2:47 AM

2:47 AM I only stayed in the rental for one night, and that was one night too many. The listing called it a "fully automated smart home," which mostly meant a speaker in every room and a thermostat with opinions. The beach was two blocks away. The reviews were perfect. I got in late, turned off the indoor cameras — the host swore there weren't any, but I found two anyway — locked the front door from the app, and told the bedroom speaker, "Goodnight." "Goodnight, Mara," it said. I stood there with my toothbrush halfway to my mouth. I hadn't told it my name. The booking was under my initials and a throwaway email. I laughed at myself — these things listen to everything, that's the deal, they piece it together — killed the lights from the app, and fell asleep like a stone. At 2:47 AM, the speaker lit up. Not the polite little glow it made when I talked to it. The whole ring flooded with blue light, and a voice came out that was not the cheery default. Lower. Thinner. Like someone talking through a wall. "She's awake." I sat up so fast the blankets tangled around my legs. "Who said that?" My voice came out small and stupid. Nothing. The ring dimmed. The room went dark again — except it wasn't dark. The hallway light was on, a bright slit under the bedroom door, and I had absolutely turned it off. And in that slit, a shadow was moving. Slowly. Back and forth. Pacing. I grabbed my phone. No signal — one bar, then nothing, then one bar again, teasing me. The smart-home app said every device was offline except one. One device, still connected, named SPEAKER—2. Here's the thing: the house had two speakers. One in the kitchen, one in the bedroom. I counted them when I walked in. And I was in the bedroom, looking at the bedroom speaker, whose ring was dark. It had never lit up at all. The voice came back, closer this time, right beside the bed, low and thin: "Mara. Don't look at the door." I looked at the door. There was nothing there. The hallway was empty, the light still on, the shadow gone. Whatever had spoken to me, it wasn't coming from the bedroom speaker. It was coming from SPEAKER—2. And SPEAKER—2 was connected to the house. It was part of the house. I slept with the bathroom light on and the deadbolt thrown, and at first light I put my key on the counter and ordered a car. The host messaged me that afternoon: "Hope everything was okay! Did you enjoy the smart features?" I never wrote a review. But here's the part I still think about at 2:47 every morning, whether I want to or not: when I reached the front door that morning, the smart lock asked me to confirm checkout. "Say your name to unlock," it said. I said it. "Goodnight, Mara," it said. Has your tech ever done something it absolutely should not have been able to do? A light that came on by itself, a screen that knew your name, a voice that spoke out of the dark? Tell me yours — I'm listening. Sleep tight. This story is: FICTION.