Bob looked around the room, but there was no sign of a break in, no sign anyone had been here. The place was locked as tight as he had left it.
He went down the concrete steps to the floor.
He stopped and paused.
He looked around again.
“Impossible. This has to be some kind of a joke,” he replied, as he walked over to the machine. Sure enough, it looked just like the one in the ad.
While Bob stood there, he watched as the plug lifted off the ground. It turned, floated over to the wall, and pushed itself into the electric outlet. The machine came to life causing Bob to jump back, and nearly fall onto his fat flabby butt.
A face appeared on the video monitor. It wasn’t demonic or evil looking, just a plain computer generated male face was all that it was. It had two eyes, two ears, a nose, mouth, and no hair. It had no body attached to it, just a free floating head in the middle of the video screen.
The floating head looked at Bob. “Get on, take a spin. I’ll make you thin.”
Bob looked down at the face, as his ratty tee shirt and sweat pants evaporated. In a flash, they were replaced with a shiny new set of running clothes. Wick away shirt, keeps you cool and dry. Running shorts that fit much like swimming trunks, net in the middle to hold your junk in place. Moisture controlling socks and a perfectly fitting pair of new running shoes. To top it off, a head band decided to rest itself around the top of Bob’s head. He was now suited up and ready to run.
The black belt on the treadmill started to move, rolling gently from top to bottom, inviting him to step up and get started.
“That’s it Bob, come along for the ride, take your stride,” the floating head replied, smiling up at him.
Caution, hello, caution! I don’t know about you guys reading this, but if a machine appeared in your garage, and started talking to you in rhyme, don’t you think you might run for the door or at least not climb on when it asked you to?
Bob was cheap though, and he saw dollar signs instead of caution signs.
He watched the belt move for a moment or two longer, and then, not using common sense or hesitation, gripped one of the rails that ran down the side of the machine, pulled himself up, and onto the treadmill . . .
A short story about a man who sees a flashy ad online advertising a twenty dollar treadmill. He buys the machine, too cheap to be scared, and realizes much to his dismay that this machine has a taste for blood. Big Bob better run like his life depends on it, because in many ways it does.