Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

Wallace bit back a sharp retort when the bottoms of his feet began to
tingle. He looked down. The flip-flops were gone.
“Whoa,” he whispered. “How did I…?”
“You seem to react to anger more than anything else,” Nelson said
cheerfully. “Odd, that, but who am I to judge? I can hit you again if you’d
think it’d help.”
Wallace said, “No, don’t. Just … hold on a minute.” He frowned at his
feet. He could feel the floor against his heels. There was a cookie crumb
between his toes. He imagined his pair of Berluti Scritto’s, the leather ones
that cost more than many people made in a month.
They didn’t appear.
Instead, he was suddenly wearing ballet slippers.
“Huh,” Nelson said, also peering down at Wallace’s feet. “That’s
certainly … different. Didn’t know you were a dancer.” He looked up,
squinting at Wallace. “You’ve got the legs for it, I guess.”
“What is it with you people and my legs?” Wallace snapped. Then,
without waiting for an answer, “I don’t know what happened.”
“Right. Just like you don’t know how the bikini happened. I believe you
completely.”
Wallace growled at him, but then the ballet slippers disappeared,
replaced by a pair of old sneakers. And then slippers. And then flip-flops
again. And then cowboy boots, complete with spurs. And then, much to his
horror, brown sandals with blue socks.
He began to panic, hopping from one foot to the other as Apollo danced
around him, yipping excitedly. “Oh my god, how do I make it stop? Why isn’t
it stopping?”
Nelson frowned at his feet just as the sandals and socks gave way to high
heels better suited for an exotic dancer on a stage, making it rain. He shot up
four inches, and then dropped back down as the heels were replaced by
yellow rubber boots with ducks on the side. “Here,” Nelson said. “Let me
help.”
He smacked Wallace’s shins with his cane.
“Ow,” Wallace cried, bending over to rub his legs. “You didn’t have to
—”
“Stopped it, didn’t I?”