People think the scariest thing in my shop is the shelf full of dead hard drives.
They're wrong.
It's the silence.
Because when a computer makes noise all by itself...
...you listen.
The rain had finally stopped.
The neon OPEN sign cast a dull red glow across the workshop as I locked the front door for the evening.
Another day.
Three virus removals.
One laptop rescued from a spilled latte.
And a printer that had somehow fixed itself the moment its owner walked through my door.
I switched off the lights.
Almost all of them.
The workbench lamp stayed on.
Old habit.
A shop should never be completely dark.
I was halfway to the door when I heard it.
"Hello..."
I froze.
Soft.
Electronic.
Almost impossible to place.
I waited.
Nothing.
Probably the building settling.
I reached for the light switch again.
"Hello..."
This time it came from somewhere behind me.
I slowly turned.
Rows of computers sat quietly on the shelves.
Monitors black.
Power lights dark.
Nothing moving.
The rubber duck stared at me from the top shelf.
Even he looked concerned.
I walked between the benches one slow step at a time.
The voice hadn't been loud.
Just...
Close.
The kind of sound that makes the hair on your arms stand up.
I stopped beside an old desktop waiting for recycling.
Dead.
Unplugged.
Couldn't be that one.
Then...
"Hello?"
Louder now.
Almost impatient.
I smiled despite myself.
"Very funny."
No answer.
I checked under the bench.
Nothing.
Behind the shelves.
Nothing.
Inside the cabinet.
Nothing.
The shop had become unnaturally still.
Even the old refrigerator had stopped humming.
Then it happened again.
"Hello?"
From directly behind me.
I spun around.
Nothing.
Except...
A dusty cardboard box.
One I'd nearly forgotten.
Inside was a pile of electronics waiting to be sorted.
Old keyboards.
Broken webcams.
Retired routers.
And one...
Wireless headset.
Its tiny power light blinked.
I picked it up.
The battery, somehow, still had enough charge to stay alive.
A button on one ear cup had been wedged down by another box.
The headset had entered pairing mode.
Every thirty seconds it called out into the darkness.
"Hello."
Waiting for someone to answer.
I laughed so hard I had to sit down.
For five minutes I'd been hunting ghosts.
Instead...
I'd been interrogated by a Bluetooth headset.
The next morning, my first customer asked the usual question.
"Busy night?"
I looked over at the cardboard box.
The headset now sat neatly on the charging shelf with a sticky note attached.
Evidence.
I smiled.
"You could say that."
I didn't mention the ghost.
Some stories lose their charm when they're explained too quickly.
Before locking up that evening, I glanced toward the rubber duck.
He hadn't moved.
Of course he hadn't.
Still...
I could've sworn he looked amused.
Case Closed
Workshop Lesson: Many Bluetooth headsets, speakers, and other wireless devices announce "Pairing," "Hello," or "Ready to connect" when powered on. If you're hearing mysterious voices in your workshop, check for forgotten gadgets with enough battery left to surprise you.
Because sometimes...
...the things that go bump in the night...
...are just waiting to pair.
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