Whispers Beneath the Waves

In the winter of 1952, a maritime radio station in the Scottish Highlands went silent

for exactly three minutes. When transmission resumed, the night operator

was found unconscious at his post, his fingernails torn and bloody. During those three

minutes, coastal villages reported hearing a broadcast. Not words something

older. A rhythm like breathing. Like the sea itself had learned to speak. The operator never

explained what he saw in the static. But every night afterward, he locked himself

in his cottage before sunset, nailing the shutters from the inside. In his journal,

found after his death, he wrote only one entry, repeated on every