Submitted for the September 2024 prompt: The Bogeyman Cometh

Some days I just want to play the skip card. You know, like in UNO? Except right now, I’d need a whole handful of skips, because my life is an epic Rube-Goldberg chain of disaster.

 

My washing machine broke on Monday so I’ve been airing my clothes, sponging the odd spot, double deodorizing, all those tricks I learned in college. I ordered a new one online, some newfangled machine, but These things take time, Merril. Yeah, I’m talking to myself now. It’s not like I have anyone else.

 

So tonight I arrived home at 10pm after another toxic workday, mega-headache, mega-hungry, mega-over-everything, and as I tapped my watch to the key panel, the strap of my laptop bag slipped half an inch off my shoulder. No biggie, right? Except the bag swung wide, ricocheted off the wall and nudged my chicken Penang with enough force to pop the lid and send greasy goodness sliding down the leg of my last clean-ish pair of jeans.

 

I trudged inside and dropped all my crap in a heap. I couldn’t even throw myself on the sofa in a huff, because owning cushions that smell perpetually of Thai takeaway is not one of my life goals.

 

I sagged against the wall in an unseeing, overworked stupor and totally missed the enormous cardboard box in the lounge room. Which is why I almost peed my pants when it rocked and jiggled like an egg impatient to hatch.

 

A small scalpel emerged like a tiny shark fin and sliced the packing-tape seams with robotic precision. The box dropped to the floor and my new iWash 6000 burst forth, sending packing peanuts flying like confetti.

 

[Welcome home, Merril!]

 

A sleek and silver front-loader, it flaunted shiny curves and no sharp edges. Warm white LEDs glowed from its seams, and the twin dials blinked like all-seeing owlish eyes.

 

“You talk?” The curiosity-inspired uptick in my heart rate was not a reflection on my desolate social life. And it wasn’t like I was some elitist luddite too cool to talk to the machine cleaning my clothes.

 

Cutting edge techno-font flashed cherry red around the trim of the circular door. More than a machine.

 

“You know my name?” I know over-familiarity is data sequestration thinly disguised as customer service. But when did someone else last say Merril aloud? And in such dulcet tones?

 

[You know my name.]

 

It dimmed its lights and pouted. I swear. Even machines are touchy these days.

 

[Plug me in, Merril.]

 

It pirouetted on solid ball-bearing wheels and dilated the lights on its dials. Beseeching. Pleading.

 

I should never have ordered so late at night. Sane and well-rested Merril would not have opted for so much tech. So maybe I clicked on the first ad that popped up on my socials. May as well use that tracking and data collection for good, right? They know what I need.

 

Still, there was no point in muddying the chain of command. I wrenched back my shoulders. “Plug yourself in.” I pointed down the hall towards the laundry room. “Outlet’s that way.”

 

[But I can’t see the TV from there.]

 

Seriously? Why was my life so complicated? I had no social life, but I owned a washing machine with aspirations of soaking up screen time while it worked. That’s my dream, dammit. And I won’t let it be stolen by a washing machine, no matter how fancy-schmancy it is.

 

I folded my arms. “Newsflash… machines can’t see.”

 

Blink.

 

Blink.

 

Snarl.

 

I kicked the front door of the apartment open. No harm maintaining an escape route.

 

Surely the thing was easy to move on wheels? I’d push it to the laundry room, plug it in, and then it'd be stuck, and I could put on a load. Washing machines can’t bite. Can they?

 

It swiveled, baring its back ventilation panel, still spotted with packing peanuts.

 

[Hello, TV? Refrigerator? Coffee machine?]

 

Silence.

 

“They can’t talk.” My voice may have gone up an octave. “None of them can talk. Only I can talk. I’m the talker in this apartment.”

 

It rumbled towards me, owl eyes turning full circles of derision.

 

[I’m your only AI appliance? No wonder you’re lonely.]

 

“I’m not lonely.” I totally talked to that barista this morning.

 

The iWash6000 gave a snort of derision. A stream of ones and zeroes flew across its upper touchscreen before its lights faded to turquoise and its door popped open.

[We’ve got a problem.]

 

“We’ve got more than one problem.” I took in my stained jeans, the pile of work junk, and the clock now reading 11 pm. I was due at work in six hours. I needed sleep. And clean clothes. “How about we just try a regular cycle?”

 

It jiggled.

[Nuh-uh. There’s definitely a screw loose.]

 

I’d give it a screw loose, stupid precocious machine.

 

But tired idiot that I was, I dropped to all fours and poked my head inside the barrel.

 

A metal collar zipped out, locking my neck in place. “Hey! I thought you had a screw loose.”

 

[Canned laughter. Good one.]

 

I yanked my neck but only succeeded in popping my vertebrae.

 

[It’s you who has the screw loose. Relax Merril. This won’t hurt a bit.]

 

A spiral of rainbow light whirlpooled at the back of the barrel.

 

[Focus on the pretties, Merril.]

 

Mesmerised, I smiled as dials clunked and the scent of lavender fabric softener infiltrated my nostrils.

 

I mustered a few feeble words. “I want my money back.”

 

[That’s the fear talking.]

 

The light spiral reversed, and a soothing hum crescendoed in the background.

 

[It’s just a mild neuro-adjustment.]

 

The lights gathered into bouquets of flowers then exploded like fireworks.

 

Gathered. Exploded. Gathered. Exploded.

 

Enthusiasm surged along my veins, wiping out my exhaustion.

 

[Let’s order some new friends.]

 

The metal collar loosened and I maneuvered my neck free. “Yes! Can we start with a toaster?”

 

The iWash6000 flashed all its LEDs green.

 

[That didn’t hurt a bit, did it? Just like I promised.]