Ever since my wife passed away, it’s been just me and my seven-year-old son Artem. Life has had its challenges, but we’ve made it work. Yet lately, something strange has been happening in our home—something that left me both puzzled and uneasy.
It started innocently enough. I thought it was my fault, maybe just a careless mistake while doing laundry. Every now and then, I’d find that one sock from each pair was missing. The right one would be fine, but the left sock? Gone. At first, I dismissed it as nothing more than a glitch in my routine. Maybe the sock got stuck inside the dryer vent or wedged under a pile of clothes. But it kept happening.
Soon enough, it wasn’t just an isolated incident. It was a pattern. Every single time, the left sock vanished. No matter how careful I was, no matter how thorough my checks, the mystery remained unsolved. I even asked Artem, but he looked at me with wide, innocent eyes and said he didn’t know. I wasn’t convinced. My son was clever, and I had this strange feeling that he might know something I didn’t.
In desperation, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I set up an old nanny cam in the laundry room, the kind I had kept around for when Artem was a toddler. I didn’t expect much—maybe just a glimpse of me absentmindedly losing socks in my sleep-deprived state. What I saw, however, left me speechless.
The footage was clear. At night, when the house was still and the only sounds were the creaking of old floorboards, Artem sneaked into the laundry room. He was carrying a small bag. Quietly, he pulled out one sock from each pair, folded them neatly, and placed them inside the bag. Once he was done, he slipped on his coat and walked out of the house, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
My heart sank. My son, my sweet, innocent Artem, was taking the socks. But why? Where was he going with them? What was he doing?
The next morning, I decided to follow him. My nerves were on edge, my mind racing with a million questions. He didn’t seem to notice me trailing behind him, his small figure disappearing into the misty morning air. He walked down the street, past our neighbors’ houses, until he reached the very end of the block—the last house on the street. I had always thought it was abandoned, no one had lived there for years.
Without thinking, I quickened my pace. I was determined to get answers. I reached the house just in time to see Artem walk up to the door and knock gently. A few moments later, the door creaked open, revealing an elderly woman with kind, but weary eyes.
“Artem, darling, you’re here!” she said, her voice soft and welcoming. The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
I stood frozen in place, completely unprepared for what I saw next. Artem walked inside, the door closing behind him with a soft click. I felt my breath catch in my chest.
What was going on? Why had he been sneaking out every night? And who was this woman?
I waited a few moments before cautiously walking up to the door. I was about to knock when I heard her voice again, this time clearer, as she spoke to Artem inside.
“These socks will keep you warm. I know how hard it is for you. You’re doing the right thing.”
I hesitated, the weight of her words sinking in. I couldn’t just barge in—I needed to know more. What was Artem doing here, and who was this woman? My mind raced with possibilities, but the truth was elusive. I had to find out.
The mystery of the missing socks had taken a darker turn, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for the answers I was about to uncover.
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