The Dust Bunnies are Revolting!

Seeing the loose way people use the word “hate” these days, I guess can say that I hate a lot of things. I hate soggy spinach. I hate dark rooms. I hate visiting relatives I don’t like, just because they’re sick. But nothing, nothing matches the hate I have for dust bunnies. They are vile, evil little things. I will do everything I can to wipe them out.

Once, my opinion was “live and let live.” My wife, Suzy, would clean behind things, under things, and around things. I’d laugh at her. Every weekend, for hours a day, she’d clean our place till it shone. Now, I stood behind daily clean-up as much as anyone. I did dishes and picked up, but no one came to our trailer but us. Our place always seemed clean enough without moving stuff around twice a week. But every time I said so she’d set her jaw and pull out the bucket of cleaning cloths.

“You don’t see the point,” she’d say, “because you don’t want to. Go play computer games. Fix the car, walk the dog. Those little mothers are mine.”

I knew when she was being sarcastic: we didn’t have a dog. I’d shrug and go outside or back to beating up pixelated monsters--the real scourge of our living room! While Suzy swept cobwebs from the corners, I slew giant spiders in dungeons with my mage, “Christophe Grey.” As Suzy did laundry, Christophe sheared sheep for his “mate” Suzette to weave and tailor into clothes. Slowly he went up in rank, until finally he was one step away from grandmaster. Just as slowly, I realized Suzy took her prey equally as seriously. After months of our weekend ritual, I decided Chris needed a day off from slayage. Instead of retrieving him and his horse from the inn, I took up a position next to Suzy picked a cloth with which to do battle.

“Hail, Greywolfe,” she greeted me, using my guild title.

“Hail, Cub. I have returned from the St. Michel Bayou Wolf Pack to battle the mighty Dust Bunny.”

“Good, because the dust bunnies are revolting.”

She handed me a spray can, a cloth, and potpourri. With this armament I ventured into the furniture wilderness known as Bedroom-and-a-spare. My job, it seemed, was to enter mortal combat with the dust. Even if I moved stuff around on the bureaus and bedside tables I’d be done in fifteen minutes, tops.

“Don’t forget under the beds,” Suzy called out. “That’s where dust bunnies breed!”

Okay, so maybe thirty minutes. But I drew the line at moving the bureaus, too.

It took about fifteen to clear the tops of furniture in the master bedroom, spritz some gunk on, and wipe it off. We hadn’t been married long enough to accumulate much stuff to slow me down. The spare room took ten minutes to do the same. At that point, I remembered about getting under the beds. No way was I going to go down on my hands and knees to clean under them. I needed something to get under the furniture without stretching on my belly. I vaguely remembered that such a tool existed, so I put my dust cloth and the spray down on the bureau next to the door and headed out to ask Suzy about it.

“The silver dust mop of vanquishing is in the hall closet,” she answered without missing a beat. “Make certain you’re thorough, please.”

I considered making a Roman salute but, nah. She wouldn’t see it anyway with her head stuck in the cabinet under the kitchen sink. I returned to the tiny niche in the hallway Suzy called a “closet” and removed my weapon. In just a few minutes I would be done with my task, and who knew? I might be able to convince Suzy to go for a swim instead of continuing her assault on the rest of the rooms. All I had to do was spray the mop head with the goo, then swish it around a few times under each bed.

Well, that was the plan. The spray can wasn’t on the bureau. Neither was the dust cloth. I checked on top of the bed, thinking I might have tossed it there. No such luck. I leaned the mop up against the wall and went to the second bedroom. It wasn’t there, either. I returned to the kitchen on the outside chance that I might have brought the spray and cloth with me there. Suzy shrugged and began to stack things inside of the cabinet. It didn’t occur to me then how hard she was trying to appear nonchalant.

“Maybe you put the can too close to the edge of the bureau and it rolled under the bed,” she said. “It happens sometimes. This place isn’t entirely level, you know.”

Yeah, I knew. And suddenly felt as if that were my fault, although the trailer had been in place long before we bought it. Still, her suggestion seemed like the only logical one, even if it didn’t explain what happened to the cloth. When I returned to the bedroom I knelt and lifted the dust ruffle, to see if I could spot the darn thing. Sure enough, there it was against the wall, nestled in a cloud of dust bunnies. A quick swish with the dust mop would retrieve it. The cloth hadn’t made it quite so far, so I reached out, grabbed it with two fingers, and pulled it back. A couple of dust bunnies clung to my hand. I could still feel a sting from them when I brushed them away. The dust rolled back under the bed, past the intervening fabric. I sprayed the spray, mopped with the mop, and went on my way. It wasn’t until I was putting the stuff away that I noticed the tiny holes in the cloth and the scratches on the can. Shoot. I knew Suzy was a vigorous cleaner, but I’d had no idea of how much so.

My hopes for a swim after my labors were dashed, however, as Suzy set me to organizing the cabinet over the refrigerator. The crowds of dust bunnies gathered in the back became readily apparent as I removed things from the cabinet, per her orders. It seemed strange there was that much dust, given Suzy’s vigilance. I brushed it away, commenting as much to her.

“They’re massing for an attack, she said. “They’re tired of being swept away--”

“Like dust?”

Suzy nodded, unsmiling.

“They’re evil, vile, little creatures. I won’t be happy until none are left in this house, or anywhere I live.”

“Then maybe you’d better switch to a better spray,” I said, scratching at the red welts raising on the back of my hands. “The stuff you use only seems good for giving me a rash.”

“Those marks aren’t a rash, Chris. Those are bite marks.”

“I think you’ve been inhaling too many cleaning products, Suze. Come on. Let’s lounge by the pool.”

I walked over to her and gently took the things from her hands and put them on the counter. I expected an argument, but heard nothing buy a deep sigh.

“All right,” she said, shaking her head slowly from side to side. “If I can’t convince you, we’ll go. It’s your funeral.”

I laughed, scooped her into my arms, and brought her down the hall to the bedroom to change into our swimsuits. But nothing I did before we went to swim or at the pool seemed to make her smile. It seemed as if, by interrupting her weekly ritual, I had done something terrible. I knew after only a short time that nothing would change. I left the water and began to dry off. Suzy did the same. Silently, we walked up the hill to our lot. When we got inside, she gave me a big hug.

“I’m sorry for being such a party pooper, Chris. We’ll go back later, okay? I swear.”

I nodded. “I’m not certain what the big deal is. What difference does it make if you clean now or later? What does it matter if you do it at all? Help me out, here.”

“Chris. Honey. I know I sound crazy, but the dust bunnies really are trying to take over the world. For some reason they’ve this very spot, as a starting place. I can’t explain it, but I can’t let them get a foothold.”

“I don’t have to tell you how that sounds.”

“No, you don’t, but I’m not crazy.”

With that statement she walked away, inviting no further comment. I shrugged. What else could I do? I’d give Suzy a few minutes alone, just to give her time to cool down. I went into the kitchen to get us both glasses of iced tea, to give myself an edge on the forgiveness front. A bag of microwave popcorn, Suzy’s favorite comfort food, might also fit the bill. I opened the cabinet over the counter and reached in. Two fat balls of dust plopped out. I removed the bag from the box and began to pop the corn when it occurred to me: That was the cabinet Suzy had been cleaning when I interrupted her. The dust had landed right where the cleaning spray should have been.

There was no can of spray there. No cloth. It was as if they had disappeared into thin air. I scratched at the tiny red marks on my hands and forearms, perplexed. Suzy hadn’t been out here since I’d put them down. There was no sign of them in the usual storage spot under the sink. Was something creepy going on? Was Suzy right? The thought weighed heavy on my mind as I poured the popcorn into a bowl and brought it and the tea into the living room. Suzy was already sitting there on the loveseat, brushing out her long, brown hair. She gave me a tight smile as I set everything down on the coffee table.

“I’m sorry for coming on so strong,” she said. “I got frightened. When we first moved in, I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. It seemed as if the normal daily stuff we did worked just fine.”

I nodded. She paused to sip her tea and take a handful of popcorn before continuing. The empty moments seemed interminable.

“One day, I went to the cabinet to get fresh mugs for coffee. Dust fell out of each one when I picked them up. I didn’t think much of it. I had an apartment on a dirt road once. It was so dusty there was a constant film over everything. But when I thought about it, I realized that dust would have had to be clinging to the bottom of the inside of the mugs.”She paused again for dramatic effect. I shrugged again, not seeing the connection. When I failed to say anything, Suzy rolled her eyes.

“Think about it, Chris. We store our mugs upside down. The rims of the mugs are on the surface of the shelf.”

“Okay, so?” I wasn’t convinced that something was out of the ordinary with this story. “So, one of us got careless putting things away and trapped some dust on the shelf. Can I just promise to never do it again and leave it at that?”

She sighed. “The dust didn’t fall out until after I’d already moved them several feet. It wasn’t trapped,” she said sotto voce. “It was hiding.”

“Hiding.”

“Yes, hiding. Please, Chris, open your mind here! How can a man who fights monsters almost every night not believe in dust bunnies?”

“Those monsters are little pixels on a computer screen,” I reminded her. “If I stepped out of the house and found a dread spider waiting for me on the lawn, I would probably have a heart attack and die. But Suze, we’re talking about dust!”

“More than just dust, Chris. This dust is alive. It’s breeding. Don’t ask me why or how. It was right after finding that dust I noticed more and more clumps of it lying around.”

“So, how did you discover its plans to take over the world?”

“It came to me one night, as I was lying in bed half asleep, that there had to be a reason for the influx. That reason could only be invasion.”

“Did one of them tell you this?”

“No. None dust came up to me and whispered their plans. I just knew.”

I nodded again and swallowed what was left of my tea. Before we married, I would have sworn that Suzy was one of the most stable people on earth. Now I was wondering why I hadn’t seen her slipping into paranoia.

“What were the signs,” I asked.

“Suddenly the daily cleaning wasn’t enough. I started cleaning the tops of furniture and under the beds once a week. Then, when that became only a stopgap measure, I started to clean twice a week, the way you see me now. Now that’s barely enough--it keeps them down long enough so that they regroup more slowly. But still, by Friday I hear them chewing things again.”

“Chewing.”

“Yes, chewing. Chris! Just listen.”

Chewing. I thought about the little holes in the dust cloth I had been using, and the little scratches on the can. I glanced down at my hand. Suzy followed my gaze.

“Bite marks,” she said.

I raised my hand to the level of my eyes. I’d had enough allergies as a child to recognize what a rash looked like. Something wasn’t quite right with this one. Instead of the raised welts I had expected, there were hundreds of little red pit marks.

“Bite marks,” I repeated.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why we got through so many cleaning supplies? Yes, I use them up, but not so much that I need to replace them almost weekly. They eat them up with their tiny sharp teeth. I will bet that we will find no sign of that cloth, or of that can.”

It made no sense at all. I excused myself to change into my clothes. The swimsuit suddenly seemed too chilly, too vulnerable. When I went back into the living room, Suzy had already brought the bowl and glasses out to the kitchen and was back to cleaning with a fervor. I switched on the computer, checked my email, and brought Christophe up for an evening of slayage. We spoke no more of dust bunnies that evening. I had to process it. The following day passed in a similar manner, although Suzy sat with me that evening for a movie. I agreed to stream the most recent chick flick, just to lift her spirits. Even so, it seemed something had gone out of her.

“I’m worried,” she said to me as went to bed. “There wasn’t much dust to clean today.”

I patted her hand. “That just means you’re winning.”

“No, she said. “It means I’m losing.”

With that cryptic remark she sighed, got into bed, and turned to face the wall. I wanted to believe her, but if she didn’t snap out of it in the next few days, I was going to get her some “help.” I felt her get up several times during the night, heard her wandering from room to room. She was looking, I assumed, for the missing dust bunnies. We didn’t discuss them again.

I did my best over those next several days. I tried cooking supper. I tried cleaning up. I tried ordering out for Chinese. I washed the car, brought home flowers, did the laundry. I told her I loved her, when I thought of it. Heck, I even gave her a foot rub with that nasty raspberry lotion she loved so much. All I wanted was my happy Suzy back. It wasn’t about to happen. Suzy had determined that Wednesdays were going to be added to her cleaning days. She made me swear I would help her, and I swore to it.

That last night we both lay down at our regular time. She pretended to sleep. I tossed and turned a little, then eventually I faded into a light sleep, interrupted occasionally by dreams. In one of my half-awake moments, I felt uncomfortably warm and heavy, and tried to throw the covers back. The sheet wouldn’t budge. It drew up tighter around my body. I felt terrible itching as if my allergies were responding to the coarsest wool blanket imaginable. Before the thing covered my face, I saw Suzy being covered by an undulating mass of soft gray dust. I tried to scream but was overwhelmed by the cocoon that formed around me.

The following morning, no trace remained. Every bit of dust was gone. So was Suzy. All that remained were small clumps of her long brown hair clustered around a small hole in the bathroom floor. I dialed 911. I knew that the dust bunnies had found her, consumed her, and were now waiting under the trailer for me to challenge them as well.

I knew how it sounded when I called 911. So did the police. I was arrested for Suzy’s murder. Despite the disappearance of her body, I was found guilty. Only my talk of dust bunnies kept me from prison and possible execution. I could hear the dust bunnies laughing at me, even from under the judge’s bench itself.

Now, almost two years later, I look for dust bunnies in my room. Every day, I search for their scouting parties, marking their location, and sweep them away in my nocturnal raids. The doctors say I am improving daily--they have allowed me supervised game time as a reward. Christophe has gotten to Glorious Lord slaying air elementals. They look like swirling dust. In his quest to vanquish them, he wields a sword named Suzy.