Issue # 1, Jan. yr.2

Origins, Part 1: With One Magic Word…

By Cynthia Finnegan,
with a huge “thank you” to Bill Parker. 
Shazam and related characters © 2001 DC Comics, Inc.
Used without permission and not for profit. 
Captain Marvel created by Wm. Parker & C.C. Beck.

Malcolm Expedition, Abu Simbal, Egypt, August, 1997.

At the temple of Rameses the Great, the members of the Malcolm Expedition entered the mostaba to see if any archeological treasures could be found. They needed to do this quickly, before the temple was to be temporarily moved again, so that much-needed repairs to the Aswan High Dam could start. Their liaison with the Antiquities Service, Said Kadesh, waited back at the base camp for Doctor Batson, his wife and their assistant to return from exploring a possible hidden passageway that Adam discovered earlier that morning.

Clarence Charles Batson, called “C.C.” for short, was the curator of the Egyptian Studies wing at the Fawcett City Museum, one of the largest permanent exhibits in the United States.  A man of indeterminate years, C.C. was over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and athletic-looking, with a ruggedly handsome face.  His only concessions to age were some silver strands in his blue-black hair and a few permanent laugh lines around his turquoise-blue eyes.

Marilyn Batson was C.C.’s partner in more than just the marital sense; they had been on many digs before this and Doctor Batson considered her his equal in every way.  An attractive, almost doll pretty woman in her early forties, ‘Lyn’ looked and moved like a dancer.  Her honey brown hair fell around her jaw line in soft curls, and her frank green eyes regarded everything with intelligence and curiosity.  Like her husband, Marilyn wore a khaki shirt, jodhpurs, boots and, because of all the construction equipment, a hardhat.  She also had an older model .35 millimeter camera hanging on a strap around her slender neck.

Theodore Adam, their assistant, was a man of frightening intelligence but a shady past.  He was tall, swarthy, well-muscled and had the kind of harsh, hawkish face that even a smile could not soften.  If anything, a grin made Adam look even more predatory.  Back home, many had whispered that he was a small-time thug who was not averse to hurting people to get what he wanted.  The gray chinos, safari shirt and fedora hat he wore seemed to almost match his demeanor.

“I don’t like it,” Marilyn said cautiously as the three entered the temple. “We should bring Said in on this.  The Antiquities Service is not going to appreciate us poking around the place without their man present.”

“Lyn’s right, Adam,” C.C. added sternly, agreeing with his wife.

“Look,” Adam replied, obviously annoyed with his ‘employers’, “do you want to see what I found, or not?  Besides, your ‘partners’ will expect something for all the money they’ve put into this dig.”

“Ebenezer did help to make this trip possible, Lyn,” C.C. stated, recalling that the members of the Malcolm Foundation were also major contributors to the Fawcett City Museum.

“I know, but Said and the Antiquities Service is not going to let anything we find out of Egypt, C.C., and you know it, too,” Lyn responded, rankled by the man their partners, among them the Doctor’s half-brother Ebenezer, insisted the couple take with them as an assistant. And the way the man constantly watched her for hours on end made her nervous, as well. She tried to push her fears about Adam to the back of her mind as she adjusted the hardhat she wore over her wavy honey-brown hair.

“Honey, if we do find something, we’ll let Said know about it,” C.C. reassured his wife.

“You’d better hope so, buster,” she answered as a concerned look crossed her face.

“You’re worrying about Billy again, aren’t you?”

“Yes.  If he weren’t sick…if it weren’t for the damn chicken pox…”

“He’d be here, playing with Mary in the ruins.  I know, darling.  I’m worried about him, too.”

Adam handed the kerosene lantern he had been holding to Doctor Batson and knelt in front of a slab of sandstone not far from the temple’s entrance.  He then pulled a silver cigarette lighter from the pocket of his gray chinos and lit it.

“We’ll deal with the board, Doctor, if and when we find something.  Now, raise that lamp higher and take a look at this.”

C.C. lifted the lantern and knelt beside Adam as he held the lit lighter next to the slab. A moment later, a gust of air blew the tiny flame out.

“Rather drafty,” C.C. noted dryly.

“Exactly,” Adam retorted smugly. “I’ll bet a fiver that my passage is right under this slab!”

The two men braced themselves against the block of stone and started to push it as hard as they could. They shoved the slab with all their might, and it soon began to budge.

“Put your back into it, Batson!” Adam shouted, driving him to greater effort.

“It’s… moving,” C.C. said with a loud groan.

Inch by inch, the slab moved away to reveal a hidden stairwell carved into the sandstone.  Another good push cleared the block away, giving the party enough room to make their descent.  Doctor and Mrs. Batson entered, followed by Adam, carrying the pick-axe.

“Keep a sharp eye out,” Marilyn said cautiously, her camera at the ready.  “The architects of these tombs were awfully fond of booby traps!”

“I found this passageway, damn you both,” Adam growled, shouldering Marilyn aside, causing her to stumble. “And I should be the first one in!”

“OH!” she cried out as she fell backwards.

“Hang on, baby!  I’ve got you!” C.C. exclaimed, preventing his wife’s near-fatal descent.

“If this leads to another King Tut’s tomb, certain people at the foundation will be very happy,” Adam remarked as he reached the bottom of the steps.

After Doctor Batson set his wife back on her feet, he dropped the lantern and jumped Adam.  Knocking Theo to the ground, C.C. gave him a right cross on the jaw, roaring, “Listen, you dirty son of a… don’t you ever touch my wife again!”

“You’ll regret you ever did that, Batson,” Adam groaned in reply, lifting himself and the pick-axe up off the ground.

“I’m sorry about that, Adam, but you had absolutely no call to…!”

“C.C., Adam --- Look!”  Marilyn called out, retrieving the kerosene lamp from where it fell. “It looks like somebody’s already found this passageway!”

The three peered down the hallway, and what they saw alarmed them.  At the end was another decorated sandstone wall with a gaping hole in it, surrounded by debris. Through the hole was an unusual wall painting with a female and male figure on either side of… a thunderbolt?

“Damn, they’ve probably raided it, too!” Adam shouted, groping for his hat.

“I don’t think so,” C.C. remarked.  “The wall up ahead looks like it hasn’t been touched.  And Lyn, I hope your camera wasn’t wrecked, because I’d like you to get some photos of that frieze.”

Doctor Batson took the lamp from his wife and went through the cavity first.  He looked to his left and was met by a ghastly sight.  On the floor next to the opening were the skeletal remains of two men, apparently looters, whose skulls appeared to have been crushed.  Bits of hair and cloth clung to the bodies and there was dried blood on the partition.  While his wife and their assistant came up from behind, he knelt down to examine the remains.

“Well, these two didn’t make it,” the Doctor continued, setting the lantern down.  “It looks like someone, or something, bashed their heads in against the wall!”

“Honey, can you recognize any of these illustrations?” Marilyn asked as she snapped a picture of the mural.

“I think Isis is on the left,” C.C. answered, flipping through a booklet, “and that’s Atum, the universal god, on the right.”

“Probably a relative of mine,” Adam rejoined, chuckling at his own joke.

“That’s A-T-U-M, Adam.  I’m not acquainted with the central image, but it looks like a lightning bolt!”

“Then let’s work out a way to get into the tomb,” Adam said, giving the professor an angry, sidelong glare.  “If this is a major find, the Foundation will want it for the Fawcett Museum.”

“If it is a significant discovery, I doubt the Egyptian government will let it out of their sight!  What do these hieroglyphs mean?”

C.C. peered closely at the pictograms, among them a pair of hands with a scarab, trying to decipher them.

“What are they?” Marilyn inquired, taking another photograph.

“I honestly don’t know,” he replied, checking his translation guide.  “I’ve never seen some of these characters before!”

“Those hands, clutching the scarab,” Adam mumbled, staring at the wall painting.  “The symbols aren’t supposed to translated…”

“What are you blathering about?” she wondered as she prepared to take a third snapshot.

“You two know-it-alls are attempting to translate them, but I think those handprints trigger a doorway into the tomb.”  Adam came close to the wall with his hands in front of him.

“Wait a minute, Adam!” C.C. barked at his assistant, who was about to touch the handprints. “Those men with the crushed skulls probably tried…”

“Stand back.  I’m right about this…!”

As he touched the handprints, a surge of electricity struck Adam, knocking both him and Doctor Batson back towards the wall.  Although he was insensible, Adam’s hands were only mildly singed.  The Doctor had the wind knocked out of him, but both men were still basically sound.  Marilyn ran to her husband’s side as they hit the floor.

“What on Earth just happened?” she cried.

“I’m not sure,” C.C. replied, shaking his head dazedly.  “How’s Adam?”

“He’s coming to.  Are you all right, honey?”

“I’m fine, love,” he said reassuringly, smoothing her light brown hair. “Do you smell that?”

“I sure do.  Is that ozone?”

“It certainly is.  It’s as though the ancient Egyptian had been taught to control electricity!”

C.C. levered himself off the ground and stood on the spot where Adam had been.  Facing the wall, he placed his own hands on the handprints there, seemingly in a trance.  He didn’t know why, but he felt compelled to do this.

“Clarence Charles Batson, have you gone crazy?  What are you doing?”

“I’ve been reading these wrong; the hieroglyphs are phonetic.  They read… Shazam.”

“WATCH OUT!”

As the passage opened, another bolt of lightning struck directly in front of the Batsons, illuminating the hallway with a brilliant, bluish-white glare.  Simultaneously, the massive slab that was inscribed with the thunderbolt dropped down a hidden track into the floor.

The couple peered in through dust and rot, and what they saw took their breath away.  There were many statues of gold, including one in the form of a scorpion with polished quartz lenses.  But the centerpiece of the chamber was a great, golden sarcophagus, clutching a gold scarab collar inlayed with sapphires and rubies.

“Will you wait a minute?” she called out, then held her hand over her nose as they entered the crypt.  “Ugh, god!  What a stink!”

“More evidence that this tomb has never been opened,” C.C. paused for a moment.  “Lyn, this “Shazam” hasn’t appeared in any of the texts I’ve researched!”

“Then that’s another reason for Said to be here.  The Antiquities Service will be awfully angry with us if we disturb this tomb further.”

Adam, having revived completely, slid in the chamber behind the couple.

“Hon, why don’t you get a shot of the necklace,” C.C. said, staring at the neckpiece and the statue as if entranced.  “The---the gems are so beautiful---completely flawless…and this…”

“These little ornaments are the main attractions of this expedition,” Adam exclaimed, pulling a switchblade out of his chinos.  “Move over, you two.  I’m going to make sure that these don’t get mislaid by the authorities!”

“C.C.!”  Marilyn yelled.  “Do something!”

As Adam began removing the collar from the sarcophagus, Doctor Batson’s attentions were not on his wife and their assistant; they were on the astral image of an ancient man that he dimly remembered from childhood. 

:Why are you here, Clarence Charles Batson?: came the voice in the Doctor’s mind  :I warned you of what would happen to the children; why have you not listened?:

“Stop, Adam!  Those are precious…!” Marilyn cried.

“They’re what dreams are made of, sweetheart,” Adam grinned ferally, holding his prizes up in front of him.

“C.C., whatever spell you’re under, snap out of it!  I need your help!”

“I think he’s finally catching on to the way things work, my dear!  Prime specimens like these can wind up misplaced by the bureaucracy!  You think your brother-in-law hadn’t counted on this?  That he and the Foundation were too honest to commit bribery?  How naive are you?  The government will never see these!”

“No!  I won’t let you…!”

Marilyn had grabbed both the neckpiece and the statue’s tail in an attempt to snatch them away from Adam’s grasp.  Something seemed to possess him; an avarice that bordered on madness.  As he tried to push her away, the lens in the tail of the Scorpion freed itself and fell to the ground, and one of the scarabs on the collar broke loose in her hand.

“You stupid little… YOU’VE RUINED THEM!!” Adam screamed, slapping her to the ground.  “You’ll pick up every single bit, or I’ll…!”

“Good heavens, why are you doing this, Adam?”

That broke C.C. out of his daze.  He charged Adam and pulled him away from her, grabbing the arm that still wielded the knife.  C.C. then threw Adam away from Marilyn, sending him sprawling over the sarcophagus in a heap.

“Lyn!  Run!  Get the police!” he shouted to his wife.

He struck Adam on the jaw, staggering him.  C.C. turned to see his wife was leaving when with a sudden, savage leap, Adam jumped onto Batson’s unguarded back, plunging the blade into his heart.

 “ARRRGGGHH!!”

“CHARLES!!!”  Marilyn ran out of the tomb, knocking her camera off the ornate casket behind her.  As it fell to the ground, the Roy lamp flashed, blinding Adam momentarily even as the film advanced.  She had inadvertently taken a picture of her husband’s murderer.  Running up the stairs, she did not hear the sounds of the passageway as it began to crumble behind her.  She reached the camp without remembering how she got there, hopped in the Land Rover and drove as fast as she could toward Cairo.

“Oh, sh--!” Adam exclaimed as he looked up,  “I’ve got to get out of here!  But I’m not leaving these beauties behind!”

Adam grabbed the necklace and the statue and ran for the stairs, debris falling all around him.  He moved quickly, and escaped before he could be buried alive.

“Said…” Adam said as he stalked out of the temple, his voice sounding strange, “where is the woman?”

“What has happened in there?  Where is Doctor Batson?” Said Kadesh had seen Marilyn run out of the temple in a panic and drew a .45 in response Adam’s appearance.

“He’s in the tomb with his precious relics!”

“Gods!  What is wrong with you?!?”

“I don’t know…maybe its greed!” Adam struck, slicing the older man across his throat.  A minute later, he ran towards the area where the party kept their transportation, leaving Said to die, drowning in his own blood.

She drove off in the Rover!  Adam thought, running up to an old Jeep.  That’s not important; the CJ will make up the time I’ve lost.  And I know exactly where she’d go first --- the hotel!

Minutes later, Marilyn pulled her Range Rover up in front of the hotel where the members of the Malcolm Expedition were staying.  Believing that there was no harm in checking on her child, she raced up to the suite she, C.C., and their nine-year-old daughter Mary shared.

“Mary?  Nema?  Are you here?” she called out as she entered the room.

I forgot what time it was.  Mary’s still at school, Marilyn thought, quickly shutting the door behind her.  God, why am I here? I should be at the police station, getting them to the site before they… he killed him… Adam killed my husband. What am I going to tell Mary?  I’m not even sure Mary’s all right.  As she slipped the keyring back into her pocket, she felt a pair of odd shapes and pulled two objects out.

It’s a piece of that collar and one of the lenses from the scorpion statue!  What made me bring them with --? What’s that?

Just then, she heard a noise; the sound of someone with a heavy foot taking the stairs by threes.  She reached for Mary’s favorite toy; the stuffed Mr. Tawny doll that she usually shared with her twin brother, Billy.  Remembering that it had popped a seam on the plane over, Marilyn took the scarab and the lens, stuffing them into the doll’s back as the footsteps drew nearer.

Here you go, Mr. Tawny.  Keep these safe until I can return them.

“Who’s out there?” she called out as she replaced the doll on the dresser.  “Show yourself!”

“A little old to play with dolls, aren’t you, sugar?” Adam replied as he forced the door open, brandishing the knife he used on her husband.  “You’re a complication I don’t need, and you took some things that I want back, now!”

“Where’s C.C., Adam?  What have you done to him?”

“I buried him under ten tons of sandstone!  Where the hell’s your camera?” The rest of his response was to shove the bureau into the wall, cracking the plaster behind it and knocking the toys onto the floor, sending one of them, an old ‘spinning top’, rolling out the door. 

“My camera?  I – I think left it back at the temple, why---?”

While Adam attacked Marilyn, the Batsons’ nine-year-old daughter Mary and her caretaker, a maid called Nema, heard the tumult and the scream.  As they approached cautiously, one of the little girl’s toys rolled out of their suite and into the hall.

“Nema, look!” Mary exclaimed, frightened.  “That’s my top!”

“Mary, child,” the servant said as she entered the room, trying to ease the girl’s growing alarm. “You stay out here, and I will see what is -- ALLAH!”

As the maidservant opened the door, she saw Adam kneeling over the body of Marilyn Batson with a bloody knife in his hand.

“Get in here, Nema,” Adam growled, still holding the knife.  “And close the door behind you.”  Nema could not do as she was told.  When she entered the suite, Adam turned the blade that he had so recently used against the Batsons on her.

“Sorry, Nema,” he continued.  “It’s nothing personal, but I can’t allow murder witnesses to wander around!”

As the life left the woman’s eyes, Mary peered into the room and screamed “M… mommy?!  Nema?” as she saw the bodies of her mother and caregiver.

Adam opened the door the rest of the way, revealing the terrified child.  Her bright blue eyes, the same turquoise hue as her father’s, were saucer-round from fright and her lower lip shook slightly as she clutched her schoolbooks to her chest.  Mary stood there, trembling, and gave him a forced smile as he glared down at her.

“Oh!” she said, feigning surprise.  “Hello, Mr. Adam.”

The girl!  Adam thought in a panic, tucking the still-bloody knife into his shirt.  Did she see anything?

“Mary,” he finally said, taking the little girl’s hand. “I want you to come with me.  We have to leave, right now.”

“But why can’t I see my mommy and daddy first?  Or Nema?” she demanded.

“Sweetheart, they’ve already left.  They asked me to take care of you ‘til they get back.”

And you’re fibbing.  Mommy and Daddy aren’t ever coming back, Mary thought sadly.  She then asked, “Can I go and get my Tawky Tawny doll first?”

“There won’t be any room for him where we’re going, Mary.”

Fawcett City, Indiana, November, 1998.

Fawcett City is relatively modern as US cities go.  The beautiful tribute to the Art Deco movement had all been built in the years preceding the Second World War by the toil of immigrants and the rural poor looking for an honest day’s work.  The beginning of the war put the city on the map as the maker of electrical switches for the military.

With the exception of the new Sky-Tram, which made the old subway system nearly obsolete, little has changed in the decades since then.

The city itself has a timeless quality to it that draws tourists by the score, and Binder Boulevard accepts the lion’s share of revenue from the Theater District.  This flood of people is the heartbeat of the city and the lifeblood to the many hoteliers, restaurateurs and vendors in the area.  Among them was a young newsboy, hawking his wares in the nearly-freezing rain to the passers-by in front of an abandoned subway station at the corner of Binder and Parker.

“Papers!” the nine-year-old sang out, his cold, numb fingers barely registering that he even held a newspaper.

The rain trickled down the little boy’s almost turned-up nose and ran into his bright blue eyes, plastered his short, wavy blue-black hair to his skull and soaked through the tattered red and yellow sweater and jeans he wore, causing him to shiver. He hadn’t sold more than ten papers all night, and would most likely wind up sleeping in the same station that he peddled his papers in front of.  Billy Batson had only been on the streets of Fawcett for a month and a half, thrown out of his home shortly after his parents’ funeral, and in that short time, he had become streetwise, but not cynical.  You couldn’t be cynical and still have hope.

And young Billy did have hope, because he knew his twin sister was alive somewhere. 

He remembered the wake after his parents’ funeral.  Everyone kept saying to his uncle how terrible it was for him to lose his half-brother and sister-in-law, how awful that his abducted niece hadn’t turned up yet and how tragic that ‘the boy’ was now an orphan. But nobody talked to Billy at all, just whispered behind their hands about his circumstances. They didn’t mention the fact that Ebenezer Batson gave notice to the private investigator that was hired to find Mary, Billy’s twin sister, because he was too greedy and too heartless to keep paying him.  Mostly because they didn’t know.  Or didn’t care.

Just then, a tall, broad-shouldered man garbed all in black from his shoes to his overcoat and fedora hat, startling Billy out of his reverie.

“Paper, sir?” Billy asked, handing the mystery man a copy of the Fawcett Post.

“Why aren’t you at home in bed, son?” the stranger queried, his voice filled with worry.

“I have no home, sir.  I sleep in the old subway station.  It’s warm in there.”  The boy realized what he had just averred to, and with a look of horror on his face, queried, “You’re not a cop, are you?”

“No, Billy, I’m not a police officer,” he answered with the hint of a chuckle in his voice, motioning the youngster towards the station’s entrance.  “I want you to follow me.”

“Wait a doggoned minute!” Billy exclaimed in astonishment, trying to get a closer look at the man in black’s face.  “I – I know you… but that’s…!”

“If you know me, son,” the man retorted kindly, “then you also know that you can trust me.  Follow me, please.”

And Billy did trust the stranger.  For some strange reason, this man reminded him of his late father.  Billy followed this “messenger” into the station and down the steps leading to the platform.  As they waited, Billy asked, “Where are we going?”

“Wait and see,” the Messenger replied.

Moments later, they heard a faint rumble that grew progressively louder.  Suddenly, a subway car, decorated with arcane designs and headlights glowing like a dragon’s eyes, roared into the station and stopped, but there was no driver.

“Have no fear,” the Messenger continued as he ushered Billy into the car.  “Everything has been arranged.”

The moment its passengers were seated, the car careened through the darkened tunnel at fantastic speed, and while they tore down the track, Billy kept trying to see the man in black’s face.  A few minutes later, it stopped at the end of the line.  The boy and his ghostly traveling companion stepped out onto a platform that resembled the mouth of a strange, subterranean cave.

Gathering his courage, Billy followed his guide into an ancient underground hall carved out of the bedrock, grotesquely lit by flaring torches.  The left side of the cavern was lined with the Seven Deadly Enemies of Man; huge, monstrous statues of the sins of Pride, Envy, Greed, Hatred, Selfishness, Laziness and Injustice.

“Welcome, Billy Batson,” a very old man, sitting upon a throne of solid marble at the end of the cavern, spoke as the pair approached.

“H – how did you know my name?” Billy stammered, taken aback.

“I know everything.  I am – Shazam!”

As the old man uttered his name, an enormous black cloud, a blinding flash of lightning and a deafening crack of thunder formed out of nowhere in response.  At the same time, a curious inscription appeared on the wall next to the throne, which explained Shazam’s name.  The text was a list of gods, heroes and their powers.  It read: Solomon – Wisdom; Hercules – Strength; Atlas – Stamina; Zeus – Power; Achilles – Courage, and Mercury – Speed.

Strangely enough, the Messenger had vanished.

“For three thousand years,” Shazam spoke once again, “I have used the wisdom, strength, stamina, power, courage and speed the gods have given me to battle the forces of evil, which every day threaten to extinguish mankind from the face of the earth.”

“Three thousand years?!” the boy said in surprise.

“Yes, lad. And during that time, I have seen everything – known everything – that has happened throughout the world, from the highest to the lowest. The Historama!” Shazam intoned with a single clap of his hands.

Miraculously the Historama, a super television capable of showing events from the past, present and future hummed to life and displayed scenes from Billy’s life before his amazed eyes.  One scene that flashed on the screen made the boy bite his lower lip as tears welled up in his eyes.

It was the day, a month and a half before, that Billy’s uncle threw him out.

“Through the Historama, Billy, I have watched you from the moment you were born.  On this screen, I saw your wicked uncle force you from his house to make your way in the world after your parents were murdered, leaving you in his care.”

The next scene Billy saw was his uncle Ebenezer with an opened lock box full of cash, stocks and bonds in front of him as he tallied everything within it.  The old miser mumbled about how stupid his half-brother was to leave everything to him, rather than in trust for Billy and his twin sister, Mary.

“I know that he got rid of you to gain possession of the money and bonds your parents left to you and your sister.”

“Mom and Dad thought that he’d take care of Mary and me… if she’s still living,” Billy interrupted, feeling nothing but pity for the greedy old man that he watched on the screen.

“There is no hatred or fear in your heart, lad.  That, I think, is good,” the old wizard said.

Directly above old Shazam’s head, a massive block of granite, weighing tons, hung from a slender fraying thread.  If the thread broke, the block would crush the old man to powder, and the thread was almost worn through.

“All my life, I have fought cruelty and injustice,” The ancient continued.  “But I am old now – my time is almost up.  I seek in you a successor.  If you wish, merely by speaking my name, you can become the strongest and mightiest man in the world, Captain Marvel.

“But know this, Billy: in the end, only you can make the choice to become my successor.  If you choose, of your own free will, to take up my mission, speak my name!”

Billy gave the old man’s offer a moment’s thought.  With a faint smile, he took a deep breath and cried, “SHAZAM!”

BOOM!  Another huge, black cloud gathered and a deafening clap of thunder roared as a second bolt of lightning struck the boy.  For a split-second, he felt like he was changing, getting bigger and becoming stronger; that his form was altering and his mind had been given the key to a great source of wisdom.  When the smoke cleared, a tall, handsome, well-built man in his mid-twenties, garbed in crimson and gold, stood in the spot that Billy Batson once occupied.

Billy Batson had become Captain Marvel!

“Holy Moley,” the man gasped, amazed, looking at as much of himself as he could without a mirror.

“Captain Marvel, I salute you,” the old wizard said to his chosen champion.  “Henceforth, it shall be your sacred duty to defend the poor and helpless, to right wrongs and crush evil wherever you may find it.”

“Yes, sir,” was all he could say in response.

“To become Billy Batson again, you need only repeat my name.  And now, my son, I must go.  Captain Marvel, speak my name!”

“SHAZAM!”  A third thunderbolt crashed down, and through the blinding flash and the billows of smoke and dust, Captain Marvel saw the granite block fall on Shazam, crushing him to powder.  A moment later, Billy found himself at his old post.  Shazam, Captain Marvel and the weird underground cavern had vanished.

“Wow, it all seems like a dream,” The little boy said to himself, and then he shook his head to clear it.  He turned his head in surprise when the big clock down the street chimed once.  Holy Moley! he thought with a yawn, it’s one o’clock in the morning!  I’ve gotta get some sleep, or I’m never gonna get up early enough to sell all my papers and go to school!  The exhausted boy trudged down the steps into the station, found his warm little corner and fell into a deep and, for the first time in weeks, dreamless slumber.

Early the next morning, five hours after Billy fell asleep, sensational news almost made the lad forget about his adventure the night before.

“Extra!  Extra!  Read all about it!” Billy sang out.  “Maniac scientist threatens city!”

The front page of the Fawcett Morning Herald announced:

“Maniac Scientist Threatens Citywide Blackout; Demands $50,000,000.  City Officials Alarmed. 

Police are searching for a phantom scientist who threatens to shut down citywide power grids with his diabolical ‘Power Leech’ unless he receives $50,000,000 by midnight tonight.

“Sterling Morris, owner and president of Amalgamated Broadcasting System, says that the city will be plunged into chaos if the mad wizard is not found by 12 a.m. and his diabolical machine smashed…”

Two men approached Billy as he sold the morning paper; one tall, swarthy and muscular, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and the other short and stocky running to beefy.  The tall one seemed familiar to Billy; almost as if he had seen that harsh, hawkish face before. 

“Give me a paper, kid,” the tall man demanded, handing the boy two quarters.

“Wanna read about the boss, eh?” the stocky man asked with a chuckle.

“Shut up, you idiot!  Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“I wonder what they meant by that?”  Billy thought aloud as he watched the men walk away.  Then the idea struck him.  “Holy Moley!  Maybe their “Boss” is really the Phantom Scientist!  I’d better follow them!”

Billy trailed the suspicious pair at a discreet distance, being careful not to lose them or let them see him.  After a few minutes, he watched the two men enter the luxurious Skytower Apartments.  Billy tried to follow them further, but the imposing figure of the doorman stopped him.

“Go on, kid, beat it!” the gruff-looking man said.  “You can’t sell your lousy newspapers in here!”

“But I---!” Billy started to say something, but the doorman would brook no argument.

Unable to follow the strange men to their apartment, Billy thought of the next best thing; call on network mogul Sterling Morris and tell him what he discovered.  Billy slipped into the WHIZ building through a service entrance and went up the stairs. He peeked out into the hallway and, seeing no one, proceeded to a pair of great oaken doors which bore the legend “Sterling Morris” in gold letters.

The door was not locked, so he pushed it open and found Morris on the phone facing the window, not seeing that he had a rather young intruder.  Billy felt a little uncomfortable in the office, since he looked so terribly shabby in his worn-out sweater and jeans.

“Yes, Chief, I understand,” Morris spoke into the receiver. “I hope you understand that the city might have to depend solely on its mounted officers if that fiend isn’t found by midnight!”

As the media mogul set the phone down, he was mildly surprised to see a somewhat ragged and scruffy-looking newsboy of about ten standing before him.

“I like to think that I’m a polite kind of guy, but will you tell me how on Earth you got in here without Ms. Hammond seeing you?”

“I was lucky, sir, and your secretary was away from her desk,” Billy replied, a bit sheepishly. “Mr. Morris, my name’s Billy Batson and I’ve got some information for you.  I know where the Phantom Scientist is hiding!”

“Oh, really?” Morris asked, almost mockingly.  “Well, where is he?”

“I think he’s in the penthouse of the Skytower Apartments, downtown.”

“The Skytower Apartments.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you know this because-?”

“Well, I… um… followed two men there.  They bought a paper from me earlier and, from what they said, it sounded like they work for him!”

Excitedly, Billy related to Mr. Morris the full account of what he overheard and how he trailed the suspicious-looking men, but the television official scoffed at the boy’s story.

“Look, Billy, I appreciate that you want to help out, but the Skytower Apartments are a little too public a place.  Why not tell me that he’s living in City Hall?  Or the Capitol Building in Washington?

“This is a serious matter, young man, and I’m in no mood to joke around about it.  I’m very busy, so you’d better go before I lose my temper.”

Billy turned to leave, then- “Okay, I’ll go.  Um… just one more thing, Mr. Morris?”

“Yes, Billy?” Morris said, his tone heavy with exasperation.

“If it turns out that I’m right about this, and I find the Phantom Scientist’s lab… will you give me a job as a reporter? I mean…”

“A job?! Billy, I’ll give you the whole blasted building if you can find that madman!  Now get out.  I can’t waste any more time listening to nonsense.”

“Thanks, Mr. Morris! Bye!”  As the boy ran out, he nearly ran into two women heading for Mr. Morris’s office.  “Holy Moley!  ‘scuse me, ladies!  Sorry!”

“Mr. Morris, who was that boy who just ran out of here?” Ms. Hammond, an attractive, older African-American woman, asked.

“Yeah, what was that all about?” the younger, red-haired woman, anchor Beatrice Vaughn, chimed in.

“That boy was our new investigative reporter,” Morris replied, admiring the boy’s chutzpah. 

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, Betty.  Kid had a crazy story about the Phantom Scientist.”

Brave kid. He does have a reporter’s instincts, though.  I’d give him a job even if he didn’t find the Phantom’s lab, Morris thought as he turned toward the window and looked out once more. The youngster, who seemed more like a miniature adult than a child, had impressed him.

Later that night, Billy found himself across the street from the Skytower Apartments.  As he looked at the upper floors of the high-rise and the office building next to it, the beginnings of a wild idea came to him.

“How am I gonna get up to the penthouse without being chased off by the doorman?” he said, thinking out loud. “Hmm, maybe if I go up to the tower of that office building over there…”

The boy entered the office building unseen, and took the elevator up to the observation deck.  As he went out the gleaming glass doors, he looked out at the penthouse of the Skytower.  Suddenly, another one of the blackouts that had plagued the city for more than a week had struck.  Every single light in Fawcett went out… except for the lights in the penthouse.

Holy Moley, he’s at it again!  If only my visit with that old wizard last night hadn’t been a dream!  I’d --- wait a minute --- it wasn’t a dream!  He really did give me those powers, and all I have to say is…

“SHAZAM!”  At last, Billy spoke the magic word again, and with a bolt of magic lightning and a clap of thunder, he miraculously became Captain Marvel.

As the lights came back on, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored glass.  Over six foot tall, lean and athletic-looking without being overly muscle-bound; like an acrobat or a gymnast.  He had Billy’s turquoise blue eyes and full head of thick, wavy raven-black hair which came to a deep widows’ peak and tumbled over a narrow, boyishly handsome face with an appealing cleft square in the middle of his chin.  He looked a lot like Billy, but a twenty-five-year-old Billy instead of his normal nine.

Hmm.  If I were egotistical, I’d say I was a fine-looking fellow, the new hero thought, I guess I’m what Billy might look like as an adult. 

The costume he wore was a form-fitting crimson aviator’s uniform with a button-flap on the right side and a medium-sized gold lightning bolt bisected his chest, pointing to his right hip, a gold cummerbund-style sash around his waist and below the calf length cuffed boots on his feet.  A gold-brocaded white cape hung from his shoulders by a twisted cord, held together by two gold medallions, and metal vambraces encircled his forearms from wrist almost to his elbow, with part of the fifth band extending almost to the crook of his arm.

I’d better stop admiring myself and get to the Skytower before I wind up with a swelled head.  With a mighty leap, Captain Marvel easily flew across the yawning chasm between the two buildings, landing on the balcony as lightly as a feather.

You’d think they’d have some sort of perimeter alarm, Captain Marvel thought once more, looking around.  I guess they’re not counting on anyone coming in from above.

Through the balcony door, Captain Marvel saw banks of computers and electronic equipment.  Armed men in coveralls, including the two who bought the paper from Billy, were monitoring their functions.  On a raised dais sat a high-backed chair.  Of its occupant, all that was visible was a bony hand, its fingers tapping restlessly on the arm.  Standing beside the chair, a tall, blond man with perfectly sculpted features and muscles of classic proportions could be seen.  The seated figure did all the talking.

“All right, enough!  ENOUGH!” the Phantom Scientist snarled in a voice of pure venom.  “Turn the power back on, you fools!  Now Morris and those other idiots will realize that I mean business!  Prepare for the broadcast!  Fawcett City has exactly ten minutes before the price of candles takes a very sharp climb! Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh, heh, heh, hehhhhhh!”

At Station WHIZ, the power had gone off and come back on again, causing untold chaos on the streets below, and not even the TV stations auxiliary generators would work.  Sterling Morris looked out over the city he loved, thinking that this would be the last night he would ever see her lights, when he heard a soft rapping on his office door.

“Come in,” Morris said resignedly.

“It’s almost midnight, Mr. Morris,” Betty replied as she entered.

“I know; I was just hoping that Batson kid could keep his promise somehow.  Ah, well, no sense in delaying the inevitable.”

Morris picked up a remote control on his desk, and as the TV monitor on his wall snapped to life, static washed the screen and a distorted voice could be heard.

“Hello, kiddies,” the Phantom Scientist said, “it’s now eleven fifty-seven P.M.  Your city fathers haven’t seen the light, and in two minutes, they won’t be able to!”

Morris and Betty looked hopelessly at each other as midnight approached.

This is it… Captain Marvel leapt forward, and with a burst of glass and stone, he exploded into the hideout. The gang stared at this fantastic intruder for a long moment, wondering what to do next.  Impressed by his own entrance, Captain Marvel glanced at the rubble he had created.

“KILL HIM, YOU FOOLS!  KILL HIM NOW!”

The gang drew their weapons on the Captain and fired.  He almost threw his hands up in a warding-off gesture, then realized that the bullets would simply ricochet harmlessly off his body. With a smile, he advanced on the hoods menacingly.

“He’s too late! Throw the switch!”

One of the men turned to the main panel. Grasping a lever marked “Primary Leech”, he began to pull it downward.  As the rest of the gang rushed Marvel, he jumped, hurdling them easily. He shoved the man away and yanked the lever from its socket.  Then with one swipe of his powerful fist, he turned the infernal machine into scrap.

Turning, he was suddenly borne to the floor as the gang hurled themselves upon him.  But in the next instant, the felons went flying as Marvel easily scrambled to his feet.  Some of the men were regrouping to attack when a puff of the hero’s breath hurled them against the wall, knocking them unconscious.

Another hooded gangster raised a pry bar and swung it at back of Marvel’s head.  The red clad giant checked the swing and readied his fist for a haymaker, but the masking headgear slipped off and Captain Marvel found himself gazing into the face of a beautiful, blonde-haired woman. A look of utter astonishment came over his face, and he dropped his fist.  He then set her gently in a nearby chair and carefully bent the metal arms around her, pinning her safely.

A commotion caught his attention and he looked round to see the remaining gang scrambling out a door.  He flew to the door to see the men entering an express elevator and descending to the ground floor.  Captain Marvel arrived at the elevator doors and forced them open. He looked down the shaft to see the car dropping, then he reached out to grasp the cables.

“Kids, don’t try this at home,” The Captain said to himself.  As Marvel’s hands closed on the cables, the car stopped with a jolt, knocking the thugs down.  The great gears screamed in protest, but Captain Marvel quickly pulled the car back up the shaft with ease.  When it was within his grasp, he yanked it level with the floor.

“Penthouse! All out, please!”

The men crept out of the elevator, trying to keep as much distance as possible between themselves and this crimson and gold clad powerhouse.  Captain Marvel then secured the entire gang using wires and cables from the equipment and turned toward the shadowy figure across the room from him.  Sitting in the chair was a scrawny, bald troll of a man, dressed in a white lab smock and black pants, he wore thick, horn-rimmed glasses balanced on his large vulture’s beak of a nose.

The blond bodyguard imposed himself between the old man and the hero, ready for a fight.

“Stand down, Magnificus!” he snarled at the blond man, who backed down with a hangdog expression, then loosed his venom on the Captain. “Who are you?”

“The name, ‘sir’, is Captain Marvel,” the hero replied, just as acerbically.

“What?! ‘Captain Marvel’?  Is that name some kind of a joke?”

“A joke that’ll be all over you in a second,  Mister…”

“That’s Doctor Sivana to you, fool!”

When Captain Marvel leapt to the chair, both Sivana and his bodyguard stood motionless as he reached for the old man.  As Captain Marvel’s hands closed on Sivana arms, they passed right through him, leaving him unharmed and laughing mockingly.

“HOLY MOLEY!!” The Captain exclaimed in shock as his hands held nothing but air.

“What’s the matter, you Van Damme aspirant?  Can’t you hold on to one little old hologram?  Heh, heh, hehhh!  I’d have been pretty stupid to be there in person!”

“Maybe so, Sivana, but I just put an end to your Power Leech.”

“But not an end to ME!  This isn’t over by a long shot! You haven’t heard the last of Doctor Thaddeus Bodog Sivana,” the evil little man screamed, shaking both of his fists at him.  “You – you… Big… Red… Cheese!”

“I’m sure I haven’t, Sivana.  We’ll meet again, and when we do, you’ll wind up behind prison walls!”  Captain Marvel casually tossed a piece of brick at the hologram projector, smashing it to pieces. As the image wavered and blinked out, there was another one of those mocking laughs.  The hero looked at the unconscious thugs and, surprisingly enough, the blonde with the crowbar was gone, too.

They must’ve teleported her away, the crimson clad hero thought.

As Captain Marvel surveyed the scene, he noticed that the undamaged video cameras were still broadcasting and that the entire city saw the events of the last few moments.  He then approached one of the cameras and looked into it with a confident grin.

“We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming,” The Captain said with a dose of wry humor.  “And Mr. Morris, if you’re watching this, your young friend will meet you in the penthouse of the Skytower.  He’s the one who told me about this place.”

Well, that should hold everyone for a while, including Sivana, he thought as he turned off the cameras. And now…

“SHAZAM!”  Another bolt of lightning rent the heavens, and he resumed his normal form of Billy to await the network president.

A half-hour later, Sterling Morris arrived, the police not far behind.  While they looked around, Billy told Mr. Morris everything – except how Captain Marvel just happened to be there to destroy Sivana’s machines and capture most of his gang.

“And that’s what’s left of the Power Leech, sir.” Billy said, showing Sterling Morris the pile of scrap metal.

“Remarkable,” Morris replied, impressed.  “It doesn’t seem possible that this “Captain Marvel” did all this by himself.  If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes…!”

“But you’ve got to promise me that you won’t tell anyone else that I helped Captain Marvel.  He’s still got to capture Sivana, and it’ll be easier for him if nobody knows about me.  So now I’ll get out of your hair and you can let the police in.”

“Very well, Billy.  I promise.”

“By the way, Mr. Morris, about that job you promised me?  Do I get it?”

“It’s yours.  Starting Monday afternoon, you’re Billy Batson, investigative reporter!”

“YES!” Billy crowed, all traces of the adult-in-miniature gone.  “‘Billy Batson, Investigative Reporter’!  WHOO HOO!  Here’s where we go to town, me and…!”

“You and who else, son?”

“Uh, nobody, sir.  Just me and the microphone, that’s all – just me and ‘Mike’!  See you Monday!”

The boy ran out of the penthouse, and minutes later, the night sky brightened for an instant, then darkened again and the station owner thought he saw a flash of lightning and heard a loud clap of thunder. Morris leaned forward, thinking he saw a streak of red, gold and white race past the remaining windows of the penthouse.

“Did you see that?” Morris asked the police chief.

“See what?” he replied with another question.

“I thought I saw – forget it.”

And as he flew past the apartment building, the World’s Mightiest Mortal couldn’t help but smile. The job at the TV station would give Billy the resources to find and reunite with his twin sister, Mary, and to track down Sivana, wherever he was.  But first, Billy would need a place to live and some new clothes, so he would be presentable Monday afternoon.

And somewhere in Eternity, the old wizard Shazam smiles.