Get physical, pulling any nasty trick you need to get the book back.

“Argh! Get away from me, you stupid things!”

You’re on the floor with your back against the wall, and your own filled out underwear are pinning you there, wiggling their butt against you.

You try to shove your boxer briefs out of the way, but they hold steady in front of you. You try to use that strength against them and grab the elastic waist, sliding down under them with your legs and apparently pulling the briefs down over their intangible legs. You kept right on pulling, and the underwear seemed to go lifeless after you crossed mid-thigh. There wasn’t even a lower leg to tangle them.

“Ha!” You yell in triumph. “Pantsed!” You throw the underwear against the opposite wall, going back for your shirt holding the book. You spin against a pair of assailing socks, grabbing one of them and deftly pulling it off its unseen foot. You smirk as you drop the sock and spin to tackle the shirt.

It dodges you, sailing back to your bed effortlessly. Only now do you realize the briefs you’d just gotten rid of were filling up again.

“Fucking hell…” You leapt onto the bed, ducking under a flying t-shirt. There really was no dodging everything--you just had to get the book back in your hands as quickly as possible so that you could escape, read a couple emergency shut off spells on the way, and help Denise.

The shirt flew higher, sailing away from the bed.

You were ready for the evasive action, and you even called the direction. You leapt back with abandon, Throwing your arms out to either side of you. You could feel the shirt’s surface, emulating a solid human when you hit it--but fading fast soon after and leaving you a fleshy cannonball headed for drywall.

The house shook as you cracked a large panel of sheetrock between wall studs. Your shoulder hit hard, making you wince as you slumped against the ground.

But as the shirt landed lifeless, so too did the book. You grabbed it with steely fingers this time, eyes wide for the simplest exit.

How much of your stuff was downstairs? Laundry just happened, and the folded things were back in your closet yet. Maybe the quickest way was a little more drastic. As you eyed your 2nd floor window above the porch, you wondered how hard it would be to jump to the ground.

Cotton slid against your face as a sock--then two, then two pairs--began to massage and rub against you. The 2nd pair at your back was apparently being careful of your shoulder. When you looked up, you saw it--your heavy winter coat standing open in front of your big window. You craned your head at your locked bedroom door, realizing that it probably wasn’t going to open for anyone or anything.

Drastic was all that was left.

You slide yourself from under the socks’ touch, and they don’t seem to follow. The coat doesn’t move either, and it’s exactly the opportunity you’re hoping for. With the same shoulder, you ready yourself to go through the glass, knowing the winter coat is the thickest, most likely piece in your closet to protect you from such a hit.

“Catch this,” You mutter, covering your face and head as you dive into the open coat. Something goes wrong, though.

Not only do you slow to a stop before hitting the window with the dramatic power you desperately wanted, but now the jacket flaps hug you tight and find enough space to marry their ends, zipping you into the thing backward.

The jacket lifts you up and throws you to the other side of the room. You hit the wall at a decent speed and drop onto the bed, struggling against the coat as its zipper finds enough leeway to climb inch after inch with your arms trapped in the back of it. WHen you try to reach down, the coat’s elastic waistband pulls taut and ties itself with enough pressure to leave you no room.

When you try for the sleeves, which are already facing the wrong direction, the enchanted coat leaves nothing to chance--knotting both sleeves behind you. Now you’re on your bed as a troupe of socks and underwear approach in formation. Your shirts, jeans, and pants follow--and now even your shoes and boots come from downstairs to stand with the other clothes.

It’s you on your bed--bound by your coat--as the rest of your entire wardrobe looks on. You still have the book, but it’s zipped into the coat with you, and you can’t get your arms out.