It's been three days since you first got the magic socks. Three days since you turned into your dad into his bathroom. Three days since your dad almost caught you looking just like him. It feels like an eternity. You haven't gotten the chance to try out the socks since then. You've been itching to try them on again, but you either haven't had the time, privacy, or the nerve to try it again. The socks are still under your bed, hidden away in a box along with your dad's shoes. He doesn't seem to have noticed they're missing, yet.
But in the meantime it's summer. At your parents' insistence, and because a few extra dollars wouldn't hurt, you've gotten a summer job mowing lawns. It's not so bad, really. The summer has been mercifully cool so far, and your dad even let you use his lawn mower, which gets the job done pretty quick. You usually get a glass of lemonade out of the deal, and, on a rare occasion, a little extra tip on top your usual pay, which you're all too happy to keep. In the past three days, you've more than once fantasized about mowing the lawn in your father's or even someone else's body. What would it be like? When wearing another's skin, do things feel different? Do people sweat different? One neighbor had you prune her bushes as part of your job, and you wonder if having a more robust, adult body would have made the job easier. Your dad's thick skin would easily deflect the thorns, while his strong, calloused hands would make quick work of the branches with the pruning shears. Of course, these are all the fantasies of a teenage boy ready to grow up, but they could easily come true if only you used your magic socks.
It's in the middle of having one of these fantasies you find yourself mowing your next door neighbor's lawn. He's probably one of the nicest men you know outside your family. You can see him opening his garage door. His striped, polo shirt does nothing to hide his large, rotund belly. His white hair pokes out from under his baseball cap, which hides his otherwise bald scalp. Though clean-shaven, you've known him to grow a bushy, white beard during the fall and winter. Since you were a kid, he's always played Santa during the Christmas parade. After the parade he would always take children onto his lap, asking them what they wanted for Christmas. He was always so friendly and genial, you couldn't imagine a single person who could possibly hate him. As a kid you always thought he had a funny name. His name is Abram Abramovich. Your dad says it's Russian or something, but you can't hear any trace of an accent when he speaks. Perhaps his parents were Russian. You never asked.
Mr. Abramovich turns to you and gives you the widest grin, showing all his large, ivory teeth. He waves to you, signalling you to come over. You wave back, park the mower, and join him at his now open garage door.
"It's looking really good out there," he says to you, perhaps a little too loudly. You suspect he can't hear all that well. "Very nice. I'd do it myself, but," he gestures at his pale skin, "I burn a little too easily."
You shrug. "No problem, Mr. Abram. I gotta make money somehow." You both share a laugh. He has a great, hearty laugh, and will laugh at the littlest of things.
He claps you on the shoulder. "I really to appreciate you coming out here. Er, listen, I was hoping I could ask a favor of you." He gestures into his garage, a mess of boxes, knickknacks, and holiday decorations. "I was hoping you could give me a hand clearing some space in here. I'm not as young as I used to be, and I could use a helping hand to make room for my car. The poor thing's been sitting in my driveway for too long. I'll even pay you extra."
You consider it. You hadn't exactly been planning on clearing garages this afternoon. But, you don't really have anything better to do, and Mr. Abram is a pretty friendly guy. Some extra money wouldn't hurt, either.
"Uh, sure. Okay. I can help you with your garage."
He grins again. "Great! Here, we'll start with those boxes over there."
After a couple hours of sorting, you and your neighbor make a sizable dent in the mass. He takes some of the boxes into his house and has you set many of them outside.
He loads the boxes you set outside into his car as you keep sorting through his garage. "I'll take these to a storage unite I've got in town. Can you stay here and keep sorting through stuff?"
You nod at him, briefly leafing through what looks to be a science text book from the 60s. "I'll be fine."
He climbs into his car and soon you are alone in his garage. You continue your work and soon find yourself in the section with the Christmas decorations. Mr. Abram always had the best Christmas lights. It's a little strange for you to find them sitting lifeless in the back of his garage during the summer. You open a nearby box to see a sea of red fabric. Curious, you pull the fabric out, revealing white fur lining. Your breath catches as you find yourself holding Mr. Abram's Santa costume. Looking down into the box you see a pair of matching trousers, complete with suspenders. Lying next to those are a red hat, undershirt, and a pair of coal black boots, shiny yet well worn. You immediately think of your magic socks. For years you would sit on this man's lap and tell him all your childish desires. Now you could become this man. You could, in effect, become Santa Claus, or at least the man who played him.
With no further thought, you stuff the red, velvet jacket into the box, heft the container up into your arms, and make your way as quickly as you can to your house next door. Wanting to avoid a confrontation with your little brother you enter through the back door and quickly go to your room, where you stuff the box into your closet, hiding it under some clothes for good measure.
This is crazy, you think. What if somebody saw you?
Quick as you can, you go back to Mr. Abram garage and continue sorting as if nothing had happened.
It's an hour later and Mr. Abrams pulls his car into his now much clearer garage. He doesn't seem to suspect anything amiss from you. You feel a little guilty, but the temptation to try on those boots is more powerful than any guilt you feel.
"Very nice!" says Mr. Abram. "Oh, and before I forget, here's your pay." He chuckles. "Don't spend it all in one place, now."
It's double what your usual pay is. You quickly thank him and make your way home, feeling a little more guilty than before. But you have to try on those boots. You just HAVE to. Just once. Then you'll give them back.
In your room, you pull the box with the socks and Dad's shoes out from under your bed. You take that, and the box with the Santa suit into your bathroom, locking the door behind you. You realize your heart's beating a little fast, your hands tingling with adrenaline. Last time you had used the socks, you thought they were fake and were trying them out for a laugh. Now you know what they're capable of.
You pull the socks on, half expecting them to spark or tingle with some sort of magic energy. But they don't. They act as most socks would, in that they don't do anything. You then open the bigger box, carefully, almost reverently pulling out the boots. You remove all your clothes, until you are wearing nothing but your underwear and the magic socks. You then carefully pull on the trousers. They are much too enormous for you and feel very warm and heavy. Then, with a deep breath, you pull on the boots, tucking the hems of the trousers in, just as Mr. Abram would wear them.
Nothing happens. You sit there for a bit, waiting. You don't feel any different. You recall it took a little while when you turned into your dad for the changes to get started, so you wait, trying to be patient, wondering what it would be like to be Mr. Abram.
Impatiently, you stand up and begin to pace the bathroom. The boots don't feel as big on you now. In fact, they seemed to be getting more snug by the second. Your heart jumps. It's happening! You move in front of your mirror to get a look at yourself. While not as big as your mom and dad's mirror, at least you got a view of the changes. You feel a little off balance as you begin growing in height. You put on the trouser's suspenders to help keep them up. As you do, you see hairs appearing on the backs of your arms. While not as thick as your father's, it's still more than you had. You can see your hair turn a few shades lighter, though not to white. It's now a sandy blonde color. Perhaps this was what Mr. Abram's hair was like before he went gray. Hair begins to sprout from the middle of your chest, not terribly thick but very curly. You feel strangely full as your stomach begins to fill out. You turn sideways to get a better view. It's not long before you surpass your father's beer belly and your now round stomach starts to sag over your trousers. Love handles develop and your chest develops a pair of moobs. Your face quickly rounds out as a second chin droops down. You feel a strange, painless pressure as your nose pushes itself into your face a bit, becoming rounder and more button-like. You can really start feeling the extra weight pile on as the elastic of your underwear begins to give out. The trousers which had been loose before, are now almost perfectly fitted and your torso becomes large and round. You see lines begin to appear around your eyes, making them look wiser and, oddly, kinder. Your hair begins to turn white, starting at your temples, the spreading throughout the rest. White stubble begins pushing out of your chin and cheeks. You're confused at first as Mr. Abram is currenlty clean-shaven. It then occurs to you that you are turning into what he looked like the last time he wore these boots. A mustache begins forming above your upper lip, catching up to the rest of your lengthening beard. You tentatively run your fingers through it as it's still growing, feeling the course hairs. Your hairline begins to quickly recede from both the front and the back. It isn't long before you're running your hands over your smooth, shiny pate. A dull ache forms in your ankles, knees, and lower back. You vision blurs a little and the ambient noise around you gets a little quieter. Just like Mr. Abram, you were going to have to deal with the side effects of being an old man.
You look at the mirror. You see Mr. Abram as Santa looking back at you. You experimentally jostle your stomach, watching it jiggle like a bowl full of jelly. This was amazing. In spite of yourself you start laughing. It was just like Mr. Abram's hearty laugh. You have a hard time making yourself stop. Laughing was so easy, now! You feel a strange feeling. Everything seems to be a bit brighter, a bit happier. The world seemed to be a better place than it did before. Did you inherit Mr. Abram's genial personality along with his appearance?
You reach into the box, noting that your now large stomach made bending over a little more difficult now as it got in the way, pulling out the rest of the costume. You pull on the undershirt, don the red jacket, and finish it off with the red cap. The look is uncanny. Santa had come early this year.