The Sale. Part 2. A short story.

The rain was falling harder now. I raised my collar against the cold and turned to go, lifting the heavy vacuum kit awkwardly beside me.

The door slowly opened with a long creak (it was like it had its own theme song, the patter of rain the accompanying percussion). I turned and jumped.

The fellow in the doorway was huge, at least seven feet tall, with a face so wrinkled and jowls so pronounced it looked like it was melting. He was dressed in a butler’s coat and tails, and as he opened his mouth the harsh intake of breath that preceded his words sounded like a death rattle. “Yes?”

Don’t stare a gift horse in the mouth. Or at least, the chest. “Hi there.” A broad smile and hand outstretched, false confidence disguising nervousness. “I represent Dirby Vacuum Cleaners, and we’re offering an obligation-free clean. I’ll vacuum one sofa or the floor of one room within your house, to demonstrate how versatile and powerful the Dirby is. Best vacuum on the market.” I patted the top of the kit like it was a good dog.

He stared down at me without emotion and his aged voice seemed to mimic the creak of the door as he spoke. “I’ll have to ask the mistress of the house.” The door closed. I stood, tapping my foot anxiously. A few minutes later he returned. “The mistress will see you in the living room.”

The butler led me slowly through the entryway, every shuffling footstep at an agonising tortoise-like pace. My previous fears were evaporating quickly. I was keen to get the kit unpacked, clean the floor and demonstrate how good this vacuum was—butler and big mansion equalled money to waste, and this was an opportunity I couldn’t afford to miss…

To be continued…

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