actually...audibly...laughed at them. The Spectre laughed for the first time in the existence of Earth.

Fool, the Spectre thought. This boy was a sinner. What would heaven want with him?

Someplace bright

"This is your replacement then?....He's perfect."

Andrew T'Sani's house

Corey stood back, tears in his eyes, horrified at what had just been done. As his father had died for his brother, his brother died for him. None of it was Shawn's fault. He just wanted to protect his brother.

And then sadness grew into rage. Rage, at the laughing creature, who had taken vengeance on one who didn't deserve it. Corey knew this thing could kill him, but he didn't care.

His hands balled up tight into fists, and he flew at the green-clad figure before him.

"MURDERER!" He screamed.

And as Corey Jobe's hands found the Spectre's back, and the two connected, a bright light entered the room. Or more accurately, the two left the room for the bright light. They stood in this place, this impossibly bright somewhere, with no sense of time or feeling.

Dazed and disoriented, the Corey Jobe and the Spectre both looked down at their hands. But they were the same pair of hands.

Corey Jobe and the Spectre were now one and the same.

Spirited Writings

Hello, ladies and gentlemen and welcome to my first ever piece of published fan fiction! As you can see, I'm looking to take one of my all time favorite characters, the Spectre, and take him in a new direction. My plan's aren't extremely detailed write now, so I won't tell you where I'm going with the Spirit of Vengeance and his new anchor-soul, Corey Jobe, but I'm sure it'll be fun. Please, write in, tell me what you like, what you don't like, etc. Send feedback to Jonah_Rite@hotmail.com

See you in Issue #2- "Why Me?"

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