The Call of Sockthulhu
I wrote this retelling of Lovecraft's The Call of Cthulhu almost 20 years ago. Sockthulhu is real, packed away in a box right now. I had made a sock monkey for a nephew, and I decided to buy some green socks and make a Cthulhu for myself. It wasn't complete until I sewed on big black button eyes so he could just stare at me from a shelf across the room. That was my inspiration for writing the story. --------- I. The Horror in Crayon Ignorance truly is bliss. When you don’t know something, there’s a good chance you also don’t know that you don’t know it. It just doesn’t exist for you. Once you become aware of what you don’t know, it becomes a thirst you can only quench by immersing yourself in it, and that holds the risk of drowning. Unless you’re hollow plastic. You’ll be pretty safe, in that case. For as long as I can remember before the events of this story, I was a very happy toy in The Child’s bedroom. I was played with often, but also had plenty of time to myself for look...