LPF week 16 - Inkling

Petra fondly remembered a time when the idea of attending the knitting circle didn't fill her with dread. For the tenth time that day, she considered simply not going. After all, what was the point if it wasn't going to be fun? And there again was the problem - it used to be fun, and maybe it could be again. Maybe Naomi wouldn't be there this time. Or, maybe Naomi would be there, but she would look less like a walking corpse and would have abandoned working on her evil blanket.

The Knitizens met every other Thursday at the town library in a conference room where they could chat as much as they liked without disturbing the other patrons. Attendance was quite consistent, with a core membership of regulars that you could expect to see unless someone was ill or the weather was truly horrendous.

Kathy crocheted little stuffed animals, which she sold on the internet. Eliza made mostly mittens, which she donated to the local homeless shelter. Alice also made mostly mittens, which she donated to her grandchildren, who could lose mittens almost faster than she could make them. Jackie and Selene mostly knitted sweaters. Naomi used to make whatever new thing that caught her eye from the books of patterns she was always buying, often abandoning a project in the middle to start something new. However, for the last few months she had committed herself to a single project, and was busy knitting a huge blanket that was so obviously evil that Petra couldn't figure out why no one else had said anything about it.

Petra hadn't said anything about it herself because she was a very quiet person not prone to starting conversations, and even under ordinary circumstances she almost never said anything at a meeting beyond "hello" and "good night." She didn't go to these things to talk - she went to them for a stress-free evening surrounded by people that shared one of her interests. The very thought of confronting Naomi about her sinister project nearly gave Petra a small panic attack.

There was also the problem that if Petra had been going to say something to Naomi, why hadn't she done it sooner? In retrospect, she should have seen that there was a problem long ago, but she had managed to rationalize away all of the signs. Naomi had that sunken look in her eyes because she was tired. Her knitting needles weren't actually sharpened to points, that was just a trick of the light. That wasn't blood on the table. There was some perfectly normal reason why every time Petra looked at the blanket she thought she could smell burning meat and her mouth tasted like ashes. Anything to keep the illusion of her peaceful refuge from the world intact.

Finally, Petra decided to go to the meeting after all and hope for the best. Unfortunately, Naomi was already there, and was already hard at work on the malevolent piece of stitchcraft. She looked worse than ever. Her skin was sort of grayish and looked unwholesomely shiny under the harsh fluorescent lights. Petra opened her mouth to say something, but just couldn't bring herself to do it. She scurried over to an empty chair and tried not to look in Naomi's direction.

Petra had almost managed to lose herself in her own knitting the soothingly normal chit-chat of the group when she started to hear the whispering. She glanced nervously at the blanket, and sure enough, the eerie voices seemed to get louder. Also, that stench of burning meat was back. Petra steeled her nerves.

"So," Petra started hesitantly, "Naomi. You've been working on that blanket of yours for quite a while."

"Why, yes, I have," said Naomi, who sounded delighted that someone was taking an interest. "But it's not a blanket, exactly, my dear. It's a death shroud for the world."

All activity in the room ground to a halt at this pronouncement, except of course for Naomi, who cheerfully continued to add loops to the open edge of the shroud.

"It's what?" said Kathy after a moment of stunned silence. Naomi smiled horribly at her.

"A death shroud for the world!" Naomi repeated. "The symbols I'm stitching into it are from a language that hasn't been spoken in thousands of years, and they sing the praises of Tlaguuyar, That Which Is Interwoven. Tlaguuyar will one day consume all that we know, and I'm hoping to have the shroud ready by then."

No one had an adequate response for this statement.

"Actually," Naomi said, turning to Alice, "I could use some help. Could I have some of your blood? Mine's pretty much run out."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this!" Eliza practically shouted, finally recovered from her shock. "Tlaguuyar, That Which Is Interwoven! I thought this entire circle was dedicated to Hragthiir, That Which Interweaves!"

"Wait, this is a cult?!" said Selene. "I thought this was purely secular knitting!"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Jackie, "all knitting glorifies the Unspooled Ones."

"The what now? It does what?" Alice said, clearly stricken. She suddenly felt ill about all the mittens she'd given to her grandchildren. She turned back to see Naomi still smiling at her expectantly. "No! No, I'm using all of my blood!"

Petra watched in growing misery as the group she'd come to depend on so much disintegrated before her very eyes. She wished she'd just kept quiet and left well enough alone. And really, she should have known better.

This was almost exactly what had happened to her scrapbooking club.