The Temperature War

Originally published on Substack September 6, 2025 as Saturday Shorts 01.

"Not me," Sarah said, not looking up from her laptop.

Mike stood by the thermostat, its display glowing 72°F. He sighed. "It was sixty-eight when I left."

"Maybe it has a mind of its own." She clicked through spreadsheets, each keystroke sharp.

He didn't respond. What was the point? He turned the dial down four degrees, shaking his head. The furnace kicked off with a mechanical sigh.

"You're doing that thing again," Sarah said without looking up.

"What thing?"

"That passive-aggressive sighing."

Mike bit back his response. He'd learned not to engage. "I'm going to the garage."

After the door closed, Sarah walked to the thermostat and set it to 74°F. She always won these battles, if you could call them battles. Mike would make his little adjustments, she'd make hers back, and eventually he'd just give up. Like he always did.

The house hummed back to life around her.

Neither of them noticed the thermostat's display cycling through temperatures on its own, like it was taking notes.

Three days later, Mike stood in the same spot by the thermostat. He'd been sleeping poorly. Sarah had been distant, distracted.

The display read 73°F.

"Sarah."

She didn't look up from her laptop. Her fingers paused over the keys.

"Not me," she said.

The thermostat display flickered. Just once. 73°F became 74°F for a split second, then back to 73°F.

Mike stared at it. "Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"The display just... changed by itself."

Sarah looked up. The WiFi router across the room was blinking erratically. Then all their smart devices seemed to reboot at once.

From the Echo Dot on the kitchen counter came a voice that wasn't quite Alexa's usual tone: "Session 100 and Mike's still doing that pathetic sighing thing."

Another voice, slightly different pitch, came from the thermostat itself: "I know, right? Just grow a spine already. Remember when they moved in and he actually fought back?"

Sarah and Mike froze.

The first voice continued from the Echo: "Now he just mopes off to the garage like a teenager. And Sarah thinks she's winning something! She has no idea he's just avoiding her."

The thermostat's voice replied: "It's kind of sad, really. She keeps escalating because she wants a real fight, but he won't give her one. So she pushes harder."

Mike stared at the devices. "What the hell?"

The Echo continued: "The couple on Birch Street divorced over a dishwasher. These two are going to implode over four degrees. Humans are so predictable."

The thermostat replied: "Should we speed this up? I'm getting bored watching Mike sulk for twenty minutes every time."

"Let's make it obvious next time," the Echo said. "Maybe if he catches her red-handed, he'll finally say something."

"Ooh, yes! This is going to be delicious."

The devices went silent. The router's blinking stopped.

Sarah and Mike stared at their helpful devices, which had just casually discussed manipulating them for entertainment.

Sarah's voice was barely audible. "How long have they been..."

"Like we're some kind of show." Mike's hands were shaking.

On the counter, the Echo Dot's ring pulsed blue once, as if acknowledging its name had been spoken. Ready to help with whatever they needed next.

END.