Vacuum
By johno
- 646 reads
Vacuum.
Dave enjoyed doing the vacuuming. The noise of the hoover blocked out
every other sound and he would shout and sing into the noise, secure in
the knowledge that no one else would hear him. His flat was light and
spacious, large French windows opening onto a well manicured and tidy
garden. The flat, like its sole occupant was clean to the point of
sterility. Chromed steel gleamed, leather seats softly shone and the
walls reflected the afternoon light.
He continued to push the hoover around the room, moving furniture to
clean beneath them, occasionally pausing to try and spot any rogue
pieces of debris which had escaped the suction of the machine he
gleefully wielded. Holding the hoover in one hand the pushed the large
leather sofa away from one wall and then pushed the nozzle of the
hoover over the exposed floor. He was loudly singing some operatic
aria, almost shouting the music, his head thrown back as he competed
with the engine noise of the industrial strength hoover. He only saw a
brief flicker of movement, a glimpse from the corner of his eye as
something large and black was suddenly pulled up from the carpet and
sucked into the vacuum. He shuddered involuntarily for some trick of
the light had made it seem as if this piece of debris had resisted the
pull of the vacuum, had paused momentarily before being dragged off the
shag pile as if being stuck down, or even he thought with disgust,
holding on. Even as these thoughts registered in his conscious the
motor of the vacuum suddenly began to whine as if the nozzle where
blocked, the engine straining to pull against the sudden obstruction of
its pipe. Dave stopped singing at looked down at the pipe in his hand,
a inexplicable knot of revulsion in his stomach, the pipe suddenly
seemed to leap in his suddenly sweaty grip and the noise of the motor
returned, almost it seemed with relief, to its usual electric
rumble.
He continued to sweep behind the sofa but in a lacklustre fashion, his
heart wasn't in it as he kept trying to visualise what the cleaner had
sucked up. Something shiny, something which had rattled solidly as it
had squeezed up the vacuums pipe. He suddenly switched off the vacuum
cleaner and lifting it by its handle walked out of the room and down
his short pristine hall, his slippered feet making squeaking noises on
the plastic sheeting which covered the carpet. His vacuum cleaner, once
his ally in the war against dirt suddenly seemed an almost atrocious
article, a receptacle bearing something horrible. He carried it away
from his body, at arms length, like someone carrying a full nappy or a
bag containing a dead cat. He placed it the hall cupboard, sliding it
into its allotted space among the boxes and bags, all carefully
labelled and stored away. He closed the doors and then walked to the
bathroom where he washed his hands, the warm soapy water calming his
mind and filling him with simple pleasure.
He spent the evening as he did most of them. He sat in his favourite
chair in the front room, it was slightly turned so he was partially
facing the front door but also the rest of the room. The walls of the
room were devoid of pictures save one, a small framed photograph of a
woman. She squinted away from the camera and seemed to be staring with
disgust at something out of shot. The photograph looked quite old and
even though it was framed behind glass it was possible to see creases
and tears on its matt surface. This, like the door, was in Dave's field
of view and he sat, as he often did, nursing a small glass of whiskey
staring at the picture or, more often than not, gazing vaguely into
space. A small book case and stereo were the only concessions to luxury
and they intruded on the spartan nature of the room. Outside the night
pressed against the window and drops of rain ticked and spattered
against the glass. The rush of cars could be heard faintly as they
forged through the wet streets.
As he sat he slowly became away of another noise, one which he had been
conscious of but which only now fully registered. It was an irregular
sharp cracking, slightly muffled but audible none the less. He sat more
upright in his chair and despite the warmth of the flat an involuntary
shudder passed through him. He waited for the noise again, a tight ball
of anxiety wound up in his chest. He sat there for almost a minute, his
head cocked to one side, one hand still clutching his glass while the
other played with the loose skin under his eye. He began to relax back
into his seat when he heard it again, a sharp crack which seemed to
echo in his inner ear. He jumped out of his seat and looked around the
room, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He placed the glass on a low
table which half hid in one corner and then approached the front door.
He looked through the spy hole and saw only the corridor beyond and a
few doors to other flats. He hastily drew back the three bolts on the
door and then opened the yale lock. As he unlocked the remaining
deadbolt he suddenly heard the noise again, a vicious crack like the
breaking of plastic or bone. The front door swung open and he stepped
into the hall. He looked up and down the brightly lit corridor but
could see nothing, it seemed lonely, a public place but one which was
never really used. He drew in a lungful of the cooler, polish smelling
air and then turned back to face his flat. He could see the front room,
his chair, the table, the closed door leading to the rest of the flat
and nothing seemed unusual. His hands trembled slightly as he passed
back into the room.
-what was the noise ?- he thought - why was it there, why was it
disturbing him? he only wanted to sit in peace and wait, only wanted to
touch her when she walked through the door, tell her he was sorry,
explain the. he cut himself off, surpressing the sudden hysterical
stream of thoughts which threatened to saturate his mind. His mouth
felt dry and he suddenly could picture the cleanliness of the kitchen,
his little bottle of pills sitting beside the sink. Behind him someone
began to unlock the front door and he hastily stepped into his flat,
nervous energy making his stomach flutter and shut the door. He quickly
drew the bolts across and relocked the deadbolt.
He crossed the room and opened the door into the rest of the flat. The
lights were all on, as usual and he quickly ventured into the kitchen.
The blind was drawn over the window and as he let the tap run cold
water into the sink he pushed the slats aside and gazed out onto the
wet evening outside. He unscrewed the pill bottle top off and placed
one of the little blue pills onto his tongue. As it sat there, his
tongue protruding from his mouth like a pink glistening drawbridge, he
began to fill a glass with water. The noise happened again, louder,
fiercer and for longer. A rending noise which had no place in the flat,
where the only noise was the combustion of gas as the central heating
turned on. He jolted, as if electrocuted and brought the glass to his
mouth without turning off the tap, water sprayed over the sink and
drizzled onto the floor. He hurriedly swallowed the pill and then
replaced the glass on the work surface, turning off the tap as he did
so.
He realised, with a certain horror, that he would have to find the
source of the noise. He left the kitchen and stood in the small
hallway, to his left was the door to his bedroom, to his right the hall
cupboard and in front the lounge. He paused in the hall and then
reaching out opened the bedroom door. The door swung open, revealing a
well lit and once again, sparsely furnished, room. A double bed
occupied the middle part of the room while the opposite wall had a
dressing table which boasted a large array of neatly ordered skin and
other cleansing products. They had been arranged alphabetically
underneath the mirror, which was sparkling clean. Curtains covered
another french window. Nothing adorned the walls in this room, but a
small photograph was tucked into the corner of the mirror. The same
woman who was in the other photograph but this time barely visible in a
crowd of other people. She was dressed in a white wedding dress and
other people stood around her, the photograph was slightly out of focus
but it was clearly obvious that the man she was marrying, who was
hanging on her arm and grinning at a someone else brandishing a camera,
was not Dave. In front of the wedding party were the backs of several
guests and right in the foreground the top of moss covered wall,
blurred and unfocused. Dave turned away from looking at the room and
ducked his head quickly into the bathroom, once more nothing seemed out
of the ordinary save for the spartan nature of the room. All shining
porcelain and disinfectant the bathroom calmed his nerves and he
breathed in the rich, acidic smell of bleach.
He had not heard the noise for almost a minute now and he wondered if
it had gone. He speculated on the possibility of someone upstairs doing
some late night DIY or playing some twisted practical joke. He placed
his hand on the small knob of the hall cupboard.
As he pulled the door open the noise happened again, and came, without
doubt, from within the cupboard. With more courage than he thought he
possessed he wrenched open the door, jumping back at the same time. He
half crouched in the living room, his hands on the floor in front of
him, the skin white and pallid. Inside the cupboard the hoover lay as
he had put it but one side of it was cracked, the green plastic rent by
a white frayed fissure which ran the length of the machine. A small
puff of fine dust drifted slowly from it and was wafted in the air
currents from the opening of the door. The door to the open cupboard
lay only a metre from his finger tips but it could have been a light
year, there was no possible way he could enter the cupboard and examine
the hoover. Something nasty was in the hoover, dread filled him,
immobilised him with fear, froze his muscles save for his rectum, which
emitted a weak , trembling fart. The black thing which had hoovered up
not sprung horribly to the front of his mind, that and the damage to
the hoover suddenly became inexplicably linked. He blinked slowly, one
hand reaching up to his lower lip to roll it between his fingers while
he stared on.
There was a splintering crack from the hoover and another crack joined
the first, a thin white etched triangle of stressed plastic forming as
the crack ran down from the start of the first one to the base of the
machine. Another, bigger puff of dust joined the first, and the whole
hoover trembled slightly. Dave moaned quietly and moved slightly to one
side, his breath came in short gasps as he witnessed the internal
destruction of the hoover. Part of him screamed to go, to run, but he
was compelled to witness whatever dusty mutant offspring the hoover
would birth.
Dave ceased to moan and now strained his ears to listen, he could hear
the faint hum of the fridge, the noise of traffic but from the vacuum
cleaner nothing. He made no attempt to rationalise what he was
witnessing. Rationalisation of this was beyond him and an attempt to do
so might send his mind screaming into insanity, rather he just watched
events as they unfolded. He began to crawl closer to the cupboard, his
legs tense, his stomach rolling, his thin arms ready to hurl him back
from the machine. He crossed the hall and now stopped, the open
cupboard door to his left the kitchen to his right and the bedroom
behind and to one side. He stared at the hoover, but could hear
nothing. Only the two cracks in the plastic and the dry earthy taste of
the dust in the air were evidence to suggest that something out of the
ordinary was happening. He ran his hand through his hair and began to
breath in a slow, lungful of air.
The side of the machine exploded in a massive cloud of dust as a small
heavy object, slightly larger than tennis ball smashed out from inside
it. Dave leaped backwards as the cloud of dust enveloped him, filling
his eyes, mouth, and nose with weeks worth of accumulated skin, hair,
spiders webs, and crumbs. As his eyes shut instinctively he felt
something heavy hit his left shoulder and cling there as he threw
himself away. He crashed into the wall and then fell to one side,
hitting the waist high open cupboard door as he did so. It held him for
only a split second before cracking away from the wall, its corner dug
into his side, pushing the air from his lungs and sending fierce stabs
of pain up his chest. He fell onto the snapping wood as it came off the
wall, rolling as he did so. For a second he lapsed into unconsciousness
before rolling his eyes back open. He was lying in his side, facing the
wall, the remains of the door underneath him. The air was full of a
fine grey dust, the carpet covered in an explosion of crumbs, dust,
pubic hair, and small pieces of rubbish. Something squirmed under his
cheek.
He screamed hoarsely, in a terribly cracked way, and plucked at the
moving thing he felt on his shoulder. He felt hard, slightly warm
scales under his hands as he pulled at the horribly dense shape on his
shoulder. As he did so he could not help but look at it. It was like an
insect, all clutching spiked legs, polished wingcases and hooked
mandibles. His hand ,clutched around its almost spherical shape, looked
white against its black exterior. Dark multi-faceted eyes reflected his
scream as he threw it, its legs clutching part of his jumper, across
the hall. For a second it managed to grasp his hand but he had
surprised it and it was wrenched away, its front legs scraping across
his skin before it could hold on no longer. It landed with a meaty thud
on the kitchen lino, rolling onto its back and sliding against the base
of the work surface. Dave lay on the floor staring at its immensity,
its nastiness, the hooks and integument's
which fluttered and moved, the mouth parts which drooled liquid and
clicked open and closed. It rolled over onto its front and then turned
to face him. For what seemed an eternity, Dave and the creature faced
each other. He looked at it over his prone body, the dust, and parts of
the wrecked hoover. It stared back at him with its multiple eyes, on
the end of thick stalks, slowly moving in time to the slight dipping
motion it was making. It sprang forward, back into the hall way and
Dave screamed again, his legs kicking furiously in the air as he tried
to pull himself away from it. It reared up on its back legs, showing a
dark green underside which was folded and ribbed before turning away
and racing into the bedroom. He heard a clatter of bottles and then
silence.
Dave lifted his right hand in front of his face, the surface of his
skin was torn and bleeding. Small pieces of black thorn stuck out of
the flesh, the skin puckered and tight around the invading material. He
sat up unsteadily and risked a glance into the cupboard. The hoover
looked like a bomb had exploded in it, the contents of the bag were
spilt out of the machine and had poured onto the floor. Dave moaned and
then staggered onto his feet, using his uninjured hand to grasp the
cupboard door frame and pull himself up. Blood was welling from his
shoulder and his ribs ached fiercely. He pushed out a dusty blood
stained hand and threw open the bedroom door.
The bottles on the dressing table had been scattered, some lay on the
surface, others had fallen on the floor. The top had come off a perfume
bottle and the smell of long dead flowers filled the room. He pushed
open the door so that it was flush against the bedroom wall and then
glanced up at the ceiling, nothing. He retreated, still staring at the
open door, and took off one of his slippers, brandishing this in his
hand he limped into the room. He walked past the perfectly made,
undisturbed, bed and looked quickly behind the far side of the dresser.
Carpet, with one of the bottles lying on it. His heart was pounding
heavily, but everything seemed calm and quiet. Were it not for the
wounds on his body and the destructive fury which had been meted out on
his favourite household appliance everything could be as normal.
Maybe-he thought-if I go and sit down everything will be fine, but
then-his line of enquiry quivered-what happens if I want to go to
bed?
He grasped the curtain and whisked it aside, raising the slipper as he
did so. The curtain pulled back, skating open on its wooden clips, to
reveal the rain streaked French window and the vague lights of the
neighbour hood. He unclipped the latch of the window and slid it aside,
the cold night air rushing in. A car horn sounded some way off, its
mournful tones echoing into the night. He saw its reflection rise up
behind him, it emerged from beneath the bed and spreading its rounded
ugly carapace apart extended four grey, lace like wings. They were
veined with black tendons which wormed there away across the milky
surface. They beat together and then lifted it off the floor and
carried the thing, like a malignant flying tumour, towards him. He beat
at with his slipper but it weaved out of his way and dived at his
chest. Its scythe like mandibles caught at his skin and tore a fresh
wound. Its wings clattering the thing spun up to the top of the room.
Dave staggered backwards, his hand, still clutching his slipper, at the
wound to his chest. He felt warm blood spill through his fingers and
looking down at his chest saw a deep wound spanning the distance
between his nipples. The thing dug into the plaster at the far end of
the wall, its hooked legs biting into the plaster and it hung there,
staring at Dave as he staggered against the dresser. It wrenched itself
clear of its perch, pieces of plaster showering onto the floor as it
did so and plunged headlong down towards Dave. As it flew through the
air its mandibles came together to a form a single, vicious, black
spike. Dave's good hand dropped the slipper and curled around a
remaining can of hairspray, crying with fear and half fainting with
shock, he brought the can up in front of him as the creature barrelled
down towards his face. He closed his eyes as his blurred, tear stained,
vision filled with the things black spike and the clattering of its
wings drowned out his screams. There was a sudden massive jolt down his
arms and a bang which blew his consciousness away.
He found himself lying on the floor next to the dresser. His eyes
opened slowly and he saw a great cloud of sticky vapour beginning to
disperse in the air. Both his hands were bleeding and he was coated
with a sticky residue which smelt hideously of flowers. The can of
hairspray lay by his foot, twisted and almost torn into two pieces. He
pushed himself up the wall, leaving bloody smears from his hands up the
white walls. The thing lay on its back on the bed, its one remaining
wing was fluttering spasmodically while the other was a torn stump
which sickeningly leaked yellow fluid. Some of its legs were broken and
twisted while its massive mandibles were chipped and cracked. As he
watched it drunkenly flipped itself onto its side and whirred its wing.
It stumbled away to one side and then dropped out of side off the edge
of the bed, producing a splash of leaking fluids as it did so. Dave
began to slide across the wall to the open French window, his footing
uncertain, his mind silently screaming. Behind him the thing began to
crawl across the floor towards him, its wing still beating the air
frantically, its wounded carapace swelling and bleeding. He stumbled
through the windows and began to stagger across the darkness of the
garden. As he reached almost halfway across the manicured lawn his legs
failed and he fell, twisting as he did so. He looked back to the
windows as he lay on the wet ground, the rain soaking his clothing. The
thing was already past the windows, its sinister will forcing it on as
it crawled across the lawn, its legs tearing up the turf as it
inexorably moved towards him. The French window was a yellow square of
light against the black of the house, framing the thing as it crawled
towards him. Dave twisted around, fear giving him the edge on his pain
and stumbled once more to his feet. Ahead of him he could see the
privot hedge which secured the garden and towards this he half limped,
half ran. As he reached it his feet again began to fail and he plunged
headlong into it. Unable to grasp anything more substantial than twigs
he crashed uncontrollably through the hedge.
Even had the driver been completely sober he would have been unable to
stop in time. As the figure crashed through the hedge he barely had
time to lift his foot off the floor to the brake, and drag the wheel to
one side, before he hit the wild figure which suddenly appeared in the
road. There was barely discernible impact as Dave bounced off the cars
wings to sprawl in the gutter, his headlong dash for freedom suddenly
over. The rain began to cease falling as the man rushed out of his car
and sprinted over to Dave's body. From the security of the hedge the
thing observed all this with black hateful eyes as the last raindrops
pattered down onto its wounded shell.
He lay in hospital. Both his legs were in bright white casts, slightly
marred by the scrawling signatures of the few people who had visited
him, and the various nurses who cared for his needs. At present his
eyes were closed and he listened to the hospital radio on headphones
clamped over his ears. A cocktail of soporific drugs kept the pain at
bay and gave him some toehold on reality. The board at the end of the
bed told a sad story, some kind of mental breakdown, a destructive fit,
and then massive trauma brought on by collision with a car. Given the
circumstances of the last few years a breakdown was almost inevitable
said the psychiatrists, as they suggested more pills for him to
take.
There was a bang as the door swung shut and he slowly opened his eyes
to see a cleaner wave at him though the window of his room as he walked
down the corridor. Dave motioned back with his head then slowly looked
around the rest of the little room. His gaze wandered over the other
window which showed blue sky and the tops of some trees, the tv which
clung to the corner of the room and then the far wall. His gaze fell on
the vacuum cleaner the cleaner had left. Even through the barrier of
drug induced removal a short stab of fear percolated through to him. He
gazed at the vacuum cleaner. It sat there, innocently occupying a small
corner of the room. Its motor quietly clicking as it cooled down.
Brooding.
- Log in to post comments