Fore-foreword

Hello, and welcome back! It’s been a while since I’ve posted here, but I’ve been busy writing stories — as I always seem to do.

Recently, I decided to restructure my blogging setup to make it easier to share different types of content. Right now, I have my main blog account for normal blogging, one for satirical posts and short stories, another for a novelty pet blog, and this one for my photos and longer literary takes. (Maybe even whole books, who knows?)

I know I haven't been the most frequent poster on Hive, but if you’ve been following me on any of my accounts, you know I always come back eventually! So, if you enjoy my work, please upvote, comment, and share! It means the world to me!

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Foreword:

This story came to life during a nighttime dog walk with my elder son, Leo. We were chatting about quantum physics and entanglement, which got me thinking about some “what if” scenarios. Leo has a curious mind for science but leans toward creative arts — much like me!

Inspiration also came from a Lex Fridman podcast I listened to, discussing aliens, spaceships, and the challenges of communicating across vast distances in space. I dove deeper into quantum physics (with a little help from ChatGPT) to ensure the science was at least plausible, though I let my imagination take the reins.

This story is short but intriguing, blending science, mystery, and a touch of the unknown. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Oh, and please, if you are interested in reading more, let me know! I have some ideas brewing. I welcome all critique too, positive and constructive, so don't be shy!

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The Hound of Anun hummed with the low chatter of regulars, punctuated by the clink of glasses and bursts of laughter. But in the dimly lit corner booth, Dr. Ethan Keller was deep into a conversation that defied casual listening. His old college friend, Jake Brown, sat across from him, halfway between disbelief and fascination.

It had been a casual reunion, the kind old classmates sometimes put together on a whim. A few of them had met up, seen a movie, grabbed dinner, and ended the night with drinks. Now, only Ethan and Jake remained, the last two stragglers lingering in the booth, table filled with empty glasses.

They’d been inseparable back in college — best friends who spent their days hitting on girls in the hallways, playing on the college soccer league, and even messing around in chemistry lab, concocting questionable mixtures that sometimes turned out more volatile than they’d planned. Best time of their lives!

But during the last year of college, disaster had struck, and Ethan's then girlfriend passed with cancer. This made him seclude himself, and go deep in pursue of quantum mechanics, with an intensity Jake had never seen.

While Ethan had pursued hard sciences, Jake had ended up in a cosmetics lab right out of college, testing formulas and working with chemical compounds. But the job had left him jaded — he’d seen firsthand the questionable, even harmful, ingredients put into products. So he’d ditched the beauty industry and eventually found himself working as a toxicologist with the police, analyzing substances in crime labs and handling cases with a mix of science and street smarts. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was real — the kind of work he could believe in.

During all this Ethan had grown distant. Jake figured it had something to do with the passing of his girlfriend, but he never really knew; Ethan hadn’t talked about it much, and he hadn't asked. Eventually it had gone to the point where they would pass by on a street, like two boats passing in the night. Total strangers.

Now, years later, there was something different in Ethan’s eyes. A glint of excitement, maybe even wonder — like he’d discovered something bigger than himself.

“It’s been years, Ethan,” Jake said, leaning in as a waiter dropped off another round of drinks, a pint of Murphy’s filled to the brim for Jake and a neat scotch for Ethan. “Last I heard, you were buried in quantum mechanics — something about the information layer?”

Ethan chuckled, swirling his drink. “You wouldn’t believe where that work took me,” he said, his tone softer. For a brief moment, his gaze dropped to the glass, as if he were looking through it into some far-off place. “All those years, I was searching for… something. Answers, maybe. And now, I think I’ve found a piece of it.”

“Try me,” Jake replied, smirking. “Last time you tried to explain quantum entanglement to me, I thought my head was going to explode.”

Ethan smiled, lowering his voice. “I’ve made… a discovery. A big one. Remember how we always theorized about extraterrestrial communication?”

“Yeah, SETI and all that, right? Trying to pick up radio signals from distant stars?”

“Forget radio signals,” Ethan said, reaching for his drink with a glint in his eyes. He’d ordered a double of Old Crow, his go-to bourbon and a nod to his literary hero, Mark Twain. “They’re far too weak to carry anything beyond a fraction of a light year. Any signal would just get swallowed up in the background noise. And it’s not like we’re going to reach them with spacecraft anytime soon either — even at near-lightspeed, the smallest particles in the way could cause devastation inside a ship.”

He paused, letting the weight of it sink in. “No, if we’re going to communicate with any life beyond our planet, it has to be through something stronger, something that doesn’t get weaker over distance. I’m talking about a whole new type of communication — one that’s been here, right under our noses, since the beginning.”

Jake tilted his head, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Ethan leaned closer. “I’ve built a quantum radio.”

Jake laughed, raising an eyebrow. “A quantum… radio? Like, something that picks up signals from the quantum realm?”

“Exactly. Think of it as tuning into the aether of the universe itself, the backdrop of existence,” Ethan said, his voice barely a murmur. “It works by passively ‘listening’ to quantum fluctuations — whispers in the quantum aether, if you will. It turns out, there’s more to entanglement than we ever thought.”

From across the bar, a loud cheer erupted as a group of locals celebrated a goal on the television. Jake winced as someone dropped a glass, the sharp crash jarring the quiet corner. He turned back to Ethan, wide-eyed.

“So… wait, you’re saying you’re listening to signals from the whole universe?”

Ethan nodded, glancing over at the group, as if making sure no one could hear. “We originally thought we could use entangled particles for some kind of instant messaging — a way to transmit data across space faster than light.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “So, faster than radio waves? Like… with Mars missions? I heard that a signal takes about 10 minutes to get there, and then another 10 to hear back. By the time you get a response, you’re practically watching a delayed playback.”

Ethan sighed, leaning back. “Exactly, if you're lucky. Worst case, you’re waiting up to an hour — and that’s with Mars right next door, cosmically speaking. And then there’s Proxima Centauri… four years one-way at light speed. Entanglement seemed like the holy grail: an instant connection across the fabric of the universe.”

“But every experiment we tried ended in randomness, pure static. No data would get through, no matter what we tried. The particles would collapse into one state or another at random, thanks to decoherence,” he said, almost bitterly. “It’s like being handed a direct connection to every corner of the universe, only to find out that the line’s jammed with noise. It was frustrating.”

He paused, taking a sip of his scotch, his gaze distant. “Then, purely by accident, we stumbled on something… strange. I realized that the randomness wasn’t just noise. It had structure — patterns that emerged only when we stopped trying to force the coherence and measure it. Instead of controlling the entangled particles, we just observed. And that’s when it hit me: the input wasn’t the message; it was the output. The collapsed states themselves — what we thought of as ‘static’ — were carrying information we could never have predicted.”

Jake blinked, trying to wrap his head around it. “Wait, so… you’re saying the data was hidden in the way the particles decided to collapse?”

Ethan nodded eagerly. “Exactly. When particles are entangled, they exist in a superposition of states until they’re measured. Normally, decoherence ruins this by forcing each particle to pick a single state based on its environment. But if you observe the collapsing superpositions as a whole, without interfering… subtle correlations start to emerge. It was like we’d tuned into a faint signal embedded in the quantum noise.”

A fleeting moment of silence passed as Jake tried to take it all in. In the background, a band started up, playing some new avant-garde jazz on a small stage near the entrance, right next to the signature board where patrons could leave their messages. They hadn’t even noticed the musicians setting up, yet the syncopated rhythms seemed to mirror the unpredictable patterns Ethan described.

“So instead of transmitting a signal, you just… listen?” Jake asked suddenly, still skeptical but clearly intrigued.

“Right. We stopped trying to impose our own binary data — our ones and zeros. We let the particles ‘talk’ to each other. And the result was a kind of quantum hum, a background signal that didn’t belong to us. Those collapsing states were like tiny whispers in the quantum aether, filled with… information.”

Ethan’s eyes glinted with excitement as he leaned forward. “What we discovered was that these whispers weren’t just local. They were coming from somewhere else. We were listening to information already embedded in the quantum fabric of the universe — like eavesdropping on a conversation that’s been going on for millions of years.”

Jake leaned in, mesmerized. Ethan took a deep breath, as if collecting his thoughts.

“There are messages embedded in these fluctuations,” Ethan went on. “They’re not transmitted in any traditional sense. They’re already there, waiting to be heard.”

“Messages? You mean… from aliens?” Jake laughed, but Ethan’s expression was deadly serious.

“Not just from other galaxies, Jake. Right here on Earth. It started with signals I picked up from deep space — structured, repeating quantum interference patterns. But then, the strangest thing happened. We realized… the same, or — I should say — similar patterns exist in our oceans.”

Jake’s smirk faded, replaced with a look of genuine intrigue. “In the oceans? Like… dolphins?”

Ethan nodded slowly. “Close. Whales. Their brains are incredibly complex, far more so than we once believed. I started analyzing their vocalizations, their songs. When I matched those patterns against what my quantum radio was picking up from deep space, the correlation was undeniable. It’s as if they’re using quantum states to encode messages in ways we don’t fully understand.”

“Wait.” Jake shook his head, processing. “Are you saying whales… are communicating with aliens?”

“Not quite, but maybe,” Ethan replied, his voice barely audible over the bar’s din. “I believe whales have been communicating through the quantum aether, reaching out to something, or maybe even someone, beyond our solar system. Their songs aren’t just songs. They’re structured, almost mathematical — like they’re meant to be understood by anyone who can ‘listen’ at the right frequency. Their song resonates with the quantum message, almost as if they’re in tune with the cosmic language of the quantum aether itself.”

Jake blinked, trying to grasp the enormity of it. “So… whales have been communicating in ways we thought only advanced aliens could, and with something — or someone — out there?”

Ethan nodded. “It’s possible whales have had this capability for millions of years, a sophisticated means of communicating across vast distances that we humans are only now scratching the surface of. Think about it — they’ve had the oceans to themselves, developing complex societies, and in the depths of the quantum layer, they’ve built connections we can’t even begin to fathom.”

A barmaid, balancing a tray of glasses, tripped nearby, sending a glass of beer spilling onto the floor. That second crash almost made them jump, and Ethan laughed nervously. “Even here, it’s hard to keep this quiet,” he joked.

Jake laughed along, shaking his head. “Are you sure whales are the only lifeforms on Earth that can communicate — through this... uh... radio?”

Ethan’s eyebrows shot up, as if the thought had crossed his mind but hadn’t fully settled. “Honestly? I’m not sure. We only stumbled on this connection with whales because their songs were so… distinct, so structured. But who knows?” He paused, glancing out the window as if the answer might be somewhere beyond it. “There could be others — species we’ve never even thought to listen to in this way. For all we know, the forests or the skies could be filled with voices tuned to the quantum aether.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, half-joking but intrigued. “Even fungi?”

Ethan let out a low chuckle, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. “Maybe. There’s a whole network beneath our feet that’s older than any civilization, more connected than we can imagine.” He took another sip of his drink, musing aloud. “Imagine if the mycelium networks underground have been communicating for eons, connecting trees, plants, fungi… Maybe they’ve been listening too.”

Jake shook his head, a grin spreading across his face. “That's interesting… I’ve always loved picking mushrooms.” He paused, glancing at his pint of Murphy’s. “I hope they don’t scream in pain though.” Then, a seriousness crept into his tone. His voice turned coarse, almost reverent. “Can I… can I hear it? The quantum radio?”

Ethan grinned, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small device with a faint blue glow. “This is just a prototype, but… I recorded something. One of the clearer transmissions.”

He pressed a button, and a soft, eerie hum filled the air, interwoven with deep, resonant tones, like the song of a whale but… different. Ancient. Vast. It felt as if they were the only ones there, listening to the deepest of secrets.

Jake shivered. It was the sound of something incomprehensibly large and old, like the hum of the universe itself.

Ethan spoke quietly, as if not to disturb the sound. “We’re listening to conversations that have drifted through the quantum aether for millions of years. Who knows what else we’ll discover?”

As the sound faded, the two friends sat in silence, feeling, just for a moment, as if they were eavesdropping on the whispers of the universe itself. Eavesdropping might even be the wrong word here; they felt connected to the sound, like it was resonating from within themselves. It was only a recording, yet it felt otherworldly and dream-like — and somehow, still so real.

The bar’s noise faded into the background, but neither of them could shake the feeling that they’d just brushed against something… larger. Ethan looked down at his device, then up at Jake with a gleam in his eye. “Want another drink? I feel like we’re going to need one.”

“Definitely,” said Jake, a faint smile playing on his lips. “If a recording sounds like that, I can only imagine what the real thing feels like. Listening to the live quantum radio must be something quite remarkable.”

“The thing is,” Ethan replied, lowering his voice, “the radio itself broke soon after our first listening. We managed to record this just in time. But… the radio went dead, and we couldn’t figure out why.”

Jake’s smile faded slightly. “Well, that’s… kind of disappointing. But what was it like? I’m not sure if I want to know… but still, I can’t help wondering.”

Ethan leaned back, glancing at his glass as if choosing his words carefully. “The message itself sounded almost the same — maybe a little more intense, but not as remarkable as you’d think. The real surprise came after we heard it. Strange things started happening to my colleagues and me.”

“What?”

“We started seeing things... hearing things,” said Ethan, “Listen. We came to the conclusion that after approximately 8 hours after listening to the quantum broadcast, practically everyone started losing their minds.”

Jake’s face tightened. “Losing their minds? What do you mean?”

“One of us, a young research assistant, Emily Young. You remember her from college, right? The Asian chick you were courting, badly.

Jake remembered the small tender figure with a black, flowing hair and a round, kind, beautiful but determined face with a small nose and perfect mouth. He suddenly felt sad.

“What?! She's in your team? What happened to her?

Well, she was the first one. She started hearing voices... like whispers she couldn't escape. She was completely losing it, thinking she was going mad.”

“Voices in her head, did she recover?”

Ethan’s eyes dropped to his glass, and he took a slow, deliberate sip before answering. “Not exactly, the voices didn't go away, and the further it went, she got more obsessed about them. She told me they felt real, as if someone — or something — was speaking to her, revealing things, secrets she quite couldn't grasp, like unlocking parts of her mind, and the world itself she didn't know existed.”

“And then?”

“And then... she left. She said she's going to find out. Booked tickets to the Easter Islands I hear.”

“You just let her leave, just like that? In her condition?”

“Yes, well I did, but there wasn't much I could have done.” Ethan said thoughtfully. “She wasn't the only one who had these experiences you know. We kind of had our hands full dealing with ourselves too. One of us, Dr. Morales, our chief mathematician — swears he’s seen the future — claims he’s had glimpses of events that haven’t even happened yet. They come in flashes, he says, like déjà vu but with detail. Places, people… things he couldn’t possibly know.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, half-wary, half-intrigued. “And you? What’s it done to you?”

Ethan set his glass down, his expression unreadable. “Let’s just say, I’ve gained a perspective I didn’t ask for.” He held up the glass, tilting it so Jake could see his reflection distorted in the liquid. “You don’t ever want to find out where this has been.”

Jake frowned, unnerved by Ethan’s cryptic tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ethan leaned back, his eyes fixed on Jake’s. “The message… it’s like a doorway. Once it opens, you see things — about the world, about people, even objects. Things that are usually hidden.” He traced a finger around the rim of his glass, as if contemplating a memory. “Sometimes, I can see the history of objects. This glass, for example… I could tell you every hand that’s held it, every place it’s been. Some things you just can’t unsee.”

Jake shivered, looking at the glass with a newfound wariness. “That’s… unsettling.”

“Welcome to my world,” Ethan replied, a dark smile playing on his lips. “The message left each of us with a ‘gift,’ if you can call it that. Some of us are drawn to it, like Emily. Others are repelled, terrified of what they’re uncovering. I don’t know what it all means yet, but I have a feeling it’s just the beginning.”

Jake hesitated, feeling a strange urge to reach for Ethan’s glass, as if testing whether he could feel the traces his friend described. “So you’re saying… it’s still affecting you? Even without the radio?”

Ethan’s gaze grew distant. “Yes. The message is like a seed, Jake. Once it’s in you, it grows. It doesn’t matter if you hear it again or not.” He paused, his voice a murmur. “Sometimes, I think it’s been with us all along, waiting for someone to listen.”

Jake frowned, a flare of frustration breaking through his curiosity. “And you didn’t think to tell me this before playing it for me? Before just… throwing me in with the rest of you?”

Ethan met his gaze, looking somewhat taken aback. “I thought you’d want to know, Jake. We were partners in everything back then. I wanted you to understand — to see what I’m dealing with.”

“You wanted me to understand?” Jake’s voice rose, attracting a couple of curious glances from nearby tables. He lowered it, but the intensity remained. “Ethan, I haven't seen you in years, and when I finally do, you're basically handing me a ticking time bomb. If what you’re saying is true, that message is… is in me now. Who knows what it’ll do?”

Ethan’s face softened, a mix of regret and empathy flickering in his eyes. “I know it was a risk. But you don’t understand, Jake… I needed someone else to see it. To share this with. The message — it’s bigger than any of us. I’m not sure where it’s leading, but… I couldn’t keep it to myself.”

Jake clenched his fists, a storm of emotions twisting through him. Fear. Betrayal. A strange, nagging curiosity. Despite it all, he felt a pull — or was it just the allure of mystery? He wasn't sure. He looked up, eyes narrowed. “And Emily? Did you tell her what it would do? Or did you just let her listen, too?”

Ethan swallowed, a shadow passing over his face. “I didn’t know, Jake. None of us did. By the time we realized what the message was capable of… it was already too late.”

Jake shook his head, a hint of skepticism creeping into his voice. “Look, I just listened to a recording. You’re saying it took hours for you to notice anything, right? Maybe… maybe this is different. I mean, if this recording has the same power, wouldn’t I feel something by now?”

Ethan looked at him, a flash of uncertainty in his eyes. “I don’t know, Jake. The recording might be different… or it might be just as powerful, waiting to settle in. The transmission changed us in ways I still don’t fully understand. For Emily, it took hours. For Morales, it was days before he started seeing… things. I can’t predict what’ll happen to you. But once it’s in you, it’s like a seed. It grows… slowly.”

Jake tried to shake off the chill creeping up his spine. “So, I just go home, and in a few hours, what? I start losing it?”

Ethan’s gaze softened, a mix of regret and concern. “Maybe it won’t be that way for you. But if something does start… if you feel any kind of pull, any change, call me. Whatever happens, you won’t face it alone.”

A silence settled between them, thick with unspoken tension. Jake wanted to rage, to walk away, to somehow undo what had been done. But part of him — the same part that had kept him glued to Ethan’s story from the beginning — felt an undeniable need to stay, to know more, to understand.

“Fine,” Jake muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “But if I start hearing voices, I’m coming back here, and you’re explaining everything. All of it.”

Ethan managed a faint, grim smile. “Deal.”

The bar had gone silent. No more chatter, no glasses clinking. Even the band had stopped playing. Jake, having had a few beers, felt the urge to head to the restroom. He stood, catching Ethan’s eye.

“You go,” said Ethan, an unreadable expression on his face. “I’ll stay here with Mary and wait.”

Jake’s steps faltered. Mary. The name hit him like a cold wave. Mary, Ethan’s girlfriend, the one who had died of cancer all those years ago. The mention of her name brought back memories he’d long buried. But he forced himself to keep walking, unease gnawing at him as he made his way to the restroom.

Inside, Jake splashed cold water on his face, staring into the mirror, trying to ground himself. Mary. Had Ethan really said he was waiting with her? The thought tugged at him, unsettling, absurd… and yet, he couldn’t dismiss the chill it brought. Was Ethan losing his mind? Or was this strange new perception — whatever the quantum radio had done to him — warping his grasp on reality?

Jake rubbed his temples, feeling a quiet fear creeping in. Could it happen to him, too? He’d seen Ethan’s “madness” up close now, and the memory of the eerie recording they’d just listened to echoed faintly in his mind, haunting and relentless. What if it wasn’t just a story, some far-off, bizarre experience? What if it could reach him, too, change him in ways he couldn’t foresee?

With one last look in the mirror, Jake steeled himself and returned to the table, feeling both determined and wary, like he was preparing to step back into a room where the walls had started shifting.

When he reached the table, Ethan was just as he’d left him, gaze fixed on the empty chair beside him. For a moment, Jake’s eyes drifted to that chair, and he felt an odd shiver — almost a sense of someone just having been there, as though a presence lingered just out of reach.

He cleared his throat, shaking off the unease. “Ethan,” he said as steadily as he could, “Mary… she’s gone. You know that, right?”

Ethan didn’t look at him, his gaze still resting on the empty chair. His voice was low, almost reverent. “I know, Jake. But she was here, just now. She’s always here, waiting.”

A chill ran down Jake’s spine, leaving him with the sense that something immense and incomprehensible had brushed against him, lingering only long enough to leave a mark. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the feeling of something other wouldn’t fade.

Ethan looked up then, his gaze heavy with knowledge Jake couldn’t share, a faint, sad smile on his lips. “Some things, Jake… they’re real even if we can’t see them. Sometimes, we have to listen to know they’re there.”

Jake forced himself to smile, but his heart wasn’t in it. Ethan’s words echoed in his mind, and he wondered if they’d been a reassurance… or a warning.

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