Write a story about a traveling shoe salesman named Ed

Though murder is nice it's the sale that gets him up every morning. 
 
 Eyes. Open. 
 
 He has n't slept but it's nice to pretend. Nice to sleep under stiff hotel room blankets, smelling those that have come before him. Hotels are lonely places. Sometimes he remembers faint echoes of sex or a good plate of eggs but those are mostly fleeting. 
 
 It's six thirty seven in the morning and he has a job to do. 
 
 As he shaves in the bathroom mirror the glass fogs revealing faint childlike writing on the steamed over surface. 
 
 Ginger Carmine. 2055 Plainsview Ct. 
 
 Vague. He hates when they give him vague. 
 
 The house is a small pink and white box in a neighborhood that looks like it came straight out of a television show about plucky kids and the adventures they get into. 
 
 He straightens his tie before knocking on her door. The brass knocker looks like a grinning clown but he prefers not to think about that. 
 
 She opens the door, looking up at him suspiciously look. He's found that the older women got, the more narrow their eyes became. She's sixty or so. A good sixty though. Her hair is a nice chemical yellow cloud around her face. Obvious Botox or else she ’ s been the victim of a stroke that paralyzed most of her forehead. 
 
 `` Hello, miss, my name is Ed. I've come to tell you about a most remarkable product'', he says. 
 
 `` Do n't want any'', she says. `` I've got everything I need.'' 
 
 `` Are you sure your house is clean, miss? Are you absolutely positively certain?'' he asks. 
 
 She grips the door. `` My house is clean. I do n't know what you're implying but my house is clean.'' 
 
 He holds up the vacuum. It's a beautiful machine. All chrome and black. 
 
 `` Why do n't you let me test that? This here is the top of the line. Nothing better on earth. If I ca n't find any dirt, well, I'll let you have it for free.'' 
 
 Her red caked mouth purses as she thinks. 
 
 `` Come in then. Brush the dirt off your shoes. I do n't want you cheating none.'' 
 
 He nods and steps on the rug a few times before entering even though his shoes are perfectly spotless. 
 
 Her living room smells like dead flowers. There are dolls on every available shelf space. They smile serenely at him from peach colored faces. Among them is a picture of an infant swathed in powder blue. It smiles with its hands cupping its cheeks. 
 
 `` That's my dear Bobbie Arthur. Died almost thirty years ago. He was such a quiet baby. Doctors never could figure why he passed,'' she says. 
 
 She stares at the picture for a minute before he coughs into his hand. 
 
 ``.. oh well. We do go on, do n't we?'' she says. 
 
 He pulls the vacuum to the center of the room, turning it on with his foot. It starts to hum a low soothing sound. He holds it for a few seconds before pushing it around. The plastic cone over the head of the vacuum fills with brown and then black. 
 
 She gasps. `` I vacuum every day?! How is that possible?'' 
 
 He smiles. `` It's hard to get everything completely clean. Something is always hidden'', he says. He turns the vacuum off. 
 
 She sits on her plastic covered couch. `` Well then, I suppose I'll be buying your fancy vacuum. Mr.?'' 
 
 `` It's Ed. Just Ed. And I ca n't say how pleased I am.'' 
 
 He unrolls the contract onto her coffee table. It falls over the side of it onto the carpet. 
 
 `` Just sign here and here and here.'' 
 
 He gives her his red pen, indicating where she should sign her name. 
 
 `` You sure I ai n't selling my soul? Sure is long for a vacuum contract.'' 
 
 `` Just a standard contract. No interest for six months. That sort of thing'', he says. 
 
 She signs the contract, still peering into the dark cloud he'd sucked from her floor. 
 
 He packs up to leave, thanking her. Before he goes, she tells him to stay. She wants to use it while he's there. Just in case. 
 
 She goes to turn the vacuum on, pressing the on button with her foot. It makes a clicking sound but does n't turn on. She presses again. And again. 
 
 `` Perhaps if you jiggled it with your hand?'' he suggests. 
 
 She narrows her eyes at him. `` I want a refund if this thing does n't work.'' 
 
 She gets down on her knees and jiggles the power control. Red lights flash as the machine turns on. She turns her head to speak and the vacuum takes her. She screams as her hair is sucked in. 
 
 `` Help me!'' 
 
 He takes out the contract, looking it over. 
 
 `` No, no I think we're done Mrs. Carmine. Says here you murdered that poor child of yours. Drowned him in the bathroom like a sack full of kittens.'' 
 
 Her eyes widen in horror as the vacuum pulls part of her scalp off. She wiggles away on her hands and knees. The vacuum makes a grinding sound as it follows her, grabbing onto her right shoe and foot. 
 
 `` Oh god please!'' she screams. `` It's eating me!'' 
 
 He rolls the contract up. `` I'm afraid that is quite against the rules. All sales are final, my dear.'' 
 
 His nose wrinkles as his face is sprayed with her blood. She's missing her right leg. The vacuum has chewed most of it off. The carpet underneath her becomes dark red. 
 
 `` Messy, it always has to be messy'', he says, wiping his face with the white handkerchief he keeps in his front pocket. 
 
 She keeps crawling towards him, her arms grasping for the bottom of his pants. He backs away. 
 
 `` I just bought these! No stains on the good pants!'' 
 
 She crawls a few more feet as he inches back before finally stopping. He carefully pokes her with his shoe. 
 
 `` Dead. Finally. I hate working with inferior models.'' 
 
 The vacuum makes a choking sound, spewing bits of flesh onto his pants. He makes a sound of disgust as the vacuum disappears in a cloud of smoke. 
 
 He takes out his contract and his red pen, clicking it to release the point. He checks the box marked `` deceased''. The paper goes up in flames, turning to ash in his hands. 
 
 He stares down at his stained trousers wondering if the woman has any sweat pants that might fit him. 
 
 *Edit; I missed the shoe part! *
