A Gentle Turn of the Dial

I noticed a faint, metallic click coming from the low shelf beside the wall. Approaching on careful tiptoes, I found an old desktop radio resting on the wood, its thick power cord looping like a lazy snake. Right near my chest level was a textured, ridged dial. I paused, looking around the quiet room twice just in case. Swallowing my hesitation, I pressed both fabric-gloved palms against the ridged plastic knob and pushed with steady weight. Click! It budged half an inch, and a sudden, soft crackle of quiet white static washed over the carpet like distant ocean waves. It startled me so much I hopped back onto my heels! But when nothing fell, I stepped close again, resting my chin on my gloved knuckles, mesmerized by the quiet, whispering hum inside the box.