“Open your stocking!” said Mom with a secretive smile at Dad, and handed Edith the green-and-red-striped one she’d used since her toddler days.
Edith eagerly stuck her hand down the long tubular sock that nearly sucked her arm in with its elastic grip. She felt a few intriguing shapes at the bottom, but then touched something soft, slick, and slightly moist that really piqued her interest.
Wrapping her fingers around it, she struggled to grasp the object—it seemed to be growing larger, to her great astonishment—but then, without warning, something rigid and sharp closed its maw over her hand and started pulling Edith down into the sock, which was transforming into a gaping, whirling, gray abyss.
Edith screamed as loudly as her vocal cords would allow, but the last thing she saw before being fully dragged down into the swirling vortex was the oddly serene smiles on her parents’ faces.
(Check out Part 2: https://theprose.com/post/403786/stocking-stuffer-part-2-five-ish-more-sentences)