Distant Heart Sounds Novels & Stories

"Not yet." I laughed hard at his answer. This man was not only stunningly handsome but was shockingly coward and paranoid. He threw me a puzzled look but I ignored him. How would I explain myself? I walked over to his side, placing the diaphragm of my black stethoscope into the quadrants of his back. I then stepped in front of him, bending a little as I also listened to his lung sounds. He stared into my eyes as I did my ministrations on his chest, almost tempted to place both of my palms instead. The loud sound I heard was not the rales or crackles from any of his lobes, but the loud thuds coming from my heart. He was as healthy as an ox.

And beneath that, fainter but unmistakable, three other heartbeats. The brothers. Even at this distance....they had to be over a hundred miles away by now....she could hear their hearts beating in perfect synchronization with hers. "I can hear them," Eve whispered, awed and terrified. "Their heartbeats. I can hear their heartbeats." Dr. Thorne's eyebrows rose. "That's... unprecedented. Even for bonded mates, that level of connection at this distance is remarkable." "Is it because of the soul bond?" Eve asked. "Because we're not just regular mates?"

There’s an end to this place, I can feel it. My heart hammers in my chest, a frantic rhythm that doesn’t match my exhaustion. It’s too fast, too wild. Like it knows something I don’t. I ignore it. It can feel whatever the hell it wants, as long as it keeps beating. The distant murmur of voices reaches me, faint but real. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. For a second, I think I imagined it, but no—the sound is still there. People. I strain to listen, my heart pounding. The voices aren’t just rough and deep; there are lighter tones mixed in. Women. Children. Maybe a village or a tribe nearby. A safe place? Or another danger waiting for me?

Something had been resting there from the very beginning—watching, waiting, and quietly influencing the frequency of their minds. Then, the massive eye shifted within the chasm. It didn't move much, just a fraction of an inch, but an impossible sound immediately echoed across the landscape. A heartbeat. *Thump.* It was deep, massive, and primordial. The sound didn't travel through the air; it seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It vibrated up from the deep bedrock, descended from the dark sky, and pulsed through the very oxygen in their lungs.

I hear it the way you hear sounds from underwater - distorted, distant, belonging to a world I'm no longer part of. I do not stop.

Heartbeat steady. Energy smooth. Too smooth. Like a lake with no wind. And still water Can hide depth. Around 2:03 a.m., his lips move. Barely. No sound. Just shape. I lean closer. He whispers something faint. Too quiet to catch. But I feel it. Not power. Not spike. A frequency shift. Low. Subtle. Like something answering him. I press my hand lightly over his chest. The hum adjusts. Responds. Then settles.

The sounds were not originating from the corridor immediately outside my chamber, but rather from a considerable distance away. I could discern the distinct rhythm of boots on stone from several wings over, and the hushed murmur of voices emanating from a lower level… There was also a subtle scrape of metal, which I instinctively recognized as a guard adjusting his weapon. These sounds reached my awareness in a layered and precise manner, their clarity causing a momentary faltering in my pulse. I pressed my palm to my chest. My heartbeat was steady— but it wasn’t alone. Beneath it, woven through my veins and bones, was another rhythm. It was slower and heavier, possessing an ancient quality

I breathed a sign of relief as I heard, no felt a thud on the floor next to me. I was temporarily deaf. The pounding of my heart fueled the high amounts of adrenaline running through my veins, creating a dull roar in my head, an endless pulsing wave rolling back and forth, blocking out all other sounds around me. My heart beat was strong, albeit a little too loud and unnecessarily quick at the moment.

My chest rises and falls, but each breath feels distant, like I’m not really the one pulling air into my lungs. More voices filter through, low murmurs overlapping, but none of them are clear. My head throbs in a dull, pounding rhythm, but it feels detached from my body, like I’m not fully inside myself. I try to focus, to force my eyes open, but the effort is monumental. My eyelids refuse to cooperate, too heavy to lift, my body unwilling to obey even the simplest command.

The rippling remains trapped around the sound, never spreading; my word takes shape and breaks apart. The crying comes from the far side of the lake. I am certain of it. It seems so close—an arm’s length away—yet when I take a step, it slips further. I run along the curve of the shore, darting between the pillars, and with every three steps the distance grows by exactly as much as I advance. From the lake’s center comes a slow, deep thud—not of water, not of earth—but of something vast and patient, a heart not within a body, but within the land itself.