Hello! Thanks so much for your enthusiastic response to the last segment; I’m excited to share the second part of Unraveled with you today. 🙂 I hope you enjoy it!
Unraveled, Part 2
I woke to the sound of frogs croaking and crickets chirping. Confused for a minute, I sat up and rubbed my eyes, then glanced at the clock. It was 6:08. I had been planning to sleep in, and now my phone was ringing at an unholy hour.
Where had I left the thing? It wasn’t on my nightstand, or charging in its outlet. I followed the sound of the jungle, and it led me to the hamper. I had forgotten to remove my phone from my jeans pocket. I looked at the caller ID: Genevieve Hafrey. Wonderful.
I touched the button and put the phone to my ear. “Hello?” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too groggy. But what could she expect? I was never up this early.
“Emma!” exclaimed Genevieve. “Look, I’m sorry to wake you so early, but I need you to set up the shop today.” Great, so my fatigue was that obvious.
“Isn’t it Imelda’s turn?” I asked. We usually alternated – yesterday I had opened the shop, and today it was her turn.
“Yes,” said Genevieve, paper rustling in the background, “but she’s not going to get there on time. Traffic problems.”
“That bad of traffic?” I tried and failed to stifle a yawn. “She doesn’t live that far away.”
“Yeah, but her bus got cut off,” said Genevieve. “She usually takes the 6:30 bus, but that route is canceled, because of the investigation.”
“Haven’t you heard?” Genevieve sounded shocked. “The poor lady who got run over by the bus yesterday?”
“Oh!” I cringed, imagination springing to life. “No. I hadn’t heard. Was that Imelda’s bus?”
“Her bus line, yes. She doesn’t have a car, so…”
“Right. No, that’s fine,” I said, mentally groaning at the thought of a whole day with no help. “I should probably go.”
“Thanks, Emma,” said Genevieve, sounding relieved. She was the owner, but she never worked in the store herself – that was why she hired people like myself. “I appreciate it.”
I hung up and flopped back onto my bed, wanting to curl up and go back to sleep. Instead I got up, dressed, and took the five-minute walk to the village that housed Yarn Emporium. I was extra-careful crossing the street after hearing about Imelda’s bus dilemma. It was a slightly foggy day, but I still didn’t need to wear a coat.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside, half expecting the strange lady from yesterday to pop out at me. Of course, nothing happened, and I switched on the lights, revealing the room full of yarn. I flipped the sign to ‘Open’ and set about organizing some yarn that had fallen off the shelves.
Wandering into the back room, a flash of pink caught my eye. It was the project left by last night’s customer. I picked it up, feeling the lightweight, shiny thread. I’d never seen anything like it before.
I picked up the bag and carried it to the front desk, where I sat down to await customers. In the meantime, I opened the bag and pulled out four balls of coral pink thread, a folded piece of paper, a small notebook, and a crochet hook. This might be good entertainment, I thought, and unfolded the piece of paper.
It was a crochet pattern, as I’d guessed, for the “Briars and Roses Shawl.” What kind of a name was that? I’d seen some weird names in my year working here, and really, how many names could you use for a crochet pattern? I read it through. I could see that it would take a while to complete with the small hook and thread. Speaking of which, I really wanted to try crocheting with that thread…
A quick row count revealed that the lady had stopped at Row 7. I picked up the wrap and started crocheting – chain two, turn, double crochet – and then my hands went completely numb.
The wrap slid out of my grip and plummeted to the floor. I shook my hands, trying to wake them up. When that failed, I put them under my legs for a few minutes, and when I pulled them out they had regained feeling. They had probably just fallen asleep, but still, that was weird. I retrieved the wrap from the ground and proceeded as if nothing had happened.
Then I remembered the notebook that was in the bag. It was plain brown leather, cracked and stained in places, and looked like it’d been through the mill. I opened it and was faced with a page of spidery, thin cursive. Pattern notes, perhaps? It had yesterday’s date on it.
I feel that I need to write this down so that people know what has become of me.
I laughed. Dramatic much? It was probably a journal entry or something, and I shouldn’t continue reading it – but I looked to the next sentence anyway, curious.
This wrap has taken over my life. From the moment I made the first stitch, my life was spiraling downhill – I should have known from the numb feeling that washed over my hands.
I cannot put it down. I can’t stop thinking about it. I first found it at a rummage sale, nestled among a pile of yarn – crochet hook, yarn, and a sheet of paper with instructions to make the “Briars and Roses Shawl.” Thinking it would make a good project, I took it home. Only one row had been made; it looked like the previous owner had tired of crocheting it. Perhaps it was even her first project. In any case, I was intrigued.
I made about a row before I put it down to make dinner, but halfway through eating I got up, brought it over, and crocheted while I ate. I can’t explain it except to say it pained me to be away from it. Even now, as I sit down to write a letter, I end up writing about the wrap.
I must get rid of it. Then I can get my life back.
I sat in stunned silence for a minute, not knowing what to think. Of course it couldn’t be true, but why had my hands gone numb for a minute too? It must have been just a coincidence. The lady was probably sitting in her house right now, having a good laugh at my expense.
To distract myself, I opened the store computer and checked my blogroll. After I read the latest post from Crochet Fanatic, I checked the news. Right at the top was the headline “Woman Run Over by Bus Downtown.” Nothing like a depressing news story to start your day off right.
I clicked it. There was a picture of the bus, and a brief description of the accident. Apparently a woman had walked directly in front of the bus, a dazed expression on her face, like she was sleepwalking. The bus driver had tried to slow down, but it was too late. It showed a picture of the woman, Irene Baker, and I scrolled down, feeling particularly nosy.
My mouth fell open – it was the lady from yesterday.
I feel that I should warn you, there will be a fair number of cliffhangers in this book blogging journey…anything to keep you interested, right? 😉
Hope you’re all having a lovely day!