Issue 237

I have acquired Ka-Azar the Amazing, issue 237 to be exact, and it scares the shit out of me.

I'm a collector of rare comics. Well, not really a collector. I never keep them for very long, you see. I prefer to sell comics for big bucks. I buy them from Goodwill, garage sales, estate sales, anywhere I can buy cheap and sell high. I'm in it for the profit, pure and simple, but today I may have found something I wasn't meant to own.

Briarcliff Estates was having an estate sale, and I knew there would be some interesting pieces there. Mr. Briar had died at the ripe old age of one hundred and three and was said to be a notorious packrat. His wife and son had died years ago, both under mysterious circumstances, and Briarcliff had gained an air of mystery ever since. It was said that his house was full of things, everything from antiques and collectibles to downright garbage, and I wanted to have a look.

The sale was even grander than I expected. There were halls cluttered with antique furniture, shelves full of old books, antique kitchen appliances, Persian rugs, strange art, and odd articles from around the world. All the trash had been cleared away, and all the items for sale had been tagged and were displayed. A large crowd had gathered, I saw, and I was more than a little interested in some of the books for my shop.

The auction seemed like a total waste of time, though, right up until the last lot. The antique furniture went first, then the old cars from the garage, then the rugs, the appliances, and the strange antiquities. Some of them were pretty grizzly. Apparently, Mr. Briar had been a world traveler in his youth. He had collected things from Africa, Russia, Germany, and China with an eye towards the occult. I actually found myself bidding on a wand made of pure ivory, something my Harry Potter fans might pay a lot for, but a stuffy old man in the front row shelled out a hundred grand for it. I sat down and shut up after that. He had long white hair and an imposing beard that hung down past the waist of his immaculate gray suit. He was a jarring comparison to the toad-faced guy with all the dark hair oiled to his head on the other side of the hall. They seemed to know each other, know and hate each other. They had several hard looks for each other as they held long and complicated bidding wars, and their battles bled over into the books as well.

They snapped up most of the books, old moldering things with hard-to-pronounce names, and my bids were mostly shouted over as these two dueled for the remaining tomes. Most everyone else had gone, seeing that these two meant to have the lot. So when the last lot came up, a box of comics, I immediately threw out a bid of twenty-five dollars. I hadn't expected to see any comics here, my focus being the antique books, but this seemed to be the only thing that these two weirdos didn't want. The bid went once, twice, and then sold as the two glared at each other from across the room. I took my box of dusty old comics and scuttled off before either of them could realize I had been there.

I didn't realize what I had until I got home.

I took them to my office and set to work. First a shower, then a change of clothes. Old comics can be finicky, and I like to be comfy when I appraise them. Then the gloves came on. I have a nice set of reusable ones, latex, washable, and thick, that usually serve my purposes. I put on a hairnet too, can't be too careful with old comics. After I was set, I opened the box and had a look.

I was not immediately impressed. Mr. Briar, it appeared, had a thing for old Hanna Barbara comics. There were some Yogi Bears issues, about ten Huckleberry Hound issues, some Tom and Jerry Comics, and a few Wacky Racer comics I had never even heard of. I set those aside. Hanna Barbara comics never retail very high unless you have some of the rarer pieces. They were all in bags, though, and looked to be in pretty good shape, so at least I could asking price for them. Next were some old Johnny Quest comics that looked well used, and they also went to the side. Next came some, oh shit, old Detectives Comics that looked like they were from the early 40's run. They were bagged and looked to be in great shape. I sat those on the desk by the computer. It looked like my purchases wouldn't be entirely in vain. There were some other things in there, some well-loved Action Comics, a few Batman issues from the late '60s, and a single issue of a comic series I had never heard of.

Sitting at the bottom of the box, in a plastic sleeve that looked to be caked with dust and...maybe soda, I guessed, was a copy of Ka-Azar the Amazing, issue 237. I had never heard of Ka-Azar the Amazing, and he appeared to be some sort of magician detective or something. I was also unfamiliar with Keystone Comics and decided to go do some research.

As I brought it over to the computer, though, I felt a strong urge to drop it and just walk away. The comic felt weird, even through the gloves, and the bag was tacky in a way that soda usually wasn't. I don't know how to describe it. It was like... the comic didn't want to be held. I shrugged it off at the time, but I can feel it now, too, as it sits on the nightstand beside my computer.

It still doesn't want me to touch it.

I looked up Ka-Azar and found out that it was part of a debut series from Keystone Comics. Ka-Azar was, in fact, the only comic series they had ever put out, and it had a very limited run. Less than five hundred issues of each comic ever came out, and they were extremely rare and not often seen at auctions. Issue 237 was actually the last issue ever printed before Keystone Comics burned to the ground in nineteen seventy-five. The fire was supposedly investigated and ruled an accident, despite four people having perished in the blaze. Chuck Landstar, the owner, and writer of Ka-Azar, his assistant, Mike Dreh, and the illustrators who worked on the comic, Jugg and Dale Treblow, had been killed in the fire. The series had never seen the light of day again. Apparently, this issue had less than the usual number of runs. Even in its ratty state, it was worth well over a thousand dollars; Cha-Ching!

Twenty-five dollars for a thousand dollars seemed like a great deal to me, and who knew what kind of bidding war I'd get on this thing.

I gingerly removed it from the bag and threw it away as no customer would want it in that state. The comic itself was ragged, the spine bent, and some of the page corners damaged or missing. The pages themselves looked pretty good, old but good until I got to a spot near the back. Towards the end, Ka-Azar appeared to be casting some kind of spell to summon some ancient deity. He stood in the middle of a circle, laid with etchings and stones and runes, and I could see quite a few bodies lying around as well. Some of them seemed intricate and embellished enough to make me think that these might be main characters he'd sacrifice, but I knew nothing of the series, so I could only speculate. There was a dark-haired woman in a slinky dress that barely contained her "assets", a blond guy with a loincloth and a skull helmet, what looked like a kid in a red cloak, and another less buxom redhead that seemed to have died holding hands with the kid in the cloak. They were all laid out around the circle, and their deaths did not seem to have been kind.

Ka-Azar was kneeling, resplendent in his yellow and green robes, as he made his request before a towering form in a horned helm. Its eyes were coals beneath the visor, and its green armor was stained with ancient blood. It sat atop a bone-white horse, steam curling from its nostrils, as it brandished a sword at Ka-Azar that looked big enough to cut him in half. Ka-Azar was making a request, but the words had been smudged. That figure on the horse didn't sit right with me. Even through the page, I could feel his regard. It was like he was looking at me, judging me, weighing my worth.

I closed the comic.

No sense getting spooked by some old comic, I told myself with a laugh.

I took pictures next, showing some of the damage, and put it back in its protective bag. I uploaded the pictures to Comic Squire, the service I use to sell comics, and sat back to wait. I pulled some of the other comics I had piled up towards me and started looking them up so I could post them as well. One of the Detective Comics was worth about forty dollars, cool, and another was worth about thirty, excellent, and…

I heard a ding from my computer and looked up to see that Ka-Azar had an opening bid of five hundred dollars.

I typed a message to the buyer, someone named Nilr3m, informing him that I was firm on eight hundred and went back to my other comics.

Two of the Detective Comics were so much hamster cage lining, but I saved them aside so I could put them with a bulk lot. Two more were worth thirty dollars, and I had just started looking up the seventh when my computer dinged again. I looked up to see that the same buyer was offering eight hundred dollars, the price listed for it, and I nodded and turned back to my work. The bid would sit on the site for an hour, allowing others to bid if they wanted, but I figured that this guy would get it, and I'd be eight hundred dollars the richer.

I had barely gotten the seventh comic out of the bag when my computer dinged again.

A new bid had come in for a thousand dollars!

I checked the buyer, and this time it was a new user by the name of Morgul. He was also offering an extra fifty dollars to pay for overnight shipping. That made me raise my eyebrow, but I supposed he wanted to make sure it arrived undamaged. After all, this was a rare comic, and I sent him a message accepting his offer should he win.

I had barely sent the message when Nilrem3 came back with a twelve hundred dollar bid.

This went on for the next few hours, and as the bids went up, the bidders began to message me.

That's when it got bizarre.

From Morgol

Dearest Seller

The user Nilr3m is trying to purchase your wares under false pretense. He is my rival and merely wants to own this comic, so I cannot. I implore you to award the sale to me and ship with all haste.

His wording was strange, but it was nothing compared to what his rival was about to send me.

From Nilr3m

I must ask that you not sell this piece to Morgol. He wants it not for its scholarly endowment but for the power, it will bring him. I must have this item so it can be sealed away from those who might use it for ill. Thank you.

I furrowed my brow at that one.

Sealed away from those who might use it for ill?

It was a damn comic book.

I had barely finished reading the message, when I saw that Morgul had sent me another message.

From Morgul

I see that you have not awarded me preference in this matter. Has Nilr3m offered you something more in return for this item? I assure you, I will match whatever offer he makes, no matter the cost.

That took me by surprise. These guys were clearly series collectors or weirdos, and they would likely pay big money for it. I didn't have to do anything. All I had to do was stay quiet and let these two drive the price up on their own. Simple economics, I had it, they wanted it, and suddenly this ratty comic was looking like a cash cow to me.

Even then, I hadn't realized the real value of the piece.

From Nilr3m

Please, I implore you not to be swayed by Morgol's boasting. If he gets that tome, it will be devastating for our world. I implore you to sell it to me. Money is no object, name your price, and I will pay it.

I sucked air through my teeth, my small pile of potential profits forgotten. This fellow had basically written me a blank check. How much would be too much? He had said money was no object, but there was always a limit. I looked back at the sale and realized that Nilr3m had just placed a bid for fifty thousand dollars. Morgol quickly countered with sixty, and the two went right on sparring as I watched. I pulled up Nimr3m's message again, and that was when I realized that his profile had a picture attached.

I clicked on it and realized that this guy was the same one from the auction today. His picture was of a grandfatherly-looking man, long white hair and a beard that was downright Gandalphesque. He was in profile in the picture, just his head and shoulders, but I was willing to bet it was the same guy. This Morgal character was likely the other man, the one who'd looked like a toad and been afflicted with all that greasy black hair. They were just continuing their antics from the auction, and I was surprised they had any money left after all the crap they had bought earlier.

Another message from Nilr3m came in, and it had a link at the bottom to a news site.

From Nilr3m

This must end. Morgol must not be allowed to own this spell. See what it wrought last time it was unleashed upon the world.

The link brought up an article about Briarcliff Estates. Four bodies had been found on the ground nearly twenty years ago. They had been arrayed in the garden, the photos looking very similar to the ones in Ka-Azar, minus the bodies. Those had been replaced with taped outlines, but their placement was undeniable. Briar's wife, teenage daughter, nephew, and brother had been killed in what appeared to be occult activity. Briar had immediately been the first and only suspect, but some combination of money and alibis given out of fear had cleared him. Still, his reputation in the community seemed to be well earned. Had Briar made a deal with that horned demon?

Had Briar possibly discovered something that had led him to fill his hallways with junk in an attempt to insulate himself from whatever might come for him?

I saw I had a message from Morgol, a message with his final offer.

The link in his message was of a google maps location.

It was my address.

His last message was much less formal and much less pleasant than his others had been, "I'm coming for what's mine. See you soon."

I've been sitting in my office, writing all this down for the past hour. I've locked the doors and called the police, but they don't seem to be taking this very seriously. The numbers on the bid haven't gone up in an hour, and even though Nilr3m had won, I'm afraid he's never going to get what he paid for. I can see someone moving in the yard outside my window, but when I try to call the police, it just rings and rings. I don't know what to do. I can almost feel this comic watching me even as whoever is outside keeps moving around out there.

The sun will be down before long.

I wonder if they'll find my body here or by some circle in a garden somewhere?