Its Socks by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Its Socks

Page 21

old pantyhose. They knocked on the doors of retired sneakers, loafers, and even the elusive high heel coven.

"Trick or treat!" they squeaked in unison.

The footwear, amused and slightly bewildered, offered up lint truffles, gumdrop buttons, and the rarest treat of all; a single use dryer sheet, folded like origami.

But not all was cozy in Socksville. Deep in the shadows of the laundry chute lurked the dreaded Sock Gobbler; a rogue vacuum hose with a taste for stray hosiery. As the socklings approached the final house, a haunted Croc rumored to be cursed with eternal odor, the Gobbler struck.

Sir Argyle leapt into action, flinging his cape to distract the beast. Miss Purl howled her woolen war cry, summoning the spirits of lost socks from the dryer dimension. Together, they tangled the Gobbler in a web of elastic bands and banished it back to the dustbin.

The socks cheered, their threads fraying with joy. Sockoween was saved.

That night, under the glow of a flickering nightlight, the socks gathered in a circle, swapping stories and sweets. Sir Argyle raised his candy pouch high.