Voice on the Radio

It was late—but what time it was, I couldn’t be sure. The sun had set, leaving only memories of orange in the deepening blue, and the streetlights flickered on moments ago. The radio, set to some rock station, buzzed and faded out into white noise. I sat up, intending to turn off the radio, when a slow, deliberate voice came through that gave me chills.

Can you hear me? I am waiting in the sky. I would like to meet you, if you have an open mind.

I blinked stupidly. Had I just heard what I thought I heard? Alien life forms talking to us through the radio? Didn’t they realize how futile that was? Most people these days stream their music, and if I wasn’t so cheap, I would have been too. I’d begun to think the last year of isolation—the unfortunate effect of moving out on my own just before a global pandemic—had addled my senses. I had to call Ryan, find out what they thought.

I stumbled in the dark for the switch so I could find my phone. As much as I hated talking on the phone, this seemed too urgent to ignore, so I dialed.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Ryan answered, as cool and unconcerned as ever. I vaguely wondered if they were high, but with Ryan it was never easy to tell—they had the same casual demeanor regardless of sobriety.

“Hey, I swear, I just heard the strangest—”

“Dude! You heard it too? It came through on Pandora while I was listening to my Bowie station. I bet it’s on the news already. Turn on the tv, maybe we can pick it up on channel 2!”

I walked the ten steps across my tiny apartment to turn on the tv. Sure enough, a “Breaking News” headline flashed across the screen and a news caster popped on screen.

“Good evening, I’m Suzy Winters for Channel 2 News. If you are just joining us, we a following a breaking story of the mysterious message broadcast just moments ago. The origins of the broadcast are not yet known, but it appears to have been sent across multiple media forms simultaneously. I have on the line Dr. Tom Powazny, professor of communications media at Warszawa University. Professor, can you explain how someone was able to broadcast the same message across so many media platforms simultaneously?”

The picture of the professor they posted played right into all preconceived notions of what a professor should look like: a bespectacled older white male with a salt and pepper hair and full beard, wearing a tweed jacket and rust-colored bowtie. His voice was gravelly, but not as monotoned as might be expected. “Good evening Suzy, thank you for having me. It is most unusual to have such coordinated effort across so many platforms without a more urgent message. I would almost think it to be a prank, were it not for the sophisticated coordination of the broadcast. I cannot account for how it could possibly be done so—”

Just then, the sound faded out, though the professor still appeared to be speaking, and was replaced by white noise. I saw Suzy put her hand to her earpiece—clearly, she couldn’t hear the professor either— when the white noise faded down and the same mysterious voice spoke again.

Can you hear me? I am waiting in the sky. I would like to meet you. We have seen your future. It is worthwhile. Listen to your children.

The white noise crescendoed then stopped abruptly. The newscaster sat in silence; her mouth agape. She shook her head, curls dancing, and regained composure.

“Duuuuuuuude” Ryan said into my ear. I jumped, forgetting I was still on the phone. “What the heck was that?”

“I don’t know,” I replied slowly, “I—” A flash erupted outside my window, startling me.

“Whoa man, there was just a flash outside my window” Ryan said, a hint of anxiety edging his voice.

I furrowed my brow in confusion. Ryan lived on the other side of town; it would be near impossible for them to see the same light I had.

“I’m heading outside to see what’s going on.” I fumbled with the lock and opened the door. Despite it being well after dark, it shone like daybreak, but with more of a blue tinge to the light, like artificial light. But where the source of the light was coming from was impossible to tell.

“Ryan, can you see this light too?” I asked.

I heard Ryan take a breath. “Yeah,” he paused, “Do you think it’s aliens?”

I thought a moment. Ryan had always been skeptical of the idea of extra-terrestrials—or rather than if there were intelligent alien life out there that they would bother with our sorry excuse for a planet. That he was genuinely considering this a possibility was somewhat unsettling.

“Maybe,” was all I could muster in reply.

“HERMIONE!” a woman shrieked. “What are you doing? Where are you going? GET BACK HERE!” I turned to see my next-door neighbor running out the door after her little girl.

Hermione, no more than six years old in pigtails and a pink nightgown was running, no, dancing up and down the street waiving a pink princess flashlight into the supposedly night sky. Her mom, whose name I can never remember, was it Shirley or Sharon?, caught up to her daughter and begged her to come back inside.

“The man said to dance, Mommy! If we sparkle, he may come visit us. Wouldn’t that be nice?” Hermione broke her mother’s grip and returned to her crazy dance. She wasn’t alone, dozens of children had come out and joined her on the street, each dancing, some holding flashlights or light-up toys, others with shiny or sparkly objects.

“Ryan,” I said into the phone, “are there children dancing in the street where you are?”

“Yeah, with flashlights or sparklers or anything they can find that’s shiny. Think they know something we don’t?”

“That seems to be the case,” I said, heading across the street to the Bewlays, who had dragged their tv to their front doorway so they could keep an eye on both the news and their twin boys currently dancing with toy lightsabers. I didn’t have to get very close to see the newscaster looked far more concerned.

“We are getting reports that children heard a slightly different message, that they should shine lights and dance. We go now to Ian Fish. Ian, what can you report?”

The young newscaster stood a little taller, “Thank you, Suzy. I’m here in Detroit where there has been a bit of a panic with the children dancing. Some parents are trying to restrain their children, while others look on almost helplessly. I have here Janine, an eighth grader at Pablo Picasso Middle School.” He turned to the teen who bobbing around in a subtle dance, “Janine, can you tell us why all the children are dancing?”

Janine rolled her eyes. Typical teenager, I chuckled to myself. “Didn’t you hear the message?” She asked in exasperation. She continued as if speaking to an idiot, “’Dance and sparkle, and we can show you the future.’ So we dance.” Her bobbing became more pronounced, almost as though it was difficult to keep herself from dancing more overtly.

Ian the reporter looked perplexed. Clearing his throat, he asked “When did you hear this message?”

Janine supplied another expert eyeroll. “When all the tvs and music and things broadcasted the message. You guys have been making a big deal about it since it happened. Are we done now?” Janine boogied off screen.

Ian stood stunned for a moment. “Well, Suzy, it appears the children heard a different message than the rest of us. This has been Ian Fish, reporting live from Detroit. Suzy, back to you.”

Mrs. Bewlay turned toward me. “What did you hear, dear?”

Mrs. Bewlay was so kind, she checked in on me at first, thought it was a shame not to know neighbors even with a pandemic lockdown, and occasionally brought me homemade meals. As I looked at her face, searching mine, I wanted to offer her some comfort. But I didn’t know what would be comforting, so I settled on the truth.

“I heard the message that someone is waiting in the sky and wants to meet us,” I said. “That they’ve seen our future and that we should listen to the children.”

Mrs. Bewlay nodded, turning to look at her boys, dancing with their lightsabers. “I am not surprised. You are no longer a child.”

The calmness of Mrs. Bewlay’s assessment was unnerving, as though she was accepting this bizarre situation as normal. Mr. Bewlay placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, “I can keep watching if you want to go rest.” Mrs. Bewlay nodded, and shuffled inside in a daze. I turned to go when I heard Mr. Bewlay speak to me. I turned back around.

“I hope she didn’t upset you. She’s not been well. Cancer.” He seemed unable to say any more. I nodded my condolences, and headed back to my apartment, dodging between the dancing children in the streets, weaving around concerned parents watching their children with dismay.

“Hey, you still there?” Ryan’s voice returned in my ear.

“Yeah, I’m back in my apartment,” I said, as I sat in front of the television once more. The news had shifted to bring reports of the same message broadcasted around the world. The ticker had messages of calm from various world leaders—which had me tempted to give a Janine-inspired eyeroll. This was bigger than one city, one country, it was the whole world. No one knew who the voice was, if it was friend or foe. But the idea that the message was otherworldly now seemed to be an unspoken given.

“This is a nightmare, Ryan. And I’m scared.” I admitted, a lone tear escaped my eye and rolled down my cheek.

Ryan whispered in my ear, “The world changed today, and it looks as though it’s here to stay.”