The Evil Vacuum

VacuumThere are a handful of things that I am afraid of and the vacuum cleaner is one of them. I don’t know why it’s there and I don’t want to. That instrument is capable of terrible things I cannot imagine. Every once in awhile, Dad pulls that beast out of the front closet and does something that makes it go crazy.

I’m not sure what he does but the vacuum has a really long tail and Dad takes it by the end and sticks it into a plug in the wall. It must not like that very much because it starts to make this howling noise that sounds like a freight train.

Of course I run as far away as I can, which is only to the bedroom. I then stick my head underneath the bed. I would crawl in and hide my entire body but I’ve gotten too big to get all the way underneath. I’m safe for a little while but then the sound gets closer and louder. I can hear Dad fighting with it. It has a really strong nose and it sniffs every square foot of carpet in the whole apartment. (I thought that was supposed to be my job!)

After about ten minutes or so, Dad has moved it from the living room to the kitchen. Then it starts coming to get me. It’s pure torture to hear that thing getting closer to me, getting louder and louder. I can see Dad struggling to pull it back every time it makes a surge forward but it must be too strong for him because it keeps coming after me.

It knows I’m in the bedroom but it continues to sniff every little bit of carpet as it gets nearer. Finally I have to make a move to get away. I sometimes pretend to sound brave by woofing at it a time or two but that never really scares it. The best plan for me is to jump up on the bed and escape as it goes past the bed. It doesn’t seem to be able to climb up on things, thank goodness.

I try to hide in the other bedroom but it can tell I went in there and follows me. Once again I’m filled with terror as it slowly gets closer, with Dad trying to pull it back as it lunges forward. I have to rely on my quick feet to dodge it and escape from this bedroom. I usually go out in the living room to hide. Just when I think it will finally corner me, Dad does something to kill it. The noise stops and Dad pulls its tail out of the wall.

He then takes that terrible machine and puts it back in the closet. I usually go to the closet to see if it’s still dead. I smell it but all I can smell is dirt, dust, dried skin and stuff like that. Not too bad to be honest. I just wish it was permenantly dead because I know some day it’s going to come out again and then we’ll have to start the battle all over again.

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