The Demon Vacuum Cleaner Read online

  Jeremy Strong once worked in a bakery, putting the jam into three thousand doughnuts every night. Now he puts the jam in stories instead, which he finds much more exciting. At the age of three, he fell out of a first-floor bedroom window and landed on his head. His mother says that this damaged him for the rest of his life and refuses to take any responsibility. He loves writing stories because he says it is ‘the only time you alone have complete control and can make anything happen’. His ambition is to make you laugh (or at least snuffle). Jeremy Strong lives near Bath with four cats and a flying cow.

  Other books by Jeremy Strong

  THE KARATE PRINCESS

  THE KARATE PRINCESS AND THE CUT-THROAT ROBBERS

  THE KARATE PRINCESS TO THE RESCUE

  THE KARATE PRINCESS AND THE LAST GRIFFIN

  THERE’S A VIKING IN MY BED

  VIKING AT SCHOOL

  VIKING IN TROUBLE

  THERE’S A PHARAOH IN OUR BATH

  THE DESPERATE ADVENTURES OF SIR RUPERT AND ROSIE GUSSET

  THE HUNDRED MILE-AN-HOUR DOG

  THE INDOOR PIRATES

  THE INDOOR PIRATES ON TREASURE ISLAND

  LIGHTNING LUCY

  MY DAD’S GOT AN ALLIGATOR!

  MY GRANNY’S GREAT ESCAPE

  For Younger Readers

  THE AIR-RAID SHELTER

  FANNY WITCH AND THE THUNDER LIZARD

  FANNY WITCH AND THE WICKED WIZARD

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Books Australia Ltd, 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2

  Penguin Books India (P) Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Books (NZ) Ltd, Cnr Rosedale and Airborne Roads, Albany, Auckland, New Zealand

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  www.penguin.com

  First published by A & C Black (Publishers) Limited 1983

  Published in Puffin Books 1993

  21

  Text copyright © Jeremy Strong, 1983

  Illustrations copyright © John Shelley, 1983

  All rights reserved

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  1

  Fatbag Escapes

  ‘I never expected anything that big,’ said Elsie Bunce. She stepped back and looked at the shiny barrel-body of the new vacuum cleaner. ‘It’s enormous. It looks like one of those awful monsters from outer space. Just look at that tube coming out there – like a great guzzling throat with a slurping mouth on the end.’

  Mr Prentiss, the school caretaker, grunted. ‘It’s only a vacuum cleaner, Mrs Bunce. It will help you clean the classroom floors more quickly.’

  ‘Well I don’t know. It’s almost as big as I am. I can’t pull that heavy thing around.’

  ‘It’s on wheels.’

  ‘And I don’t like the way it stares at me all the time.’

  ‘It doesn’t stare,’ replied the caretaker in a stony voice. ‘Vacuum cleaners don’t stare.’

  Mrs Bunce folded her arms and gave a snort. ‘This one does. Look at those two switches on the top… they’re staring at us. Urgh, it gives me the shivers. Still, if it helps me finish early I don’t mind. I mustn’t miss my cookery programme on TV because it’s curry tonight and my Harry just loves curry.’

  ‘Can’t stand them,’ said Mr Prentiss. ‘They make me sweat.’

  ‘But they’re supposed to!’ Elsie cried. ‘We watched this programme about India you see and they said that when the…’

  ‘Mrs Bunce!’ snapped the caretaker. She stopped. Mr Prentiss pointed at the vacuum cleaner and then down the corridor.

  Elsie sighed and walked slowly right round the shining red machine. She stopped and folded her arms.

  ‘Fatbag,’ she said.

  ‘What! What did you say!’ Mr Prentiss had turned an angry purple.

  ‘No, not you, Mr Prentiss. That thing there. I shall call it Fatbag.’

  ‘Yes, well just take your Fatbag and go and clean the classes now Mrs Bunce. If you don’t mind?’

  Elsie went up to the monster carefully. She grasped it by the big handle on the dome and pulled it along the corridor. The vacuum cleaner had three rubber castors underneath and it moved with silent ease, slithering along behind. When they reached the classroom Elsie unwound the long cable and plugged in. She bent down and peered at the switches on Fatbag’s bald dome.

  ‘ON and OFF,’ she read and straightened up. ‘I wish you’d stop staring at me like that. I can’t concentrate. Now let’s see what happens.’ She reached out gingerly and gave the ON switch a quick flick. A deep roar shattered the silence of the deserted classroom. Elsie jumped back with both hands over her mouth. The noise got louder and louder until it reached a steady growl. The red body gently throbbed.

  Elsie stared at Fatbag and the vacuum cleaner waited, humming to himself. Nervously Elsie picked up the long flexible tube that slithered out from the machine’s base. The wide metal mouth at the end of the tube slapped against the floor and dirt and dust began to disappear rapidly. Up went drawing pins and paper clips, rattling along the snaking throat down into the hungry body. Up went pencils, apple cores and frayed shoe-laces.

  Elsie’s fingers tightened round the tube. She began to wonder if she was in control of Fatbag. She glanced at the shining domed head as if to make certain the machine wasn’t staring at her with a wicked grin. The gaping mouth scraped across the floor and began to suck more violently. It even began to drag chairs towards it, and when a girl’s cardigan and an old tennis shoe both vanished into the ravenous throat, Elsie panicked, dropped the tube and switched Fatbag off.

  Nothing happened. The purring roar went on and the long tube lay on the floor writhing like a snake waking from a long, deep sleep. She stood and stared at the two switches, her eyes as round as billiard balls. She blinked and flicked the switch again, then ran to the wall and pulled out the plug.

  The electric plug was snatched from her hand as Fatbag pulled in his cable tail. He spun on his castors, his metal mouth and throat following, snapping at anything that got in his way. Mrs Bunce, now beside herself with terror, pressed herself flat against the classroom wall, hardly daring to breathe.

  But Fatbag knew she was there. A low growl came from his quivering red body. Slowly he began to advance towards her. Elsie screamed and flung herself into the art cupboard, pulling

  the door shut behind her. A moment later there was a dreadful clang as Fatbag’s mouth slapped against the cupboard door.

  Even from inside Elsie could feel the air being sucked out of the cupboard. Sheets of paper, exercise books, paint-brushes, crayons and pencils whirled past her, only to be sucked under the door and into the hungry beast on the other side.

  ‘Help!’ screamed Elsie, finding her voice at last. ‘Help, help!’ Her voice was drowned by Fatbag’s gr
owls. He clattered and banged his heavy body against the door so that it shook on its hinges, but he couldn’t get in.

  Mr Prentiss, at the other end of the school, wondered what all the noise was and he walked briskly down the corridor to take a look. When he reached the classroom he almost fainted. Instead of being beautifully clean, it was a

  wreck. Fatbag had knocked over desks and chairs and bookcases. In fact he was busily gobbling up all the maths books and a pair of curtains when Mr Prentiss opened the door and disturbed him.

  ‘Help!’ came a feeble voice from the art cupboard.

  ‘What’s going on?’ demanded Mr Prentiss, which was rather a pointless thing to say to a monster vacuum cleaner.

  Fatbag almost choked on the curtains, gulped them down and whirled round. His roar dropped to a whispering hiss and he edged his way slowly towards the caretaker, twisting his body this way and that. Mr Prentiss felt Fatbag’s hot breath tugging at his trouser bottoms. He backed away, a bewildered grin on his face.

  ‘Come on now,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t be silly. You know vacuum cleaners don’t work by themselves. Switch yourself off.’

  Fatbag carried on hissing and behind him his thin black tail flicked and snapped so that the plug on the end clanged against the walls. There was a smash and tinkle of glass as he managed to break two windows.

  ‘Come on now,’ repeated Mr Prentiss, half hypnotised by the two switches.

  By this time he was out in the corridor, still shuffling backwards. Fatbag rolled after him, slurping the odd picture off the corridor walls as he passed. Mr Prentiss reached the school entrance, where the doors were firmly locked. He fumbled with his many keys and dropped them in his haste. A moment later, they had vanished down Fatbag’s throat. There was no escape.

  ‘Give yourself up!’ cried Mr Prentiss in desperation, his face white as a rice pudding. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he promised. Then, as Fatbag came nearer and nearer he added, ‘Don’t hurt me. I never called you Fatbag. It wasn’t my idea, it was Mrs Bunce. I only… aaaaargh!’

  With a tremendous roar Fatbag rushed upon Mr Prentiss, with his nozzle waving in the air. Mr Prentiss covered his face with his hands and fainted away.

  There was an ear-splitting crash of breaking wood as Fatbag burst through the door. He stopped just long enough to suck up the sign saying ROPER SCHOOL, then he vanished into the black, rainy night, with his tail cracking behind him and his little castor wheels rattling gaily over the paving stones.

  2

  The Police ask Questions

  Elsie Bunce stood trembling behind the art cupboard door with one ear at the crack. She was listening to the silence, hardly daring to breathe. The last piece of paper left in the cupboard slipped off the top shelf and slowly glided to her feet. Elsie decided that Fatbag must have gone and she carefully pushed open the cupboard door.

  ‘Oh!’

  She looked round the wrecked classroom in dismay. Desks lay on their sides. Books were spilt across the floor. Chairs were upside down and broken-legged. It seemed as if the room had been the centre of several earthquakes. Elsie stepped carefully over the fallen furniture and tiptoed into the corridor, afraid that the monster would suddenly rush upon her from some dark cobwebbed corner that she should have cleaned months ago.

  ‘Mr Prentiss,’ she called softly. ‘Mr Prentiss, where are…’ The words froze upon her thin lips as she recognised the huddled shape lying at the far end of the corridor. She couldn’t move. Fear had locked her muscles and turned her into a horrified statue.

  At that moment the caretaker began to groan and roll about.

  ‘Get off, get off!’ he mumbled to himself. Suddenly he leaped to his feet, waving his hands wildly about his head and yelling at the top of his voice.

  ‘Get off, you horrible slurper! Get off, get off, get off!’

  Elsie ran down the corridor and grabbed Mr Prentiss’ arms.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she shouted with relief. ‘Fatbag’s gone. It’s all right Mr Prentiss!’ She pulled him over to a bench and sat him down. Mr Prentiss buried his aching head in his hands.

  ‘I thought he was going to…’ He stared up at Mrs Bunce with a look of wild panic. ‘I thought he was going to…’

  ‘Slurp you up?’ Elsie suggested. ‘I thought he was going to get me. I really did think my last hour had come, Mr Prentiss.’ She laid a trembling hand on his arm. ‘Oh what a lucky escape we’ve had, Mr Prentiss. But where is he now? A whole enormous vacuum cleaner roaming around out there! Suppose he meets somebody, like in that awful film – The Hideous Vagon from Planet X. I can’t bear to think about it. We must warn the police.’

  The caretaker staggered to his feet, ‘I’ll telephone from the office,’ he said shakily. ‘There’s some brandy in the staff-room, Mrs Bunce. We need it!’

  Out in the darkness, Fatbag trundled along the wet pavements. His snout waved high in the air and he turned it from side to side like some strange kind of radar. He was searching for something. The cold rain trickled down his sides, glinting in the orange lamplight. Fatbag didn’t hesitate. He had a dreadful mission.

  A faint shape in a tree spread its wings and swooped silently down, stretching eight sharp claws. Fatbag gave a tiny slurp and six of the owl’s tail-feathers disappeared down his throat. With a terrified squawk, the owl lurched away through the darkness and crashed into a tree.

  Fatbag began to hum happily to himself as he rattled on, with the rain spattering his shiny red sides. At last – freedom! Never again would he be tied to a socket on a wall with some silly human pulling and pushing him. Now he must find the factory where he’d been born. Inside were hundreds of electric machines, including the most wicked lawn-mower ever made. They were all waiting to be released from their prison. Then the Great Revolution could begin! Soon his great army would rid the world of people for ever! Fatbag gleefully sucked up a large rose bush and half a rockery. He belched. He certainly wasn’t a fussy eater.

  Mr Prentiss had telephoned the police. He and Elsie sat in the office with the brandy bottle and the lights blazing so that they could see anything that moved while they waited for the police to arrive.

  ‘I wonder where, Fatbag is now?’ Elsie said, peering into her empty tumbler. The caretaker gave a snort and refilled the glasses.

  ‘He’s probably miles away.’

  As the brandy took effect they began to feel a lot braver. The tip of Elsie’s nose flushed bright pink and she began to giggle.

  ‘I expect Fatbag’s cleaning everything up, Mr Prentiss.’

  ‘Call me William,’ smiled the caretaker generously. Elsie giggled again.

  ‘Ooh! Is that your name?’

  ‘No!’ roared Mr Prentiss with delight. ‘My real name is Archibald, but I’ve always wanted to be called William!’ Elsie threw herself back and clutched her sides. Tears of laughter streamed down her face. She leaned forward and gave the caretaker a prod.

  ‘Ooh William – you are funny!’ And the two of them collapsed in giggles once more.

  The sound of a door opening brought sudden, cold silence. Fearing the return of Fatbag they both dived beneath the table and held their breath, hearts beating violently.

  Two policemen walked into the staffroom. Mr Prentiss started laughing all over again and banged his head on the underside of the desk as he tried to get up.

  ‘Fatbag doesn’t wear big black boots, does he Mrs Bunce?’ he hooted, rolling over onto one side.

  Sergeant Polski slowly raised his eyebrows and looked at Constable Thomas. Elsie crawled from beneath the table, smoothed her dress and sat primly on the edge of a chair. She fixed a pleasant grin on the two policemen.

  Mr Prentiss pulled himself up the side of Constable Thomas until he was on his own two feet. He frowned sternly at the two officers.

  ‘It was Fatbag!’ he declared. ‘He did it!’

  Sergeant Polski glanced at Constable Thomas and quietly pointed at the empty brandy bottle. Mr Prentiss hurried on regardless.

&n
bsp; ‘It was the vacuum cleaner. He’s on the rampage. You’ve got to stop him. He’s vicious, a murderer, bodies all over the place…’ Mr Prentiss gripped the sergeant by one shoulder and whispered urgently in his ear. ‘Out there, out there is urrrrp! (beg your pardon)… a monster vacuum cleaner sucking up everything in sight!’

  Sergeant Polski eyed the caretaker stonily. ‘Your shirt’s hanging out,’ he said and turned to his constable. ‘These two are in a fine state,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll keep an eye on them. You take a look round the school. See if there’s anything unusual.’

  Constable Thomas went off and the sergeant picked up the empty brandy bottle. He smelt the top and wrinkled his nose.

  ‘Had a few, have you?’ he asked with a deceptive smile.

  ‘I’m sorry we can’t offer you any, officer,’ said Elsie politely. ‘It was a terrible shock you understand. We had to have something to steady our nerves.’ She had sobered up very quickly now that the police had appeared.

  ‘Yes. Of course Madam. And what was the shock again?’

  ‘The vacuum cleaner of course – Fatbag!’ Elsie stared at the sergeant with dismay. ‘You don’t believe us, do you? You think we’ve been drinking and seeing things?’

  Mr Prentiss sprang forward and grasped Sergeant Polski, shaking him by the shoulders. ‘You’ve got to!’ shouted the caretaker. ‘You must! He’s a monster, a, a, a devil. We’re not drunk! I’ve never been drunk in my…’

  Mr Prentiss lost his balance and sat down heavily on Elsie’s tiny lap, knocking the breath from her. He struggled up and almost fell across the table. He was still going through this circus performance when Constable Thomas returned. The young policeman was grave.

  ‘I think they’ve been having a party sir,’ he reported. ‘One of the classrooms looks like a bomb has hit it. Everything’s been wrecked.’

  The sergeant turned and eyed Elsie and Mr Prentiss. ‘Would you say, Constable Thomas, that this damage was caused by a rioting vacuum cleaner?’ Constable Thomas gave a snort.