Darned Wool - Sleepytime Supervillain Theatre #42

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"Darned Wool"
Story by Morgan Delaney
Music by Karl Casey @ White Bat Audio

“She’ll love this one!” The woman in the wool shop, who wore a knitted orange cardigan, with curled hair so white she must have bleached it - or knitted it from the most expensive wool - handed me a large ball of rather scratchy wool.
My gran loved knitting, and I wanted to buy her something thoughtful for her birthday.
Most of the wool came in balls big enough to hold in one hand.
This one was so large I had to hold it in my arms like a baby.
“Not sure about the colour,” I said, trying to be polite. As well as being scratchy, it was the weirdest shade of greenish maroon.
“Oh, you silly boy!” said the woman.
I bought it.
“Happy birthday, Gran!” I rose from my chair to kiss her cold, powdered cheek. On the table, a deflated carrot cake with soggy icing waited to be cut.
Only the two of us were there to celebrate her birthday, so I couldn’t hide when she opened my present, which I felt sure she would hate.
“You shouldn’t have!” she said after unwrapping it. From her expression, I knew she meant it.
She ate a slice of the cake, then sighed and pulled out her needles to start knitting. I made her a cup of tea. When she said she wanted nothing else I, made my excuses and left.
She looked at me like I’d let her down whenever I visited after that, but she kept knitting away with my wool.
Occasionally I would remember her birthday, and my skin would break out in phantom itches from the scratchy wool I’d bought.
I hoped Gran would be finished with it soon, and I resolved to get her something really special next year to make up for it.
We only had each other.
Then, one Saturday I saw what Gran had been knitting.
She sat in her favourite chair in the front room near the electric fire, and in the opposite chair, where she normally stockpiled her wool, sat a pair of greenish legs in a maroon knee-length skirt over thick thermal tights.
Like Gran wore.
I kept staring at them.
They looked so much like Gran’s legs I felt weird looking.
It was only the colour that gave away they weren't real.
“Did Debbie in the wool shop sell it to you?” asked Gran. “It’s the kind of thing she’d do.”
I shrugged. I hadn’t asked the woman’s name.
“You couldn’t have known, pet,” said Gran.
The next time I came around, there were two Grans sitting in their chairs in the front room, but obviously only one of them could talk to me.
She was in a good mood, having finished up the wool.
Maybe the wool had been a good present after all.
“How are you?” she asked. “Cup of tea? Oh, this is nice, isn’t it? It’s good of you to come around and visit me.” She bustled into the kitchen without waiting for me to answer, and I crept closer to the other Gran.
She looked deflated, as if she didn’t have enough stuffing inside.
I felt stupid, but I needed to make sure she wasn’t breathing.
I’d become paranoid about that damned wool.
She wasn’t, of course, and I sat back away from the wool Gran when I heard my Gran returning with the tea.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her. It’s all done now,” said Gran, when she saw me shooting glances at the thing in the other chair. “You just drink your tea and go do something for yourself. It’s the weekend. Don’t you have anyone else to be with? A girl, or anything?”
She hugged me goodbye. She felt very soft in my arms, but I found myself scratching them once the door had closed behind me.

And that's what happened.

Alright, I hope that helps you.
It's certainly a weight off my mind to have told you.
Possibly too much weight off, I'm...
starting to...
spin...
Oh noooooooooooooooo!