Six Pairs of Thick Gray Socks Saved My White House on Elm Street

down to rub the muscle, but my fingers could barely feel the shape of my own leg.

The numbness had moved up to my ankles, leaving my feet feeling like heavy blocks of ice. I wondered if this was the start of the final decline, the neurological decay my mother had always warned me about.

Through the floorboards, I heard the muffled sound continue reading …