Near midnight in Felt Presence, the growing cardigan put out its first sleeve.

A skeleton brought a twig to support it.

The sleeve reached past the twig and took his finger.

“Oh,” he said.

He tried moving the pincushion closer to the window. The sleeve held on.

“Perhaps it’s a climbing variety,” whispered the other skeleton.

From beneath his weighted blanket, the ghost watched them fetch a tiny chair.

The skeleton sat beside the pincushion. Gradually, the new stitches stopped appearing.

They left the twig nearby.

In case it wanted to hold something while he made breakfast.