Robbie the robot vacuum
Horror short. An unwanted gift makes its presence known.
She opened the gift unhurriedly, not expecting much. Last year she’d received a sandwich toaster. The year before, hair straighteners. Always a gadget she hadn’t asked for, useful but not what she’d meant when she said, “get me anything”. Not what she’d meant at all.
And it was that that made her linger, scrape at the tape. She was eeking out the last of this relationship, tearing it open like orange peel with one acrylic fingernail.
Denny looked at her, expectant, puppylike. She’d knitted him gloves for Christmas last year; he always said his hands were cold. He wore them all the time. This year, she’d bought handmade cufflinks with his initials, in the shape of his favourite Star Wars character, Chewbacca. Something personal. With a little thought applied.
But the thing on her lap was heavy. Encased in cardboard, receipt included on top.
‘What is it?’
He smiled, gestured her to open. A heaviness sank through her chest bone as she took in the multiple instruction leaflets, complete with googly-eyed cartoonish illustration. Robbie the Robot Vacuum.
With another guy she’d think this was a hint, a subtle dig at her slapdash housework. Not Denny. To him, “Robbie the Robot Vacuum” was the ultimate romantic gesture.
‘Go on, turn it on.’
The black, circular object took a few seconds to come to life, a little red light appearing in the corner. It hummed for a second as she placed it on the floor.
‘You can monitor it with your phone.’ Denny juddered so much she thought he might leap off his chair. ‘There’s an app. And don’t forget the docking station!’
‘Yeah… thanks Denny.’
Her smile was a rip in her face, an ache in her jaw. She allowed Denny to babble on about all the settings and features as she carefully packed Robbie the Robot Vacuum away, with no intention of getting it out ever again.
Several weeks later, she found Robbie in the airing cupboard, and decided to try it, just once. For Denny’s sake.
The robot switched on almost immediately and began exploring the room. Now and again, it would pause. There was animality in the way it held itself, a dog sniffing the air.
She watched the robot circle the sofa, hunting for dust. It cleaned efficiently and well, which was irritating. Denny had clearly done his research, bought a decent brand and not spared the expense.
‘I never wanted you,’ she told the machine.
She didn’t know why she felt the need to say it. But as she did, the pressure in her chest lifted a little. She gained confidence.
‘You’re just a stupid robot. What’s the point of you? I could do all this myself.’
Her remarks had no effect on “Robbie”, who continued to go round and round. It was mesmerising to watch him – it, it was a thing. A heartless, brainless machine, powered by sensors and machine learning. It had no consciousness. No soul.
As the vacuum approached her foot, she had the sudden, urgent impulse to kick it. She didn’t know why. But as she lifted her foot, Robbie stopped dead still.
She could have lowered her foot. She could have left the room. She could have done any number of things a sane, sensible, normal person would do.
Instead, she stamped down on the plastic, hard.
The robot shot off in the opposite direction, disappearing into the black shadowy space under the sofa. She could hear it humming very slightly.
Her heart was jackhammering. She didn’t know why she was panting, didn’t realise she was biting her lip until the trickle of blood snaked down her chin.
Under the sofa, the little red light blinked.
She went for a walk, came back after several hours. To her surprise, the door had been double locked.
The living room was spotless, yet somehow drained, the soul sucked out with the dust. She could feel the mud on her feet, ruining Robbie’s nice tidy floor. She longed to smear it into the carpet. Wanted to stain.
She scanned the silent, vacuumed room, looking for… well, she wasn’t sure what for. She was alone, of course she was alone. Still, it was like being hunted. Stalked.
She told herself she was being stupid. There was nothing to worry about – this was her home, for God’s sake. Her rational mind told her to put the kettle on, to start on dinner, to turn on the TV.
In the dark space beneath the sofa, Robbie began to growl.
Slowly, very slowly, she reached for the hardback book on the coffee table, the one no one ever read. She felt better for holding it, its cover crisp and glossy, its heft reassuring.
The growling beneath the sofa grew louder, harsher. Toothier. She raised the book high.
Too slow.
Robbie shot past, ricocheted off the wall then shot back in her direction; not a coincidence, not a malfunction. He was coming right at her, with intent.
But this time she was ready.
Smack, went the book, right down on Robbie’s black plastic casing. The robot vacuum whined with pain, dented but unbroken.
She backed out the room as fast as she dared, the robot’s red eye fixed on her throat. She thought about fleeing through the door, calling Denny, but the idea of a vacuum running her out of her own house - it was intolerable.
She had to fix Robbie, once and for all.
In the cupboard under the stairs, she found her weapon, buried under bags and boxes. Hammer in hand, she twisted the living room doorknob slowly, held her breath.
The room was dark. The bulb, which Denny had been promising to change for six months, had finally guttered out, leaving only shadows. A playground for Robbie.
She crept back inside, hammer raised high. It occurred to her for the first time that perhaps she was being paranoid. A vacuum couldn’t possibly have a vendetta against her. She might as well rail against a toaster.
In the corner of her eye, a little red light blinked.
There was no time to think. She turned and threw the hammer in one motion, her mouth opening in horror as the living room door opened and the hammer slammed into Denny’s startled face, splattering blood. She watched him fall, his head smacking against the corner of the wall. The red light of his smartwatch flashed, on and off, on and off.
She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Might have died of thirst rather than take a step. But then Robbie sailed out from behind the coffee table, nudging against Denny’s still body, a dog waiting for its master.
‘You.’
No time to think. She grabbed the hammer, brought it down, screaming, her eyes mushed up with tears and sweat, and… missed. She missed her mark, tripped over her target and fell forwards into the coffee table, right in the temple, smack.
The last thing she saw was Robbie’s red eye. Winking.
Thanks for reading in 2024 - have a merry Christmas and happy New Year, and see you in 2025 for more strange dark tales.
Wow! Nicely done.
Good one, Amy. Cautionary tale against ingratitude?