Nate Sure Calls | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Nate Sure Calls | Previous Challenge Entry
By Troy Manning
01/17/16
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Nate Sure Calls

Nate, late for a date of unascertained significance, ambles toward the public restroom of a state beach. After he is well-rested, he answers the call of the wild. The conspicuous hiss from a conch which he raises to his ear sounds less like that of the sea than it does of heavy breathing. “I’m afraid you have the wrong number,” he says into the cavity, assuming its speaking and receiving apparatus to be one and the same. “I’m afraid you have the wrong number,” comes the reply. “Who called who?” he asks. The same question is repeated back. Seeing the conversation is getting him nowhere, let alone to his indeterminate appointment, he smashes the shell on the sidewalk. A peace officer with environmentalist sympathies witnesses his unconscianable outburst and approaches briskly on her bicycle. He hurries down a nearby embankment and enters the concrete drainage tunnel of a reservoir, confident the officer will neither want to abandon her bike or haul it down the bank. Surely, however, she will call for backup. Nate waits a moment or more then calls 911 from his cell phone and tells them he saw the shell-shattering suspect run into a tunnel then out toward the town of Tecumseh. He peeks out from the tunnel and up at the officer as she is relayed the misinformation on her radio. She rides away southbound while Nate returns north. He travels nearly a mile before he hears an unfamiliar ring tone. He looks at his cell but sees no evidence of a call. As no one else seems to be in the vicinity, he stops and listens for the source. He sees another large conch and answers it but only hears ocean. He drops it and resumes his course. The ringing continues. It sounds like the music of a carousel but even more swirly. “Hello?!” he shouts. Nature doesn’t respond and the tone persists. He wonders if the original conch was a reification of his conscience and that, by smashing it, he was effectively silencing its convicting voice. Given, though, the sensual nature of the breathing he heard, he dismisses this possibility. He picks up several smaller shells, carefully listening to each one before discarding it. His investigation leads him to the shoreline. He is astonished to find that the ringing seems to issue from the sea itself. He stands just beyond reach of the foaming water as it flows forth from the crashing waves. Approaching from the south, he sees a lovely, bikini-clad woman atop a paddle board. She is singing a strangely seductive yet haunting song. He realizes the carouselish ring tone has stopped. He removes his shoes and wades into the water. He stops as he sees the woman is the same as the bicycling officer. She beckons to him to continue forth. He backs away, imagining what her great paddle could do to his backside. The circus tune resumes, assuring him that it is not emanating from the deceptive siren at all. He discerns it is still a little to the north, the direction in which he was headed anyway.

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