Fan Fiction: First-Hand Accounts

Gangsters and Groceries
by Corey Christopher

  As I uncovered his shoes I suddenly remembered seeing those same extremely polished black shoes on the edge of the light.

  Those were The Shadow's shoes!

  Lamont Cranston is The Shadow!

  "Oh crud…" I mumbled, still in shock.

  I remembered what I had said to make him carry the potatoes. I had mocked the Master of Darkness openly, and on top of that made him lug a huge sack of potatoes around while battling an entire mob! All this because I was annoyed at the flippant personality of a millionaire I assumed to be a lousy agent. What a fool I was! And boy was I in for it now. I could only hope that my stupidity hadn't fouled up his plans somehow and ticked him off.

  Slowly I looked back up at Lamont, trying to hide my recent revelations. Two cold eyes returned my fear, and I couldn't bear to meet that gaze any longer. I averted my eyes and noticed that his arm was wet. I looked at the sleeve of his tuxedo more and saw that he was bleeding!

  "Oh my God, are you OK?!"

  "I'm fine."

  "No you're not, your bleeding, and you are going to let me bandage that." Since it was only a cut and the bullet wasn't still in his arm, I bandaged it with my handkerchief.

  The whole time I was fixing it I felt like I was being stared at. No, not at, he was staring right through me. I knew then that he knew about my findings. I couldn't take it any longer. Sheepishly I looked up and met his icy stare.

  "I'm sorry about the potatoes. That's how this happened, didn't it?" I pointed to his wound. He nodded, still not blinking. "I didn't know, I didn't mean to get you hurt, I...I just…"

  He held up a hand to stop me. "I know," he said with a half chuckle.

  We rode on silently the rest of the way until I arrived at my apartment. "Need any help with the…ummm…potatoes?" I said with a slight smile. "No thanks, they aren't that important." He gave me a wink and I turned to go up the stairs to my home.

  "CATCH!"

  Something black shot out of the rear window and frizbeed over to me. I caught it in complete astonishment. It was a black slouch hat, and inside was a note in typewriter-like handwriting. As the cab rolled away with an all too familiar laugh, I read the words: