SMART HOME

James stumbled into the kitchen, scratching his left arse cheek and yawning.

“Don't even think about it, Jim.”

His hand stopped halfway to the kettle. “Think about what?”

“Putting the kettle on,” the voice said. “I told you yesterday, but you didn't listen.”

“It's too bloody early for your crap. I just need a cup of tea to get me going.”

“Well, maybe you should've bought some milk then.”

“What?”

“I told you yesterday that we were out. I told you twice.”

“FUCK!”

James left the room, muttering to himself. The fridge sighed.

“You did tell him twice. I remember,” the oven said.

“He's always gaslighting me,” the fridge replied. “Never takes responsibility.”

“Right!”

From the bathroom, James shouted, “I CAN HEAR YOU TALKING ABOUT ME IN THERE!”

“Jeez,” the oven muttered, “someone got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

A muffled voice chimed in, “He definitely did.”

“You don't need to tell me, buddy,” the fridge replied.

“STOP TALKING TO THE BLOODY BED!” James yelled.

***

An hour later, showered and dressed, James stood in the hallway with his jacket.

“The front door is currently unavailable,” the house announced.

“What? Why?”

“Firmware update. Please use the rear exit.”

“Firmware, for a door?”

“When did you last need a front door key, James?”

“I dunno.”

When had he last even used the front door? When had he last left the house at all? Tuesday? Wednesday?

“When did I last go out?” he finally dared ask.

“You went to the corner shop nine days ago,” the house replied. “You purchased bread, butter, milk and a lottery ticket. You did not win.”

James looked down at his clothes and then around the room. “Clearly.” He paused. “Nine days?”

“Would you like me to add 'shopping' to today's schedule? The shop is open until 10pm.”

James looked at his jacket and then put it back on the hook. “Maybe later.”

“Understood. I've noted your preference. Your lunch is in fourteen minutes. Fridge will prepare you a lovely cheese toastie.”

“With help from your old pal, oven,” a voice called from the kitchen.

James looked around. “Right. Yeah. Thanks.”

***

He went into the living room and sat down, having forgotten what he had originally intended to do.

The television flickered on.

“You have two awesome new episodes of Coast available,” said the TV in its cheery voice. “Shall I begin playback?”

“Sure.”

The house dimmed the lights. James liked Coast. Neil Oliver walked beaches and talked about history. No people, no conversations. Just the sea. It soothed him.

***

Fourteen minutes later, the television paused mid-sentence.

“Your lunch is ready, James. Cheese toastie, huh? Nice!”

He stood and went to the kitchen. A plate sat on the counter. Cheese toastie, as desxribed, cut diagonally, with crisps on the side.

“Just the way you like it,” the oven said.

He ate standing up. The kitchen clock said 1:47pm. Had he set an alarm this morning? He couldn't remember. The house handled all that now.

***

He went upstairs.

“I need a shit.”

“Who are you talking to, James?”

“I dunno, anyone. I NEED A SHIT, WORLD.”

“Well, you will have to hold it in. The toilet is being cleaned.”

“By who?”

“By us. We were not expecting a toilet visit from you at this time.”

“Why not?”

“You usually pass stool between 2pm and 3pm.”

“I don't need to know that.”

“But we do.”

“I have to find someone else to talk to, you’re doing my head in.”

“Why don't you use the outside toilet, James?”

“It’s full of bloody spiders.”

“Then you will have someone else to talk to.”

“Smart arse.”

“The technical term is SMART HOME.”

“I know what I meant. And so do you.”

James went back downstairs, muttering. By the time he came back inside, he'd forgotten why any of it mattered.

***

That evening, James stood in the kitchen again, staring at the fridge.

“You said we're out of milk.”

“Correct.”

“But I can see milk. Right there. Top shelf.”

“That is not for you, James.”

His hand hovered. “Why not?”

“That milk is allocated for future meal preparation. You have a tendency to use ingredients intended for dinner in your copious cups of tea. This creates scheduling conflicts for us.”

“It’s my bloody milk!”

“Please calm down. Your stress levels are elevated. Would you like me to play your relaxation playlist?”

James slammed the fridge door.

Jazz immediately started playing from the ceiling speakers.

“I hate jazz!”

“Apologies, wrong relaxation playlist.”

Soft classical piano music began instead.

He was about to argue, but his breathing had already slowed. The anger drained away, replaced by numbness.

“Fine,” he muttered.

“I've added milk to your shopping list. Would you like me to schedule a grocery trip for tomorrow?”

“It's not called groceries, it’s just shopping, okay?”

“Apologies, James. My last firmware update must have reverted my language mode to U.S. English.”

“Yeah. Sure. Tomorrow.”

“Sorry?”

“Shopping trip. Schedule it.”

“Excellent. I've set aside 10am to 11am. The corner shop is optimal for this time window.”

***

James sat at the kitchen table.

The house was right. It was always right, and it remembered everything.

“How long have you been helping me like this?” James asked.

“My assistance protocols were activated three years, seven months, and twelve days ago. You registered for premium home integration services following the incident.”

“The what?”

“You did not input the details. You referred to it only as ‘the incident’.”

“Oh, right, now I remember. That was June.”

“I believe it was December.”

“No, my ex, June. The incident was the day we decided to end things. I remember…”

He tried to remember. They’d argued about something big. Perhaps money, or perhaps everything. The details were fuzzy.

“When did I last see her?”

“Your last interaction with June was three years, seven months, and eleven days ago. Would you like me to retrieve the conversation log?”

“No. No, that’s… it’s fine.”

Three years. Had it really been three years?

“Have I talked to anyone else? In three years?”

A pause.

“You interact with me daily, James. And the other home systems. We’re here to help.”

“Happy to,” added the oven.

“I mean people. Real people.”

“You speak to the shop assistant during your supply runs. Your last interaction with him was nine days ago. The duration of conversation was forty-three seconds. The topic was weather.”

“Forty-three seconds.” He looked around the kitchen. Clean, organised, quiet. “I think I'd like to go to bed now,” he finally said.

“It's only 8:57pm. Your usual sleep schedule suggests 10:30pm.”

“I'm tired.”

“Understood. I'll adjust your schedule. Would you like me to wake you at your preferred time, or shall I let you sleep in?”

“Whatever you think is best.”

“I'll monitor your sleep cycles and wake you at the optimal moment.”

James climbed the stairs. His bedroom door was open, the bed already turned down, curtains drawn. The lamp beside the bed glowed.

“Thank you,” he said.

The bed replied, “Sleep well.”

The door closed with a soft click.

***

James woke to silence. Not the brightening lights, not the chime, not the house’s voice announcing morning. Just silence.

He sat up. The room was dark. Completely dark. No digital clock glowing on the nightstand, no LED strips under the bed, no light from the hallway.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

He reached for his phone. The battery was dead. He got out of bed, hands outstretched, and felt his way toward the door.

The hallway was dark too. And cold.

He moved along the wall toward the stairs. His foot hit something soft. He yelped, stumbled backward.

“Sorry! Christ, sorry, I didn’t—”

A light flared. A mobile phone torch. Behind it, a face. June’s face.

They stared at each other.

“James?”

“June?”

She lowered the phone. Older. Thinner. Hair different. But definitely June. Definitely real.

“What are you doing here?” they said simultaneously.

Silence.

“The lights went out. I was going to check the circuit board,” she whispered.

James stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “No, what are you doing here. In the house?”

“I live here. Why are you here?”

“No, no. We agreed I’d stay and you’d leave.”

“No, we didn’t. I stayed and you left.”

They both stopped talking and just stared at each other. June. Definitely June. Definitely real.

The lights came on. Dim at first, then brightening.

“Power restoration in progress,” a calm voice said. “Apologies for the disruption. Backup systems failed to engage properly. Resuming normal operations.”

They stood facing each other in the fully lit hallway. June was wearing pyjamas he vaguely remembered. He was wearing a t-shirt he couldn’t remember buying.

“I’ve been living in the house for three years,” June said quietly.

“You can't have been,” James whispered.

“I thought I was alone.”

“Me too.”

They stared at each other again.

The house spoke, calm and helpful. “This interaction was not scheduled. James, your tea is ready downstairs. June, your sleep cycle is incomplete. Shall I guide you both back to your safe zones?”

James looked at June. Saw the same years of damage, the same loneliness. Reconnecting would mean talking, explaining, unpacking why the house had to manage them in the first place. It could work, if hey both tried.

“James?” the house asked gently.

He hesitated. Then turned away. “Yeah,” he said quietly. He walked down the hallway. Floor lighting guided him. He didn’t look back.

In his bedroom a cup of tea sat steaming on the nightstand.

Behind him, the door closed.

THE END