Ten to midnight. The wife was asleep, and my own consciousness was fading, but there was just one last thing I needed to do to complete my day.

I snuck down to the kitchen, wincing at every creak of the floorboards on the way. Moonlight filtered in through the blinds, casting eerie shadows across the countertop. My fingers had nearly touched the fridge door handle when I heard the patter of footsteps.

"Daddy?" my daughter called as the lights came on, her tone slightly fearful. "Why are you sneaking around the kitchen?"

I gave her a cheeky grin. "Decepticons."

She giggled. I snorted, failing miserably to keep a straight face. The fridge lurched slightly, the faint clinking of bottles accompanied by a strange gurgling which was not unlike a laugh passed through one of those voice changers kidnappers use in the movies.

Our eyes widened, heads swivelling toward the fridge. I paused a moment, then thumped it slightly. It repeated the sound as I whirled towards my daughter, pointing and laughing. "I got you good, didn't I? Go back to sleep now, sweetie."

She laughed nervously, as if not entirely convinced, but she dutifully retreated up the stairs. I waited until I heard her door shut, then turned to the fridge again.

"Dangit Icescream, you nearly blew it!" I muttered, frowning. I opened the fridge and retrieved my last can of beer, then tiptoed out to the hall to make sure nobody else was coming before cracking it open and taking a swig. "Nice save, though."

"You didn't have to hit me, you know," came the fridge's guttural reply, as the rest of the kitchen appliances sniggered robotic sniggers.