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The Lancashire Witches by William Harrison Ainsworth

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"I expected as much," observed Mistress Nutter, disdainfully.

"Thus all our pains will be thrown away," pursued the familiar; "and
though you may make light of the labour, it is no easy task to change
the face of a whole country--to turn streams from their course, move
bogs, transplant trees, and shift houses, all of which has been done,
and will now have to be undone, because of your inconstancy. I, myself,
have been obliged to act as many parts as a poor player to please you,
and now you dismiss me at a moment's notice, as if I had played them
indifferently, whereas the most fastidious audience would have been
ravished with my performance. This morning I was the reeve of the
forest, and as such obliged to assume the shape of a rascally attorney.
I felt it a degradation, I assure you. Nor was I better pleased when you
compelled me to put on the likeness of old Roger Nowell; for, whatever
you may think, I am not so entirely destitute of personal vanity as to
prefer either of their figures to my own. However, I showed no
disinclination to oblige you. You are strangely unreasonable to-day. Is
it my lord's fault if your desire of vengeance expires in its
fruition--if, when you have accomplished an object, you no longer care
for it? You ask for revenge--for power. You have them, and cast them
aside like childish baubles!"

"Thy lord is an arch deceiver," rejoined Mistress Nutter; "and cannot
perform his promises. They are empty delusions--profitless,
unsubstantial as shadows. His power prevails not against any thing holy,
as I myself have just now experienced. His money turns to withered
leaves; his treasures are dust and ashes. Strong only is he in power of
mischief, and even his mischief, like curses, recoils on those who use
it. His vengeance is no true vengeance, for it troubles the conscience,
and engenders remorse; whereas the servant of heaven heaps coals of fire
on the head of his adversary by kindness, and satisfies his own heart."

"You should have thought of all this before you vowed yourself to him,"
said the familiar; "it is too late to reflect now."

"Perchance not," rejoined Mistress Nutter.

"Beware!" thundered the demon, with a terrible gesture; "any overt act
of disobedience, and your limbs shall be scattered over this chamber."

"If I do not dare thee to it, it is not because I fear thee," replied
Mistress Nutter, in no way dismayed by the threat. "Thou canst not
control my tongue. Thou speakest of the services rendered by thy lord,
and I repeat they are like his promises, naught. Show me the witch he
has enriched. Of what profit is her worship of the false deity--of what
avail the sacrifices she makes at his foul altars? It is ever the same
spilling of blood, ever the same working of mischief. The wheels Of
crime roll on like the car of the Indian idol, crushing all before them.
Doth thy master ever help his servants in their need? Doth he not ever
abandon them when they are no longer useful, and can win him no more
proselytes? Miserable servants--miserable master! Look at the murtherous
Demdike and the malignant Chattox, and examine the means whereby they
have prolonged their baleful career. Enormities of all kinds committed,
and all their families devoted to the Fiend--all wizards or witches!
Look at them, I say. What profit to them is their long service? Are they
rich? Are they in possession of unfading youth and beauty? Are they
splendidly lodged? Have they all they desire? No!--the one dwells in a
solitary turret, and the other in a wretched hovel; and both are
miserable creatures, living only on the dole wrung by threats from
terrified peasants, and capable of no gratification but such as results
from practices of malice."

"Is that nothing?" asked the familiar. "To them it is every thing. They
care neither for splendid mansions, nor wealth, nor youth, nor beauty.
If they did, they could have them all. They care only for the dread and
mysterious power they possess, to be able to fascinate with a glance, to
transfix by a gesture, to inflict strange ailments by a word, and to
kill by a curse. This is the privilege they seek, and this privilege
they enjoy."

"And what is the end of it all?" demanded Mistress Nutter, sternly.
"Erelong, they will be unable to furnish victims to their insatiate
master, who will then abandon them. Their bodies will go to the hangman,
and their souls to endless bale!"

The familiar laughed as if a good joke had been repeated to him, and
rubbed his hands gleefully.

"Very true," he said; "very true. You have stated the case exactly,
madam. Such will certainly be the course of events. But what of that?
The old hags will have enjoyed a long term--much longer than might have
been anticipated. Mother Demdike, however, as I have intimated, will
extend hers, and it is fortunate for her she is enabled to do so, as it
would otherwise expire an hour after midnight, and could not be
renewed."

"Thou liest!" cried Mistress Nutter--"liest like thy lord, who is the
father of lies. My innocent child can never be offered up at his impious
shrine. I have no fear for her. Neither he, nor Mother Demdike, nor any
of the accursed sisterhood, can harm her. Her goodness will cover her
like armour, which no evil can penetrate. Let him wreak his vengeance,
if he will, on me. Let him treat me as a slave who has cast off his
yoke. Let him abridge the scanty time allotted me, and bear me hence to
his burning kingdom; but injure my child, he cannot--shall not!"

"Go to Malkin Tower at midnight, and thou wilt see," replied the
familiar, with a mocking laugh.

"I will go there, but it shall be to deliver her," rejoined Mistress
Nutter. "And now get thee gone! I need thee no more."

"Be not deceived, proud woman," said the familiar. "Once dismissed, I
may not be recalled, while thou wilt be wholly unable to defend thyself
against thy enemies."

"I care not," she rejoined; "begone!"

The familiar stepped back, and, stamping upon the hearthstone, it sank
like a trapdoor, and he disappeared beneath it, a flash of lightning
playing round his dusky figure.

Notwithstanding her vaunted resolution, and the boldness with which she
had comported herself before the familiar, Mistress Nutter now
completely gave way, and for awhile abandoned herself to despair.
Aroused at length by the absolute necessity of action, she again walked
to the window and looked forth. The storm still raged furiously
without--so furiously, indeed, that it would be madness to brave it, now
that she was deprived of her power, and reduced to the ordinary level of
humanity. Its very violence, however, assured her it must soon cease,
and she would then set out for Malkin Tower. But what chance had she now
in a struggle with the old hag, with all the energies of hell at her
command?--what hope was there of her being able to effect her daughter's
liberation? No matter, however desperate, the attempt should be made.
Meanwhile, it would be necessary so see what was going on below, and
ascertain whether Blackadder had returned with Parson Holden. With this
view, she descended to the hall, where she found Nicholas Assheton fast
asleep in a great arm-chair, and rocked rather than disturbed by the
loud concussions of thunder. The squire was, no doubt, overcome by the
fatigues of the day, or it might be by the potency of the wine he had
swallowed, for an empty flask stood on the table beside him. Mistress
Nutter did not awaken him, but proceeded to the chamber where she had
left Nowell and Potts prisoners, both of whom rose on her entrance.

"Be seated, gentlemen, I pray you," she said, courteously. "I am come to
see if you need any thing; for when this fearful storm abates, I am
going forth for a short time."

"Indeed, madam," replied Potts. "For myself I require nothing further;
but perhaps another bottle of wine might be agreeable to my honoured and
singular good client."

"Speak for yourself, sir," cried Roger Nowell, sharply.

"You shall have it," interposed Mistress Nutter. "I shall be glad of a
word with you before I go, Master Nowell. I am sorry this dispute has
arisen between us."

"Humph!" exclaimed the magistrate.

"Very sorry," pursued Mistress Nutter; "and I wish to make every
reparation in my power."

"Reparation, madam!" cried Nowell. "Give back the land you have stolen
from me--restore the boundary lines--sign the deed in Sir Ralph's
possession--that is the only reparation you can make."

"I will," replied Mistress Nutter.

"You will!" exclaimed Nowell. "Then the fellow did not deceive us,
Master Potts."

"Has any one been with you?" asked the lady, uneasily.

"Ay, the reeve of the forest," replied Nowell. "He told us you would be
with us presently, and would make fair offers to us."

"And he told us also _why_ you would make them, madam," added Potts, in
an insolent and menacing tone; "he told us you would make a merit of
doing what you could not help--that your power had gone from you--that
your works of darkness would be destroyed--and that, in a word, you were
abandoned by the devil, your master."

"He deceived you," replied Mistress Nutter. "I have made you the offer
out of pure good-will, and you can reject it or not, as you please. All
I stipulate, if you do accept it, is, that you pledge me your word not
to bring any charge of witchcraft against me."

"Do not give the pledge," whispered a voice in the ear of the
magistrate.

"Did you speak?" he said, turning to Potts.

"No, sir," replied the attorney, in a low tone; "but I thought you
cautioned me against--"

"Hush!" interrupted Nowell; "it must be the reeve. We cannot comply with
your request, madam," he added, aloud.

"Certainly not," said Potts. "We can make no bargain with an avowed
witch. We should gain nothing by it; on the contrary, we should be
losers, for we have the positive assurance of a gentleman whom we
believe to be upon terms of intimacy with a certain black gentleman of
your acquaintance, madam, that the latter has given you up entirely, and
that law and justice may, therefore, take their course. We protest
against our unlawful detention; but we give ourselves small concern
about it, as Sir Ralph Assheton, who will be advised of our situation by
Parson Holden, will speedily come to our liberation."

"Yes, we are now quite easy on that score, madam," added Nowell; "and
to-morrow we shall have the pleasure of escorting you to Lancaster
Castle."

"And your trial will come on at the next assizes, about the middle of
August," said Potts, "You have only four months to run."

"That is indeed my term," muttered the lady. "I shall not tarry to
listen to your taunts," she added, aloud. "You may possibly regret
rejecting my proposal."

So saying, she quitted the room.

As she returned to the hall, Nicholas awoke.

"What a devil of a storm!" he exclaimed, stretching himself and rubbing
his eyes. "Zounds! that flash of lightning was enough to blind me, and
the thunder wellnigh splits one's ears."

"Yet you have slept through louder peals, Nicholas," said Mistress
Nutter, coming up to him. "Richard has not returned from his mission,
and I must go myself to Malkin Tower. In my absence, I must entrust you
with the defence of my house."

"I am willing to undertake it," replied Nicholas, "provided no
witchcraft be used."

"Nay, you need not fear that," said the lady, with a forced smile.

"Well, then, leave it to me," said the squire; "but you will not set out
till the storm is over?"

"I must," replied Mistress Nutter; "there seems no likelihood of its
cessation, and each moment is fraught with peril to Alizon. If aught
happens to me, Nicholas--if I should--whatever mischance may befall
me--promise me you will stand by her."

The squire gave the required promise.

"Enough, I hold you to your word," said Mistress Nutter. "Take this
parchment. It is a deed of gift, assigning this mansion and all my
estates to her. Under certain circumstances you will produce it."

"What circumstances? I am at a loss to understand you, madam," said the
squire.

"Do not question me further, but take especial care of the deed, and
produce it, as I have said, at the fitting moment. You will know when
that arrives. Ha! I am wanted."

The latter exclamation had been occasioned by the appearance of an old
woman at the further end of the hall, beckoning to her. On seeing her,
Mistress Nutter immediately quitted the squire, and followed her into a
small chamber opening from this part of the hall, and into which she
retreated.

"What brings you here, Mother Chattox?" exclaimed the lady, closing the
door.

"Can you not guess?" replied the hag. "I am come to help you, not for
any love I bear you, but to avenge myself on old Demdike. Do not
interrupt me. My familiar, Fancy, has told me all. I know how you are
circumstanced. I know Alizon is in old Demdike's clutches, and you are
unable to extricate her. But I can, and will; because if the hateful old
hag fails in offering up her sacrifice before the first hour of day, her
term will be out, and I shall be rid of her, and reign in her stead.
To-morrow she will be on her way to Lancaster Castle. Ha! ha! The
dungeon is prepared for her--the stake driven into the ground--the
fagots heaped around it. The torch has only to be lighted. Ho! Ho!"

[Illustration: THE RIDE THROUGH THE MURKY AIR.]

"Shall we go to Malkin Tower?" asked Mistress Nutter, shuddering.

"No; to the summit of Pendle Hill," rejoined Mother Chattox; "for there
the girl will be taken, and there only can we secure her. But first we
must proceed to my hut, and make some preparations. I have three scalps
and eight teeth, taken from a grave in Goldshaw churchyard this very
day. We can make a charm with them."

"You must prepare it alone," said Mistress Nutter; "I can have nought to
do with it."

"True--true--I had forgotten," cried the hag, with a chuckling
laugh--"you are no longer one of us. Well, then, I will do it alone. But
come with me. You will not object to mount upon my broomstick. It is the
only safe conveyance in this storm of the devil's raising. Come--away!"

And she threw open the window and sprang forth, followed by Mistress
Nutter.

Through the murky air, and borne as if on the wings of the wind, two
dark forms are flying swiftly. Over the tops of the tempest-shaken trees
they go, and as they gain the skirts of the thicket an oak beneath is
shivered by a thunderbolt. They hear the fearful crash, and see the
splinters fly far and wide; and the foremost of the two, who, with her
skinny arm extended, seems to direct their course, utters a wild scream
of laughter, while a raven, speeding on broad black wing before them,
croaks hoarsely. Now the torrent rages below, and they see its white
waters tumbling over a ledge of rock; now they pass over the brow of a
hill; now skim over a dreary waste and dangerous morass. Fearful it is
to behold those two flying figures, as the lightning shows them,
bestriding their fantastical steed; the one an old hag with hideous
lineaments and distorted person, and the other a proud dame, still
beautiful, though no longer young, pale as death, and her loose jetty
hair streaming like a meteor in the breeze.

The ride is over, and they alight near the door of a solitary hovel. The
raven has preceded them, and, perched on the chimney top, flies down it
as they enter, and greets them with hoarse croaking. The inside of the
hut corresponds with its miserable exterior, consisting only of two
rooms, in one of which is a wretched pallet; in the other are a couple
of large chests, a crazy table, a bench, a three-legged stool, and a
spinning-wheel. A caldron is suspended above a peat fire, smouldering on
the hearth. There is only one window, and a thick curtain is drawn
across it, to secure the inmate of the hut from prying eyes.

Mother Chattox closes and bars the door, and, motioning Mistress Nutter
to seat herself upon the stool, kneels down near the hearth, and blows
the turf into a flame, the raven helping her, by flapping his big black
wings, and uttering a variety of strange sounds, as the sparks fly
about. Heaping on more turf, and shifting the caldron, so that it may
receive the full influence of the flame, the hag proceeds to one of the
chests, and takes out sundry small matters, which she places one by one
with great care on the table. The raven has now fixed his great talons
on her shoulder, and chuckles and croaks in her ear as she pursues her
occupation. Suddenly a piece of bone attracts his attention, and darting
out his beak, he seizes it, and hops away.

"Give me that scalp, thou mischievous imp!" cries the hag, "I need it
for the charm I am about to prepare. Give it me, I say!"

But the raven still held it fast, and hopped here and there so nimbly
that she was unable to catch him. At length, when he had exhausted her
patience, he alighted on Mistress Nutter's shoulder, and dropped it into
her lap. Engrossed by her own painful thoughts, the lady had paid no
attention to what was passing, and she shuddered as she took up the
fragment of mortality, and placed it upon the table. A few tufts of
hair, the texture of which showed they had belonged to a female, still
adhered to the scalp. Mistress Nutter regarded it fixedly, and with an
interest for which she could not account.

After sharply chiding the raven, Mother Chattox put forth her hand to
grasp the prize she had been robbed of, when Mistress Nutter checked her
by observing, "You said you got this scalp from Goldshaw churchyard.
Know you ought concerning it?"

"Ay, a good deal," replied the old woman, chuckling. "It comes from a
grave near the yew-tree, and not far from Abbot Cliderhow's cross. Old
Zachariah Worms, the sexton, digged it up for me. That yellow skull had
once a fair face attached to it, and those few dull tufts were once
bright flowing tresses. She who owned them died young; but, young as she
was, she survived all her beauty. Hollow cheeks and hollow eyes, wasted
flesh, and cruel cough, were hers--and she pined and pined away. Folks
said she was forespoken, and that I had done it. I, forsooth! She had
never done me harm. You know whether I was rightly accused, madam."

"Take it away," cried Mistress Nutter, hurriedly, and as if struggling
against some overmastering feeling. "I cannot bear to look at it. I
wanted not this horrible reminder of my crimes."

"This was the reason, then, why Ralph stole the scalp from me," muttered
the hag, as she threw it, together with some other matters, into the
caldron. "He wanted to show you his sagacity. I might have guessed as
much."

"I will go into the other room while you make your preparations," said
Mistress Nutter, rising; "the sight of them disturbs me. You can summon
me when you are ready."

"I will, madam," replied the old hag, "and you must control your
impatience, for the spell requires time for its confection."

Mistress Nutter made no reply, but, walking into the inner room, closed
the door, and threw herself upon the pallet. Here, despite her anxiety,
sleep stole upon her, and though her dreams were troubled, she did not
awake till Mother Chattox stood beside her.

"Have I slept long?" she inquired.

"More than three hours," replied the hag.

"Three hours!" exclaimed Mistress Nutter. "Why did you not wake me
before? You would have saved me from terrible dreams. We are not too
late?"

"No, no," replied Mother Chattox; "there is plenty of time. Come into
the other room. All is ready."

As Mistress Nutter followed the old hag into the adjoining room, a
strong odour, arising from a chafing-dish, in which herbs, roots, and
other ingredients were burning, assailed her, and, versed in all weird
ceremonials, she knew that a powerful suffumigation had been made,
though with what intent she had yet to learn. The scanty furniture had
been cleared away, and a circle was described on the clay floor by
skulls and bones, alternated by dried toads, adders, and other reptiles.
In the midst of this magical circle, the caldron, which had been brought
from the chimney, was placed, and, the lid being removed, a thick vapour
arose from it. Mistress Nutter looked around for the raven, but the bird
was nowhere to be seen, nor did any other living thing appear to be
present beside themselves.

Taking the lady's hand, Mother Chattox drew her into the circle, and
began to mutter a spell; after which, still maintaining her hold of her
companion, she bade her look into the caldron, and declare what she saw.

"I see nothing," replied the lady, after she had gazed upon the bubbling
waters for a few moments. "Ah! yes--I discern certain figures, but they
are confused by the steam, and broken by the agitation of the water."

"Caldron--cease boiling! and smoke--disperse!" cried Mother Chattox,
stamping her foot. "Now, can you see more plainly?"

"I can," replied Mistress Nutter; "I behold the subterranean chamber
beneath Malkin Tower, with its nine ponderous columns, its altar in the
midst of them, its demon image, and the well with waters black as Lethe
beside it."

"The water within the caldron came from that well," said Mother Chattox,
with a chuckling laugh; "my familiar risked his liberty to bring it, but
he succeeded. Ha! ha! My precious Fancy, thou art the best of servants,
and shalt have my best blood to reward thee to-morrow--thou shalt, my
sweetheart, my chuck, my dandyprat. But hie thee back to Malkin Tower,
and contrive that this lady may hear, as well as see, all that passes.
Away!"

Mistress Nutter concluded that the injunction would be obeyed; but, as
the familiar was invisible to her, she could not detect his departure.

"Do you see no one within the dungeon?" inquired Mother Chattox.

"Ah! yes," exclaimed the lady; "I have at last discovered Alizon. She
was behind one of the pillars. A little girl is with her. It is Jennet
Device, and, from the spiteful looks of the latter, I judge she is
mocking her. Oh! what malice lurks in the breast of that hateful child!
She is a true descendant of Mother Demdike. But Alizon--sweet, patient
Alizon--she seems to bear all her taunts with a meekness and resignation
enough to move the hardest heart. I would weep for her if I could. And
now Jennet shakes her hand at her, and leaves her. She is alone. What
will she do now? Has she no thoughts of escape? Oh, yes! She looks about
her distractedly--runs round the vault--tries the door of every cell:
they are all bolted and barred--there is no outlet--none!"

"What next?" inquired the hag.

"She shrieks aloud," rejoined Mistress Nutter, "and the cry thrills
through every fibre in my frame. She calls upon me for aid--upon me, her
mother, and little thinks I hear her, and am unable to help her. Oh! it
is horrible. Take me to her, good Chattox--take me to her, I implore
you!"

"Impossible!" replied the hag: "you must await the fitting time. If you
cannot control yourself, I shall remove the caldron."

"Oh! no, no," cried the distracted lady. "I will be calm. Ah! what is
this I see?" she added, belying her former words by sudden vehemence,
while rage and astonishment were depicted upon her countenance. "What
infernal delusion is practised upon my child! This is monstrous--
intolerable. Oh! that I could undeceive her--could warn her
of the snare!"

"What is the nature of the delusion?" asked Mother Chattox, with some
curiosity. "I am so blind I cannot see the figures on the water."

"It is an evil spirit in my likeness," replied Mistress Nutter.

"In your likeness!" exclaimed the hag. "A cunning device--and worthy of
old Demdike--ho! ho!"

"I can scarce bear to look on," cried Mistress Nutter; "but I must,
though it tears my heart in pieces to witness such cruelty. The poor
girl has rushed to her false parent--has thrown her arms around her, and
is weeping on her shoulder. Oh! it is a maddening sight. But it is
nothing to what follows. The temptress, with the subtlety of the old
serpent, is pouring lies into her ear, telling her they both are
captives, and both will perish unless she consents to purchase their
deliverance at the price of her soul, and she offers her a bond to
sign--such a bond as, alas! thou and I, Chattox, have signed. But Alizon
rejects it with horror, and gazes at her false mother as if she
suspected the delusion. But the temptress is not to be beaten thus. She
renews her entreaties, casts herself on the ground, and clasps my
child's knees in humblest supplication. Oh! that Alizon would place her
foot upon her neck and crush her. But it is not so the good act. She
raises her, and tells her she will willingly die for her; but her soul
was given to her by her Creator, and must be returned to him. Oh! that I
had thought of this."

"And what answer makes the spirit?" asked the witch.

"It laughs derisively," replied Mistress Nutter; "and proceeds to use
all those sophistical arguments, which we have so often heard, to
pervert her mind, and overthrow her principles. But Alizon is proof
against them all. Religion and virtue support her, and make her more
than a match for her opponent. Equally vain are the spirit's attempts to
seduce her by the offer of a life of sinful enjoyment. She rejects it
with angry scorn. Failing in argument and entreaty, the spirit now
endeavours to work upon her fears, and paints, in appalling colours, the
tortures she will have to endure, contrasting them with the delight she
is voluntarily abandoning, with the lover she might espouse, with the
high worldly position she might fill. 'What are worldly joys and honours
compared with those of heaven!' exclaims Alizon; 'I would not exchange
them.' The spirit then, in a vision, shows her her lover, Richard, and
asks her if she can resist his entreaties. The trial is very sore, as
she gazes on that beloved form, seeming, by its passionate gestures, to
implore her to assent, but she is firm, and the vision disappears. The
ordeal is now over. Alizon has triumphed over all their arts. The spirit
in my likeness resumes its fiendish shape, and, with a dreadful menace
against the poor girl, vanishes from her sight."

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Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher - "The Laws of Candy"

Various - "The Great Round World and What Is Going On In It, Vol. 1, No. 15, February 18, 1897"

Mrs. Eugenia Dunlap Potts - "Historic Papers on the Causes of the Civil War"

or: Kisari Mohan Ganguli - "The Mahabharata of Krishna Dwaipayana Vyasa, Volume 3"

Roy Greenslade: Michael Wolff on Rupert Murdoch - he loves gossip
Articles published by guardian.co.uk Books

President Obama teams up with one of Marvel's greatest heroes, reports Alison Flood

Here's Michael Wolff, still doing the rounds promoting his Rupert Murdoch biography, The man who owns the news. This interview with Jon Stewart is fun. It starts off with Wolff saying: "You wanna start a rumour, tell Rupert. He's the biggest gossip I've ever met." And there's an amusing pay-off too. (Via Comedy Central/The E&P Pub)

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Murder One closing so did we commit this crime?

Barack Obama is teaming up with Spider-Man in a new comic from Marvel, which will see the future president exchanging a fist-bump with Peter Parker's alter ego.

The five-page story takes place in Washington DC on inauguration day, when one of Spidey's oldest enemies, the Chameleon, attempts to stop Obama's swearing-in ceremony. Fortunately, Peter Parker is covering the event as a photographer, and jumps in to save the day.

"Ya hear that, Chameleon? The president-elect here just appointed me ... secretary of shuttin' you up," Spider-Man says as he thwacks the Chameleon in the face. "I hope this doesn't ruin the inauguration for you," he tells Obama, as the Chameleon is led away by security officials. "Honestly, I'm more upset by the Chameleon's shockingly deficient understanding of the electoral process," Obama replies.

Spidey then cedes the limelight to Obama. "This is your day, after all, and I know it wouldn't look good to be seen palling around with me," he says, in a nod to Sarah Palin's comment that the then presidential candidate had been "palling around with terrorists".

The story, written by Zeb Wells and illustrated by Todd Nauck and Frank D'Armata, will appear as a bonus feature in Amazing Spider-Man 583, which goes on sale on 14 January.

"When we heard that president-elect Obama is a collector of Spider-Man comics, we knew that these two historic figures had to meet in our comics' Marvel Universe," said Marvel's editor-in-chief Joe Quesada. "A Spider-Man fan moving into the Oval Office is an event that must be commemorated in the pages of Amazing Spider-Man."

In October, graphic novel biographies of Obama and his then rival John McCain were published by IDW. April will see Michelle Obama appearing in the Female Force comic book series.

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