​

The crows were restless that day. They exhibited a behavior known officially as “cacophonous aggregation,” usually occurring in the presence of a dead conspecific; when one or more crows do gather around a fallen comrade and skold (a guttural squawk repeated in short concessions). These calls differ contextually from a simple alarm call to signal danger—the phenomenon is truly a crow funeral (of sorts), though the exact function of the behavior, and whether or not crows actually possess a complex understanding of death, is unknown. (How appropriate that a “murder of crows” can also be a funeral).

The crows were restless that day. They skolded and they skolded. They had circled the suburban house all morning; an incredible fluttering of wings, a great black mass, a ravenous, murderous funeral of crows. One of their species had hit a window in its flight and fallen dead in the backyard: a thick brown entanglement of weeds along a faded wood fence, a brief lawn with patches of dirt, and a rusty unloved trampoline. The garden, once kept in a state of resplendent beauty by its previous owners, was then in dilapidated disarray. The Bungs had no time for gardening. 

The rapacious vacuum cleaner sucked the remains of dinner off the living room rug like a screaming wild beast. The vacuum was wielded by Rupert Bung. Food scraps were strewn around the coffee table. His wife Margaret and their two children, Elsa and John, did not like to eat in the dining room. Rupert was told that it was his odious desire for conversation which drove them to the couch, sheltered by the television. 

The vacuum was an expensive item, newly purchased at a department store. It was state-of-the-art and somewhat outside the Bung budget, what Margaret later described as a “splurge.” Margaret had been complaining of their inadequate machine (an ancient one-speed clunker-sucker) for some time. Rupert maintained that he was the only person in the whole house who did any vacuuming whatsoever, and it suited him just fine. But then finally, that day at the store, Rupert capitulated to Margaret's incessant nagging. His one consolation was to have the esteemed privilege of picking out the new vacuum for himself, though limited to the high-end aisle Margaret had steered him to. An indigo blue contraption immediately caught Rupert's eye—the “Cyclone Dragon,” as it was called.

His son John stared at the vacuum intently. The vacuum stood there on display in a perfect stillness John found disturbing. He envisioned an actual dragon emerging out of the vacuum with terrifying reality. The sleek curves, the sturdy switches, the pumps and levers, and all the bells and whistles began to morph into dragon scales, teeth, and claws. When Rupert moved the display in inspection, the sudden jerking motion startled the boy, as if flames from the dragon's breath would have engulfed them all. 

It was early that following evening when Rupert began his test run of the “Cyclone Dragon.” Rupert marveled at the majesty of the modern dynamo: popcorn disappeared instantly within a meter of Rupert's approach; wrappers, cauliflower the children had flicked from their dinner plates, bits of corn dogs, doll heads, long hairs woven into rug fibers, embedded dirt—all was consumed by the vacuum with extreme speed and efficiency. Rupert thought that the vacuum was the epitome of clean itself; an angelic machine that purified its environs with a halo of suction. 

Abruptly the vacuum stopped, interrupting Rupert's elated reverie. He let out a sigh of annoyance at a moderate decibel.

“What?! What's your problem?!” yelled Margaret, in reaction to Rupert's modest display of irritation. Rupert simply ignored Margaret's outburst and leaned in to investigate the cause of the malfunction (Margaret scoffed loudly and rolled her eyes whilst orientating her chin to the ceiling).

Rupert discovered a large black feather stuck to the mouth of the great sucker, “something the dog must have brought in” Rupert thought. Rupert was somewhat disappointed that a mere feather had obstructed the suction-flow of the machine, especially after much heftier objects had been whisked away with incredible ease. Rupert soon noticed, however, that the suction strength was set to a default level of one. Relieved, and with regained confidence, Rupert gleefully advanced the strength level to two. But despite this new development, the black feather persisted to block all suction. Rupert then attempted a higher strength level of three, then higher, higher still, and so on without success. Eventually, Rupert was faced with adjusting the strength level to 10, the very last. With nervous perspiration, and trembling slightly, he set the lever to the bottom notch of 10. Heat from the machine radiated like a furnace. Gears spun wildly and pumps clanged like gongs, though still the feather was unmoved. 

Rupert bent to one knee, baffled, though nevertheless resolved in doing it “the old-fashioned way,” as he told himself—i.e. just simply pulling the feather out. This change in operations caused his teenaged daughter Elsa to become momentarily distracted from the television.

“Dad, what are doing?”

Rupert turned to her and smiled. Elsa raised her eyebrows in what was both an incredulous and sarcastic expression, returning her focus once more to the television. Rupert too reverted to his previous attentions and pinched the feather between his index finger and thumb. A profusion of sweat fell from his forehead to the floor and his heart pounded. He braced himself for a mighty tug: quadriceps tensed, shoulders hunched, biting his lower lip in concentration. Yet, to Rupert's surprise and amazement, the feather broke free from the jaws of the vacuum with little more effort than picking up a piece of paper. However, the extra force he had applied to the great yank tossed him onto his back with a thud, feather in hand. 

“Oh my god,” Margaret exclaimed in obvious vexation.

“I've had just about all that I can take,” muttered Rupert under his breath.

“Excuse me?” inquired Margaret after Rupert's whisper.

Rupert's skin became flush, heat rose to his scalp and his eyes bulged in their sockets. As these internal responses to emotional stimuli occurred, the vacuum seemed to mimic Rupert's physiology as it revved, sputtered, cranked, and screeched, still set to level 10. An undone shoelace of Rupert's inched toward the suction as he lay on the floor. Margaret stared at Rupert unfazed, her upper lip curled, and eyes widened, ready for anything. Margaret was always confident in her incendiary talent for rebuttal, most often imbued with sharp and unshakeable indignation.

Rupert stuttered over an opening statement in the spotlight of Margaret's glare. Typically, his flustering would have been the end of it, but this time was different, this time he managed to pause, draw in a breath, and collect himself. He decided then, in that very moment, he was ready to speak, to truly speak. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he was genuinely committed, nothing was to be held back. “I SAID!!!—” 

Rupert's catharsis was immediately cut short. The Cyclone Dragon gave out a deafening bellow and suddenly he vanished, sucked into the mechanical void. Though his body was inhaled in a flash, it appeared to his son John to have the same plasticity as that of a used lunch sack; a wrinkled and soggy piece of paper rubbish that collapsed its compostable fibers in an almost melancholic yield to the great suck. Once Rupert was consumed, the Cyclone Dragon shook spastically, let out a plume of soot, and then stopped all together. The outlet it was connected to had sparked and shorted, cutting power both to the vacuum and the television. Floating to the ground where Rupert had lain but an instant earlier was the feather, drifting through the ephemeral moment in a cloud of dust. Margaret and the children passed a full minute completely frozen in bewilderment over what they had just witnessed. 

John was the first to break the silence: “Dad?” he said in a gravelly voice, holding back frightened tears. 

Elsa let out a chilling shriek that provoked John to sob hysterically. 

Margaret, stunned and agasp, didn't make a sound, shocked beyond herself. She knew what she had seen, she knew that the children were reacting to something dreadful like what she had seen, but she just couldn't bring herself to believe it. She couldn't break her impervious sense of logic. Residing thus in a state of perfect cognitive dissonance, Margaret was absolutely immobilized. 

“Mom! Do something!” Elsa shouted. 

“Huh?” Margaret said as if roused from an accidental nap. 

“Do something!”

“Margaret?” came a faint moan unheard over the panic. 

“Shut up!” Elsa yelled at her crying little brother. “Just shut up!”

“Elsa!” said Margaret. 

“He always makes everything worse, and so do you!” 

“You can't talk to me like that!” 

“I hate you!” 

“Margaret?” again the phantom like murmur went unnoticed. 

“You're mean!” said John mid-sob. 

“I hate both of you!” 

“Elsa that's enough, be kind to your mother,” said a stern voice. The room silenced. “Margaret? Where am I?” 

At once, everyone rushed to the vacuum. 

“Rupert! We're here, the children and I are right here. Are you, erm, I don’t know what to say, I—” 

“Are you OK?” said Elsa. 

“I can't see or move, did I fall?” Rupert said, his voice shaking at the thought of being both blind and paralyzed. 

“No Rupert, well, you did fall back from fiddling with the thing, or whatever, but then... Oh I don't know, I- I just don't know—” 

“The vacuum sucked you up!” said Elsa. 

“What? Come on, that's impossible,” said Rupert. 

“It's true! We all saw it happen!” said Elsa.

“Dad? Does this mean you're not going to my game?” said John. 

“Well, I don't know bud, I guess it all depends on my current situation here.” 

“I knew you wouldn't go!” John began crying, in a whiney sort of way, and buried his head in his mother's shoulder. 

“Rupert, you know how much this means to him, and you missed the last game, because you were off doing who knows what,” said Margaret. 

“I told you, I had an important meeting that came up last minute.” 

A thought then occurred to Margaret: “Rupert, is this some kind of joke? Or magic trick? Because if it is—” 

“No! Honestly, I have no idea what's going on.”

“How can you fit in there?” said Elsa. 

“I'm not sure, I can't move but I can feel that my body is there, somehow.” 

“How can you breathe?” said Elsa.

“I really don't know sweetheart, the air is stuffy, tastes like chalk” (Rupert took in a sample breath and coughed) “but I can breathe, just—” 

“You're a liar!” said John. 

“What's that buddy?” 

“You said you'd go to my game, you lied, you always lie!”

“Listen champ, your game's not until the weekend, right? So, I'll just call in sick the rest of the week and who knows, maybe I can sleep this off.” 

“Whatever,” said John. 

“Margaret, can you explain to him—”

“I’m not bailing you out of this one, Rupert. He has a point, you know—this is a pattern of behavior you need to fix.” 

“You need to fix a pattern, Dad!” said John.

Rupert mumbled a little tisk-tisk. 

“What was that, Rupert? Did you have something to say to your son, who loves you and looks up to you and expects his hero to cheer him on and support him at his important game?”

“Chief, let’s just see how this goes, I want nothing more than to attend your game, and watch you score big-time, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that happens, OK buddy?”

“I guess,” said John.

“I think we all just need to go to bed,” said Rupert.

“Ugh, I thought you were going to fix the T.V.,” said Elsa.

“Just use the one in your room sweetie,” said Rupert.

“Uh, it’s broken, remember? That’s what I’m talking about.” 

“Watch the one in your brother’s room,” said Rupert.

“No, she’s not allowed in my room!”

“Just forget it, as usual,” said Elsa. “I have my phone, it’s all I have.”

“Why does she get a phone and I don’t?” said John. “It’s so unfair.”

Margaret clapped her hands, bringing attention to her well-anticipated decree: “Alright kids, you heard your father, it’s time for bed—right now!”

And so, the Bung children marched sulkily upstairs to their respective rooms. Rupert and Margaret’s bedroom was on the ground floor, which proved convenient as Margaret had to push Rupert’s heavy body in the Cyclone Dragon. Once in their room, Margaret (a little out of breath) began her routine. Her nightly ritual was, for the Bungs, a tacitly affectionate time, wherein Margaret would undress and put on her night gown, and Rupert would sit on the bed and admire her. Margaret would then sit in front of her vanity, slowly remove her makeup, and search for elusive bobby-pins whilst combing her long, luscious locks. As she did this, Rupert too would change into his pajamas, and they would talk. Their talk was most often soft and banal—regardless of what spats or quarrels they might have had previously in the day. On this night, however, there was a degree of tension that lingered in the air. Rupert could only imagine Margaret’s tender movements that he so looked forward to, one of the last intimate aspects of their marriage. 

“Oh Rupert, what are we going to do with you?”

“I don’t know how this happened. I thought I read the manual well enough, it didn’t mention anything like this.”

“Why do I feel as though I’m always bailing you out?”

“I didn’t mean for any of this, Margaret.”

“We’re just going to have to go see Dr. Mortimer in the morning. I’m not sure what else to do when you have this kind of accident. I’ll have to call in sick from work, not as though that’s really an option for me but I’ll have to. You can’t drive or take care of the kids like this.”

“‘Accident’? So, you don’t blame me?”

“Rupert, I don’t blame you, I’m worried about you. I just wish you didn’t keep making these little mistakes that have huge consequences. Like when you backed into the hardware store and broke their window. I had to sell some stuff of mine just to pay for that, or else we wouldn’t have been able to afford our vacation.”

“I thought you just exchanged my ticket?”

“Yes Rupert, and I had to sell my grandfather’s old cameras to Janice’s husband, who I guess has some sort of collection, you don’t remember? Otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to afford being there. It certainly wasn’t easy traveling with two kids by myself, I couldn’t really enjoy my vacation. It was their vacation.”

“I missed you guys.”

“Yeah right, you probably had a blast here by yourself for ten days.”

“That’s not true... I’m sorry it was stressful; we should have just gone all together the following year.”

“I couldn’t disappoint our children Rupert, which seems easy for you.”

“Are you talking about the game?”

“What else?”

“Like I said—”

“Oh, I take that back, there are several ‘elses.’ You know what, let’s just forget it, I’m too tired for this.”

Margaret turned out the lights. Rupert did not notice the lights go out, for him it was already dark. He instead heard the familiar click of the switch and in his mind he turned out the lights.

 “Good night,” said Rupert.

Margaret sighed and mumbled something like “good night.”

Rupert did not sleep, though he experienced a peculiar form of rest, as if dozing in the delirium of a fever, without body, floating through an endless black. Though sometimes a dreamlike image would appear, shimmering from a pellucid well within the limitless dark expanse.

The sun soon rose. Dappled light fluttered in through their open bedroom window. By then, dust inside the dragon had settled just enough for Rupert to make out the smell of morning dew. With its fragrance came the memory of dawn’s luminous glow upon his face, still and tranquil. Margaret, on the other hand, awoke with a frantic gasp for air, seconds before her alarm. Hastily she prepared breakfast, called the kids’ schools to be excused for the day, informed both their jobs of a family emergency, and rang Dr. Mortimer’s clinic, begging for a same-day appointment. 

Margaret carted Rupert into the kitchen near the breakfast table, without a word. The children ate their breakfast mostly in silence, not talking beyond a murmur. Elsa glumly stared at her phone, into that intoxicatingly uninteresting little screen, and John watched cartoons on Margaret’s laptop computer. Rupert could smell the pancakes they smacked down, could taste the aroma of maple syrup, could hear the coffeemaker percolating through the grounds, and the eggs sizzling in butter. Rupert then became profoundly aware of his hunger, for not only was his stomach (wherever it was) severely empty but he did not know when next he would eat, if ever again. In that moment, the possibility of starvation was real and tangible. A true sense of panic ensued, though he did not voice it. Rupert had not yet attempted to speak to anyone that morning and he wondered if his voice had indeed disappeared, if perhaps the Dragon had swallowed that up as well. 

Immediately following breakfast, Margaret received a call from the clinic informing her that Dr. Mortimer would see them that morning. Quickly she ushered the family to the garage and hoisted Rupert into their SUV (with reluctant help from the children), taking care to strap his seat belt around the Dragon’s awkward shape. 

Once checked into the clinic, Margaret spent a painful half hour waiting to be seen, enduring awkward glances and scowls from the other patients. Elsa, though usually prone to embarrassment, remained somewhat oblivious whilst fidgeting with the unremarkable world offered up by her phone. John also kept himself occupied, but with a video game. Margaret was much too tense for any kind of distraction, she managed only to stare beyond the other patients’ silent inquisition, transfixed upon the door from which the nurse would come. Rupert, feeling hungrier still, endeavored to conserve his energy and keep his anxiety at bay. He guessed that they had arrived at the clinic, and so he told himself to simply wait and see what the doctor would say. 

When finally the Bung name was called, the nurse showed the family to their room and proceeded to ask the usual questions, to which Rupert groaned his answers from inside the Dragon. Out of some struggle to maintain an air of composure, the nurse then ventured to take Rupert’s vitals. Fumbling and uncoordinated, however, the nurse soon gave surrender to the words: “OK, the doctor will see you shortly,” and darted out the door. Rupert was surprised that he still possessed the ability to speak, though his volume was weakened, and this alone produced a hint of optimism that swept over him. 

After a brief knock, Dr. Mortimer stepped into the room with frenetic and purposeful energy. His presence was evidenced to Rupert by the strong odor of sanitizer, swishing about as he vigorously rubbed his hands together. He greeted the family in a polite but calloused tone, offering a damp sterile handshake to Margaret and each of the two kids, but stopped at Rupert.

“Well looks like we’ll have to take a raincheck on that handshake Roop.”

“It’s a date,” said Rupert. 

“Ah, you can still talk, that’s very reassuring,” said Dr. Mortimer. He sat down and glanced over Rupert’s chart. “Looks like the nurse skipped over your vitals there Roop, but I guess we’ll have to give him a pass on that one today,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Can you please tell us what’s going on?” said Margaret. 

“We’ll get to that, but first I want to do my best at determining his vitals—Did you hear that Roop? We’re going to give it the old college try and get some vitals.”

Dr. Mortimer then listened with his stethoscope all over the vacuum, trying his best to discover “the sweet spot,” as he called it. 

“Well, Roop,” he said, “your vitals, as far as I can ascertain—and of course, I am limited here—are perfectly normal. I can’t hear anything to raise concern over your heart or your lungs. Now, I would like to fit you in for an Xray before you leave the clinic and get a closer look at things, but I assume what we’ll find is something like the other cases, where the body is essentially held in a vacuum of pressure—hey, no pun intended there buddy—and somehow this condenses everything, yet your body remains functional.”

“Other cases?” said Margaret. John, who had just fallen asleep on Margaret’s shoulder, let out a soft snort. 

“Yes, so what we have here guys—”

“Huh?” Elsa furrowed her brow and peeked over her phone. 

“Hey there, glad you could join us. Yeah, so what’s happened here is very simple: Rupert, your body is contained under high pressure by a popular household appliance known as the Cyclone Serpent—no, excuse me, Dragon. Now, we don’t understand fully how it happens or how the victim is able to remain alive, and this is still a very recent phenomenon, yet we do know of a few ways that allow the patient to cope with the circumstances.”

“So, this has happened before?” said Margaret. 

“Oh yes, since last spring, when the product was made commercially available in the U.S., there have been 219 recorded incidents. There are more worldwide, though I’m not sure how many. All European countries have already banned sale of the product, as well as China, Japan, Canda, Israel, Australia, New Zealand, Mexico, almost all of South America, India, Pakistan, and Namibia, if I remember correctly. The U.S. will soon follow.”

“Did they survive?” said Rupert.

“What was that Roop?”

“The other cases, did they survive?”

“Ah, yes—well, it’s perhaps too soon to tell, but 217 out of the 219 incidents are currently surviving, yes.”

“Why can’t you just remove him from the serpent whirlpool thing?” said Margaret.

“Oh, well, those two who didn’t make it... need I say more? We don’t truly understand it, and it’s still very early, but extracting the patient from the Serpent has been known to be fatal. That’s not to say we won’t find some way of getting you outta there in the future, Roop. But at this point, it’s hard to say when that will be... It may take a while.”

“How can I eat?” 

“OK Roop, let’s get you informed as to what you need to know going forward. And, Margaret, this will include the help of family. That is crucial. If family is unable to help then, well Roop, you’ll need to be taken into convalescence. Which can be expensive. So, this information is for you guys as much as it is for Rupert.”

“Of course, we’re here to help,” said Margaret, her eyes bulging somewhat. John stirred in his dozing and moved his head to his mother’s lap. Elsa thumbed her phone’s screen and slouched in her chair. 

“Great, so how do you eat? Well, Roop, we’ve discovered that you can eat soft foods, at about the same consistency as apple sauce. You do this by simply placing the food at the mouth of the Serpent (which is where your family comes in),” Dr. Mortimer looked to Margaret and murmured: “you have to put the food on the floor—lay down some tinfoil so it’s sanitary.”

“Then what?” said Rupert.

“Then pucker up your lips, Roop, and slurp as hard as you can. This may take some practice as you’re in the dark there... Oh, and I suggest smoothies and savory soups to make sure you get enough nutrition—but take care not to scald yourself, you have to let the soup cool down first.”

“What about going to the bathroom?” said Rupert. 

“Ew Dad, gross,” said Elsa. 

“An important question to be sure. Well, Roop, we’re not sure how it works but you just go, and amazingly the waste is transported to the lint chamber on the outside, just there,” Dr. Mortimer pointed to the clear cylinder attached to the side of the Dragon. “You’ll see it fill up, and, you just have to detach it and dump it in the toilet.” 

“Oh my god,” said Margaret. 

“Yep, it’s not pretty but it’s convenient, and it keeps him alive,” said Dr. Mortimer. “Not sure how the waste gets beyond your clothes, but it’s thought that your clothing actually gets torn from your body in the split second prior to being consumed by the serpent.”

“What about my breathing, am I going to run out of air?” 

“Nope, no no no, what we’ve found—”

“Are we going to have to push Dad around?” said Elsa.

“Actually, no. You’ll have to refer to your manual but there’s a feature that electronically drives the serpent. And Roop, you might be able to control it. Not all cases, but most, have been able to drive the serpent themselves.”

“How?” said Rupert.

“We honestly don’t know, but they’re able to do it. Just make sure your battery is charged and the function is switched on. But you’ll need a guide, you don’t want to drive blind across a busy street.”

“This is a lot to take in,” said Rupert. 

“You’re alive Roop, that’s what you have to remind yourself of. This is a very new phenomenon, so you just have to take things day by day, and we’re going to be here with you every step of the way... For now, I’m giving you, Margaret, a packet that reiterates what I’ve gone over with you guys today, and if you ever have any questions just give us a call here at the clinic. If, Roop, you start to experience any symptoms that concern you I want you to come into the clinic ASAP, OK? And as it is, I would like to follow up with an appointment one week from now.” 

“What are people doing about the company that sold the vacuums, shouldn’t they cover our costs at the very least?” said Margaret. 

“Well, I actually have another patient in your shoes, or should I say vacuum,” Dr. Mortimer let out a brief chuckle, “and while I can’t break any confidentiality, I know that they have been very very successful, and I mean very successful, with the advice I’m going to leave you with here...” Dr. Mortimer paused for dramatic effect.

“What’s that?” said Margaret. 

“Get a lawyer, a good one.” 

That night, Rupert drifted once more between sleep and waking, floating in the same feverish limbo he had experienced the evening prior, as hunger prevented any hope for deep rest. Rupert had done his best to slurp up what gruel Margaret had made for him at dinner, but he was nevertheless famished (she would have prepared a more significant meal, but going to the doctor and dealing with the kids was all that she could “handle” for that day). His stomach rumbled like a freight train, the sounds of which reverberated throughout his dark chamber.

Suddenly, Margaret awoke, springing to a seated position as if catapulted out of sleep. “Rupert? Darling, are you awake?” She switched on the bedside lamp. 

“Sorry, did my belly wake you? It’s been gurgling so incredibly loud, or at least it’s loud in here.”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t hear anything—but I had the most vivid dream, like a vision.”

“What about?” 

“The Serpent—”

“Dragon.”

“What?”

“Dragon, everybody keeps calling it ‘serpent’ but it’s Dragon.”

“Oh, yeah, the Dragon Hurricane, or whatever, I had a dream about it.”

“What happened?” Rupert’s voice trembled slightly, nervous as to what Margaret might say. 

“You had turned into a meatball, a flying meatball that hovered above us. I knew it was you, it had your face, somehow. We were all in the living room, where it happened. And the Hurricane was there. I think it spat you out like that, but it was still connected to you, in some way...”

“Oh god.”

“Wait, I’m not done... Then the dog came into the room. He was jumping up at you, trying to eat you! But you, you flew out the door. Then Rusty chased after you. We all followed, we ran outside. It was a sort of eerie in-between day and night, I’m not sure how to describe it...”

“Like twilight?”

“Kind of, but different, and the streets had all turned into meadows and woods. We ran and ran until finally you and Rusty came to a cliff. The dog stopped but you fell, even though before you could fly. I shouted out and then, I don’t know how, I was at the bottom of the cliff. It was dark down there, but I had a flashlight and I looked for you. Then I found... oh Rupert—”

“What is it?” Rupert’s teeth chattered as he spoke.

“There was this beautiful glimmer of light, a pool of light, almost unnatural but so so beautiful. I knew what it was, it was where you had hit the bottom, it was what you had become. I got closer to it and, whew, the light shone from a magnificent mound of gold!”

“Gold?”

“Yes Rupert, gold! Oh Rupert, I have never felt more optimistic than I do now. We’re going to fix this honey, and I know this has been awful for you, oh I feel so sorry for you darling, but what I realize now is that this is truly a blessing in disguise—we’re going to be so rich!”

“You really think so?”

“You heard what the doctor said, about his other patient. We need to get ourselves a lawyer, Rupert, a good one... Oh Rupert, I can hardly wait until tomorrow!”

As excited as Margaret was, she found it easy to go back to sleep. Rupert, on the other hand, was unable even to doze. He recalled his usual experience with insomnia, how ceaselessly through the night he would toss and turn from one aggravatingly uncomfortable position to another—oh how he wished he could still do that! The supreme restraint of the Dragon then became more real and tangible than ever it was before, like an unbearable straight jacket. Rupert promptly came to the verge of panic, his anxiety ready to erupt in anyway it could, to explode out of the Dragon in his intense desire to move, even if it meant dying in the process.

Rupert was but a moment from letting out an extraordinary scream when softly Margaret began to snore. It was a gentle sort of snore, a soothing snore that for Rupert seemed to originate from a peaceful, almost primordial place, like water rippling on a calm shore. The snore called to his mind the image of boats, bobbing and drifting through a luminescent radiance of midday light on water. Rupert held to this image until morning; he sailed on a calm idyllic bay and breathed the sea air. He brought with him there Margaret and the two children. They were laughing there, smiling in the bright sunlight and kissed by a kind breeze. The optimism Margaret had felt earlier filtered through like the light itself. Perhaps she was right, Rupert thought, perhaps sailing was a vision of their future, a future of leisure and the tranquil enjoyment of each other’s company, and he would give it all to them. He wasn’t sure, but in that moment he suspected tears, tears of happiness at the thought of it.

Breakfast was different than the day before. Margaret, though again frenetic in her movements, had nevertheless relaxed. She took extra time to prepare Rupert’s gruel. She announced each ingredient she tossed into the blender, hoping that she might provide Rupert with as normal a meal in taste as possible: waffle with butter and syrup, corn flakes, and an omelet. For drink: orange juice and cold brew coffee.

“Oh my god Dad! Gross!” said Elsa.

“I’m sorry sweetie, it must be the coffee,” said Rupert. Margaret gave no protestation and quickly took the lint chamber to the bathroom and dumped the waste.

“OK Princess, let me ask you a question,” said Rupert. Elsa gave no response.

“Did you hear that sweetie?” said Rupert.

“Answer your father!” said Margaret. 

“Uh, what’s that Dad? Jeez,” said Elsa.

“If you could have anything for that big birthday coming up, what would you want?”

“Are you serious?”

“That’s right, if you could have anything what would it be?”

“I guess I’d want a car”

“Just any car?”

“I don’t know, a Porsche.”

“OK, good to know.”

“Is this for real?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” said Rupert.

Elsa gave an expression Margaret hadn’t seen on her in years: her eyes glinted in the morning light like shimmering blue sapphires, and under those eyes she wore a childishly innocent smile, one that was still in love with the world. Margaret placed a hand on the Dragon and herself began to smile—the gentle smile of one who was still in love with their marriage. She knew then that Rupert shared her hopes. 

Rupert’s optimistic euphoria carried him through the day and thus allowed him to focus on learning about his “new life,” as he told himself. Margaret had already charged the battery to the Dragon since the Doctor’s visit, and so his aim was to discover the driving feature that would allow him to move freely. He inched what could have been a finger towards a number of bumps and lumps inside the Dragon, testing an applied pressure to each protrusion. After many trials, he finally felt the Dragon jolt abruptly. Their dog yelped in alarm and Rupert felt the impact of something hard against the Dragon, stopping his motion. He cried out with exalted joy at his achievement, unintelligible but nevertheless something of a “eureka.”

“Hey Rusty, do you want to go for a walk? Just a matter of time now buddy.”  The dog responded with a confused tilt of his ruddy head. Rupert toiled vigorously within the Dragon to find reverse, shaking the Dragon slightly with his movements. Rusty began to growl, which prompted Rupert to laugh. He didn’t quite know why he laughed, but his laughter filled him with a sense of exultant glee, as if he had triumphed at last. 

Margaret returned from work late that afternoon, having picked up the Bung children from their extracurricular practices. They found Rupert wedged between the couch and end table, laughing hysterically, whilst Rusty barked at the Dragon in a frantic and desperate manner. There was some sharp chastising that came immediately from Margaret, which quickly transformed into an expression of concern once she remembered the change in attitude she had recently adopted. Exhausted, though again renewed by this fresh outlook, she suggested going out to dinner. Normally such an expenditure for the Bungs would be reserved solely for a special occasion. Yet, Margaret knew that this was, indeed, a time to celebrate; a time to relish tacitly in their bright future before informing the children of their prospects. Moreover, she was much too tired to cook for everyone—a point she often made when whipping up dinner despite her evening fatigue (used as a plea for sympathy from the Bungs, though much to her chagrin). 

The Bung family dined at their favorite restaurant, Meat o’ Balls. It was an Italian food chain with good service, moderate prices, and predictable food. The interior of the place was bedecked by a stained glass and chandelier theme, reminiscent of an old Art Deco train station. The prevalence of colored glass glistened like a carousal of luminescence. The din of clinking dishes and cutlery, typical for a large and popular restaurant of its kind, was cushioned by the sparkling glow of it all, transmogrified into what was pleasing to the Bung ear—possessing all the charm and enchantment of wind chimes in a soft breeze. Plastic vines and roses adorned the tables and many nooks and crannies throughout the restaurant’s wide space, supplying the Bungs with a sort of still comfort; a clean and immaculate beauty that neither faded nor needed any care. 

The restaurant staff were very accommodating to Rupert, as if they were familiar with his situation, and so took no issue in blending his minestrone soup at room temperature. The waiter laid down tinfoil for Rupert with the same balletic maneuver as changing a table cloth. For the first time since his accident, Rupert felt the confidence of being normal. Inspired, he ventured to reassume his fatherly presence at the table, perhaps with even an air of authority, despite his being on the floor below. 

“More water there guy?” asked their server. 

“Yeah,” said John, pointing to his empty glass.

“Yes please, son, say yes please,” said Rupert.

“Yeah please,” said John. 

As the server poured the water, Elsa shouted: “Look mom! Some people are actually sitting there tonight, under the gazebo!”  

“What?!” said Margaret. 

At the center of the restaurant, elevated two meters above the floor, was a large gazebo with a roof of plastic ivy woven into its lattice work. From its pinnacle hung an ornate candelabra, suspended above a table and floor composed entirely of stained glass—an iridescent mosaic that seemed to dance with the lights overhead, spinning like a dervish. The gazebo had been something of a Bung family mystery. It baffled the Bungs as to why they never saw anyone at the gazebo, or why the host never offered to seat them there. The enigma would have no doubt been easily solved had Margaret or Rupert simply asked a Meat o’ Balls employee about the gazebo, but they felt much too embarrassed to do so. They hypothesized that it was expensive and by reservation only, and that perhaps only the rich and famous ever dined there. That on this night (of all possible nights) there were people seated under the gazebo, sent a shock down Margaret’s spine, though she had not yet turned to look and verify Elsa’s claim. She sensed it as fate, which roused a cryptic kind of apprehension in her, the likes of which she had only ever felt before in dreams. Internally, she chided herself for her irrational and vague fear, then spun around to confront the gazebo.

To Margaret’s amazement, she saw two children (roughly the same age as her own) and an elderly couple (presumably the grandparents), all sitting alongside a vacuum (that looked very much like what had swallowed Rupert). Margaret stared at them intently. The grandfather noticed her and their eyes met. Margaret remained still, transfixed, as though utterly compelled to look at them. The grandfather nudged his wife and then they both looked at Margaret. Smiling knowingly, they nodded and raised their wine glasses to her. Margaret responded with a cheers from her own glass of soda and then her focus returned to her table. A wave of positive feeling blanketed her, warming her hands that before she had thought were cold. 

“Well? Who is up there? A movie star?” said Rupert, chuckling a bit. 

“No Rupert, they’re just ordinary people, people like us... They’re people like us who just sat under the gazebo!” said Margaret.

That night, Margaret glided through their bedtime routine with an air of smug sophistication. Her attitude emerged from the pretense of having just ascended into a higher stratum of society, a class that Margaret would later describe as not only natural but destined for them. It was as if they had already themselves dined under the gazebo at Meat o’ Balls. 

Enchanting though it was, her fantastical mood was rudely interrupted once Rupert’s lint chamber filled suddenly with an exuberant burst of energy. “I’m sorry, I must be nervous about this whole lawyer business,” said Rupert. 

Margaret put up an invisible fence which protected her from ugly things. She did not wish to break the magic spell that hung about her like an incandescent aura. She took the lint chamber and disposed of the waste with perfect detachment. From the bathroom Margaret spoke to Rupert with a far removed yet whimsical tone, a voice imbued with noble matter-of-factness. She informed Rupert that she had talked to a coworker that day who knew of an excellent lawyer by the name of Grundle, one who had a reputation for “defending the consumer.”

“So don’t be nervous. Remember, this company of the... the Serpent-thing, has violated your rights, Rupert, not only as a consumer but a citizen, and now it is absolutely within your right to demand compensation, and I’m talking monetary compensation, and lots of it,” said Margaret. “You’re a victim Rupert, a victim, and now it’s time for them to be held responsible and cover your losses. And just think about it, no matter how much money they compensate it doesn’t even begin to make up for being trapped (indefinitely) in a vacuum, now does it?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“That’s why we need to make them pay, and I think Grundle might be our answer.”

The next morning, after breakfast, Rupert enlisted the help of his son to walk their dog around the neighborhood. For a leash, Rupert had John tie the electrical cord from the vacuum to Rusty’s collar. Rupert was the only person of the family who ever walked Rusty, and so it had been a few days since Rusty had roamed beyond the confines of their backyard. Pent up and unfamiliar with John as a walking companion, Rusty bolted down the sidewalk the moment John opened the front door. He ran like a rocket down the street, all the while tied to the Dragon’s cord which seemed to unravel endlessly. At long last, more than a block away, the cord became in an instant taut and snapped Rusty to a halt. The Dragon remained nearly inert, somehow weighted like an anchor in response to the cord’s canid sojourn. Rupert, becoming increasingly aware of the device’s mechanics, then realized he knew how to retract the cord, which fiercely pulled Rusty back with rapid force. With the voice of authority Rupert shouted “heel!” and Rusty at once obeyed, appearing to have finally made the connection between Rupert and the Dragon. Calmly, they walked on, with John as the “navigator.” 

Rupert enjoyed walking the dog. He liked to talk to Rusty on their jaunts, sometimes about important matters but mostly he would palaver on whatever came to his mind. To his family he would say jokingly that Rusty was the only one who listened to him. Indeed,  Rupert’s boring thoughts were never tolerated in the house. He could not openly share his opinions about what he had read in the newspaper (whenever he was given a chance to read the newspaper), his lists of the best or worst of something, nor any so-called “random” observation of the world. He used to try, but his family would typically roll their eyes in annoyance and ignore Rupert, usually walking out of the room, even mid-sentence. Eventually Rupert learned not to bother them with his humorous ideas or idle chit chat. Because of this, the dog became the outlet for his thoughts, and he reckoned Rusty might even appreciate the sound of his voice. 

When the children were much younger, they in fact did show a great deal of interest in Rusty. They would dress him in various costumes and act out elaborate make-believe scenarios in the backyard. Margaret too seemed to have loved Rusty, showing John as a toddler how to throw a ball and play fetch with the dog. Over time, these affections diminished, and Rupert was unsure as to why. He felt it strange and unnatural for a child to neglect a dog, and thought it as a sign of something wrong, though precisely what was wrong he did not know. Rupert ultimately blamed himself for his children’s apathy toward their dog (really, all animals), though exactly how he was at fault he did not know. Yet as he walked Rusty with John, just a few days after being swallowed by a vacuum, Rupert began to realize that parallel to his family’s affections diminishing toward the dog, so too over the years had Rupert’s affections depleted toward his own family. Though for a long time Rupert had convinced himself otherwise, on this walk he could not help but admit internally that his affections had been replaced with automatic words and gestures—a force of habit lacking genuine content. 

Rupert wheeled onward, detecting only the forward force of the Dragon and the propulsion of the dog’s tug upon the vacuum cord. To his senses, their motion was through a dark void, but at each turn a perfect image came to his mind of where they were, for he had walked it a thousand times before. Rupert pictured every tree, hedge, and fence as Rusty moved through his habitual constitution. He imagined theirs was a brisk march through the neighborhood on a chilly yellow-leaved day. He wondered if the leaves had yet fallen. He made his usual armchair predictions of the impending winter, guessing there’d be more snow than the previous year.

Then a memory came to him, a memory Rupert had not thought of in decades. He recalled an incident from when he was at boarding school. It was winter and the first snow had just covered the ground in early evening. There was only a couple of hours before curfew, but Rupert and his roommate Sandy wanted to explore the alluringly white woods behind their dormitory. Rupert had recently purchased a book on animal tracking from the bookstore in town and it was Sandy’s idea that the fresh snow might provide an excellent opportunity for identifying tracks in the forest. There was an unofficial path that the students, though not allowed to walk there, had made over the years. Both Rupert and Sandy had tromped around in the woods before but always with a lingering tension that comes with the possibility of getting caught. This year they were both seniors and so didn’t care. Their only focus was the task of exploration. 

Not far into the woods, Rupert and Sandy spotted paw prints of some kind. They were large like a big breed of dog but square shaped and lacking the nail marks around the pads. Looking at the book with a large cheap plastic flashlight, Rupert and Sandy agreed (with much excitement) that only a mountain lion could make such a track. A heavy mist set in, obscuring their vision beyond the immediate few yards in front of them. Nevertheless, they went on, following the tracks that, for the most part, kept to the trail. 

“What would you do if the mountain lion came after us?” said Rupert. 

“I don’t know, consider myself lucky, I guess,” said Sandy.

“What do you mean? You’re supposed to stand your ground and make noise, even fight if necessary. Though I’d probably just run.”

“I wouldn’t fight, or even run. I would simply let it eat me,” said Sandy, and he flung over his shoulder part of a long scarf. The scarf he had knitted all fall and was about as long as he was. He had no talent for knitting. The scarf was not uniformly shaped, it was wide in parts, slender in others, and had the appearance of undulating waves. There were also numerous small holes. It was Sandy’s prized possession. 

“Why? Come on, you don’t want to die like that, being eaten by some beast at the ripe age of 18.” 

“I would be an ecological hero. I would fulfill some real purpose, not whatever bullshit consumer ideal they make you believe here at school. You know, I would welcome that death. I hope this thing eats us tonight and poops us out tomorrow. It’d be much worse to live some suburban fantasy and die an old fat ass. You know, they pump your corpse so full of chemicals now you don’t even decompose, or hardly... I think it’s much more noble to be cat shit.”

Rupert believed Sandy. As always, Sandy was very compelling, for he possessed the strength of conviction. Rupert’s own words were clumsy in comparison and lacked confidence, nor did he ever fully think through what he said. Sandy, by contrast, gave himself completely and earnestly to the words that he spoke, in a way that Rupert was envious of. Sandy’s speech came across as aware of itself, articulate, and heavily steeped in logic. Rupert both admired and hated him for it, for it caused Rupert to feel slightly inferior. And as is natural for anyone who feels inferior, Rupert was therefore ever-critical of Sandy. His biggest complaint was that he suspected an absence of experience to back half of what Sandy ever said. Rupert thus often found Sandy to be overly opinionated and was frequently irritated by his pontifications. Even so, Rupert liked Sandy and thought him brave. 

The temperature dropped and the bitter cold mysteriously commanded a silence between Rupert and Sandy. The mist began to crystalize and shine as brief sparkles in the light of their plastic torch, like silver aspen leaves flickering in a distant summer wind. Rupert noticed his breath linger as steam clouding around him, mingling with the foggy ether. The snow had hardened and crunched beneath their steps. Rupert feared this noise might give away their presence to the animal, though there existed no stated objective as to what they were actually doing. Then the tracks stopped. 

“The tracks—”

“Shh!” said Sandy, holding up a hand and furrowing his brow.

Rupert listened but heard nothing. A gust blew and broke his concentration. He became mesmerized by the illumined mist that danced in the wind like ghostly hands beckoning them further into the forest. Then at once the breeze died and all became deathly still, stagnant. Rupert felt a tension, a primeval tension that inexplicably stifled his breath, as if the woods were a sweltering jungle, frigid though it was.  

“Maybe we should—” Rupert was immediately interrupted by a low sustained groan, gradually building in volume and intensity yet without a clear point of origin, as if issuing from another world. Once it had reached its peak, the sound came crashing down upon itself in a distorted wailing crescendo. Rupert had paused somewhere between his fear and bewilderment. With extraordinary effort he turned to look for Sandy but all that he saw was a wisp of Sandy’s scarf vanishing into the fog, and with him their flashlight. In that second, an impetus for survival moved Rupert to run, bolting into the misty void. The heat he had felt before stayed with him, dripping down his forehead and burning his face, though he paid no mind to it. He was detached from all feeling, even panic. He knew only to run and he could not stop running, blindly retracing their steps back to the dorm with automatic abandon, outside of time.

After some untold distance, his trance was broken by the glow of a streetlamp sifting through the trees, and near it he noticed Sandy frantically lifting himself up from having slid in his flight. Rupert called to him but Sandy kept toward the orange halo. Rupert was reunited with Sandy, but only after he had made it back to their dorm room. It was tacitly understood between them not to talk about what had just happened. 

Rusty barked at a squirrel and woke Rupert from his dream of the past. Sandy was no longer consequential to Rupert. His image had returned to a photo in Rupert’s dusty high school yearbook, hidden away in the attic. Sandy’s photo would no doubt appear ridiculous now, Rupert thought. He had begun to view the things of humanity as ever-becoming inconsequential and ridiculous. Eventually everything would degrade into a state of simple refuse, Rupert mused, like a kitsch souvenir that loses not only its charm but its sentimentality, destined from the start to the landfill. Rupert’s yearbook would soon become trash. The Cyclone Dragon, even, would turn someday into a piece of garbage. Rupert found that thought oddly comforting: he liked the idea of being thrown into a landfill, to be crushed into a great sea of compacted rubbish and then dissolved slowly overtime, like spilling into a boundless abyss. There was freedom in this fantasy. Rupert could think of nothing more restricting than a fated coffin, a sealed box. Moreover, Margaret would probably not want to pay for an extra wide casket to hold the vacuum. And there Rupert dropped the subject from his mind. 

Rupert’s attentions turned instead to his son. John had been talking during most of their walk and Rupert had just become aware of his mental absence in their conversation. Rupert had responded to John with an intermittent “yeah” or “uh-huh,” though he hadn’t actually been listening. He had only paid enough attention to know that John was telling what was supposed to be a funny story, and Rupert chuckled automatically whenever John laughed. Rupert felt badly about it. Perhaps he didn’t speak enough to his son, he thought. He could not recall any real talk between them that he would consider special. Rupert realized then that it had been years since he had hugged John without it being an empty and routine set of choreography, with John agitated and squirming half the time. Rupert made a plan to genuinely hug John, to withhold nothing, and experience authentic tenderness with his son. And yet, Rupert knew that he may never hug any of his children ever again, nor watch them grow. He wanted to tell John how he felt but no words could escape him. 

While Rupert and John were out, Margaret arranged to meet with Grundle. By a stroke of tremendous luck, Margaret had set up a time with the lawyer the very next day—what Grundle’s secretary called a “miracle” (an abrupt cancellation freed an hour for Grundle in the afternoon). Margaret excitedly shared this news the instant Rupert and John returned from walking the dog. Unwittingly, it was the first moment either Margaret or Rupert had spoken of the matter in front of their children. John at once enquired, and Elsa rushed in from the next room to investigate. Margaret quickly yielded to their line of questioning, giving in softly, warmly. She thought that maybe she had subconsciously meant to bring it all out into the open, that she could not have kept her dear hopes from their children any longer. Margaret revealed everything to them. She illustrated a wondrous and propitious future, making extravagant promises about various items they were to buy. One such item that Margaret was particularly keen on was a boat for the lake they frequented during the summer, the kind of boat they used to watch as a family from the peer and fantasize about owning one day. The children smiled, their eyes became bright, their faces full of confident happiness and genuine enthusiasm. Tears of joy trickled down Margaret’s face. 

“Mom, can I bring Dad to school tomorrow?” said John.

“Of course, but what for?” said Margaret, kneeling to be eye level with John.

“It’s a show and tell day,” said John. “I was going to bring my Venus flytrap, but it died.”

“Oh, of course you can sweetie,” Margaret ran her fingers through John’s hair as she spoke. “And then afterwards your father and I will head straight to the lawyer, that enchanter who will make all our dreams come true.” 

“Yes!” said John. “I’m going to be so popular!” 

The next morning Margaret brought Rupert to John’s class. Margaret explained to John’s teacher, Ms. Page, the situation for his show and tell. Ms. Page laughed with an incredulous tone, automatically assuming Margaret’s story was some kind of gag. Then, out of the Dragon, came the voice of Rupert, introducing himself. He sounded (as he always did since the Dragon had swallowed him) like someone speaking from inside a very small space, muffled yet clear. Ms. Page was visibly shocked though she was careful not to express fear. Rather, she searched in vain for an adequate response, stumbling over her words, then fell into a state of silent befuddlement. Even as the bell rang for class to begin, Ms. Page could not break from her seemingly catatonic state, her eyes fixed on someplace far away. 

Margaret smiled and took the opportunity to address the children, announcing John’s show and tell. John strutted proudly to the front of class with the Dragon by his side. 

“This vacuum is no ordinary vacuum,” said John. “It can suck up anything in your house, lightning-fast. Carrots—boom! Tennis balls—boom! Remote controls—boom! Cats—boom! Dogs—boom! And people—boom boom boom!”

“No it can’t!” said a student.

“Can too, it sucked up my dad—boom!” The class broke into a roaring laughter. “Dad! Talk to them!” 

“Hi class, I am John’s dad, Rupert. It’s so very nice to meet you.” The laughter ceased and all the class rushed to the vacuum, poking and prodding in inspection. “Watch out kids! You don’t want to hit the wrong lever, or you just might wind up in here with me.”

The students who were touching the Dragon recoiled instantly. Rupert chuckled. One child burst into tears and ran out of the classroom. 

“Don’t scare the children Rupert!” said Margaret. 

“My dad is going to sue the vacuum people and make us super rich. Boom!” said John. “We’re going to live in a big mansion, bigger than any of your houses, the biggest house you’ve ever seen, because I have a vacuum dad and you don’t. Boom!” 

The class became a clamoring ruckus. The students swarmed around John in a frenzy that supported him. John held his head regally, as if he were looking down onto the masses from far above. Margaret and Rupert then left, both swelled with an immense sense of pride as parents. 

Margaret adeptly hoisted Rupert into their car with the well-practiced technique of using her hip as a sort of fulcrum. She turned on the radio and drove en route to the lawyer’s office. An obnoxious commercial break caused Margaret to tune the radio to a different station (from the usual classic rock) and by accident came upon the public programming her grandmother once listened to daily. It had been years since Margaret had listened to this station, or even thought of it. On the air was the show Divas, paying tribute that day to the opera great Maria Callas, on her birthday. A phone-in requested to hear the aria “É Strano,” from the opera La Traviata. As it began to play, Rupert scoffed. 

“Oh jeez,” said Rupert.

“What?” said Margaret.

“This song is so damn annoying,” said Rupert.

“I think it’s pretty,” said Margaret.

“I can’t with this opera, it’s far too ahhhhh-ahhhhh,” said Rupert, mocking the vocal prowess of the great diva, though muffled by the Dragon. The exertion kicked up residual dust in the vacuum and he coughed a little.

“I like the melody.” The aria came to its most majestic moment, commanding a brief pause in the conversation. “Besides, this is Maria Callas,” said Margaret. 

“So, what’s next then, Ave Myself?” Rupert let out a little smug laughter at his far-reaching pun. 

Margaret thought of “É Strano” for the first time in twenty years. Effusive tears poured down her face, despite her greatest efforts to hold them back. She did not, however, sniffle or weep audibly—she wished to protect her feelings from Rupert’s insensitive remarks. All those years ago, Margaret’s grandmother had died in a car accident. Margaret, without ever telling anyone, decided then to find out what her grandmother’s favorite station had played around the predicted time of her death. It was “É Strano” sung by Maria Callas, very likely the last piece of music she ever heard. On this drive with Rupert, Margaret pictured the crash once more. She imagined what it may have have looked like for her grandmother, and all in slow motion. Her mind could not help but choreograph the images of broken metal and glass on impact to the aria as it played in their car. In some way, she knew deep down that they were heading toward a crash of their own—maybe not in a car, maybe not physical, but a crash nonetheless.  

And then it was night. Rupert and Margaret were in their bedroom. They had not spoken since their visit with the lawyer. There was a tension—not one that grows and so can break, but a tension that could remain sunk in the doldrums of an impossible rut. They could stay there forever, in this rut; unresolved and swelled with the hurt between them. Margaret would never release them from this tension, it had to be Rupert, though he struggled to push the necessary air over his vocal cords. 

“I had no idea, Margaret, please believe me.”

The response from Margaret was a heavy silence. She felt this silence in the pit of her stomach, a peculiar nausea—she held onto this sick sensation as something that affirmed life for her, she could feel nothing else. Her emotions hibernated in a frozen torpor at the bottom of her stomach.   

“Margaret? Please believe me, please believe me, I didn’t realize, how was I supposed to know? I am a victim, like you said, we just have to find a lawyer who understands vacuums—”

“It’s hopeless.”

“What?”

“It’s hopeless Rupert, no one is going to tell us anything different. As always, we lost, we lost, and we’re going to keep on losing... I don’t know how we’re going to tell the children. John was so proud, we let him down.”

“No, we didn’t, we’re not going to give up, it’s just going to take a little more time. We didn’t lose. We’re not going to let John down, we’re not letting anyone down.”

“No Rupert, we just have to face the fact that we’re losers.”

“No baby, never, I won’t let that happen, I intend to keep on fighting, for everyone... I wish I could hold you right now and make you feel like everything's going to be alright.”

“Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare... You know what Rupert, you’re right, we’re not losers, you are! You and you alone. I should have known, I should have known you’d ruin this. You always act like such an expert, the big man around the house, when you can hardly nail a picture to the wall. Of course you’d throw away the warranty tag, the tag with big bold red letters warning never to remove it, you fucking idiot! You can’t even fucking read!”

“So, you do blame me? I thought you said you didn’t blame me for any of this?”

“I don’t blame you Rupert, I loathe you.”

“Please baby, it’s not fair, I’m trapped in the dark, I can’t move, I—”

“So that’s how you’re going to respond? It’s still all about you isn’t it? You and your damn vacuum, no one else matters. I’m tired of being neglected by you, of this whole family being neglected by you.”

“I want to change, I want to make everything better. I promise, I just had an accident, it’s not as if I’m an alcoholic or something—”

“This is worse, your neglect is worse, I’d rather you were an alcoholic. I could understand if you were an alcoholic, but your addiction is far more insidious, you’re addicted to yourself, you don’t even need a substance.”

“Darling, please don’t loathe me, I’m trying, I really am, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything.”

“You see? You only care about being loathed, not how your behavior affects your family... I don’t know if I can do this anymore Rupert.”

“Please don’t leave me, I love you, I’ll make it work, I’ll keep on fighting, I’ll find another lawyer.”

“How? Because I’m not going to look for another lawyer. I’m done with this game, this stupid game of yours.”

“I’ll find a way.”

“Oh, and you’re going to tell the children, not me.”

“OK, but give me some time, I need some time—”

“I’m not giving you much of anything anymore, I’ve given everything I can, that’s it, I’m tired of always being the one who has to make accommodations for you, compromises for you, do everything on your terms. I’m through with making sacrifices—If you don’t tell them by the beginning of next week we are over.”

The next week was in just a couple days, the day after John’s big game. Rupert attended the game with his family. He listened to the sounds of the referee’s whistle, the screech of shoes on the gymnasium floor, the shouts from enthusiastic parents, and all the while he played in his mind the logistics of what should be his own next move, how he might save their dreams. Then a thought came to him: he realized that he could in fact preserve his family’s ambitions, though at the forfeit of his own. Margaret had made such sacrifices, he thought, and now he must repay her with his own great sacrifice. His only consolation would be to not have to tell the children about his blunder. He would not have to disappoint them (that, at least, he could escape), if only he dared to...

Rupert had remembered reading about a “Dragon Breath” function that could dissolve (or maybe incinerate, he wasn’t sure) the contents of the vacuum if it ever became clogged. If he were to find and engage this function it would most surely be the end of him. His death his family could easily benefit from since, unbeknownst to Margaret, Rupert had an excellent life insurance policy, one that even covered so-called “freak accidents,” and no doubt a causality of the Dragon would qualify. He told himself he’d sleep on it. 

The following morning Margaret spoke to Rupert for the first time since their argument. (Rupert had since made a few attempts, remarks that either flat out ignored what had transpired between them or laboriously recognized their issue—he would ramble on without any response from Margaret yet desperately act as though she was nevertheless engaged in conversation with him). Margaret on this day, however, broke her silence in order to curtly remind Rupert of his promise to tell the children. Rupert asked if he could break the news to them after their planned dinner at Meat o’ Balls (in celebration of John’s big game), though Margaret denied his request. Rupert begged, breaking into tears, and Margaret reluctantly conceded, though on the condition only that he stay home during dinner: “no promise, no dinner, and no Meat o’ Balls.”

Rupert complained that he was being treated like a child, to which Margaret replied: “if the shoe fits” and walked off. Margaret felt an emotional twinge as she walked away, like a psychic paper cut caused by her sharp severity toward Rupert. She knew that her attitude was harsh. And she knew that this harshness gave her own self pain, because she still cared for Rupert. But it was also necessary, for without this severe approach she would fall into a deep dark well, a place she had been to before and promised she’d never return. Her anger at Rupert was the only barrier to falling once again into that debilitating despair.

It was following the birth of her first child, Elsa, when Margaret became familiarized with her black well. Margaret suffered then from an extreme form of a condition known as postpartum depression. Margaret could hardly recall the first few months after Elsa’s birth, they were so saturated by the well. She became absolutely listless, gave up nursing her infant, could not even bear to be in her child’s presence, and was hardly able to eat without throwing up. She looked at life like it was shimmering up above the surface of the well water, ever higher and dimmer with each passing day. Margaret stopped seeing colors, she could not taste, she never heard pleasant sounds or words from others, and she could no longer stand her own scent (which became overpowering to all other smells). 

Margaret scarcely noticed Rupert in those days and thought him to be of little help. Rupert had initially reacted to her depression with incredulity and made dismissive, almost flippant comments that sank Margaret even deeper. Only after Margaret’s mother moved in to help did Rupert begin to take the matter seriously. He then tried his best with frequent pep talks (that turned into speeches), foot rubs, house chores, and extra parenting. Rupert’s attempts seemed to Margaret's mother, however, to be “too little too late”—she blamed him for her daughter’s state and vowed never to forgive him (and she never did). Margaret, on the other hand, simply did not notice Rupert, nor even her mother. She was incapable of paying attention to anyone, least of all her infant child. 

Margaret, of course, did eventually rise to the top of her well and crawled out, though it took many months. Rupert attributed her triumph to his own valiant efforts of support. Margaret’s mother assumed credit as well and chalked up Margaret’s recovery to her own exceptional skills as a mother and grandmother. Margaret had convinced herself that it was her love for Elsa that shone through and pulled her out, as well as her desire to be strong for her child. In truth, however, Margaret felt better only because of time. It simply took time. 

On the drive to Meat o’ Balls, Margaret noticed that the children seemed to relax without the presence of their father. She guessed it was because they could monopolize their mother’s attention—obvious conclusions about Rupert she chose to ignore, she’d thought of him enough lately. Elsa and John played a game in the back seat, hitting each other in the arm whenever they saw a “slugbug” Volkswagen. They giggled after every punch. Margaret smiled while she looked at them strike each other in the mirror. She realized that she could not remember the last time the children had laughed together.

Rupert forgot which room of the house he was in. He had formed the habit of imagining the room he was in at all times—he had become quite good at it, so much so that he often didn’t notice he could no longer see. Yet after he heard Margaret and the children walk out the front door, it was as if they had switched off the lights as they left. He was in darkness once more, lost in his own home, and resting in a state of torpid solitude. It was just as well, he thought, now he could go through with his plan.

Rusty found Rupert and came to him whining. Rusty grabbed the cord to the Dragon and pulled, trotting toward the front door. Rupert followed him with his motorized wheels and realized quickly what Rusty needed. The obstacle was the front door, and Rupert could not open it. He felt sorry for the dog who whined and panted loudly. 

“I’ve let you down too, haven’t I?” Rupert said. He heard a loud bark from Rusty, followed by a series of frantic scratches at the door. Then, to Rupert’s great surprise, there was the sound of the door swinging open. Somehow, Rusty had done it. Still with the cord in his jaws, he bolted out onto the sidewalk, tugging Rupert close behind him. Rupert’s imaginative sight came back into focus: he saw the sidewalk, the trees in front of the houses, the route he and Rusty would always take. 

A half hour into their walk, Rusty stopped abruptly at a fork. Rupert always chose the road on the right, flanked by overgrown blackberry bushes along a ditch on one side, and large oak trees in front of grand old houses on the other. It was the historic neighborhood prior to recent developments that cut into surrounding farmland, paving over everything. Rupert liked to imagine what life was like just twenty years before they had moved there, how the landscape had changed. There used to be a patch of remaining farmland that he and Rusty would walk by, where he would try and picture an entire vista of agricultural fields and woodlands. In the last few years, however, those farms too had disappeared under subdivisions. 

Rusty pulled Rupert to the left. Rupert had no clear image of this road and so his vision once again started to fade. The road went down a gentle slope and Rusty kept going down it, down, down, down—the sensation of descent frightened Rupert but he was at the same time compelled and did not resist. Eventually the sidewalk leveled, and almost as soon as it did Rusty stopped. There were no traffic sounds, no children playing, no distant chatter, no leaf blowers. There was only a silence that gently yielded to the rush of water. Rupert conjured in his mind the primordial crash of waves on rocks by the coast, the hush of foamy seawater passing over sand. He took this fantasy one step further and thought of a salty breeze, of seagulls, of a seemingly eternal watery horizon on fire with the orange of a setting sun. 

In fact, Rupert and Rusty were nowhere near the beach. Rather, they rested by an overflowing gutter that gushed into a ditch. Rusty sat motionless, captivated by the rush of the brown water. He dropped the cord to the Dragon from his mouth and whined with a quiet raspy voice. Rupert then heard Rusty walk away. His nails, long overdue for a clipping, scraped on the sidewalk as he trotted. Rupert wanted to call out to him but couldn’t muster the strength to do so. Rupert had only so much strength left in him, and he was going to need all of it. 

Rupert grappled with minute movements to find the Dragon Breath function. As he toiled, a young sounding man who was accompanied by at least one other person (a young woman as far as Rupert could tell) approached the Dragon. 

“Woah, nice vacuum,” said the young woman.

“Yeah, so nice it belongs in the ditch,” said the young man, who grabbed the Dragon’s handle. “Damn, what’s in this?” he said, struggling with all his might to lift the vacuum.

“Let go of me, leave me alone,” said Rupert.

The young man dropped Rupert (from the eight or so centimeters he was able to lift him) and screamed. Rupert heard frantic footsteps scurry away and he was soon by himself again. By luck, being dropped jostled Rupert just enough to land a finger (or perhaps a toe) on a lever that he didn’t know was there. By process of elimination, he deduced that it must be for the Dragon Breath function. He switched it on unceremoniously and without hesitation. He felt a warm liquid pass over him and guessed that it was his last moment without intense pain. His first thought to fill this moment was about Elsa, about how beautiful she was as a baby and how adorable she was as a small child. He remembered one summer: Margaret was six months pregnant with John and they had just bought a new bed to help with her back pain. Rupert placed the old mattress in the backyard and left it there for about a month before taking it to the transfer station. During those weeks, Rupert and Elsa would lay on the old mattress and look at the stars together. Sometimes he would read bedtime stories to her by flashlight on the mattress. 

Rupert realized that this memory was lasting a long time. The warm liquid had cooled and he had become uncomfortable but was in no real pain. He tried pushing the lever further to one side, and then switched it off and on again. Still, nothing. It then struck Rupert that he had made an error. The Dragon Breath function required a special fluid that did not come with the vacuum, it had to be ordered separately. The warm liquid he felt must have been his own urine—the lint chamber was backed up, no doubt.

Rupert wheeled the Dragon back up the slope, retracing his “steps.” He would have to face his family. He would have to give them nothing. Halfway up the incline he heard the sounds of the motor wane. The wheels stopped. He rolled back slightly. “Must be a dead battery,” he thought.