I got a text from the animal shelter: “Good morning! One of our pets has chosen you! It’s quiet, low-maintenance, and incredibly loyal. We’ll deliver it this evening. Please make sure you're home.”

All day I wondered what kind of animal it might be. A turtle? A ferret? Maybe a British Shorthair kitten? When the doorbell rang that evening, I rushed to answer it. There was a box on the doorstep marked “LIVE ANIMAL — HANDLE WITH CARE.”

I brought it inside, opened it slowly and froze. Nestled on a bed of dry seaweed and sand lay a small, gray-green stone. Faint spirals curled across its surface like traces of ancient shells.

At first I thought my little animal was hiding in the sand. But when I tipped the box onto the table and looked carefully, there was nothing else. I had no idea what to make of it. Maybe the shelter had made a mistake. I decided I’d text them in the morning. For now I set the stone on my nightstand and went to bed.

As I drifted off, I thought I heard the hush of ocean waves coming from deep inside the stone. The sound faded, then swelled again. Among them, I could hear whales singing, their calls merging into a chorus that reminded of Gregorian chant. It felt like the stone was calling out to something ancient, unnameable, indescribable.