A Phantom in the Box Jolly Phonics · Step 3, Unit 1: ph as in phone

Pip is mad for socks. Spot socks. Frill socks. Phenomenal socks with wee zigzag stitches. All week she cleans them, dries them, and sorts them into neat little sets. 'There,' she says, and hugs the pile to her chest. 'No one can grab my socks. My socks are best in all the land.'

Pip's socks live in a big box under her bed. But her best socks get a little box, tucked snugly inside the big box. Pip keeps them for big days. Birthdays. Photo day. Days when she feels smart. She lifts the lid and peeks in. 'Phew,' she says. 'Still there.'

One morning, Pip lifts the lid off the little box. It is empty! She shakes the box. Nothing. 'My best socks!' she gasps. 'A phantom stole my best socks!' Pip tugs on her cap, grabs socks that do not match at all, and marches past Mum. 'I am on the case,' says Pip. Mum starts to say a thing, but Pip is off by then.

Pip stops to dream. The best socks. Pink, with dots on the frills and dots on the heels. Pip can see the socks, sharp as a photograph. 'The best socks ever, in all the land,' Pip tells the cloth pile, very stern. The pile says nothing. It is just a pile.

Pip grabs her glass. Not specs. A big glass, just like a top spy has. She checks the couch. Old crumbs. She hunts under the desk. Dust and fluff. She lifts the lid on the loo and peeks in. 'Yuck!' No socks, but phew, what a shock.

Pip will not quit. Ace spies do not quit. Then she spots a thing on the ground. A cloth scrap with dots! She lifts her glass, and Pip has an epiphany. Pink with plum dots. That is her sock! 'Who took my socks and cut them up?' she gasps.

The scrap trail leads to Mum's room. Like a phantom, Pip creeps up and lifts her glass to the wee window in the door. Inside, the stitcher hums. Mum is in there. Snip, snip. Stitch, stitch. Mum hums a soft tune. 'What is Mum making in there?' says Pip.

Pip rushes in. 'My best socks!' she yells. 'The scrap trail ends here, Mum!' Mum is not upset at all. 'Pip, my sweet, the old socks had so many holes. Skin peeked out at the heels and the tips!' Pip is emphatic. 'Holes do not upset me! What upsets me is...' But then Mum lifts up a thing, and Pip's mouth gapes.

A doll! Mum has morphed the socks into a doll. It has curls, just like Pip's. A wee hat, just like Pip's cap. The frills form a smart ruff at its neck, and the stitches are so wee and neat. Pip holds the doll in her hands. 'It looks like me,' she says. 'Mum! It is me, but small!'

Pip runs and hugs Mum tight. 'This doll is better than socks! Better than ALL the socks!' Then Pip stops. Pip blinks. 'Wait. Mum. Wait. Can any old sock morph into a doll? Any sock at all?' Mum nods. Pip grins a big, big grin. 'Quick! We must count all the old socks we have!'

Pip grabs Mum's hand and drags her fast, with so much oomph. 'Check the shelf! Check the boxes! Check under all the things!' Pip yells. She dives into a box and comes up waving an old sock. 'Ooh! Dad must have lots. Dad's socks all have holes!'

Dad's socks are so big, Mum can get a doll from the leg part and a doll from the foot part! Pip helps stuff them as Mum stitches, and soon a phenomenal little doll team sits on the bed. 'We will make one for all my pals,' says Pip, and starts to count. Then she looks down at her feet. The odd socks from the morning look back up at her. 'Do not get too snug,' she tells them. 'Odd socks are next!'