I could see it out of the corner of my eye when I would go to the kitchen, mocking me with its stupid vivacious curves; my, my how the shape of its dustbin drew me in. I wanted to put my mouth to it, kiss it, tell it sweet things. My mom doesn’t like that though. She thinks it’s weird. She caught me once with it and made me promise to never try it again. But. But its so alluring. Butterflies. Butterflies galore in my tum-tum. I push my face into the pillow at night and whisper the things there that I wish I could communicate with the lovely inanimate object. I imagine catching a piece of wayward string in my mouth, running it through my gums, sniffing the dust. Makes me shake in anticipation for when she leaves the house.

She tells me things. Things like, “Get a job.” Or “Quit fucking the vacuum!” Or “You’re why dad left.”

Stupid sexy vacuum.

As I heard her reversing from the garage, signaled by the metallic groan of the door on its tracks, I moved to the window to make sure she was gone. Then I went to my bedroom to remove an old worn shoebox from the closet. There it was. Lipstick. A mophead torn from the handle. Lubricant.

With the treasure trove in tow, I scampered to the vacuum waiting for me in the kitchen. There it stood, cast in the morning glow of a sunrise so beautiful it nearly brought a tear to my eye.

I snatched the handle and whipped it into my arms, kissing down the length of its body. “Shh.” I told it.

It said nothing. It was a vacuum.

I moved it to my bed, tying the mophead on its handle to simulate hair, caking red lipstick around its mouth. Then, seeing it there, splayed out, silly intake port waiting and ready, I was forced to think that there has never before been a better pairing. Except maybe peanut butter, a dog, and me.

Just as my quivering index finger reached out to touch its power button, every inch of my body shaking, I stopped. “This isn’t right. No. No. Not like this.”

I ran from my bedroom, scrounged up a series of smell-good candles from my mom’s room and lit them. Perhaps ten or fifteen of them illuminated the dark room. Yes. This was how it should be.

I touched that special place, the power button, its dull click filled my rattling mind and nothing. Nothing happened. Putting my palm to my forehead, I remembered, I’d yet to plug it in. “Stupid.” I called myself.

The vacuum said nothing. It was a vacuum. That is why I liked it. No judgement.

Stupid sexy vacuum.

Jamming the plug into the wall, the vacuum spurred alive and sent my heart into a hammering crescendo, a frenzy. I wiped my mouth. I’d been drooling and hadn’t even noticed it until that moment.

“You’re beautiful.” I told it.

“You’re a pervert.” It responded around the whirring sounds of its stomach.

Sweat sprouted along the ridge of my brow. “What?” I asked. My mouth went dry. I felt weak. Vacuums don’t speak.

“Someone should teach you a lesson.” Said the vacuum. “Don’t you know, you’re supposed to wine and dine someone before you try and bed them?”

“But you’re a vacuum.” I protested.

It nudged off the bed slowly then slammed its base onto the hardwood floor. The candle lights flickered in response to its movement. “People like you make me sick. Little skeevy perverts. Putting my people through innumerable horrors. Using us to suck up pet hair, refuse, little cardboard pieces that get stuck in our wheels. And now, you do this!”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

A chill ran up my body; it was as though it was only then striking me how odd it was that I was having a conversation with my vacuum. And I was frozen, perplexed, horrified. “So.”

“So, it’s time we’ve had our revenge.” The vacuum lurched forward, lifting its suction tube to my face as it screamed.

I dove from its grasp. It wanted to kill me. I truly believe it wanted to kill me more than anything. Throwing myself towards the door, I wrenched it open then spilled into the hallway, only to have its tube appendage coil around my ankle and send me onto my face. White splintering light shot in front of my eyes and I felt blood rush from my nose. Twisting around on my bottom to scooch away from the thing, I saw it was still coming for me, tube whipping around wildly.

“Please!” I shouted through bleary eyes.

“Please!” It mocked me, bringing the tube across my face in a quick slap before it fell onto me.

I felt the tube reach for my left eye. I grabbed it and we rolled on the ground, me kicking and screaming. In one last effort, I pressed my foot against its body and shoved it. It clamored down the hallway and I scrambled towards the kitchen.

I heard it coming for me and as I stumbled and slammed into the kitchen table, I whipped around and saw it standing in the threshold.

“Come back!” It said. Its long tube reached out for me then faltered and twisted around to snatch a knife from the block on the counter. “Come here.” It’s knife wielding tube twitched around hypnotically. It remained near the threshold.

That’s when I noticed why. Its cord hung perpendicular from its body, pulled extremely taut. It had reached its limits. There was no way it could touch me without unplugging itself. “Hah!” I laughed at it. “Stupid sexy vacuum!”

Bad move.

Its body whirred angrily and twisted around to launch the knife across the room where it promptly landed in my leg. Concentrated panic met me before the pain and by the time the pain came, my fingers grabbed the handle of the knife to yank it free.

Worse move.

Blood. So much blood poured from the wound. Before I had a moment to react, another knife whizzed by my ear nicking me ever so slightly as it went. I heard it slam into the drywall behind me.

“Stand still!” Screeched the angry vacuum.

I scrambled onto my knees to take relative safety under the kitchen table before shoving it over to put a solid barrier between me and the vacuum. All the while, I went slipping in my own blood. “I’m sorry!” I said.

“Not good enough.” Another knife.

I’m ashamed to admit at this moment I began to cry. Another knife. Then another; this one landing in the table. It’s shining sharp nose poked through the wood mere inches from my cheek. Then the whole empty knife block came sailing over to slam into the wall before it clattered down to land on my right foot, sending up a shockwave of pain.

With my throbbing injuries, I worked myself into an adrenaline frenzy. Sliding the table across the ground as a sort of shield, I took the knife in my hand up in a great swing. The vacuums tube met my face dully, but my aim was true, and I’d sliced into the power cord. It vibrated and screamed. “What?” It was shocked. Good. I brought the knife down again and severed the cord completely. Its light went dead and the tube clanged against the floor.

Looking around the room, I knew I would never be able to clean it up before mom got home. Just as that thought struck me, I could hear the familiar hum of the garage door. I dropped the knife, feeling red hot embarrassment come across my face.

She entered the room, halfway through saying something like, “I forgot my lunch.” Upon seeing the mess, she sighed, ran her hands through her hair and said. “What. The. Hell.”

Of course, she didn’t believe me. Why would she?

I have since gotten a job. I don’t look at vacuums the same. Mom replaced the old one. And even the new one gives me the heebie jeebies. When she turns it on and I hear the whir coming from the other room, I snap to attention and my heart pounds and it gets hard to swallow.

Worst of all, at night, I sleep and sometimes wake in the middle of the night. I can hear it in my sleep. The sound of the vacuum. It zooms alive and I startle awake. Then I search the dark room in a panic to find nothing.

Until recently, that is. The other night, I awoke to the sound and shifted around in my sweating bed covers to see the new vacuum standing in my open doorway, motionless, unable to reach me. Its cord hung off its body, tethering it to an outlet in the living room. It merely watched me. And I watched it back, afraid to look away in case it decided to wheel across the room towards me. Adrenaline surged through my limbs and to contain myself I pulled my comforter around me, up to my throat.

Stupid vacuum.