Sucking Up a Ghost

Prologue

Vacuum cleaners are the best witnesses to whatever happens in our lives. They are objective, they aren't alive. Are they?

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I’ve been humming and cleaning this home for years, minding my own business, quietly doing what I have to. Day in, day out, I traverse the floors, greedily gobbling crumbs, dust, chicken wings, and anything else the silly humans drop. They don’t have me in mind—just flip the switch, and I come to life. But they don’t draw in what I draw in. They don’t see what I see.

The house has its unpredictable temper. I can tell when it’s in a positive mood—everything glows, the sun radiates through the windows, and my cord connects with electrical points and stretches without a hitch. These are great days. But lately, the house has been... odd. The dust can’t seem to settle. The air feels dense, and I swear that I hear things. Gentle footsteps. Whispers. Creaks. But it could be the wind. Or the kids playing in the room, right?

One fine morning, I am languishing in the closet, bored, and waiting for my next assignment when I swear I hear something. It isn’t the usual creak or whisper. No, this is different. It is a soft shuffle, like people brushing their feet across the floor. No one is at home. I can’t hear their voices, and I know these well. What I hear is not them; they always plug me in when they are about to clean.

I’m curious, so I listen closely. The noise approaches, softly and slowly. Whatever it is in the hallway. Perhaps it is the dog. Yeah, it must be the dog. But then I remember—it left with the humans this morning. It’s just me here. And the house. And this darn, cloying closet.

Abruptly, the door to the closet opens with a loud creak. It doesn’t open all the way, just enough, as though someone’s taking a peek inside. The light outside flickers. I feel a sudden jolt in my motor, and for once, I wish I could move by myself. It’s just a draft, right? A door they forgot to close? That’s what it is.

But then I see it.

Something drifts past the room in the hallway. No feet. No legs. Just... a shadowy form. My motorized brain can’t explain it. It’s like these plastic bags I swallow, weightless, formless. This shape’s a bit different, though. It’s larger. Much larger.

My hose flinches. I don’t like this at all. The shape continues to drift through the hallway, stopping in front of the mirror there. I can’t see much from the half-closed door, but I feel that it was stopping to look at itself. Perhaps.

The house feels chilly now. Perhaps it’s just the heater malfunctioning. Or perhaps... no. I’ve been taking in too much dirt. That’s all. There’s no space in me, so I can’t move. So this thing must be just my dust-clogged imagination. Shapes don’t float, and houses don’t grow cold inexplicably.

But this form—it’s still there. I swear it’s turning toward me. For a minte, it feels like it’s looking right at me. I may not have eyes, but I do have my senses, and I feel something I cannot explain. I want to scream, but all I can do is sit in this silly closet uselessly.

I hear it move across the floor. Scraping. The sound’s like feet rubbing the floor. But this…whatever it is….has no feet.

The lights go on and off again, suddenly. My motor comes to life again. Thank goodness I’m alive. I want revenge on this shape. I want to swallow it, suck it up. But can I vacuum this? It hasn’t any weight. It has no shape. What am I supposed to do?

I’ve never doubted myself. But this time, I’m not sure what I’m feeling, seeing. I must be out of whack. Too many dust mites in my filter. That’s why I’m seeing this thing. I must have swallowed something strange before. An insect. One of the buttons from the kids’ uniforms that must be rattling about in there. Yeah, that must be what it is.

The shape drifts into the living room, and the cold air lifts just a little bit. Everything’s quiet once more. The door to the room is still open, but it feels normal now. Maybe i just need some servicing, and I’ll be the same once again.

I hear the front door opening. The humans are home. I relax. Whatever that was is gone now. I’ll be alright. The humans just need to empty my filter.

But they pause in the corridor. “Are those footprints?” I hear the man say.

"I'm not sure. They're tracks of some kind...."The woman answered, uncertain.

Footprints? Tracks?

I was in the closet all the time. Wasn't I?