“I know where all the misssssing sockssss go,” A voice in my head whisperssss snake like.

“What!?” I exclaim.

“All the misssssing sockssss, I know who takessss them.”

“Who?”

“The lunch lady, of coursssse.”

“Old Mrs. Fartsacanic?”

“Yessss, yessss. She usessss them in the food.”

“Why?”

“Cutssss down on the productssss she usessss, makessss her paycheck larger.”

“Never thought I’d say this but…why would she feed us gross socks, wouldn’t we find out eventually?”

“She cutssss them into small chunks, makessss it with food alike, maybe meat ballssss, pizza, who knowssss.”