Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

“Do what?” Mei asked as she reached up to turn the radio volume down.
“I’m not talking to—Nelson, how did you do that?”
Nelson looked around as if there were some other Nelson in the kitchen.
When he saw there wasn’t, he said, “Me?”
Maybe sinking through the floor wasn’t such a bad idea. “Yes, you. You
changed your clothes!”
Nelson looked down at himself. “Why shouldn’t I have? Pajamas are for
nighttime. Do you not know that?”
“But—that’s—we’re dead.”
“Acceptance,” Mei said. “Cool.” She started furiously stirring the pots
again, one after the other.
“And?” Nelson said. “Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I don’t like to
look my best.” He held up his shoes, wiggling his feet. “Do you like them?
They’re Velcro, because laces are for suckers.”
No, Wallace didn’t like them. “How did you do that?”
“Oh!” Nelson said brightly. “Well, it’s the unexpected thing we were
talking about last night after you sank through the floor.”
“After what?” Hugo asked, eyebrows rising on his forehead.
Wallace ignored him. “Can I do that?”
Nelson shrugged. “I don’t know. Can you?” He raised his cane and
thumped it on the floor. And just like that, he was wearing a pinstriped suit,
not unlike one Wallace had hanging in his own closet. He thumped the cane
again, and he was wearing jeans and a heavy winter coat. He thumped the
cane again, and was in a tuxedo, his top hat tilted jauntily on his head. The
cane hit the floor one more time and he was in his original outfit, Velcro
shoes and all.
Wallace gaped at him.
Nelson preened. “I’m very good at most things.”
“Grandad,” Hugo warned.
Nelson rolled his eyes. “Hush, you. Let me have my fun. Wallace, come
here.”
Wallace went. He stopped in front of Nelson, who looked him up and
down critically. “Uh-huh. Yes. Quite. I see. That’s … unfortunate.” He
squinted at Wallace’s feet. “Flip-flops. Never had use for them myself. My
toenails are too long.”
Wallace grimaced. “That doesn’t sound like something to be shared.”