Anonymous Mike and the Attack of Wayne’s Loafers

Salem, Indiana—a town once known for its peace, tranquility, and 2% milk. But today, dear readers, I bring you a tale of horror, villainy, and unspeakable terror. A tale so shocking, so disturbing, that it will leave you questioning everything you thought you knew about this so-called "quiet town." Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves for the jaw-dropping excitement of...

It all started on April Fools' Day at the Salem Apothecary, where Yours Truly, a dedicated and esteemed journalistic journalist with an unquenchable thirst for truth (and also a milkshake), was sitting down to interview local real estate mogul and dashing Renaissance man, Mike Ashby of A White House Realty.

Mr. Ashby, a paragon of charm and intelligence, was enlightening me on the intricacies of the housing market—zoning laws, tax abatements, something about a crow—when a shadow suddenly fell across our table. I looked up, heart pounding. A THUG—grizzled, menacing, exuding an aura of pure intimidation—shuffled past the front window, the words Wayne’s Barbershop Loafers  emblazoned across his chest like a badge of terror. Was this... was this a local gang?!

I gasped.

Mike didn’t. His unflappable demeanor, no doubt honed through countless high-stakes small-town real estate negotiations, remained undisturbed.

Then, another Loafer appeared. And another.

Holy moly, a fourth.

Mike’s expression darkened. His jaw set in steely determination. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the counter. "Excuse me," he muttered, his voice thick with barely contained emotion. He stood and disappeared into the street like a shadow in the night.

I bolted after him, but he was GONE. VANISHED. Not a trace remained. What had become of mild-mannered Mike Ashby?

Suddenly, a commotion from around the corner drew my attention. It was coming from Wayne's Barbershop. With the courage of a thousand lions, I made my way down to Water Street and stepped inside. Instantly, I was surrounded by…

Their eyes glowed like embers. Their breath smelled of coffee and danger. The air was thick with the acrid stench of menace (although it actually smelled kind of nice, it could have been aftershave). They muttered in their sinister tongue, speaking in cryptic codes—"Nice weather today, huh?" "How’s the wife?" "Did you catch the game last night?" My pulse pounded in my ears. Their leader, a towering figure of doom, adjusted his baseball cap and SMILED.

I closed my eyes. I was done for.

AND THEN—

A heroic figure BURST  through the door, shrouded in mystery, cloaked in justice, draped in a tiny cape…

THE DASHING DEFENDER!

THE MIGHTY, MASKED MARVEL!

THE SENTINEL OF SALEM!

"HOLD FAST, CITIZENS!" he bellowed, striking a heroic pose that would have been absolutely majestic  had his cape not been caught in the door. “I AM HERE TO PURIFY THIS TOWN OF ITS GREATEST SCOURGE—WAYNE’S LOAFERS!”

The room fell silent. The Loafers, unimpressed, blinked sleepily. Wayne, the barber, sighed heavily.

“Mike—” he started.

“—ANONYMOUS  Mike—”

“—Anonymous  Mike,” Wayne grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "For the last time, stop coming in here and bothering my customers. And you—" he turned, pointing at me, "quit encouraging this. I’m losing business. Wait, stop that, don’t take a picture —”

Anonymous Mike remained undeterred. He scanned the room for violence and villainy, only to discover that the Loafers had already succumbed to their greatest weakness—post-lunch drowsiness.

"HA!" Anonymous Mike declared triumphantly. "MY WORK HERE IS DONE."

With that, he soared out the door, as mysteriously and majestically as he came.

Shaking, emotionally wrecked, and clearly lucky to be alive, I stumbled back to the Apothecary. There sat Mike Ashby, cool as a cucumber, sipping his milkshake. Or maybe it was mine.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked, slurping loudly, before seamlessly resuming his riveting analysis of home appraisals.

I nodded absentmindedly, but something caught my eye. Peeking out from his briefcase was a familiar scrap of fabric—was it… 

… a mask?!

No. It couldn’t  be.

Mike Ashby? A real estate genius? A man of wealth and sophistication?

…No. No, the very thought was absurd.

And yet…

Or is it only the beginning?!

Will Anonymous Mike return?!

Have we truly seen the last of Wayne’s fearsome Loafers?!

Was that actually my milkshake?!

Find out next April Fools' Day in…

The Washington County Times wishes to thank A White House Realty, Wayne's Barbershop, and The Salem Apothecary for their cooperation and assistance with this article.