Harold got out of bed and looked around. After his morning rituals he stumbled around to his dresser. Pulling out his clothes dutifully he dressed himself from top to bottom. He finally stretched out his long feet and wiggled his toes. He didn't take any particular pleasure in picking out his socks for the day. Usually he just put on black dress socks and then his shoes. He would have been happy wearing nothing but his office did have a bit of a strict dress code. He slid the drawer open. It was empty. He stared at it for a few seconds. A bit flustered he waved his hand around inside the drawer, even though he could clearly see that there were no socks. He looked around the room. It was only Wednesday. He couldn't have possibly worn all his socks this week. He bought 20 matching pairs just so this wouldn't happen. He never went through all the pairs, not even in his worst weeks. He trudged over to the hamper. By his count he should have at least 3 dirty pairs in there. Nothing. He emptied the hamper out and went piece by piece through the clothing. Not a single sock. He opened the drawer again, still empty to his dismay. He moved quickly to the laundry room, sometimes he left clothes folded down there. He tore through the pile on the dryer. No socks. He heard some giggling. He whipped around to the voice he was sure was there, he saw nothing though. Where the hell are my socks, he thought to himself. He started a room by room search. Tearing out drawers and clearing off shelves. Nothing. Not a single damn sock in the entire house. He found the last of a beer bottle sitting on his coffee table. He ran his fingers through his hair as he decided to swig the last of it out. As he threw his head back he clearly heard giggling again. He sprung up as a shadow raced by the next room. He knocked over a chair as he went after it. Cursing the stubbed toe he now had he looked around slowly in the room he entered. The lights flickered on and off and there was more giggling. Still he saw nothing. "Where are you?" He shouted to no one in particular. "What have you done with my socks?" He brandished his empty beer bottle to the thin air. He immediately felt ridiculous after saying that. He thought for a second. This had been her room. After he lost her he hadn't touched a thing. Never cleaned it out. He didn't even come in here to dust, he left that to the maid. She had promised to not ever move anything as well. That was part of their contract. The room looked exactly as it had so many years ago. There was never an explanation for her disappearance. It ate him up inside. He loved her more than life itself and after her mother died she was all he had. Now all he had was his alcohol. He looked around the room again and saw some drawings she had done. He went over and picked up the pile of crayon covered papers for some reason. He started to go through them. Nothing stood out, he didn't know why now was the time he thought he should finally go through some of her stuff. He got almost to the bottom of the stack and then lost control of his faculties. The papers dropped away from his grip and fell everywhere. He crouched into the fetal position and started sobbing uncontrollably. One last piece of paper fell beside him. On it was a picture of several fairies flying around the house. At the bottom his daughter had written "The fairies come and take my socks, someday they'll take me with them. I like the way they laugh.