irregular · upper floor · last swept never properly
the corridors do not meet at a right angle. one comes in from the long arm of the house at about seventy-six degrees; the other departs to the back stair at about a hundred and four. between them, the floor opens into a small triangular widening just generous enough for an umbrella-stand and the doubts of a person who has lost their way.
an oilskin umbrella, never opened in living memory, has lived in the stand at least since the keeper's first season. a brass tag with a number on it once hung above the corner; the screw is in the wall still, but the tag has gone to wherever such tags go. a square of paler wallpaper marks where a small picture used to be — flowers, the keeper thinks, but cannot vouch.
the cat stops at this junction and sits for a moment as if choosing, then chooses neither corridor. a child runs through and never looks at the floor here. the keeper, passing, sometimes feels they are about to remember the picture, and the moment passes.
field-note: the air in this corner does not move when the doors slam at either end of either corridor. it has been tested with a candle.