The Breathing Fortress

The house is breathing, and I’m the only one with a key,

or so I thought until the biometric scanner on the front door turned crimson

and whispered my name in a voice that wasn't mine. I’ve been house-sitting

this minimalist concrete fortress for three days, but tonight the smart-glass windows

have turned opaque, sealing me inside a silent, soundproof tomb. Follow and like

for more. The temperature is plummeting, the central heating replaced by a

frigid, artificial draft that smells like ozone and copper. Every motion-sensor light

flickers to life just seconds before I enter a room as if something