The Magic Yarn

She gazed up at the colourful shelves of stacked yarn, when she heard an unexpected voice behind her.
“Hello, dearie. What are you looking for?”
Hannah turned round to see a scrawny woman standing behind the till, clutching a large selection of double-pointed needles. Hannah was sure she hadn’t been there when she came in a few minutes ago, and something about her seemed a little off – perhaps it was her black, flowing cloak. Were those in fashion now? Or her impossibly long, silver hair, which shimmered with her every movement. Or the way her eyes seemed to twinkle, like she had mischief in mind.
“Oh, I’m not quite sure,” Hannah sputtered, slightly embarrassed. “I’m new to all this, you see. I used to play tennis, but I had a little…accident,” she said, gesturing at the white cast that enveloped her left leg. “Thought I’d take up a new hobby for a little while.”
The elderly woman chuckled a little, bent down, and pulled a wooden box out from under the desk, before popping it on the table – the loud clunk it made as she set it down seemed far too noisy for such a small object. The chest was covered in gold patterns, sewing needles and sharp scissors and unravelling balls of yarn, shining in the dim light of the yarn shop. Actually, now that she thought about it, Hannah realised it was a little strange that the whole shop was lit by candlesticks, but she’d just assumed that this was what all yarn shops were like; anyway, she was too engrossed in the box to consider it any further.
“This,” whispered the woman, “is my secret weapon.” She reached a bony hand across to open the clasp, and pulled the lid back to reveal… some yarn. A white, bog-standard ball of DK yarn.
“Wow, how…um. Beautiful!” Hannah replied, a little underwhelmed, to be honest, but trying to conceal her disappointment.
“No, my love, you don’t understand! This is magic yarn. Special yarn. This yarn can never be tangled!”
This made Hannah more than a bit sceptical. She thought back to the hundreds, if not thousands of times she’d seen her father unravelling what seemed to be miles upon miles of yarn, swearing at every knot and tangle, before sighing, giving up and attacking the woollen mass with a pair of
scissors. If such a product did exist, what would it be doing in a tiny shop on the high street, surrounded by burning incense sticks and what (rather worryingly) appeared to be voodoo dolls? Hmm. Actually, if magic yarn really was real, this would be the first place it’d turn up, Hannah realised. Still, she needed proof.
“Can I test it?” she asked.
“Oh, allow me.” The woman then proceeded to tie about a hundred knots in the yarn, her deft fingers working quickly to pull the threads into an intricate pattern. “Go ahead, pull on both ends.”
Hannah raised an eyebrow, certain that this mess could never be sorted out. She reached for the yarn and tugged…
And the knots fell apart, leaving behind a perfectly straight length of wool. She couldn’t believe her eyes – although, to be fair, the smoke from the incense did make everything a little misty.
“Okay. How much?”
“£5.99, cash. A bargain, really.”
A little steep for a single ball, Hannah thought, but she handed over the money and made her way out of the shop with the yarn, ducking to avoid the stuffed bat hanging from the ceiling above the door.
A few hours later, Hannah sat down at home, ready to begin her first project – a square. Best to start small, she thought. First, however, she decided to test her purchase; the best way to do so? Hand it over to Graham the cat, of course. Gently, she placed the ball in front of him, and he
pounced at it, his claws pulling the threads this way and that, his teeth viciously tugging at every strand. After about 30 minutes, Hannah gingerly reached a hand in to pull the ball out of Graham’s grasp. It was a knitter’s nightmare – so many tangles and knots it would bring a tear to your eye. She grabbed the soggy yarn at both ends and pulled… And nothing happened. She pulled again… No change. Hannah’s eyes widened in disbelief. She considered stomping back to the yarn shop and demanding a refund, but she doubted she’d get anything; besides, the effort of limping there with a broken leg wasn’t worth it. Oh well, she thought. Maybe I’ll try baking instead.
Back at the shop, the old woman chuckled to herself, and grabbed another ball of standard white yarn from the shelf to place in the chest, before setting it back on the floor. She plopped herself back on her stool, and began to flick through her favourite book: 100 Rope Tricks For Budding
Magicians. For only £10, the book had come in very handy. When her son had told her he was closing his party decorations shop a few months ago, and offered her a load of Halloween decorations for her store, she’d intended to throw them away after a week – until she considered
the possibilities. She’d long wished for ‘magic yarn’ herself, after a lifetime of detangling and unpicking. With a little sleight of hand, and the right atmosphere, she was sure she could convince anyone that such a product was real. Yes, maybe it was a little unfair on the customers, but what
else would you expect from a witch? Besides, if anyone ever came back to complain, she’d just deny all knowledge – who’d disbelieve a little old woman?
Suddenly, she heard the familiar jangle of the front door, and ducked back down beneath the desk. She sat on the floor and adjusted her wig as soundlessly as possible, before checking her contact lenses in her compact mirror. She waited a few minutes before emerging again.
“Hello, dearie. What are you looking for?”

Read another runner up entry here and our winning entry here.