WEIRD TOE – in 300 words

Weird Toe

By N. M. Sirett©

WEIRD TOE

The three-inch toe wriggled before Martha, the shoe-shop assistant, like a quivering bald moustache. A toe for the upper lip. She tried not to look at it. Averted her eyes, pretending not to notice. After all, it belonged to a seven-year-old lad and his mother was already scrutinising her for a reaction.

            ‘I think it’s best to try these with socks,’ Martha advised, eyes fixed on the leather school shoes in her hands.

            ‘We came in on a whim,’ said the mother. ‘He’s out in sandals.’

            ‘Didn’t you bring any socks?’

            ‘Sure, I’m gonna pack a pair of random socks in my handbag,’ the mother replied, irritated.

            ‘It’s fine,’ Martha smiled politely, keeping her eyes on a bag rack in the entranceway. In her peripheral vision, the toe twitched like a caterpillar in a bird’s beak. ‘We have spare socks,’ she added. ‘I’ll get you some.’

            ‘No!’ said the boy. ‘Sean wants to see inside the shoe.’

            Martha frowned. Was there another little boy hiding under Mother’s skirts?

            ‘Sean!’ shrieked the small blond boy. His grey eyes fizzed with devilment.

            His mother sighed. ‘OK, Tommy. Sean can do whatever he wants.’

            Martha’s frown deepened. ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

            ‘I’m Sean,’ said the three-inch toe. ‘Can I see inside the left shoe, please?’

            Martha’s breath caught in her throat as she looked down at the toe with a little face and moving mouth.

            ‘How you doing?’ it said.

            And Martha dropped the shoes. Sprinted out of the shop. Unpinning her name badge, discarding it in a high-street bin.

            Later, in the bath, she reflected on losing her job and meeting a talking toe. Her foot protruded through the bubble mountain in the tub. Her big toe had a face.  

            ‘Hello again, Martha,’ said Sean.