The Outfit Knows How to Open the Book

As James slept, there was an unearthly light coming from his mother’s room down the hall. The light didn’t come from any incandescent terrestrial source, but rather from the arcane energies being accessed by the construct he helped create earlier.

The violet light was actually coming from the tome itself, and the empty outfit sat in front of it, directing its gloves in ways that apparently had a ritual power, because they seemed to reshape the characters and images that flowed through the books’ pages.

One of the lace gloves pointed to the closet, and a glowing orb spun out of the book, its green glow contrasting with the purple hue. The orb slid between the closet doors, and the lace gloves continued their motion. In a few moments, one of the closet doors folded open, and a pair of pocketless denim slacks emerged. They sort of slithered out at first, ‘walking’ on the lower part of their legs as the hem of their waist seemed to struggle to keep itself aloft.

Unlike James’ construct directing the effects of the magic book, these pants didn’t fill out to shape…at least at first. At the door of the bedroom, a glass of slightly murky water hovered in, floating over to an extended lace glove. The glass seemed to have a dropper inside, and once the vessel was securely in the grip of one of the lace gloves, the other took hold of the dropper, filling it with liquid.

As the pants made their way over to the construct, the glove held the dropper out. Something like green static electricity began to materialize at the waistline of the empty slacks, and their hem held the waistband open. The lace glove squeezed the bulb of the dropper, slowly enough so that each drop was distinct in its fall. Instead of ever touching the fabric, a wind seemed to take shape that held the drops aloft in some kind of magically-generated cyclone. Once the entire dropper had been fed to the cyclone, the green light became stronger, and the crackling of the arcane energy appeared to surround and diffuse the liquid.

The slacks began inflating. Along with the shape, though, a kind of ghostly translucent sheen appeared inside the waist of the pants. Unlike the construct, which looked like it was filled with nothing but air, the inflating slacks had some kind of ambient green glow and refraction inside of them, as if they were filled with a barely-visible ectoplasmic gel.

The lace gloves clapped, apparently pleased with the result of their experiment. The construct stood up from the vanity it was sitting at, and the magical tome hovered into the air, following James’ mother’s outfit as it wandered back down the hall into James’ room.

He was sleeping soundly, dreaming away after a strange but pleasantly surprising day. The outfit stood over his bed, and the magic book flipped its pages to a different chapter. The heading read “Sleeping Spells,” and once again the lace gloves made motions that seemed deliberate and specific. Lacking a voice, the spells couldn’t exactly be read — but given the construct’s magical nature, it was able to speak in another language not audible in the physical world.

Some of the purple light from the book descended towards James’s sleeping face, and while nothing seemed to change in his expression or breathing, the outfit he’d constructed earlier had just taken every precaution to make sure he wouldn’t wake prematurely as a result of its new plans.

The construct pointed at James’ laundry bin, and the basket floated into the air and toward the door of his bedroom. The construct followed it out with the glowing tome preceding it. As the construct, the book, and the basket all headed back to the master bedroom in anticipation of the next step of the construct’s alchemy, the ectoplasmic slacks stepped into James’s room.

They sauntered up to his bed, plainly augmented in their ability of locomotion after the addition of the liquid from the dropper. Though they were meant to be loose-fitting, comfortable slacks, the shape of the fabric was pushed to its limit, making the slacks look like a pair of voluptuous legs with almost cartoon proportions. Their strange ectoplasmic filling also seemed to un-restrict them from gravity, as evidenced by their pant legs hovering a couple inches from the ground.

The ballooned slacks looked as if they were watching James, considering their next move. When he shifted in his bed, he pulled his covers up on himself, and a single foot emerged from under his blankets at the base of the bed. The slacks turned to the foot of the bed and shimmied back and forth, finding their ‘in’.

The possessed slacks stood at the base of James’s bed now, bending backward and aiming their open waist at his **** foot. As soon as the plane of the hem crossed his skin, he shuddered a little. His toes wiggled as his foot took on a strange reflective sheen, as if he was being dipped into a barely detectable viscous fluid. As the slacks climbed his leg, they slid under his blankets.

James shifted around in his bed, and it didn’t take long for the slacks to find their way onto his other leg. Despite the fact that he seemed to be wrestling with something under his blankets, he wasn’t going to wake — the sleeping spell from earlier had made sure of that. Before long, the slacks slid up and to the side of his bed, taking his legs with them. James gently laughed, following up with a clearly pleased hum. The moment the slacks were wrapped around his body, they began to take liberties with the parts they swallowed up, and his thin flannel pajamas didn’t at all impede the strange pseudo-gelatinous substance contained in the slacks.

In fact, his pajamas seemed to give the ectoplasmic fluid a vector by which to spread, because now James was sat up in bed, and a faint green glow was now coming from his pajama top. The torso of the flannel top had slightly inflated, and when his body was stood up under the power of the possessed clothing, it was clear that the slacks had sacrificed a bit of their mass so that the greenish ectoplasm filling them could spread to the rest of James’ outfit.

The sleeping James was lifted off the ground just enough so that his toes no longer met the carpeted floor.

“Mmm…keep going,” He muttered subconsciously. A pulsing lump could be seen at the crotch of the slacks. He hovered out of his room, still sleeping, but clearly reacting to the advances of the ghostly fluid between his outfit and his skin.