Five Messages

His cell kept buzzing all through the meeting. During the fifteen minute break, he stepped into the hallway and checked his message log. It showed five messages, all but one the same number from someplace called Indian Head, Montana, the last from his wife. The first message lasted only a few seconds: he heard noises in the background, someone yelling, a high-pitched whistle and a fumbling sound, like someone struggling with a pay phone, then the beep ending the call. He took a sip from his cup of cold coffee and played the second one. This one lasted about a minute: the background of voices, some laughing, and that high-pitched whistle, but this time he could make out the caller speaking in a very low voice, as if he were not talking directly into the phone. He heard what he thought were the words, “you” and “must” and something like “release”, or maybe “please.” The rest was too garbled to understand.

He noticed that his hand holding the phone was trembling slightly, but it often did when he didn’t get enough sleep and then drank too much coffee. He decided to listen to the rest of the messages later and returned to the conference room. The meeting droned on for another hour, during which his phone did not buzz. He had 90 minutes to have lunch before the meeting resumed, so he left the building and hurried over to the corner snack bar across the street in time to get his favorite seat on the right corner of the counter. Ordering his usual cheddar cheese omelet with hash browns, he could hear his stomach growling with anticipation. Congratulating himself on ordering tea instead of coffee, he pulled out his phone and listened to the third message. At first all he could hear was ambient noises, footsteps, some animal howling, then closer, two voices talking, one low and raspy, the other higher and perhaps female. The low voice: “He don’t know…; the higher one: “He does…I [garbled] something…afraid…” The message ended abruptly here. His omelet and tea having arrived, he put down his phone and dug in, but for some reason, his appetite had disappeared and he chewed and swallowed without pleasure.

Sipping his tea, which tasted to him like the not too clean hot water it mostly was, he pressed the button for the fourth message, his mild curiosity now merging with anxiety. The high-pitched whistle was now joined by drumming. The whistling and drumming abruptly stopped, followed by almost complete silence, except for the wind. Then the woman’s voice said: “listen.” A clattering sound as the phone on the other end was placed down, then many voices chanting, a horn bleating, a roaring like rushing water. The phone grew hot against his ear. Something passed through the receiver and seemed to lodge in his ear. His hand became numb and he dropped the phone, which clattered to the ground. A few customers were now staring over at him. When he tried to bend down to pick up the phone, a wave of dizziness washed over him and he had to straighten up a again. A bitter taste filled his mouth and he found it difficult to swallow or breathe. Then the restaurant started to spin, first slowly, then faster until he saw the ceiling fall away to reveal black night. A searing pain shot up his left arm and clutched at his chest. The last thing he saw was a hand in a red glove reach out for him.

*

As the body was being wheeled out to the ambulance, Rick picked up the phone and saw a message flashing. Shrugging and looking around, he clicked the button and put it to his ear. A woman’s voice said: “Honey, call me. I received a package from some place in Montana. It has your last name on it but a different first one: Steven instead of your Stephen, as usual. It’s also got a funny smell and I want to take it back to the post office. Let me know if you were expecting something like this…love you, bye!” Rick handed the phone to the EMP who was glaring at him and sat down to finish his tuna salad sandwich.