Chapter 2: The Glove Trick

Paul woke up, his heart racing. He checked his watch on the nightstand. 12 midnight, so he had only been asleep for a couple of hours. "Gonna be a long night," he sighed.

Ancient but unmistakably feminine smells surrounded him. He looked around the room, scanning its contents. Apparently, nothing had been touched after Rosemary's daughter had died.

"A car accident," Rosemary had said, clearly still angry. "Hit and run."

Old clothing was left on chairs and dressers, make-up lids were still open and the bed had been left unmade. It felt weird sleeping in a bed with sheets last used by a young woman who had died 25 years ago. Her presence was palpable ... and creepy.

Paul looked down. The covers had trapped his penis and he realized now that it was rock hard. "Jesus, why you?" He idly stroked it through the sheets, enjoying the sensation. Paul was naked under the covers, simply because that's the way he always slept. The bed was a wonderful four-poster canopy bed, now covered with dingy, faded, flower-print curtains. The daughter (Paul had never heard her name) must have been treasured and spoiled by doting parents to have been able to sleep in such a well appointed bedroom.

After a minute or two, he got up and walked across the room. A crooked light from the highway next door glinted faintly through the window. He parted the curtains and watched some trucks drive by.

The dressing table was strewn with makeup, school pins, jewelry and old concert tickets. Leafing through a school notebook, Paul discovered that the daughter's name was Janice. Apparently she was pretty popular. Her prom date had been some guy called "Jacob", apparently a real hunk, if the notes from her friends were any indication.

At the end of the dresser, Paul spied a pair of gloves. "Are these the gloves from the trick?" Paul wondered. He picked one up and looked at it carefully. It was made of silk, and was long, apparently intended to be worn over the elbow at a fancy affair. "The Prom?" He held it up to his hands; it would be a tight fit.

Paul put the glove down. "Alacazam!" Paul waved his hand over it, being stupid, pretending to weave a spell.

"Shit!" Paul jerked his hand back.

The glove had moved.

"Uh ... it must have just shifted, right?" Paul asked himself.

After a second, he moved his hand closer and as he came within a few inches, the gloved moved again, this time sliding towards his hand a little.

"Jesus!" he said, pulling his hand quickly back. "This is it!" He wondered if maybe he was still dreaming.

Paul steadied his breathing and reached forward one more time. This time, as soon as he got close, the glove jumped up and engulfed his hand!

"Ack!" He fell back and tried to shake it off. His hand felt like it was being swallowed up by a silk snake, working its way up his arm, sensuously caressing it as it gradually inched its way up higher and higher. Paul pulled frantically, but as soon as he got any kind of grip on the fabric, it would just wriggle and slip away.

"Damn it!" The glove had reached his elbow, and now the fingers came to life. Each one wriggled wildly. "Damn, NO!" he quickly clenched his fist.

Despite Paul's frantic tugging and pulling, the thumb of the glove gradually worked its way onto the tip of Paul's thumb, attacking it like some live animal. And once the tip was surrounded, it easily ate up the rest, surrounding it and isolating it from the rest of the hand.

The fingers were next. Paul held his fist closed as best he could, but the silk of the glove wormed its way into all of the smallest spaces, slithering, probing, stroking, and eventually separating. Starting with the index finger, each digit was individually pried away from the fist, isolated, and then forced down its own silken tube. The glove wriggled some more, making sure there was no slack anywhere, pushing itself further up his arm until it reached his armpit.

Paul had lost the battle.

Breathing heavily, he held up his arm and looked at the glove, rotating it. His hand seemed smaller somehow ... squeezed by the glove? But not uncomfortably tight.

There was a soft 'click' and Paul felt a slight tightening around his upper arm. With a sinking feeling, he realized that the glove was locked. It would be impossible to get it off now without destroying it.