Once upon a time, very, very long ago, and very far away, but real, truly real, I’m sure it was real, once, somewhere, somehow, there was a demon who stole socks. Left socks, specifically. Some demons steal souls and some demons steal hearts; this demon stole socks. Left ones; did I mention that?
It was pretty funny. He set up a social presence and people really dug it. Had quite a cult following. People would comment on various socks; you’d think it would be the most outrageous stuff that got the most attention, but you’d be surprised; oftentimes, it was the most normal of normal footgear that people really grooved on.
People began leaving their socks out for him—took a little bit of the edge off the ‘stealing’ part, but by that point, nobody really thought of it as theft. It was a prank, it was a joke. Perhaps, perhaps, it was art. You might not think there’s a great deal of depth to be pulled from a single bit of yellow hosiery; but perhaps that was the point. When you pull it from context, examine it in and of itself, there’s quite a lot to discuss. The threading. The exact color. The sock itself, how is the cut? How is the pattern, if any, embossed upon it?
And people thought it was just terribly, terribly merry. They didn’t even worry too much about how the demon acquired their socks—perhaps he had a connection at the laundromat? Nobody ever saw or heard the demon; they just saw his face on a screen. I mean, nobody ever caught even a hint that the demon was around. So it was hard to wrap one’s head around the idea that a stranger, much less a supernatural stranger, much less one who was (at least) a thief…had made its way into their living spaces.
It was too amusing, and hundreds of socks had been collected and put online, and nobody ever got hurt. Oh, I suppose a few spoilsports got mad that some particular sock they enjoyed wasn’t around anymore, but they were roundly attacked online for being unable to participate in a simple community activity whose cost was just a sock. Not usually a new one, either. Eventually, it began to be a beloved part of our culture.
ENDING I:
Nobody thought too much about it, until, one morning, in every household which was missing a left stocking, every robbed foot suddenly began to move. Of its own volition. No longer under the control of the person who (thought) they owned the foot. It moved; it moved to where the Demon was, and it took the body with them.
THE REAL ENDING:
Eventually, people began competing to see if they could get their socks stolen. Because, yes, while many very, very plain bits of footwear had been made-off-with, surely something flamboyant would really get attention. And they did. The custom sock industry had never seen such a time of abundance.
People started wearing bigger socks; eventually, some of them started wearing socks the size of one’s whole body. You had to, to get the whole design on. People began to fall in love with that most marvelous item of clothing, the Sock.
It was an oddity that earlier ages had not recognized the Sock’s enduring potential; but we knew it now. Every loose thread was a mark of the sophistication of a well-aged sock; every torn seam was a tragedy of the highest order.
And we began to realize something:
We missed our stolen socks.
We really missed our stolen socks.
Sure, they were online, but their loss was an emptiness, an undarned hole in the anklets of our hearts.
So we appealed to the demon:
“Thank you for showing us that which is truly important in life! We have learned our lesson, and now we wish our socks back. Please. Pretty please. Pretty please very much.”
But the Demon only laughed.
“You thought me silly, a joke, an amusement; but I am a Demon. I am one of Hell’s tormentors, let loose on Earth through the deep foolishment of some now-perished mortal. We are rare, and usually, sent back rapidly whence we came. For should one of my kind gain a foothold here, we would do harm on a scale none had previously imagined.”
And the Demon laughed and deleted its entire account.
All the socks were gone.
Gone, gone forever. Not even their pictures remained.
And from that day forward, no human ever smiled again.
…except once in a while when we caught someone wearing a full-body sock. Because honestly, once you get down to it, those things are ridiculous.
My name is Jeff Mach (“Dark Lord” is optional) and I build communities, put on events, and make stories come into being. I also tweet a lot over @darklordjournal.
I write books. You should read them!
