“Have you ever wondered why speakers are round?” Professor Chen asked, adjusting his crooked glasses while staring intently at the vintage audio equipment on his desk.

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. As his new research assistant, I wasn’t sure if this was a genuine question or one of his notorious philosophical traps.

“For optimal sound dispersion?” I ventured cautiously.

He chuckled, the kind of laugh that suggested I had fallen right into his trap. “That’s what they want you to think. But I’ve discovered something far more sinister.”

Over the next hour, Professor Chen spun an elaborate theory about how circular speakers were actually interdimensional portals designed by ancient civilizations. His evidence? The peculiar disappearance of his wife last month while she was cleaning their home theater system.

“She was dusting the subwoofer, and poof! Gone without a trace,” he declared, eyes wild with conviction.

I nodded politely, wondering if I should contact the university’s mental health services. But then he showed me his research - dozens of cases worldwide of people vanishing near circular audio equipment.

“Why do you think headphones evolved to be oval?” he whispered conspiratorially. “Someone knew the truth.”

Just then, his office speaker crackled to life, emitting an otherworldly hum. Professor Chen jumped up excitedly.

“Listen! They’re trying to communicate!”

The static grew louder, and through it, I swore I heard a woman’s voice: “Help… stuck in the round…”

Professor Chen’s face lit up. “That’s her! That’s my wife!”

Before I could stop him, he lunged toward the speaker, reaching inside the cone. There was a flash of light, and he vanished.

I sat there, stunned, staring at the now-silent speaker. After a moment, I heard a faint giggle from the hallway.

Professor Chen and his wife stood in the doorway, struggling to contain their laughter.

“Got you!” he exclaimed. “Best department prank ever!”

I later learned it was an elaborate initiation ritual for new research assistants. The “disappeared wife” story, the research, the staged vanishing - all part of their annual tradition.

As I headed home that evening, I chuckled at my own gullibility. The professor’s theatrics were masterful, I had to admit.

That night, as I was falling asleep listening to my favorite playlist, my round bedside speaker suddenly emitted that same otherworldly hum.

Through the static, I heard Professor Chen’s panicked voice: “Don’t believe what you saw today… This is real… Help…”

I quickly unplugged the speaker and threw it in the trash.

The next day, two new research assistant positions were posted in the department.