The Conch Shell(Tom Di Roma) The Conch Shell

He found the shell partially buried in the sand during low tide on the beach behind his house. The chilled surf tickling his toes as he strolled, helped to keep Philip Cockerine’s mind off his failed marriage, which had been finalized just a week earlier.
He only spotted the shell because, in his depressed state, he was looking down instead of up at the ocean view. Had he not been looking down he might have missed it. But once he did spot the shell, he found himself immediately intrigued.
The only time he’d seen a conch shell any-where near where he lived was either in a museum, or his small town’s gift shop. But now, here was one out in the open. He wondered how it had gotten there. Had someone left it behind on purpose, or had it floated in on the tide?

Kneeling on the cool, wet sand, he used his fingers to pry the shell from its sandy grave. Once he freed the large shell, he dipped it into the surf to rinse off what sand remained on its surface and its interior. Then carrying the dripping shell over to a bench, which had been placed at the edge of the beach for tourists, he sat and started to bring the unusual find to his ear.
He had expected to hear a sound like the distant surf. That’s what everyone says you hear when you listen to a conch shell. But what he heard freaked him out so badly, he immediately dropped it.
What the heck was that?
Common sense told him he couldn’t have heard what he had. Staring at the shell, it took him a whole minute to get up the courage to retrieve it again. Gingerly grabbing it, he hesitantly brought it back towards his right ear.
As it got close, the voices, both male and female, became more distinct. Some were screaming in soul-shattering agony, while others were moaning as if they’d been in misery all their lives. Once again, he flung the shell down. Meanwhile, he debated whether or not to leave it behind. In the end, he picked it up, then carefully carried it to his house. Once inside, he placed the shell in an old gym bag, then made a phone call to his friend, Jerry Blackburn, who ran the local bookstore.

Before inheriting “Plenty To Read Books,” Blackburn had been a professor of paranormal literature at a small-town college. If anyone knew what was happening with the shell, it would be Jerry.
His friend was just finishing up with a customer when Philip arrived. Placing the gym bag on the counter next to the register, Philip unzipped it and retrieved the shell.
When his friend saw it, Jerry remarked, “You said over the phone, you had found something strange. I’ll admit finding a conch shell around this part of the Atlantic is a bit unusual, but . . .”
“It’s not finding the shell that’s strange,” Philip interrupted, “it’s what you hear when you hold it to your ear.”
Jerry gave Philip a curious look. Then picking up the shell, held it to the side of his head. Immediately his eyes got big. “Holy crap!”
“That’s what I thought.” Philip exclaimed, then told his friend about how he found the shell. Immediately, Jerry went into thoughtful mode. While touching a finger to his chin, and lifting his eyes toward the ceiling, he remarked, “I think I have a book here which might explain what’s going on.”

Heading over to a small glass and wooden cabinet on the wall by the rear of his shop, he unlocked it. Then retrieving one of the books inside, walked it back to Philip.
“Yes,” said Jerry, opening the book. “This should tell us what’s happening.” He began to flip through the pages.
“I thought you only sold books in good condition,” remarked Philip. “this one looks ancient.” He pointed to its plastic cover, which had turned yellow and was pealing in places.
“It’s part of my personal collection,” Jerry told him. “I got it at an auction many years ago.”
Stopping about halfway, Jerry said, “Yeah, here it is.” He began reading in silence.
“So, what does it say?” asked Philip, sounding impatient.
“It talks about a sea witch who drowned seafarers, trapping their souls in conch shells.”
“But that is just myth, right?
“Are you sure?” asked Jerry. Philip glanced at the shell. “No,” he replied, not sounding so sure. Then after a moment, he asked, “Does the book say how to release the trapped souls?”
Jerry nodded. “But you’re not going to like it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it says someone related to a trapped soul has to do it.”
Philip felt his stomach drop. He pointed at the shell. “Are you trying to tell me I’m related to one of those poor souls?” Again, Jerry nodded.
Philip felt a swarm of emotions swirl through his stomach. He asked, “Is that the reason I found it?”
Jerry scrunched up his lips. “It’s hard to say. The rules of the paranormal don’t always make sense to us mere mortals.”
Philip swallowed hard. “So, how do I go about releasing them?”
“The book says the shell has to be smashed against the rocks by the edge of the sea. Luckily, your ex-wife let you still live in the beach house.”
“Is that all?” asked Philip.
“No. It also says it has to be done on a night of the full moon.”
“That’s tomorrow night,” said Philip. Jerry nodded. “Will you come with me?”
Nodding again, Jerry replied, “We can have supper first. I’ll bring the pizza and beer.”

The next night, Jerry arrived carrying an extra-large Pizza and a six-pack of beer. He also carried a claw hammer.
“Why the hammer?” Philip asked.
“Just being prudent. If the rocks don’t do it, we might need the hammer to break up the shell.”
While they ate and drank, Jerry regaled Philip with a number of tales about sea witches and other demons. He wondered if any of them were more than myth?
After they finished the last of the six-pack, they headed for the beach behind Philip’s house.
Once they reached the jetty at the edge of the beach, Philip retrieved the shell from the gym bag. “Is there any kind of ceremony we have to perform?” he asked, while standing in the chilly moon light.
“The book didn’t mention anything about any ceremony.”
“Okay,” said Philip, as he raised the shell above his head. “I hope this doesn’t hurt them.”
“It shouldn’t; they’re already dead.”
Then whipping his arm down, Philip watched amazed as the shell shattered into a number of pieces.
“Well, that was a lot easier than I thought it would be,” said Jerry.
“I’ll agree,” remarked Philip, but then . . . “What’s happening?”
A cloud of green smoke or mist began to form around the pieces of the shell. As Jerry and Philip watched, the mist, or whatever it was, grew in volume and height, causing them to take several steps back. As they continued watching the mist, they saw it split into several pieces.
“What the hell is happening?” asked Philip.
“I think each one of those is a soul.”

Even though there was no reason, Philip felt himself experience a tinge of fear, as well as a bit of satisfaction, knowing that he was the reason they were now free. “I wonder which one of them I’m related to?”
“Who knows,” replied Jerry, as they watched the various bits of the mist swirl around each other like a swarm of bees. Eventually, they shot up into the night sky--all that is except one.
“Why isn’t that one leaving?” Philip wondered out loud.
“Maybe because that’s the one you’re related to,” answered Jerry.
But then as they both watched, the column of green mist shot toward Philip, penetrating his body like a spear. For a moment, he felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. It caused him to bend over. Once he straightened up, he turned toward Jerry, a strange smile on his face.
“Philip,” asked Jerry, “are you alright? You look so strange.”
“It’s not Philip,” replied his friend in a decidedly female voice. “It’s Phillis.”

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