Page 7 of Strange Lights

I can’t keep my mind off AI revolution and robotic vacuum overlords. My thoughts stray toward a battlefield, ten thousand little robotic vacuums popping tank tires and burning mysterious patterns into corpses. Maybe I’m being dramatic, letting my imagination get the better of me, but I almost wish I’d let Calvin drive with the vacuum. I keep thinking about the email as we head to our camp for the night. The woman who messaged me replied almost instantly when I asked if tomorrow would be too soon for a visit. Apparently, that isn’t soon enough; she’s eager to fix the problem and get her kid back to watching videos. But I want to check out the vacuum first, so tomorrow it is.

Calvin and I agreed to meet up in the evening to check out the haunted vacuum in our downtime. I’m distracted, waffling about whether to tell Calvin about the email or make a covert detour tomorrow to pick up the tablet on my own. How can I explain the sixth sense that’s warning me something big is impending? I’m trying to convince myself I’m being paranoid.

Our campground is empty save for Calvin, Eldi, and me and our Winnebago-Airstream convoy. It’s more of a defunct parking lot, but it will do for the night. Calvin has his own generator to run his Airstream essentials. I have my inexplicably magic Winnebago that’s never low on gas; doesn’t even run on gas. I’m not sure what powers Winnie, and some things are best not to waste time thinking about. I half expect to come across a mini nuclear reactor in the bowels of her basement someday. For Calvin’s sake, I pretend I have a generator, and he doesn’t ask too many questions. He’s a naturally curious human, but he questions so little about the Winnebago that I wonder if Eldi’s shielding watch covers Winnie and perhaps me too. Life has too many mysteries, and I’m so preoccupied that I let Calvin take the first shift of vacuum investigation.

“Bring it back in an hour,” I say. “I have some ideas.” I don’t, not a single thought in my head that isn’t anxiety based, but I don’t want it out of my possession long.

Another email pings my phone, and this time I recognize the sender’s address. They send me information from time to time. Their messages are always cryptic. They can read as warnings or threats depending on how you look at them. I don’t trust the sender because I don’t know their motivations, but I do know their information is accurate and, therefore, valuable. This time they’ve sent only a single line of text⁠—”chicken little or the boy who cried wolf?”⁠—along with several links and attachments.

“Great, so helpful, thanks,” I mutter aloud. “Next time say what you mean for once.”

I skim the linked articles and papers. News items from across the globe. “Increased UFO presence in the skies leads to uptick in 911 calls,” one headline reads. Another: “Cattle mutilations in Teller County have locals worried.” There’s a story about crop circles making a resurgence in England. Men-in-black sightings in Nicaragua. Chupacabras in Texas. Texas always has Chupacabra sightings. It’s always mangy coyotes.

But I must admit, that’s a lot of activity. It’s concerning.

Calvin knocks on the door well before his hour of vacuum custody is up. He’s carrying two beers, so I guess I’ll let him inside. Once he sets the vacuum down, it immediately scurries away and circuits the Winnebago, investigating every corner while Eldi trails it. It could be an eager little beagle, sniffing out crumbs in every corner. I eye it warily as it pauses by the wall panel that leads to the basement, but it putters on after a slight pause.

“Here, you earned both.” Calvin sounds disgruntled as he hands me the beers. “The Chupacabra wasn’t real, and I don’t know where to start with this vacuum.”

“Biscotti was so vicious, I think I would rather tangle with a real Chupacabra.” I twist open the beers and hand him one. “So I guess you deserve one of these too.”

Something plagues him. He doesn’t crack a smile, only takes a long swig before speaking.

“That thing . . . something is up with it.”

“I told you it was more legit than the Chupacabra sighting.”

“Reggie, I’m serious. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

That twinge of worry resurfaces. When I say nothing, he continues, never looking at me. His gaze follows the vacuum.

“It doesn’t have a charging port, for one. But it runs anyway. No logos. I looked up every vacuum manual I could find. Horribly dull reading, by the way. I can’t find this specific model anywhere, not that it has a model number or anything identifying on it. It only does a half-ass job of pretending to be a vacuum⁠—I couldn’t get it to clean anything.”

“Maybe there’s a battery⁠—”

“Nope, no batteries, no power source I’m familiar with.”

“Maybe it’s generic. The serial numbers filed off for some vacuum-selling scheme.” I’m not a fucking idiot, but I know I sound like one as soon as the words leave my lips. To Calvin’s credit, he doesn’t even roll his eyes.

“I’m telling you, that thing doesn’t run on anything I know about. I don’t think it’s man-made.”

A shiver runs down my spine. I think of Eldi saying, “Mine.” Of how eager she was to see it. Of how eager it seemed to see her. Whether or not I want to admit it, it’s got to be connected to her. I’m not sure I believe in coincidence.

Magically imbued objects exist; I’ve dealt with one in the past. They’re exceedingly rare and dangerous. This doesn’t seem like that. It doesn’t have that dark, energy-sucking feeling. A vacuum that doesn’t suck anything, dust or energy. How useless.

“Is it alive?” I say hesitantly, thinking of the Winnebago’s occasional hints of sentience.

“I don’t think so,” Calvin says, frowning. “Maybe,” he amends quietly, and takes another long swig of his beer. “It seems to want to come over here no matter what I do. Anytime I set it down anywhere in the Airstream, it made a beeline for the door. And it did the same anytime I set it down outside⁠—made a mad dash for the Winnebago.”

“It seems content here,” I say, stating the obvious.

The vacuum has completed its circuit, and it settles itself in front of the panel to Winnie’s back rooms before appearing to power down with a funny little ditty. I don’t know what else to say without explaining Eldi to Calvin.

“You think it’s safe to have in here with you and Eldi?” he asks.

Snarling, I bristle at the implication that I can’t handle myself or Eldi or possible danger. “It’s a robotic vacuum. What’s it going to do? Clean my floors while I sleep?” I say sarcastically, despite all the evidence that this isn’t a simple vacuum.

Calvin holds his hands up defensively. “I’m only saying it seems overly interested in Eldi, and it was burning hardwood floors and cutting designs on carpet, maybe popping tires. There’s obviously more to it than we know.” His look of concern only serves to piss me off.