It happened about six months ago, and I still get chills thinking about it. It was close to midnight, and I was alone in my small house, scrolling through my phone before bed. Everything was quiet—until my Alexa lit up and said, in that flat robotic voice, “Check the basement.” I hadn’t said a word. My hands weren’t near it. The silence afterward felt deafening. I got up, half-convinced it was a glitch, and opened the basement door. The light was already on. I stepped down—and the moment my foot hit the third step, every light in the house went out.
I froze in total blackness. It lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough. I slipped, landing hard on my back, pain shooting up my spine. Not a dramatic tumble—just one of those ugly, jarring falls that leaves you breathless and bruised.
When the lights flicked back on, I didn’t hesitate. I scrambled up the stairs, bolted out the front door, and ran straight to a friend’s house. I didn’t stop to grab anything. I just needed to get away.
I stayed there that night, sore and shaken. I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that yellow basement glow and heard Alexa’s voice echoing in my head.
Later, I had a technician check everything. No wiring issues. No connection between Alexa and the lights. No explanation. Just a perfectly functioning house with a perfectly terrifying memory.
To this day, I avoid the basement unless absolutely necessary. And every time Alexa lights up, I feel my heart skip. I don’t know what happened that night—but I know it wasn’t normal.
