All the best apocalyptic movies have a hidden danger lurking somewhere in the silent streets, just waiting for our heroine (or hero) to fall asleep, make a noise, or say ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ Then they pounce. Or crawl slowly as dramatic music plays. With a suitable gravelly voiceover, I now report that the attacks have started here.
These are insidious attacks, coming when you least expect them. I was washing the dishes when it started. Out of nowhere the corner of the cabinet above the sink leapt on me, smacking me on the top of the head, bringing tears to my eyes and a loud yell from my throat, loud enough that Neil abandoned his meeting and rushed out of the office. Together we wrestled with the attacker, eventually fighting it off.
Neil went back to work and I carried on with the chores. The danger hadn’t gone. The bedroom door handle swiped at me as I walked past. I tried vacuuming, discovering that they had got to the Dyson when it swung out of control and ran over my foot. Trying to fold the airer I escaped with seconds to spare, wrenching my hand from it as it snapped shut. Carrying folded washing a shirt broke loose, its arm snaking down and grabbing the fridge as I walked past. It swung me around, tried to throw me against the wall but I was becoming alert to danger and overpowered it, throttling it between a couple of towels.
Sitting at the dining table I thought I was safe, windows on three sides, a light-filled space. The table leg went for mine, cracking my kneecap. As I jumped in surprise another leg assaulted my ankle. I leapt to safety, in need of a calming cup of tea. The tap had succumbed, spitting a fountain of water across the kitchen. I reached for the mop and stopped – all those strands of fabric just waiting to wrap themselves around me and drag me, kicking and screaming, back to their lair. I closed the cupboard and grabbed a cloth instead.
I’m running out of escape options and darkness is closing in. This may be my last blog. They’re coming for me.