I had been wrong about the length it would take for the police to arrive. ![]() He took three slow steps in my direction when I suddenly felt Bexley at my side and he let loose with a volley of loud, sharp barks in quick succession.Īt this, The Whistler, whoever, or, whatever he was, turned and fled, seeming to dissolve into nothing the second he was beyond the reach of the lamp in the parking lot. He features were cadaverous and he grinned at me and began his whistle again, only, as close as he was, the whistling sounded impossibly far away. He had turned completely to face me and I saw as he stared at me that he was a man, maybe a long time ago. And slowly began to turn as I heard in my ear “9-1-1. I had a sudden flash of bravery, and stupidity as I took out my phone and dialed 9-1-1 and shouted at the bastard that the police would be here and he wasn’t going to get away with this. She was screaming a name or something “El Silbón! El Silbón!” I watched as the figure reappeared from under my balcony and was slowly making its way back to the field from whence it came. I heard a crash below me and then the screams of the old Venezuelan woman who lived downstairs with her husband of 40 years and their grandchildren who normally stayed for a few weeks in the summer. Why be so quiet in everything else when you were whistling loud enough for every resident within 100 yards to hear. I heard the sliding glass door on the patio below my slide quietly open and then shut, the muted thumping of the felt strips on the door, the only sign that the door had closed. After staring straight ahead for what seemed like minutes, The Whistler walked forward and he disappeared under my balcony. I should have called the police, but they were at least a 10 minute drive at their fastest to this area, So, I remained still and silent. The wind shifted then so that a scent like you would imagine a graveyard would smell drifted up to me fetid and rancorous, you could literally feel the malignance rolling off this guy in waves. All he had to do was lift his gaze a couple degrees and he’d see me. Soon, he was standing just below my balcony. He was dressed all in black wearing what looked like a hooded sweatshirt, over his shoulder was a dark cloth satchel that, as he walked closer, produced a dry rattle with each lumbering step. The Whistler was now directly under the lamp directly across from my apartment building. A low droning noise, like the crackle of High Voltage wires overhead. As it drew closer to where I was standing, another sound, underneath the pitched whistling became apparent. The Whistler shambled more than walked and I felt a bead of sweat roll from my hairline to the corner of my eye, it stung like a sonofabitch, but i felt like I shouldn’t move, or speak, or even breathe loudly in the vicinity of this presence whatever he, or it was. I could just discern an outline as the… man? Stepped further into the light. A figure had stepped out of the tall grass of the field, just barely visible in the light from the nearest lamp. What at first had seemed to be a random, unmelodic rambling of notes took on a sort of pattern as it went on, it made my skin crawl and the just about every hair on my body stood on end, an itch began at my scalp, traveling down my back and just as I was about to reach my head up to scratch, Bexley began shaking, whimpered once and laid down behind me without another sound. I stopped trying to find The Whistler and instead listened to the eerie, discordant tune. I felt Bexley lean into my leg and looked down to see his hackles were up and his ears were scanning the area to try and pinpoint the source of our noisey interloper. It sounded like it was off in the middle of the field, but the location of The Whistler was a mystery to me. I didn’t see much of anything, but that’s when the whistling started. It wasn’t much to write home to mom about, being just a parking lot and an open field beyond that until you reached a new subdivision they were building about a quarter of a mile in the distance. I set down my pipe and stood, to get a better view of the surrounding area. If not for Bexley’s reaction, I would have thought i was imagining it. Now, I’m not prone to audio or visual hallucinations when i’m smoking, so this is what weirded me out. Bexley perked up from his dozing and was instantly on the alert. I was smoking a bowl of Colorado’s finest Sativa when the crickets suddenly stopped. The weird started happening one night while Bexley (my Doberman) and I were sitting on the balcony, enjoying the breeze and the chirruping of the crickets. As far as I know, no one has lived upstairs since a week or two after I moved in. I’ve lived in the apartment complex for a few months now and I’ve never heard more than a cursory peep from my downstairs neighbors.
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