The Dragon of Nottingham - The Thing That Ate My Socks

The Thing That Ate My Socks
by Isaac Small
Grade: Three
Nottingham Grade School
Teacher: Miss Hummerschnickel
Class Assignment: Write a story about your favorite article of clothing. To be read in class on Monday. 

”And that‘s what I love about my pretty blue dress with the yellow polka dots!”

”That was lovely, Loretta,” said Miss Hummerschnickel.  “Isaac, dear, it's your turn to read. Please come to the head of the class."

Isaac did so, and began to read his story.

“The Thing That Ate My Socks, by Isaac Small.

"My socks ran away," said Harold

“Just a moment, Isaac," said Miss Hummerschnickel. “Who’s Harold? This was supposed to be about your favorite article of clothing."

“I changed the names to protect the innocent," said Isaac. “I saw that on a TV program once."

“Very well, Isaac. We’ll all just have to guess as to who your story is all about."

“Thank you," said Isaac. 

My socks ran away," said Harold.

It's the only explanation he could think of. He knew for sure he tucked the socks into his sneakers before going to bed last night. Now the poor smelly things were gone! His mom used to scold Harold for wearing the same socks all week long, but he told her they made him happy. And since she never wanted to see him unhappy she’d let him wear the socks until they started smelling like boiled cabbage. That’s when she’d phone the toxic waste people to come and cart them away.

The toxic-waste people would arrive with their super-sonic-sock-sucking machine, which would crawl up the side of the house and into Harold’s bedroom window. But even the super-sonic-sock-sucking machine was hesitant whenever it approached Harold’s little pair of smellies. After some careful thought - and a little encouragement from the toxic-waste commander - it would extend its mechanical sucking scope and make a quick slurp at the smelly twosome. Once it had them, it retreated through the bedroom window and blasted off for the Smelly Sock laundry on Mars. It was the only planet in the galaxy that would tolerate the smell after Harold had worn them for more than a few days.

But now the socks were gone.

“Really?” said his mom. “Your socks just got up out of your shoes and walked away? With no help from you whatsoever?”

“Honest, Mom,” said Harold.

“I suppose they had a fight with your sneakers over who had the worst smell. Then your socks decided to break-up with the sneakers and ran away crying little sweaty, smelly tears?”

“No, Mom, I suppose not.”

“Socks cost money, Harold. I know you think we’ve got buckets full of gold in the cellar, but it just isn’t so. There’s nothing down there but a sputtering water heater and a stuttering boiler that produces more chills than that wheezing air conditioner of ours."

"Sorry, Mom. I'll try to be more careful."

When his mom left the room, Harold plopped himself back into bed and stared at the ceiling. "And don't you dare get back into bed, Harold!" his mother yelled from the bottom of the stairs. "The school bus will be here in twenty minutes!"

"Yes, Harold," said a voice. "Do as your told. Always listen. Never complain. Go to school so you can grow up to be one of them."

"Who said that?"

"Me," said the voice. "Down here. I'm the thing under your bed, Harold. The thing that leaves you empty ice cube trays in the freezer! I shorten the life of light bulbs! Toss away remotes! I make the dogs bark at night and police sirens wail! I'm the wind that slams shut the door! The thing in the corner of your room that your cat keeps staring at! I'm all those shadows that frighten you when you're away at sleep-over camp! I'm the owl that hoots! The wolf that howls!The branch that snaps! But most of all, Harold, I'm the thing that eats your dirty socks!"

Harold poked his head under the bed and looked his dragon in the eye. His dragon blushed and pulled a dirty sock out of his mouth.

“No, no!” said Harold. “That’s my last good, dirty pair. How many times do I have to tell you? Please eat the clean ones!”

“The end,” said Isaac. “Thank you!”

“Um,” said Miss Hummerschnickel. “That’s was very interesting, Isaac. I trust all is well at home?”

“Couldn’t be better,” said Isaac. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” said Miss Hummerschnickel. “But I’ll be sure to discuss your story at the next parent/teacher conference.”

“Thank you, Miss Hummerschnickel. I'll tell my dad. He helped me write it. He'll be so pleased you liked it."