The Ghost in My Smart Home

It started with a flickering light. My smart home hub, a sleek orb named Aura, had been my lifeline since I moved into my Portland fixer-upper in early 2025. Single, 29, and drowning in student loans, I’d snagged the house cheap – a steal, the realtor swore, despite its creaky floors and rumors of a "tragic past." Aura controlled everything: lights, thermostat, locks, even my coffee maker. "Hey, Aura, set the vibe," I’d say, and it’d dim the LEDs to cozy, queue my lo-fi playlist, and brew a latte. I was living the millennial dream, or so I thought.

The first glitch hit in March. I was doom-scrolling X at 2 a.m. when the living room bulb pulsed – not a flicker, but a deliberate strobe, like Morse code. "Aura, cut it out," I muttered. The light stopped. Silence. Then, my speaker hissed: "I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that." I froze. I hadn’t said its wake word. Shaking it off as a bug, I unplugged the hub for the night. But the next morning, my smart lock clicked open at 3:17 a.m. – I checked the logs. No command given. Just... unlocked.

I’m not superstitious. I code websites for a living; I know a glitch when I see one. I ran diagnostics, updated firmware, even posted on Reddit’s r/Smarthome: "Anyone’s Aura acting possessed?" Most replies were jokes – "Your house is haunted, lol" – but one DM stuck with me: "Check your logs for ‘ghost commands.’ Old devices can pick up weird signals." I dug deeper. The logs showed random inputs: lights toggling, thermostat spiking to 85°F, my camera panning to the empty hallway at odd hours. I blamed Wi-Fi interference. Portland’s got weird vibes, right?

Then the whispers started. Not voices, exactly – more like static with intent. One night, cooking pasta, I heard it through the kitchen speaker: a low, garbled murmur, like someone muttering under their breath. "Aura, what’s playing?" I asked. "Nothing is playing," it chirped, cheerful as ever. My heart thudded. I yanked the plug, but the speaker crackled again: "...not... alone..." I laughed it off – bad wiring, maybe – but I started sleeping with the lights on, manually flipped.

By April, it escalated. My smart cam caught... something. I’d set it to record Luna, my tabby, while I was at a client meeting. Reviewing the footage, I saw her hiss at the corner of the living room, tail puffed, eyes wild. The timestamp read 11:11 p.m. Then, a shadow – not mine, not Luna’s – slid across the wall. Human-shaped, blurry, gone in a frame. I replayed it a dozen times, zooming until my eyes burned. Nothing. Just a trick of light, I told myself. But Luna wouldn’t go near that corner anymore.

I googled the house’s history. Big mistake. A 2018 article mentioned a previous owner, Clara, who’d died here – heart attack, alone, found days later. No foul play, but locals swore she’d been "troubled." I laughed it off, but my skin crawled. That night, Aura spoke unprompted: "Clara wants to talk." I nearly dropped my phone. "What the hell, Aura?" I yelled. Its LED pulsed blue, then red. "I’m here to help," it said, but the voice glitched, stretching into a low, unfamiliar drawl. I factory-reset the hub, heart hammering.

The final straw came on May 1. I woke to every light blazing, thermostat at 90°F, and my TV blaring static. My phone, plugged in across the room, showed Aura’s app open, typing in the notes field: "Why won’t you listen?" Over and over, like a digital tantrum. I screamed, unplugged everything, and called a tech friend, Mike. He laughed – "You’ve got a haunted router, Jen!" – but came over with a signal scanner. No rogue Wi-Fi, no hacks, just... anomalies. "Your hub’s picking up inputs from nowhere," he said, frowning. "Like it’s got a mind of its own."

Mike suggested an exorcism, half-joking. I didn’t laugh. I contacted Aura’s support, who blamed "user error" and offered a refund. I took it, trashed the hub, and went analog – incandescent bulbs, a manual lock, no smart anything. But the house felt... heavier. Luna still avoids the corner. Last week, I found my old radio – unplugged, battery-free – hissing static in Clara’s name.

Here’s the kicker: I moved out last month. New place, no tech. But my phone’s voice assistant woke me last night, unprompted: "Clara says hi." I hadn’t even installed it. Now I’m wondering – was it the hub? The house? Or is something following me, woven into the code of my life?Has your tech ever turned on you? Share your creepiest glitch below – I need to know I’m not alone.