by Libbylawrence
The Payton house was said to be haunted. However, a more perceptive observer might conclude that any ghosts found within the Virginia mansion were not necessarily sinister but rather lonely. There was something solitary and romantic about the silent structure. It rested quietly in the middle of a neglected field, with sad-looking trees looming on every side of the Antebellum home.
No one visited the place, and no one disturbed its perpetual solitude. The only exception was the local grocer, who retained enough traditional small-town courtesy — or perhaps simple respect for the Payton name — to make weekly deliveries to the house.
On one October day, the grocer — a stout man with thinning gray hair and a thick mustache — made his way slowly up the drive toward the house. He carried a small box of groceries and, despite his weight and age, ascended the hill with no apparent effort. However, as if suddenly realizing that his ease might be noticeable, he began to slow down, his breath becoming heavier and more labored.
After catching his breath, the grocer resumed his trip and approached the house. Before he could knock, the massive front door swung open, revealing a rather unusual-looking man. Tall and gaunt, he had light brown hair, large sensitive eyes, and a nervous mouth. Youthful in appearance and in good physical condition, he wore a red jacket with gray slacks and a slightly crooked, wrinkled tie.
“Mr. Gore, you are a few days early,” the young-looking man said slowly. “Are you perhaps going away next week and closing the store again? No matter. I have your usual payment right here.”
The elderly grocer smiled as he recognized the occupant of the old house. Then, in a surprising display of agility, the fat old man dropped the box and executed a perfect acrobatic flip from the edge of the porch and through the door. He knocked the startled owner backward and landed on his feet with the agility of an Olympian. Suddenly gasping, he collapsed a few feet inside the door.
The gaunt owner of the house rolled over and leaped forward to examine the stricken grocer. “Dead!” he exclaimed as he bent over the grocer’s still form. “The curse worked its foul magic as I always feared it one day would!”
To his surprise, the supposedly dead grocer smiled broadly, sat up, and said, “Don’t worry, old fellow! I was dead, but I’m much better now!”
Gasping in surprise, the man in the red jacket watched as the “grocer” stood up taller than before and casually began to remove skillfully applied makeup, including a thinning gray wig and heavy padding. In mere moments, the old grocer transformed into a handsome dark-haired man with a thin dark mustache and an athletic build. He shed his outer clothing to reveal a tuxedo, which somehow remained unwrinkled despite its concealment beneath the garb of a grocer.
“Zoro the Mystery Man!” stammered the homeowner, his eyes wide with disbelief. (*) “I-I can’t believe it! I thought you were Mr. Gore! I don’t understand this at all! You should be dead!”
[(*) Editor’s note: See Zoro the Mystery Man, Slam-Bang Comics #6 (August, 1940).]
“Actually, I prefer to be called Zoro, Man of Mystery,” he replied with a charming smile. “It’s a bit more elegant, but why quibble over semantics? We’re old friends, aren’t we, Warlock?” (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See Warlock the Wizard, Nickel Comics #1 (May 17, 1940).]
Warlock’s response came almost automatically. “I have no friends.”
Zoro’s smile never wavered. “Don’t be silly, Warlock. You and I are more than friends. We’re comrades forged in the heart of battle. Remember how you, El Carim, Lance O’Casey, and I fought those Nazi Aztecs during the war? (*) It was glorious! Why, Lance’s monkey, Mr. Hogan, was as smart as a man — no, make that smarter than some men I’ve encountered!”
[(*) Editor’s note: This is an untold story.]
Warlock’s eyes seemed to glaze over as he reminisced. “I was afraid your pet cheetah was going to eat the monkey, but you had trained him superbly! Wait, I’m rambling. It comes from not having spoken to anyone but a grocer in over thirty-five years! Let me collect my thoughts. I have questions for you!”
Zoro settled into a plush chair, crossing his legs and carefully adjusting the crease in his tuxedo pants. “Ask me anything, Warlock. I owe you a few answers after the fright I just gave you.”
Warlock narrowed his eyes. “Zoro, you haven’t aged since I last saw you back in 1944. I don’t understand. Why are you here? How did you survive the curse? I saw you die!”
Leaning back in the chair, Zoro steepled his fingers together. “Sit down, old chum. This may be a bit shocking. I am sorry. I’ll explain. First of all, my perpetual youth is easily explained to a man of your magical talents. One day in 1945, I was visiting Lance O’Casey on his South Sea island home. It was a beautiful place! I met a teacher there who looked exactly like Betty Grable… but I digress… pleasantly! My pet cheetah, Cheeta, became ill. O’Casey’s medicine man friend, S’ville, tried to save Cheeta’s life, but his magic went wrong. Poor Cheeta died, but I was somehow given the proverbial nine lives of a cat! I haven’t aged a minute since then.”
Warlock nodded slowly. “S’ville was a bumbler! El Carim and I tried to warn Lance not to trust the old islander with anything more serious than card tricks, but Lance was always too good-hearted to doubt anyone!”
Zoro shrugged. “I mourned for Cheeta. You know how close a man can become to a pet. No doubt you feel the same about your bird, Hugin! Still, Cheeta was devoted to me, and I’m sure he wouldn’t begrudge me the nine lives. I suppose I used one of them up moments ago when the curse Andrea placed upon you or your home temporarily ended my life!”
“How do you know about Andrea?” Warlock snapped. “How do you know about the curse that trapped me inside this house back in the ’40s?”
Leaning forward, Zoro replied, “Your magic made it almost impossible for anyone to find you. You never told me or any of us your true name. Warlock was the only name you ever used in public. Still, as you may recall, I have my ways. I think most of us thought you had vanished of your own volition. We respected your right to privacy, even though we missed you and felt the need for your powers on more than one occasion!”
“I’ve felt helpless as well!” retorted Warlock. “I wanted to use my powers to help people, but I was trapped!”
Zoro nodded. “Once I realized that your disappearance was not voluntary, it took a bit of work to deduce what had happened to you. I did a bit of traveling and even consulted Kid Eternity. I also realized that breaking the curse might free you, and my unique nature made it perfect for me to be the one to try to do so! After all, what is one life more or less between friends?”
Warlock began his story. “I’ve wanted to talk about the curse for so long,” he said. “Andrea placed a curse on me in 1945. It occurred on V-E Day! While others were celebrating the new freedom the world was gaining because of Germany’s defeat, I lost my own! Ironic, isn’t it?”
Zoro smiled and replied, “You’ve kept your rather sardonic sense of humor! Good for you!”
Warlock continued his story. “Andrea and I were in love. I had never felt that way about anyone before. You know how isolated and out of place I always felt. I suppose these days they call it social anxiety phobia. I always felt like an outsider. I’d use my magic to help people, and they would be so grateful, but I never made the mistake of confusing gratitude for friendship. In public, when I first approached people, they would recoil. They would whisper about how weird I was or how strange I seemed! I suppose it was because of my magical powers. I don’t know. I’ve brooded over it a lot. I did feel a bit more accepted when I worked with you, El Carim, and the other heroes during the war. He’s dead, you know! I commune with his spirit at times. He was a good man. You all were… or are!”
Zoro grinned and said, “We did our part! You did too! Why, during the war, Hitler and his bully boys trembled at the very name of Warlock the Wizard!”
“Thank you,” replied Warlock, then resumed his story. “Andrea and I met in Ireland during the war. She was beautiful and wild, with raven black hair, dancing green eyes, and a pale but flawless complexion. I loved her, and I thought she loved me! When I realized she was just after my magical relics, I defied her, and she placed a curse on me! It was almost like a modern version of Merlin and the Crystal Cave!”
Looking crestfallen, Warlock quoted, “‘You may not leave this property until a life is lost! No one may enter this house without dying!’ she told me. Her eyes flashed with passion, and her musical voice was full of hate! I still recall every detail!”
Concerned, Zoro said, “Easy, old fellow! It must be painful to talk about. It is over now! I suppose, being a hero, you used your magic to repel people and made certain no innocent person ever tried to enter the house! You’d blame yourself for their death!”
Warlock nodded, his hands clenched together nervously. “Yes! I suffered so! I was afraid someone would get inside somehow and die! She knew hurting others would torment me! She was cruel!” He stared off into space as painful memories returned.
Zoro understood his friend’s plight. “Your magic could not free you, but it kept you from aging,” he said.
Warlock nodded and added, “I did thwart Andrea, though. I dispersed the Lamp of the Gods and hid the parts where she could never find them!”
Zoro smiled. “Well, we just broke her evil curse, too,” he said. “You can leave this place now! I sacrificed one life and entered the house. We’ve beaten her!”
Warlock nodded in gratitude. “That’s why you used your remarkable talents for disguise to emulate my grocer. You knew his regular deliveries would not arouse my suspicions and would allow you to get past me! I was always amazed at how good you were at so many things! How can I possibly thank you for freeing me?”
“As I said, we are friends,” replied Zoro. “No thanks are needed!”
Warlock’s troubled expression shifted into a slight smile. “I can’t wait to see the world again!” he confided. “I want to locate the scattered parts of my Lamp of the Gods and deal with Andrea once and for all!”
“I could give you a lift,” offered Zoro with a grin. “My personal pilot is waiting nearby. You’ll like her. She’s a rare girl!”
Warlock hesitated for a moment, about to say that he preferred to work alone. Then he decided to make a change. As his pet raven, Hugin, suddenly swooped down from above to perch on his shoulder, Warlock turned to face Zoro and accepted his offer with a nod. “I would appreciate it. In fact, let me start my new life with a new candor.”
As if to boost his own confidence, Warlock adjusted his tie and nodded slowly. “I guess you already know this, since you found my house,” he said, “but my true name is Edmund Payton.”
Zoro smiled and replied, “Let me return the favor! My real name is Carter Sloane. Back in the early 1940s, when I went into action at a New York night spot, a society columnist admired my agility or perhaps just noticed my mustache! She referred to me as Zorro after the Douglas Fairbanks swashbuckler from years before! Old Doug and I both had a talent for swordplay! The poor dear spelled Zorro incorrectly, though — she only used one R. Still, the name stuck in the society circles I frequented.
“I valued my privacy, although I rather enjoyed the reputation I acquired as a Man of Mystery. I hated taking attention from the men I viewed as real heroes — our men in uniform, soldiers, police, and so on. However, I used the talents I’d acquired to travel around and do good. The world knows me only as Zoro, Man of Mystery, but I’m glad to share my real identity with you. I actually allow the public to think that I’m the son or grandson of the original Zoro, since I prefer not to let on that I don’t age or that I have nine… uh… eight lives!”
The two men shook hands, and for the first time in decades, Warlock stepped out of his house and into the brisk October air. It was a new beginning. However, as the two heroes would soon discover, it would turn out to be a deadly one.