Gentle Readers, at this time of year it is my tradition to dream up creepy stories of a grotesque and spine-chilling nature.  Proceed at your own peril, and never say you were not warned:   It's about to get kinda Halloween-y around here...

For your entertainment, a Gruesome Tale:

Ewedora Skimbleskein could knit and spin.  These facts were certain, and well-known.  In fact, it was often said of Ewedora that her friends had the warmest heads and hands of all, due to her prolific production.

So it came as a surprise to Ewedora when, one fine day, she went to her stash looking for merino, and found the cupboard BARE.  Where was the cashmere?  The mohair?  The quiviut?  A knitter's lifetime store of string, vanished!  Whatever could have happened?  Ewedora checked for the camphor balls, the cedar chips, and the lavender sachets.  Those, too, were missing.  In her distress, she stumbled backward, falling into the many arms of

A Moth of Unusual Size.


And by Unusual Size, I mean that this moth towered over her, his antennae rubbing the ceiling with a horrid scratching sound.  He eyed her cardigan hungrily, twitching his powdery wings.  "Have you come for dinner?" He asked.  "Certainly not" replied Ewedora, arranging her features into what she hoped was a calm expression.  "I've only come checking to make sure all my Acrylic Yarn is safe, and it's gone missing.  Have you seen it?"


The Moth squinted with suspicion.  "I can't recall.  What color was it?".   "Variegated orange and olive", she replied without flinching.  "Twas a gift from my granny in the early 80's, and my prize possession.  Surely you have seen it, standing in my stash cupboard as you are?"


"Can't say that I have.  But if you'll drive me to the yarn shop, I'm sure I could help you find some there."  Ewedora was many things, but gullible was not one of them.  She would never fall for such a transparent ruse.  Imagine being tricked into driving a giant moth to the yarn store.  And on Knit Night, no less.  What would all her friends say?  Even the gentle knitters would agree that delivering a giant moth to the LYS on Knit Night is decidedly bad form.  Still, she wondered if there was any hope of finding what the creature had done with her stash.  He couldn't have had time to eat it all; it had been where it belonged only moments before.  But where could the beast have taken her yarn?  She needed time to think.


"Excellent notion," proclaimed Ewedora.  "I'll drive you to the yarn shop.  But first, let me get my felted bag."  The gargantuan insect widened his eyes, and a small amount of drool escaped its mouth before he could wipe it away.  Ewedora backed carefully out of reach.  Retrieving her bag from an upper shelf, she held it out for inspection.  "Isn't this lovely?" She asked casually. "I made it from my own handspun.  It's Cormo and Ramboulliet, stranded, then felted."  The straps are knitted I-cord…



The creature chomped down hard, but Ewedora was too quick.  She snatched the bag from reach just as the giant mandibles clamped.  Knitters can move preternaturally fast when fiber is in danger.  "GIVE IT" slobbered the moth.  "Come and take it," Ewedora intoned evenly.  As she did so, she stepped in front of the open cupboard door.


With a great flap of its sail-like wings, the creature lunged forward.  Ewedora, in one fluid motion, clutched her felted bag to her chest and somersaulted forward, while slamming shut the cupboard door with one foot.  The giant moth whimpered from inside.  "It's dark in here," he sniveled.


Piled in the corner where the creature had been standing was Ewedora's stash.  Cashmere and Cormo, Seacell and Silk, all were uneaten and accounted for.  Ewedora's brave façade crumbled at the sight of her beloved collection.  A lifetime of accumulation, of places visited, of friends held dear, of projects yet-undreamed.  She threw herself into the fluffy embrace of her yarn pile, sobbing with relief, and clutching the skeins like lost loves.


The creature in the cupboard tried a different tack:  "I'm really sorry.  It was all just a misunderstanding.  I was standing watch over that pile of wool.  You never know who might come along wanting to take it…"


Having quickly accounted for every yard of her string, Ewedora pulled herself together and assessed the situation.  The Moth would have to be removed, that much was clear, but how?  A pacifist, she couldn't bear the thought of killing the bug.  Besides, imagine the mess.  Cleaning that up would use a whole afternoon of knitting time.  No, there had to be a better way…


"So hungry…" whined the giant moth in the cupboard.  "All right, I'll let you out, but only on one condition: You have to change your eating habits for good."  "Anything you say, just open the door!  I'm scared of the dark."


Ewedora seated the moth at her dining room table, and tied a napkin around its neck.  She handed him sterling flatware, and poured glasses of her second-best Cabernet.  Then she brought out the feast:  A platter piled high with variegated acrylic yarn. 


"Not bad", said the moth, twirling some yarn around his fork.  "And so much easier to come by!  But I thought this was a treasure from your Granny?"


"Not exactly," replied Ewedora. Granny DIDN'T KNIT" (insert shrieking violin noises here).