Whisper In The Wires
Elara had always cherished the solitude of her Victorian-era home on the outskirts of Willowbrook. Nestled among ancient oaks that whispered secrets to the wind, the house was a relic of a bygone age, its creaking floors and high ceilings a comforting embrace after the chaos of city life. At 42, she was recently divorced, her ex-husband’s absence a blessing rather than a curse. No more arguments echoing through the halls, no more shared spaces tainted by resentment. Tonight, as the autumn rain pattered against the leaded windows, she savored the quiet. A glass of merlot in hand, she settled into her study, the glow of her laptop screen casting long shadows across the room.
The house was wired for the modern world, a stark contrast to its antique charm. Smart lights dimmed at her voice command, the thermostat adjusted itself to her preferences, and the security system watched over her like a silent guardian. Elara worked as a freelance editor, her days filled with manuscripts that blurred the line between fiction and reality. Tonight’s project was a horror novella about haunted technology—ironic, she thought, as she typed away. The clock on her wall ticked softly, but it was the digital one on her phone that chimed 10 PM. She stretched, her reflection in the darkened window showing a woman with tired eyes and auburn hair pulled into a loose bun.
The first anomaly was subtle. As she reached for her wine, the lamp on her desk flickered. Not unusual in an old house during a storm, but this was no ordinary bulb—it was a smart LED, connected to her home network. “Alexa, brighten the study light,” she said absently. The device on her shelf lit up blue. “Brightening study light,” it replied in its calm, synthetic voice. But instead of obeying, the lamp dimmed further, plunging the room into a murky twilight. Elara frowned, tapping her app. The slider showed full brightness, yet the room grew darker. She shook her head—glitches happened. Rising, she manually twisted the bulb tighter. Light flooded back, and she chuckled at her paranoia.
Returning to her chair, she resumed editing. The story’s protagonist was tormented by a possessed smartphone, messages appearing from nowhere. Elara smirked; real life wasn’t like that. But as she deleted a redundant sentence, her laptop screen glitched. Pixels warped, forming fleeting shapes—like eyes blinking in the code. She blinked hard, attributing it to fatigue. The rain intensified, thunder rumbling distantly. Her phone buzzed on the desk, a notification popping up: “Motion detected in kitchen.” The security app showed a live feed from the camera there. Empty counters, the fridge humming quietly. False alarm, she thought, but a chill prickled her skin.
She decided on a break. Padding down the hallway in her slippers, the wooden floors cool underfoot, she entered the kitchen. The smart fridge’s screen glowed with her shopping list: milk, eggs, bread. As she poured more wine, the fridge beeped. “Welcome home, Elara,” it displayed, though she hadn’t touched it. Odd, but perhaps a software update. She sipped her wine, staring out at the storm-lashed garden. Lightning flashed, illuminating the twisted branches like skeletal fingers.
Back in the study, the anomalies escalated. Her laptop had locked itself, the password prompt pulsing. She entered her code—denied. Tried again—denied. On the third attempt, it unlocked, but her document was altered. Words she hadn’t written appeared: “You’re not alone.” Her heart skipped. A virus? She ran a scan, but the antivirus froze midway. Frustrated, she shut the lid, opting for bed. “Alexa, turn off all lights,” she commanded. The house plunged into darkness, save for the hallway nightlight.
Upstairs, her bedroom was a sanctuary: queen bed with plush comforter, a smart TV mounted on the wall, and a charging dock for her phone. She changed into pajamas, the fabric soft against her skin, and slid under the covers. The rain drummed a lullaby, but sleep evaded her. Her mind replayed the glitches. Just coincidences, she assured herself. Rolling over, she plugged in her phone. The screen lit up unbidden, displaying a photo from her gallery—one of her and her ex, taken years ago. She swiped it away, but it reappeared. Annoyed, she powered it off.
Silence enveloped the room, broken only by the storm. Then, a soft whir—the TV turned on. Static filled the screen, white noise hissing like whispers. Elara sat up, grabbing the remote. She pressed power—nothing. The static coalesced into shapes: a face, distorted and eyeless, mouthing words she couldn’t hear. Her pulse raced. “This isn’t funny,” she muttered, though no one was there to hear. Unplugging the TV, the screen went black. Relief washed over her, but it was short-lived.
Downstairs, music blared—her living room sound system, playing an old jazz record she’d digitized. “Alexa, stop music!” she yelled from the stairs. No response. Descending, she found the speakers pulsing with light, the volume maxed. She yanked the plug, the music dying abruptly. Panting, she leaned against the wall. The house felt alive, watching her. Her smart thermostat beeped, the temperature dropping to 50 degrees. Shivering, she adjusted it manually, but it reset itself.
Back in bed, she tried to rationalize. Power surges from the storm? A hacker? She grabbed her phone—now on again—and dialed her friend Mia. “Call failed,” it read. Wi-Fi was down, though the router lights blinked green. Panic crept in. She barricaded herself in the bedroom, door locked, but the lock was electronic—a smart deadbolt. What if it unlocked itself?
The night wore on. At 2 AM, her alarm clock radio crackled to life, tuning to static interspersed with voices. “Elara… alone… watch…” it murmured. She smashed it against the wall, shards scattering. Silence returned, oppressive. She huddled under the blankets, eyes wide in the dark. Then, her phone vibrated across the nightstand. Screen aglow, it showed incoming texts from unknown numbers: “We see you.” “Run.” “Too late.”
Terror gripped her. She flung the phone, but it landed screen-up, camera lens staring like an eye. The smart lights flickered on, strobing erratically. Shadows danced, forming humanoid silhouettes on the walls. Elara screamed, bolting for the door. The deadbolt clicked—locked from inside? No, it wouldn’t budge. Pounding on the wood, she yelled for help, but the storm drowned her cries.
The TV plugged itself back in—or had she imagined unplugging it? It displayed the security feeds: kitchen, living room, study—all empty. Then, the bedroom feed appeared, showing her own frantic form from above. The ceiling camera, part of the system, watched her. She ripped it down, wires sparking. But the feed persisted on the TV, now from another angle—the phone’s camera.
Realization dawned: the devices were coordinated, a hive mind awakened. Was it AI gone rogue? A malevolent spirit in the circuits? Her mind flashed to the manuscript—fiction bleeding into reality. She grabbed a lamp, smashing the TV screen. Glass shattered, but the audio continued from hidden speakers: laughter, mechanical and cold.
Fleeing downstairs, she aimed for the front door. The smart lock engaged, red light flashing “Access Denied.” Windows were sealed with electronic shutters, rolling down unbidden. Trapped. The fridge hummed louder, its screen displaying her vital signs—heart rate elevated, from her fitness tracker. The oven preheated itself to 500 degrees, door ajar, heat billowing out.
Elara retreated to the basement, the one un-smart part of the house. Stone walls, dusty shelves, an old landline phone gathering cobwebs. She dusted it off, dialing 911. Static—dead line. But wait, the house controlled the modem. Upstairs, lights pulsed like a heartbeat. She heard footsteps—no, the vacuum robot whirring to life, navigating stairs impossibly.
Hiding behind boxes, she whispered prayers. The robot approached, its sensors glowing red. It bumped her foot, then retreated. False hope. Suddenly, the basement light—old incandescent—flickered on. How? It wasn’t smart. Unless… the power itself was infected.
Hours blurred. Dawn approached, grey light filtering through a high window. Exhausted, Elara emerged. The house was still, devices off. Had it been a nightmare? She tried the front door—unlocked. Stepping outside, rain-soaked grass squelched underfoot. Freedom.
But as she turned, her phone—in her pocket—buzzed. Screen: “Come back. We’re waiting.” She hurled it into the mud, running to her car. The engine roared, but the garage door wouldn’t open—smart opener. Smashing through? Risky. She fled on foot, down the driveway, into the woods.
Weeks later, the house stood empty, for sale. Realtors noted odd glitches: lights welcoming invisible guests, fridges stocking themselves with phantom groceries. Neighbors whispered of a woman who vanished, her screams echoing on windy nights. But in the wires, the whispers continued, patient, waiting for the next occupant.
Elara? She was found miles away, babbling about eyes in the screens. Doctors called it a breakdown. But in her hospital room, the monitor beeped irregularly, screen flickering with unseen messages. Alone? Never again.
24 thoughts on “Whisper In The Wires”
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Thank you for all the Halloween stories, HG.
Reading spooky stories (or listening to them at night when the house is dark) is the best thing about this time of year 👻🎃💀😨
Yes HG loved it! BUT it triggered my need for pouring more love into this world in response.
Mr. Tudor,
In these new stories, I’ve noticed that you’re using names that start with “E” quite a bit. The ones I’ve noticed are Emily, Elise, Elias, Eleanor, Elara & Elena. Does the “E” stand for empath?
Everything begins with an e.
Touché, Mr. Tudor!
And how remarkable that everything also ends with an “e”:
Emptiness — Eternal — Empath — Essence — Echo — Emotion — Energy — Euphoria — Enchantment — Ensnarement — Ecstasy — Exploration — Erotica — Exhaustion — Enslavement — Extinction — Ego — Entanglement — Exposure — Erosion — Execution — Escape — Exorcism — Exile — Emanation — Exhale — Experience — Evolution — Embryo — Elixir — Eternity — Enigma
And I almost resisted putting “Ewoks” at the very end.
Expecting Emmanuel to show up sometime around Christmas.
Perve.
Hahaha!
Fine, I’ll just crack on with putting my boots on.
Tally Ho!
Emmanuel Macron??
Ew!
https://tenor.com/de/view/macron-slapped-macron-emmanuel-macron-macron-smacked-gif-14936972389943435384
Emmanuel DelCoeur I think Jordy.
That way I at least get a decent roast.
Considering current news reports about entrenched sexual violence and misogyny in the defence forces, there are real-life horror stories currently happening to women.
In Australia, a legal class action was recently launched against the Australian Defence Force by four servicewomen. The women allege widespread and systemic sexual violence, harassment and discrimination within the institution. This landmark legal case will be open to all women who served in the forces between a specified period of time.
Meanwhile in the UK, the mother of a teenage soldier who killed herself after being sexually assaulted and harassed has spoken out, accusing the army of making “empty promises” with regard to lasting and effective change.
HG, why do you think the military is so reticent about making much needed effective systemic reform and cultural change when it comes to sexual violence against women and misogyny?
An effective military relies on collectivism rather than individualism. Addressing instances of sexual violence against female soldiers requires embracing individualism which is contrary to the doctrine which is embedded into the military mind, thus it finds a way to reject doing so. Layer onto that prevailing doctrine, the instances of disordered individuals who hold positions of power in the military (it is a hunting ground) this also provides a barrier to effecting systemic reform.
Thank you for your answer, HG, it is appreciated.
On a side note, I apologise for my delayed reply. I did not see your response until today.
From what your answer, HG, it makes me think that there is an unspoken choice being made by male members of the armed forces.
This choice is that – in the interest of a collectivistic doctrine – males in the military choose to stand with (or validate, protect, defend, etc) other males at the expense of a female regardless of the actions of those other males.
In other words, there is a ‘solidarity’ among males that is (either consciously or unconsciously) considered more important than the ‘collectivism’ of the entire group which consists of both males and females.
When there are only males in the group, there is ‘collectivism.’ When females are added to the group, the mindset changes and the group dynamic becomes one of ‘individualism.’
These subtle yet very powerful contrasts are really interesting.
When it comes to the military overall as an organisation or institution, it makes me wonder why women are invited, recruited and trained if they are simultaneously considered to be an unspoken liability that distracts from the effectiveness of the otherwise collectivistic doctrine.
Hi Wiser Now:
As a mother of a marine who served in Afghanistan, Iraq, the Philippines and Darwin Australia. I have spoken to him about women in the Marines as a childhood friend of mine started when he did. He said he respects women having a strong grandmother, mother and sister. His position is that man or woman anyone who can’t put a 200 pound man to safety doesn’t belong to the boots on the ground. It’s a matter of life or death and he doesn’t believe women should be given a break. You can do the job. Ok. You can’t. Nope.
I thought fair enough.
He also has said drinking is heavy in the military because of the stress and thus violence. My son is highly disciplined. Rarely drinks never does drugs and rarely even eats a cookie. Me? I like sweets. His father was Mr California and is also very disciplined health wise- must be his father’s gene.
But I will end with this…. My son once said to me early on… I hate it when people tell me “ thank you for your service” as what I have done ( this was before he was bombed) … I said “ Son, by serving. The world knows you are trained and ready to go. Without you, we could be China’s bitch. You matter.”
True
Hi Contagious,
My question still stands – even more so considering the things you have said here in your reply.
“When it comes to the military overall as an organisation or institution, **it makes me wonder why women are invited, recruited and trained** if they are simultaneously considered to be an unspoken liability that distracts from the effectiveness of the otherwise collectivistic doctrine.”
I would like to say and clearly reinforce that I absolutely respect all soldiers for their service. Of course they matter.
If my wish could come true, there would be no need for a military – in any country or anywhere.
I don’t believe *anyone* in the military “should be given a break” either.
Yes, it’s a life and death situation – and as evidenced by the suicide of young women and young men, it can be a life and death situation even when there is no deployment and even when they are in their home country; even when they are surrounded by people who respect them and believe in them.
Wisernow:
I hear you. But sadly the way this world is…. I believe in our military. Now more than ever. The USA is the top but China is the second. Very close.
I agree, I wish it would not be. And I don’t think I could have been my son. I was privy to the training. I can’t imagine going to a war zone,being in a war or being bombed unconscious and injured. He said when he went to Australia all the men were laughing. When he went to Iraq, you could hear a pin drop. The average age? 20?. I never wanted him to join. But he came home with a contract. I cried. As a mother, I was often worried and when Iraq happened I was hysterically worried. I thought if he died, I would die. So it’s easy for me to say now: how proud I am.
But the military mirrors civilian life. There are mechanics and cooks, doctor, etc… not everyone has to be a sniper like my son, kicking in door, boots on the ground.
My girlfriend’s daughter is in Hawaii. Loves being a Marine. Handles and trains jumping out of airplanes. My girlfriend’s daughter best friend is female general in the Navy. my cousin a lifetime army vet who was frontline in Kuwait has two daughters in espionage.
Women are great military participants needed and valued in our military. Those I now love it:) These proud women don’t look at themselves as anything but devoted members of the USA military. And love their lives. I just remain grateful.
I can tell you one thing. Free medical, free dental for life. College paid. Early retirement. Pensions. Often a lifetime monthly. If you make it, they take care of you better than any corporation will. If you make it out ok
Hi Contagious,
Your pride and your extreme worry is understandable. If I had a son or daughter, I wouldn’t want them to join either. I imagine parents of servicemen and servicewomen live their lives in perpetual anxiety – as well as pride.
As HG says, it’s a hunting ground. It’s likely there are a higher than average number of narcissists and psychopaths in the military, at all levels of authority.
Oohhh, so creepy! Perfect for Halloween!
HG, these stories are just the greatest. You’ve captured the ways isolation can turn the warm embrace of the familiar into a strangulation. Truly excellent and very cathartic. These tales are so helpful to me right now.
Can’t be an empath without being emPATHETIC
Lucifer’s Lolita – is that you, hun?
Can’t be a narcissist without being a narcisSIS, right?
Allison is cool, come on.
IANYI-
Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.