By Martha Melyan

Reader Warning:  Beware!
These adventures will stir your imagination, and may make you believe in ghosts, witches, and maybe even black fog!

Scrantonians are taking the disappearance of Mr. X to heart. Kids are searching for him everywhere on their way to school, and after school. Adults scrawl down license plate numbers of people who ride suspiciously, or slowly, looking around the streets.
Mr. X moving to Scranton a few weeks ago was a great thing for Scrantonites, but so short-lived. Mr. X moving to Scranton gave folks a great sense of security - especially since his office was so accessible, right in the “Scranton Post,” but now, everyone was terrified. Mr. X gone?  Kidnapped?  How?!
Whoever thought that Mr. X could get kidnapped - or that it could happen so fast and in such a weird and mysterious way?
To make matters worse, X’s secretary, the glamorous and very French Ms. Vivienne Barkley, was also gone - kidnapped, right from her hairdresser’s.
Notices were posted everywhere in town: “IF YOU SEE MR. X, contact the Scranton Police!”  And so, everyone was out looking for X - above ground, that is…while Mr. X and Ms. Barkley lay far below the surface of Scranton - a mile or two below, in fact. And if you could hear that distance, you would hear two muffled frantic voices - trying to communicate.
 “Fuh, bluh, blu-bluah, fuuuh!” Mr. X muttered through his gag. Sweat poured down his brow.  He puffed.
 Ms. Barkley wailed, “Whaaah-hhooo-hoo-hooh-hooh,” and sniff, sniff, sniff.  “Whaaaaah”
The Scranton Police were checking on leads - but all seemed dead.
One sharp Scranton detective, plump but with a handsome face and bright red hair and sharp blue eyes, named Joe, leaned back in his chair and said to his partner, “Pete, I say we find that witch, Evil Livela, put the squeeze on’er, make’er talk, make’er tell us where X is - and his secretary.”
“Put the squeeze on Evil?” answered his partner in surprise.  “Hah!  How do ya put the squeeze on Evil?”
“Well, think a minute,” said Joe.
“I did!  How can we even find’er?” exclaimed Pete.
Joe rubbed his chin.“I-I don’t know. But, no matter what, we will! We will find’er! We’re Scranton cops, and Scranton cops don’t give up!”
Pete swelled with pride at the thought.  “You’re right!  We’ll tear this town apart, find the witch, find the Black Fog Ghost.”
Joe nodded, and stared into the distance.  “But, how do ya find a witch?”
Pete said, “The Dark and Haunted Wood! Maybe if we could find those woods. . .”
Joe perked up.  “The Dark and Haunted Wood?  People say, ‘She’s Evil Livela - Evil Livela (Lih-veel-ah) from the Dark and Haunted Wood… Hmm. . I never gave the whole saying much thought – but I s’pose there’s a place that’s actually called the Dark and Haunted Wood.”
“Why, sure.  Native Indians used ta refer to some woods as good or evil, SO WHY NOT THE DARK AND HAUNTED WOOD?  That’s where she must be!”
“Dark, I can take, Pete, but, haunted?  I don’t like the sound of haunted.  Do ya think they cover haunted in the police manual?”
Meanwhile, in a cold dark coal mine of Scranton - one normally used for tours, but  temporarily closed - lay Mr. X and Ms. Barkley.
Mr. X and his secretary had been thrown there by Evil and her ghostly pal - and without anyone nearby to hear or help, it seemed hopeless.
Suddenly, X, driven by desperation, wriggled and squirmed with all of his might though his ropes around him were tight.  Then, he began rolling - rolling ‘round and ‘round, round and round on the hard damp coal-mine floor.  His arms were still tied tightly behind him, and sometimes it hurt to roll over them.  “Ouch,” he muttered under his gag.
Finally, by some miracle, X slipped out a hand from his ropes and reached up to rip the gag off his mouth.
“Ahhhh,” X hissed a sigh of relief.  “I did it.”  And, then, his only thought was Ms. Barkley,  his secretary.  “Ms. Barkley?  Ms. Barkley!  I don’t hear you.  You there?  I can’t see anything in the dark!  Please make some sound.  I need to know you’re here.”
X froze in fright from the silence.  “Uh-oh.”  He took a deep breath.  He worried, “Is she still alive?”
“Buh-huh-huh,” a small voice whimpered.
“You’re alive!  Keep it up!  Keep it up, Ms. Barkley, so I can find you!”
Slowly X felt his way in the dark, feeling cold stony walls, and some tall wood two-by-fours.  “Ow!!!” X hollered.  He had tripped and fallen.  Drip Drip Drip.  Water drizzled now steadily on his head.  “Hmm.  I’m wet,” he grumbled as he struggled tiredly to his feet.  “I’m coming!  Don’t worry.  I’m coming.  I just tripped over something and now, I’m wet.  ‘Raindrips keep fallin’ on my head!” he sang, “or somethin’ like that.  Ho-hum.”
“Buy-huh-huh,” whimpered Ms. Barkley a little louder.
“That-a girl.  I’ll find you.  Keep making noise.”
And suddenly X’s hands grasped her – X could feel Ms. Barkley’s soft poodly curls.  “At last!  Let me untie these awful ropes ‘round you, take off your gag.”
“Zank you!  Oh, X!  You saved me!” Ms. Barkley gasped for air. “I could not stand eet - zat gag!”  She leaned her head into X’s chest as he held her securely.
“It’s okay. . .”  X stroked her head to comfort her.  “Can you stand up?”
“Eet ees hard. I am zo steef from being tied up zoh long.”  She cried softly.
“You’ll be okay.  You just take my hand and I’ll lead you to safety.”
And, so, hand in hand, the two went, taking tiny steps, groping the walls with a free hand - the cooold walls – icy-cold damp stone walls.
“Watch the posts.  Don’t lean on them, just in case.”
“Just in case, what, X?”
X didn’t reply.  He pulled her along. Then, they walked side by side. 
“X.  I zink we are going deeper into zee mine.  I zee only black – noh-zing – noh-zing at all! I’m scared, X. We vill be lost here forev-. . .”
Ms. Barkley slipped from his grasp.
“No!” cried X.
“X!” Ms. Barkley screamed – and her voice echoed weirdly as if she were falling into a vast dark stony cavern.
“Where are you?” called X, panicky.  “Ms. Barkley.  Answer me!  Did you fall into a hole?”  X carefully felt the stony walls near him – many of them wet.  “Where are you?”
He heard Ms. Barkley crying - in the distance.  “I’ll find you,” X called, but he wondered, “How can Ms. Barkley sound so far away?”
 X bit his lip nervously as he continued to step carefully, feeling the walls, and posts.  “Where did Ms. Barkley go?  How could she be here one minute, and the next minute be gone?”
And, then, all of a sudden, “Whooooo-ahhh-ahhiiiih!”  X felt himself sliding, and boom - He fell with a thud.   WHACK!  “OW! My heeead!”
Ms. Barkley whispered. “At least you are here vith me. Hold me, X.  I am scared.”
“I can feel the room spinning - The room I can’t see. Hah!”
“Who knows where we are?   I cannot zee a zing!”
“Uhhhhhh. . . ooooh.  My head.”
“No one vill ever find us here, X.  I am zo worried.  And, oh, eet ees zo terrible.  I cannot zee any-zing!  But. . .vhat ees zat orange glow over zere?  X, do you zee?”
“I don’t see anything!”
“Oh, maybe eet ees my mind playing tricks.  Eet ees gone.  I zink I am zeeing zings.  Maybe I am zick.  And, now, no one vill ever find us!”
“Don’t keep saying that.  You’ll have me believing it,” said X, as he bit his lip.

***

Send your comments or letters to Mr. X at MrX@ScrantonPost.com, or snail mail to The Scranton Post, 329 Penn Ave., Suite 203, Attention: Mr. X, Scranton, Pa., 18503.
 
 
SEE YOU NEXT ISSUE, MR. X FANS!