I should know better.
This old and rambling house seems to create dust and dirt faster than the earth itself. Sometimes it drives me a bit batty. And that is when I clean.
I must have been in some sort of cleaning trance, because I didn’t think twice as I roared into the laboratory with my ancient and powerful vacuum cleaner. It sounds like a jet engine, possibly because it’s made with parts from a jet engine.
I thought the laboratory was loud before, with the specimens and new monsters and beasties in there, but I was unprepared for the auditory explosion my vacuuming caused. The laboratory erupted into a cacauphony of petrified and angry shrieks, thumps, howls and other-worldly noises. I thought the vacuum had thrown a rod, so when I shut it off I nearly jumped out of my indoor-wellies. All terrified eyes were on me, and I tried to soothe the creatures but they would not be soothed.
Until I beat the vacuum with a cro-bar. That seemed to sate them. I left a record of the Kurundu Birds calling with their rainfall calls to calm the frayed nerves of my beloved creatures.
And I’ve been in the basement, repairing my damage to the vacuum cleaner. I’d like to think the creatures were worried I was being tortured by the machine, but I think they just wanted to make sure there would be no more vacuuming.
I can’t fully blame them. The sound of a hair dryer drives me positively sideways.
I find that a structural layer of wicker, followed by wool, and then peccary fur, then Eider down and skinned with tarred sailing canvas is positively the boffo for suppressing mechanical whirrings of all sorts. The added benefit is being able to fashion the structure in the same manner as a topiary.