text: It started a few weeks ago, and honestly, I thought I was going crazy. Maybe I am, this whole thing is just so twisted and insane, and there It is just staring at me. I hear It at night, moving around in the dark corners of my house, I’m just glad It hasn’t figured out how to get up the stairs yet or things could be a lot worse. The paint is starting to peel and blister off Its surface, and I’m scared to look away in case It moves, or turns on, or if It just disappears entirely. My Henry Hoover is trying to kill me. Look, I know it sounds stupid and kind of like an insignificant issue- but think of the implications... Promise me you’ll think of the implications. I’ve locked myself in the bathroom, I can still hear It knocking against the kitchen door. A whole corridor and two locked doors between us and yet why do I feel so terrified, like if open this one it’ll just be waiting for me, nozzle at the ready. Two hours ago, I heard this agonising crash coming from the lounge, followed by a series of even louder crashes and then the infernal vrummmmmm of It powering up. I had no idea what to do, but I hadn’t seen my cat Merlin in about half a day and I feared the worst. I put on this really thick ski jacket that I remembered was still sitting in my wardrobe, and the goggles of course, the plan wasn’t to go in looking pretty- I was preparing for war. After a few deep breaths I ran down the stairs as fast as I could and didn’t look back, a true hero- except I forgot about the Lego. My corridor has- or should I say had- two shelves on either side, and on each one is- or were- a series of Lego monuments. Hogwarts, The Death Star, an Igloo from Club Penguin, all gone. I’m not sure how It managed to pull it off, but I came downstairs and there was just absolute carnage, Lego everywhere, so many hours of work just gone, and It was sat in the middle of it all grinning at me. I barely had enough time to take it all in- still standing halfway down the stairs- before It let rip, It reverse-vacuumed me. Little Lego bullets ripped into my coat, one hit the back of my hand and grazed my knuckle, I started retreating and realised I only had my socks on then immediately stood on part of the Igloo, pain so much pain. It took a hold of me and before I managed to reach out for the banister, I felt myself fall backwards down the stairs, one hand on my injured foot and the other still flailing in the air for something to hold onto. I was lucky, the coat stand managed to break my fall but I had just enough sense to stay down and pretend that It had taken me out. I watched It with one eye, goggles half steamed up and after watching me for a while It turned away from me to start reloading, I took my chance and quickly mapped out a route that would have me landing in all of the empty spaces- no more Lego piercing into my poor feet. I can’t even remember getting up, or making my way across the room, but I do remember jumping up behind It, hugging It close so the nozzle couldn’t reach out and grab me, then dumping it in the kitchen before turning back and locking the door behind me. All of this couldn’t have taken more than 15 seconds, but in my mind, it played out like one of those epic slow-motion montages you see in war films. I am the modern-day Joan of Arc. That is why I am currently holed up in the bathroom, massaging my left foot and waiting for my best friend Tilly to show up.