The Sock Box Goodbye

"Pack your socks, Poppy," said Mum. "The van comes soon."

Poppy hugged her red sock and her blue sock. She did not want to pack. She wanted to stay in the old house, with the crooked stairs and the squeaky third step.

But in this world, socks were slippery things. Every night, they swapped partners. Poppy could pair her red one with her red one, tight as a hug, and by morning the red one was holding hands with a stripy one.

"Silly socks," Poppy said.

Today, she had a plan. She would keep one red sock in her pocket and one in the box. Then she would hold on to the pocket. Nothing could swap that.

The van came. The big men carried the beds and the chairs. Poppy sat in the car with the box on her lap.

At the new house, everything smelled of paint. The stairs were straight. They did not squeak at all.

"I don't like it," Poppy whispered.

She opened the box. Her red sock was gone from her pocket. In the box lay two socks, one blue and one stripy.

"Oh no," said Poppy. "Where did my red sock go?"

She looked under the bed. She looked behind the door. She looked in the bath. No red sock.

Then she tried something different. She stood very still and listened.

Scritch, scritch. Pat, pat.

It came from the cupboard in the hall. Poppy opened the door. There sat her red sock on the bottom shelf, right next to a small green sock that was not hers.

"Oh!" said Poppy. "You've made a friend already."

She laughed. The green sock must belong to the house.

Poppy put on her red sock and the green one. They did not match at all. Then she climbed the straight stairs, one, two, three.

Pat, pat, pat. No squeak. Just two odd socks, going up, up, up.