Socks from hell

It was holidays, and the family were being tourists in far north Queensland, where the bus drivers all wore long white socks with their beige shorts.

On this day there were other socks on the bus that were attracting even more attention. They were a peculiar shade of green nylon, and belonged to a teenaged boy.

His little brother hated them. ‘Why don’t you ever wear different socks?’ he asked.

‘I like these ones.’

‘You could have more than one pair, like a normal person,’ said his sister.

‘Weren’t they white before?’ asked his father.

‘They were never white,’ said the wearer of the socks.

‘They’re certainly not white now!’ said his mother.

‘And they smell,’ said his little brother.

‘Not as bad as you,’ said the big brother.

‘That’s enough of that,’ said their father.

‘I hate those green socks,’ said the sister. ‘There ought to be a law against them.’

‘Leave me alone!’

The teenaged boy looked out the window as palm trees flew past and the other people on the bus pretended they weren’t listening.

But his mother kept staring at the green socks. ‘They really are spectacularly appalling,’ she pronounced. ‘I don’t know why I’ve never noticed how awful they are. Socks from hell.’

Her daughter nodded. ‘Something ought to be done about them.’

The teenaged boy shoved his feet out of sight under the seat in front. ‘Pick on someone else’s socks,’ he said.

When they got to the beach, the driver warned everyone about the risk of stingers. He said it was only safe for paddling. It was an idyllic place though, and even the teenaged boy stopped sulking. He took his shoes and socks off and went to check out the water.

His younger brother moved fast. Checking no one was watching, he grabbed the disgusting green socks, then ran up the beach and buried them. He carefully smoothed over the evidence of his crime, then joined the others at the water’s edge.

When the elder brother returned to his towel he instantly knew what had happened. 

The little boy saw him coming and took to his heels, but the older boy had longer legs.

‘What have you done with them?!’ Before the little boy could think of a good lie, his brother started strangling him. It took both parents to pull him off.

‘What’s this about?’ asked the father.

‘He stole my socks!’

‘Is that true?’

The little boy nodded solemnly.

‘What did you do with them?’

‘I buried them. It was a community service.’

The teenaged boy squirmed in fury. ‘You little—’ 

‘When did you become a thief?’ their mother demanded of the little boy. ‘How would you like it if we buried your things?’

‘You said they were socks from hell!’

‘Never mind what I said, you dig those socks up right now or you’re not getting any dinner.’

Reluctantly, the little boy dug around where he thought he’d buried the socks, but there was no sign of them.

The bus driver got wind of what was happening. ‘You can’t bury nylon socks in a World Heritage area!’ he said. 

The driver got down on his knees and started digging. Soon the rest of the tour group was digging too. The sun fell lower as the tour fell behind schedule and piles of sand appeared all over the beach.

The little boy’s sister starting digging next to him. She was sweaty and covered in sand.

‘It’s your fault we’re missing out on all the fun stuff,’ she scowled.

‘But you said there ought to be a law against those socks!’

‘Shut up and dig,’ she said.

It wasn’t fair.

The teenaged boy dug like a demon, but didn’t find his socks, and neither did anyone else. Eventually the bus driver called a halt to the great sock search. His formerly immaculate tie and socks were in disarray.

‘I’m sorry son,’ he said to the teenager, one hand on his shoulder. ‘We did our best.’

Everyone trooped back to the bus, staring grumpily at the little boy who’d caused all this.

That night, he didn’t get any dinner, but he was smiling inside. 

It was worth it.