“And
here we have the second bedroom,” Mimi, the realtor, chirps rather
than speaks. It's a little small, but it would be great for children,
or maybe as a study?” He can hear the fake smile in her voice.
“Oh,
Bernie! I love this color! It's such a delightful shade of . . .
purple. Oh, don't you know Trisha would just love it to death. You
know dear, I--”
“Yeah,
yeah, I know you love the house. You been sayin' so ever since we
pulled up. Try not to act so excited in front of the realtor, eh?”
“Oh,
aren't you two cute. Don't worry, you're the third couple this week
to say that! Everyone just loves this house; I certainly don't see it
being on the market for very much longer !”
“Yeah,
yeah, and how's the closet over here? Trish's got a lotta clothes for
a girl her age.”
Heavy
footsteps approach and the door creaks open, creasing on either side
to slide apart. A tall, heavy set man looks down at Robert looking
puzzled, but underneath that determined. The kind of determined look
that builds up over years like laugh lines or crow's feet until it's
always there. “A vacuum cleaner? Hey look hun, it comes with a free
vacuum cleaner.”
He
looks back over his shoulder with narrowed, deadpan eyes at Mimi. “Oh
yes, the previous tenants left it and it was such a nice model we
though we'd leave it with the house for whatever lovely people moved
in after!” That inane giggle that so thinly masks a lie. Robert
remembers all the times they tried to move him from the house. First
in the dumpster they were using when they cleaned the house, second
in the back of one of the cleaner's cars. The third time the cleaning
company had told the bank about the issue and they'd scoffed at it.
The cleaners tried once more and gave up, nervous and afraid.
Each
time he'd been moved from the house he'd disappeared, “Poof!”
right from wherever they'd moved him and popped right back up here in
the closet. Sitting quietly in the exact same spot every time they'd
come back, the little indentations in the carpeting lining up
perfectly with his little wheels.
“Yeah,
doesn't look that nice of a model to me. . .”
“Oh
Bernie, come on. Let's see the rest of the house!”
The
final three times he'd been moved had been in the back of Mimi's car.
She took him to the dump the first time and then, the second time,
swearing like a sailor, she'd taken him to the thrift store. The
third time, silent and shaking, she'd taken him to the river and
dropped him in, only to find him here, dry as a bone and just as
she'd found him every other time. Her optimism for selling the house
decreased steadily after that.
More
days go by. Weeks? Months? Robert doesn't really think in those terms
anymore but it's a long time. More time to ruminate on his pathetic
little situation. A ghost in a vacuum cleaner has nothing but time on
his hands, especially in an abandoned house. Nothing but time to
rebuild every little moment of his last day alive. No wonder most
poltergeists just end up going crazy and causing mischief.
The
last day he'd been alive they'd thrown a big birthday party for his
roommate Zack; the biggest one they'd ever thrown at the house.
Robert and his other roommate Justin had bought a keg for Zack's
birthday and as usual Robert had drank way too much, challenging
every male in attendance to a drinking contest and eventually downing
a half dozen Four Locos before stumbling into the john.
And
then that was it. He'd fallen in the bathroom while vomiting and
banged his face on the toilet, rolling over onto his back. By the
time they found him he was dead of alcohol poisoning and stiff as a
board, but not before his addled spirit had bumbled out of his poor,
pale body and drunkenly stumbled, confused and scared, back into his
bedroom. The world spinning and a bright light shining in his face
he'd tumbled into his closet and hidden there, afraid and shaking,
wondering why his hands seemed to fade away near the fingertips. It was a snug fit with the beat up household Hoover in there already.
And
then this.
The
door opens again and it wakes him from his reverie. This time it's a
woman and she sounds like the last one to visit the house. “Bernie's
so silly. So what if there's a vacuum cleaner in the closet, it's not
like we can't throw it out if it doesn't work. Why can't he just be
excited that we got such a good price on this place?”
She
grabs Robert by the handle and jerks him out of the closet roughly.
“This isn't such a bad looking old Hoover. Now let's see if you
work.”
Unwinding
his cord from the prongs on the handle she pulls him over by the
nearest outlet and he sees that the room is no longer empty. Boxes
are stacked haphazardly around the room and a bed frame and mattress
are leaned up against the wall. A heap of colorful girls clothes is
piled atop the boxes.
Taking
in the room he feels a jolt and realizes that he'd been plugged in.
Then he hears noise. So much noise. Almost like the sound of a giant
vacuum if you were locked inside. Surprise, surprise.The first time he's been plugged in
and it's terrifying, like electricity is shooting through his veins
and a massive whirring beating against his ear drums, maddening
vibration shaking him apart, and then silence.
“Oh,
you do work! And strong too. Just another perk to this lovely, lovely
house.”
And
he's back in the closet.
“What
the? A vacuum cleaner? Mom! What do you want me to do with this
stupid vacuum cleaner?”
A girl stands at the door this time. Late
teens and blonde, she's kind of cute in a messy way. Her hair's a
little disheveled and she's wearing a baggy T-shirt but there's
definitely a cute factor there. Robert feels like he'd be blushing if
he weren't haunting a vacuum.
“Honey,
just leave it there for now, we've already filled up the closet in
the living room.”
She
shakes her shoulders in a petulant huff. “Ugh, like this closet
isn't small enough already. Stupid house.”
The
rest of the day is spent watching her put clothes in the closet,
arranging them carefully at first and then just tossing them in. One
of those things girls put their shoes in goes over the hanger rod and slaps
roughly against him before shoes fly from across the room and knock him
around. A t-shirt ends up draped across his handle and he doesn’t
see anything for a while.
“Well,
that's the bed and the clothes. Enough for one day anyway, even
though I'm sure dad'll bitch at me for not being done. Ugh, at least
I can use this damn thing to clean up this dusty room.”
She
pulls the shirt off of him and throws it on the floor, kicking off an
errant high heel and grabbing him by the handle, dragging him out of the
closet. The room is a wreck with half -unpacked boxes everywhere but
the bed is upright and covered in blankets now. Already wondering
what the hell he's going to do he feels his plug go into the wall.
This
time it's not so bad. He can already kind of feel himself getting
used to it as she slides him across the carpet, loudly whirring. It's
almost nice. But how the hell do I do ghost things? You'd think
I'd just take control and roar around.
He
focuses on moving on his own. Nothing. On jerking himself from her
hand. Nothing. On blowing instead of sucking. Nothing. Finally in a
rage he just focuses everything he has into a fit of shaking anger.
“What
the. . .”
The
handle starts shaking and with small, bursting explosion the catch
bag on the back of the vacuum billows out from behind him, spraying
dust and debris all over Trish and the floor. “Ah! Damn it!” As
Trish pulls back from the cloud of dirt Robert has an idea.
Hair
balls and brown dust flutter to the ground, falling in tufts, and
showering her feet as well as the carpet. As it falls though, it
begins to form into a pattern. What looks like words.
“Help
me.”
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