by Lorna D. Keach
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\nJerry knew Barbara wanted to kill him, but he really thought she\u2019d try poison or an ice pick first.<\/p>\n
He underestimated her creativity.<\/p>\n
Barbara was a knitter. \u00a0She often whined that people underestimated the creativity of knitters. \u00a0She ran a yarn shop on the corner of Third and Maple, something so boring Jerry couldn’t remember what it was called.\u00a0 They spoke very little since he lost his job at SisTerm Networking Solutions. \u00a0At least they didn\u2019t argue about the mini fridge in the garage anymore.<\/p>\n
Jerry sat at home all day looking at porn, under the guise of working as a freelance web consultant. \u00a0Their house had four spare rooms, but Barbara had manufactured it so Jerry only got one of them\u2014his \u201cden\u201d she called it, but it wasn\u2019t his den at all. \u00a0Barbara used his den to store the leftover projects and surplus inventory from her store. \u00a0Her yarn lurked in the corner behind his computer desk, spilling out of plastic tubs in reds, blues, goldenrods and periwinkles. \u00a0It was multi-toned, hand-dyed, felted, woven, sparkling silver and soft plushy green. \u00a0She\u2019d denied his request for a mini fridge in the garage, and now she claimed the only room he had to himself for her spare yarn, so Jerry was confident she was trying to kill him slowly through torture.<\/p>\n
Most of the yarn was from Peru.<\/p>\n
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\nBarbara wasn\u2019t exactly sure when she began to loathe her husband, but it seemed to coincide with his request for a small refrigerator in the garage.<\/p>\n
The ladies gathered. \u00a0Barbara knew Jerry never bothered to learn the name of her yarn store, but it was called Pachamama\u2019s Wool Specialties, open from ten a.m. to three, with knitting classes all the way up until midnight. \u00a0After midnight, Barbara and her knitting circle took off all their clothes, draping the quipu over their pre-menopausal bodies.
\nThe quipu\u2014a set of bundled knotted strings used for ritual sacrifice.\u00a0 And accounting, but mostly sacrifice.<\/p>\n
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\nJerry sat at his computer, watching porn until well after midnight.<\/p>\n
The yarn began to twitch at 1:17 am.<\/p>\n
First, a wad of baby-blue wool jerked like a limp tentacle come to life. \u00a0It started to crawl\u2014slowly, laboriously\u2014over the edge of its plastic tub, dragging along with it a tangle of\u00a0 bright red strings. The goldenrod yarn trailed after it, and then the sea green, until a swell of knotted colors came creeping towards Jerry\u2019s computer chair.<\/p>\n
Jerry, sitting at the computer with his pants around his ankles, didn\u2019t notice. \u00a0He barely noticed when the first string of murderous softness wrapped around his left leg and started burrowing into his kneecap. \u00a0It didn\u2019t hurt, it just felt strangely warm and itchy. \u00a0When he finally glanced down, he saw the yarn wrapped around him. \u00a0It infused him, tunneling under his skin like worms.<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t scream. \u00a0There was very little blood. \u00a0He just stared down at it, blinking.<\/p>\n
But then the yarn coiled up around his legs, squeezing and stretching him, and Jerry tried to shake it off. \u00a0He batted at it with a panicked hand, but already the yarn was too deep. \u00a0He jumped up, his heart now racing, and immediately fell flat on his face thanks to the tangle embedded in his feet. \u00a0Baby-blue, red, gold, green, all of it wove up around him, swallowing his hips. \u00a0He laid there and gasped, sucking air in shock, as the woolen entity crushed him in a python-strong grip.<\/p>\n
Cardigan, Jerry thought. \u00a0She’s going to kill me by cardigan.<\/p>\n
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\nWhen Barbara finally got home, she found Jerry completely unraveled.<\/p>\n
A tangle of him lay on the floor of the den, seeping little dribbles of blood. \u00a0His skin had been spun into his bones, his organs had been stretched into throbbing purple strings. \u00a0All of him melded with the Peruvian wool granted sinister life by ancient Incan deities.<\/p>\n
As Barbara walked in, the yarn was knotting him up in a simple garter stitch.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook, honey.\u201d \u00a0Barbara smiled. \u00a0\u201cI made you a sweater.\u201d<\/p>\n
With his dying breath, Jerry groaned, \u201cIt\u2019s… itchy.\u201d \u00a0And then he was gone. by Lorna D. Keach Jerry knew Barbara wanted to kill him, but he really thought she\u2019d try poison or an ice pick first. He underestimated her creativity. Barbara was a knitter. \u00a0She often whined that people underestimated the creativity of … Continue reading
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\nLORNA D. KEACH<\/strong> lives in Lawrence, Kansas, with her saint of a husband and one irritable cat. Occasionally, she tries to summon Baphomet but that usually doesn’t work out very well.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"