“Polly Carmichael you are not going Trick or Treating dressed as a sock, and that is the end of it! What on earth has possessed you anyway girl, I’ve told you that you can have any outfit you want and you choose to go as a sock. Honestly, you and your imagination, it causes me nothing but trouble.”
Mrs Carmichael was not impressed and neither was a frustrated Polly, who with crossed arms, pouted throughout her Mothers lengthy tirade.
“But Mama I…….”
“But Mama nothing young lady, where on earth did you get this foolish idea?”
Looking anywhere but at her Mother, Polly whispered “Patricia.”
“Patricia who? The lady who runs the wool shop at the end of the street, Lemon Lime Follies?”
“Well at least I know you are safe when you are there, but what have I told you about walking on the road unaccompanied and what is it with your sudden fascination for socks, I just don’t understand!”
Ah, there it was, the question that Polly dreaded most of all.
How could Polly explain to her Mother about the wonderful lady in the shop who made knitting fun and told amazing stories of far away lands, dragons and ghosts. Who made the socks she knitted dance by the glow of the fire with her magic knitting needles as she served up delicious buns and sweets to be munched upon.
She had to go tonight and she had to be a sock!
For the last three months a secret war had been waging in drawers all throughout the sleepy little village of Cosy Toe, unbeknown to any of it’s inhabitants.
Sabrina De La Fibrè, on moving to the village had spotted a gap in the market for manufacturing socks. Patricia could knit, boy could she, but her socks were mischievous and caused no end of trouble during their creation. Although funny and harmless, their high jinx meant supply could not currently meet demand. Sabrina, a clever and calculating witch, wheedled her way into the towns good graces and became the number one supplier with her bright colours, bold designs and catchy slogans. However unlike the woolen socks born in the shop which were crafted with love and care, Sabrina’s synthetic fibres were laced with the misery that radiated from her cold dark heart!
On Halloween night they were going to dance anyone who wore them straight into the river to be carried away forever.
“Okay Mama, I will wear last years costume if you will just let me leave now, the festivities have already started” begged Polly.
“Oh for goodness sake off you go, but we shall continue this conversation. Do not be late!”
Polly grabbed the costume from the chair and moved forward like she was heading to get changed, but as soon as her mother turned away she darted out through the back door and ran as fast as she could all the way to Lemon, Lime, Follies.
Patricia was already at the door and ushered her in, checking up and down the street to make sure she had not been seen. Giving her a warm hug and brushing the hair from Polly’s eyes she said “You all set?”
“Yep” said Polly with a smile and a salute, before climbing into the sock costume laid out in front of the fire.
Patricia lifted a basket from the table, lined with quilted fabric and as soft as a feather, set it on the floor, and proceeded to let out the loudest whistle Polly had ever heard in her life. A chorus of squeals and whee’s of delighted echoed all through the room as hundred of little socks emerged from the shadows, running, bouncing and somersaulting, before eventually diving into the basket.
“Be good little one’s,” Patricia whispered before handing them to Polly. “And to you child, best of luck. I have added extra love into the costume to keep you safe. We don’t have much time, so hurry along.”
Stepping out into the cold, Polly headed towards the town, keeping her head down and avoiding all the glances from the other trick or treaters. She could hear giggling and knew it was at her costume, but resolute she marched on knowing that she would have the last laugh tonight, god willing.
As she approached the town, she became aware of someone making a speech. Hurrying closer she realised it was none other than Sabrina De La Fibrè herself, courting the crowd who had become unusually sombre considering this was supposed to be a celebration. All at once, as if on cue the crowd turned and started to walk towards the river.
“Where are you going Jaded?” she asked the girl who had just become Poet Laureate. No reply. Polly tugged her sleeve trying to gain some sort of response. Nothing, nothing at all. With dead pan faces the crowd continued to march. The only sound that split the night was the evil laughter of the witch.
Knowing the time was now, Polly ran to the front of the crowd and setting the basket on the ground shouted to all the little socks to get to work. With yelps of glee and jumps for joy the little socks began to surround the villagers, encompassing them in a circle. The larger socks drew together to form a platform onto which Polly gingerly stepped. Clearing her throat she recited the words that Patricia had taught her:
Attention feet of all who stand,
Do you know to where you roam
You seem to be heading for the river,
when you really should be going home.
The evil lady tricked you,
There is a darkness at your feet,
feel how weary your legs are,
Would you not rather have a seat.
Remember the days of woolen socks
when your feet felt warm and safe,
not like that new material
that makes you itch and chafe.
Take off your socks and sit a while,
rest your weary heads,
and when you are feeling more refreshed,
head home wards to your beds.
One by one the townspeople fell to the ground, as if in deep slumber, smiles upon their content faces. The little socks jumped up and down with delight, until that is, they saw the witch approaching with a face like thunder.
Banding together they formed lines in front of Polly, a little army protecting it’s precious cargo.
The witch sneered and laughed, “Do you think you can stop me! NOTHING can stop me!!”
“Do you think so” roared the little socks as they started to unravel, joining and growing, binding and making the strongest rope the world had ever seen. Moving forward they started at the witches feet and wove a path up her body encasing her in a tight cocoon, so tight in fact she could not even scream. On and on they worked until not even an inch of her could be seen. Then they started to sing and squeeze. Polly could not hear the words, but the tune made her feel relaxed and happy, as the little socks squeezed and squeezed until eventually the wicked witch exploded into a million pieces that fell to the ground like black snow.
Polly felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Patricia standing behind her. “Well done Polly, I knew you could do it, you certainly knocked the socks off them all!”
My entry for the Okay, What if? Weekly Writing Challenge.
It’s probably not what I wanted it to be, but as I had no clear idea of where I was going with it, it will have to do. It has literally made my brain ache :)