The Whistler At 3:03 AM
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Welcome back to Creepcast. Today we are diving in on Maria on the Moon and another story by this author called Something Walks Whistling Past My House Every Night at 3.03.

This is by an author called Grand Theft Modo, which I like that. I like that name. At least that's their name. I doubt that's their legal birth name, although it could be. I hope it is, actually. That would be a great birth name, actually. This is just, we didn't think that this would be a grab bag, you know, kind of episode since it's with the same author. But I think these are a little shorter, so I figured that we would at least do two of them just to kind of see.

How they roll. We'll see. I've heard good things, though. Yeah. Someone on our team told us that these were two good stories worth checking out. And Marie on the Moon being the main one, but it's kind of shorter. So we're grabbing a second one from the author as well. Okay. So the author's name is Travis Brown. Travis Brown.

and he has at least two published paperbacks the house with 100 doors and other dark tales how to build a haunted house strange unsettling and unforgettable tales so it looks like he has at least a couple of paperbacks uh that you can get both of those on amazon uh or for free with kindle so that's

That's cool though. There's no published works. We'll put them up here. I'm looking at him Travis Brown Well here do you let me ask you this use a real kind of tough question Do you like Travis Brown as a name or grand theft a motto better as a name for a big I admit I admit Grand Theft Auto's got a bit more of a swing to it. I'll be on that Should be completely fair every Travis I've ever met shady character. I'll go I'll say it

Shady character. Every Travis I've ever met. I'll also say, I'm looking at his bio on Amazon. It says, horror writer, amateur exorcist.

I kind of love that, actually. I write and I do dabble in exercise. I do every now and then. You know, I might get a little crazy. I get a little strange. Is it legal to do exorcism? Can you still exercise people? I don't think they can stop you. I think it depends on...

the terms of the exorcism. There's nothing illegal about standing next to someone who says they're possessed and being like, be gone, foul ghost. But there is something illegal about beating someone with a cross. Hollywood has really warped my perception of that. Also, I know that there's a lot of weird cases of people dying during exorcisms and they're just like, I don't know, it was a demon. I don't know.

I came out of the girl. I don't know where the fucking went, but who knows? Maybe I just beat her to death with a bat. I think that's illegal. I think that's definitely not okay. So that's the illegal exorcism. Okay. I just needed to know. I'm getting ready to go to school for it. So I need to know. I won't bring my bat, but today we're going to be starting off. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. The something walks whistling. I have heard of that one before. I think that's his most well-known one. I'm pretty sure. Okay. So what you haven't, you haven't heard of Marie on the moon.

I've not heard of Maria on the moon, but I've heard, I didn't realize it from the full title. Something walks whistling past my house every night at three Oh three, but I have heard just, um, something walks whistling. I've just heard it. Something walks. Oh, something walks whistling. That's kind of a fun. Yeah. That's kind of a fun, uh, title to something walks whistling. Cause I was like something about that story found familiar. I haven't read it before, but I have heard something.

of that one before so this is this is the guy who seems to have some clout he has two published paperbacks so i'm very i'm very hopeful look as far as like authors that we're fans of on here okay we've got elias with a row right we love him we read one of his stories at a live show and it was a ton of fun uh and we also got uh rebecca rebecca we love we all love rebecca here um

Rebecca, is it Kringle or Klingle? I keep wanting to say Kringle, but I'm almost positive that's Santa Claus's last name. Yes, I think that's why I keep wanting to call her Rebecca Kringle. It's Rebecca Klingle, I think. Klingle, yeah. I'm pretty sure it's that. Yeah, Chris Kringle is the jolly man. Who knows? Maybe Rebecca's dad. I don't know.

I will say, just in terms of the title for the other one, Something Walks Whistling, you know what actually kind of creeps me out, even in real life, is when people have a very pronounced strong whistle. Like when they're really good at whistling. That creeps me out. I used to be really good at that, but it's been a while. You sound like a, I don't know, like a demented version of Hunger Games or some shit. Yeah.

There's just something creepy about whistling. I don't know why. What is the Hunger Games one? It's like... Right? Oh, yeah. It's like a... Right. It'd be funny if you just grew a huge pair of tits and you just became Jennifer Lawrence right there. Anytime someone does a Hunger Games whistle, they just immediately grow tits and they're like an expert archer. No, no, no! Don't do it! Yeah, they're just like...

You know what creeps me out about whistling? What? Typically when it comes to singing or even something like humming, every person has their own cadence or tone to it, but whistling is the complete same everywhere. Yeah. You can't trick a whistle. Exactly. You can't trick a whistle. So that's what kind of like, I think where it can be kind of like a horror use sometimes.

Oh, without further ado, we should probably actually get into the story here. Now I'm thinking about big floppy Hunger Games titties and stuff, so I need to get Maria. I will say when I was a kid, I thought Jennifer Lawrence was the most beautiful woman who ever existed. I was like, wow, she's gorgeous. I mean that in a completely like... I was like...

what 12 when that movie came out it wasn't even in like a inappropriate way i was just like what an angel or so is that was that your big first celebrity crush it was like her and scarlett johansson i remember watching the avengers my theaters and being like whoa my first one and still is today is lucy lu love lucy lu okay maria on the moon by travis brown aka uh grand theft motto which i still think you should legally change his name to that

I agree as well. So, Maria on the moon, let's get into it. Hunter, the story opens with a quote, so go for it. Did you know that early astronomers thought that there were oceans on the moon? I asked, looking up from my book. My mom shifted in her bed, a tangle of IV tubes shifting with her. Of course. The moon seems like the perfect place to find an ocean. What a shame we never found water then. Because those false seas, astronomers called them Maria. Mom smiled. How sweet of them to name the moon oceans after me. Well...

they didn't find any oceans maybe they just didn't look hard enough she replied a little laugh slipping from her lips am i gonna cry i feel a deep heaviness in my stomach my dog has lumps he has to go in tomorrow to get like removed and i was like like oh my god my poor little man right now now i'm

i i just would have i'm like sad yes the ex the someone's exercising me right now i feel like someone just took a bat to my face and i got a little little teary-eyed now it's like the beginning like okay so we have the title maria on the moon it's like okay and then you hear mom shifts in bed a tangle of iv tube shift with her yeah and then there's the uh how sweet of them to name the oceans after me and i'm looking at the title and i'm looking at what's happening and i'm not

I wasn't, I hope this doesn't become emotional. We've never had, the closest we've had was the ending of Pin Pal, right? That's the like most sad we've been in an episode, I think. Yeah, I would say so. I would say that, I would say we were floored by Baraska, but I think Pin Pal was like an actual, like devastating. Baraska was more of like a shocking jolt, whereas Pin Pal like was more,

actual sorrow i would say yeah i like that starting starting this off with such a heavy thing is pretty interesting we'll see we'll see where it goes from here all right so for all the pain she was in all the fear she must feel my mother always had the kind of laugh that could light a candle we were in her hospital room the same one we've been in and out of for the last year and a half sometimes we had a roommate sometimes we were alone always she held steady enough for both of us

the rock i tied my hope to the wall against the grief i knew was coming cancer is such a mundane word for something so hungry and cruel i've noticed medicine does that a lot covers horror with tedious language like a bed sheet over a body malignant inoperable metastasized terminal when she left we weren't in the hospital anymore we were home when she laughed she wasn't sick

She was young again, and I was a kid, and the world was a bright place begging to be explored. What a miracle my mother was. Cancer had taken so much from her, aged and hurt her, but it could never steal her laugh. That was hers to keep. "How are we feeling today?" the doctor asked. He came in less and less often. We could all sense this was the final stay in this room. "Just brilliant, Doc," my mom said, struggling to sit a little higher. "We can still go dancing later if you'd like."

Though, we'll have to ask for my son's blessing. Ever since his dad died, Brian's been very protective of me. I put on a stern face. I'll need to know your intentions are pure, Dr. Bradshaw. Damn, dude, how many fucking...

Good Lord. I'm like, I should make the fucking happier day to read this shit. God damn. Yeah. His dog just ate a whole bar of chocolate. Oh, what's that? There's a school bus of orphans outside. I believe it's fire now. Fire's burning. It just lit on fire. The orphans are burning and his girlfriend just broke up with them and

They lost a baby last week. It's like, wow, what a fucking, what a chipper story. This story was actually recommended to us by someone on Hunter's team. So this is entirely his fault. So be sure to kill that guy. Have him executed. As the driven snow. He played along. But I might need to rain check on the dance, Mrs. Willen. I'm not as young as I used to be.

He emphasized his age, running his fingers through gray-white hair. My mom tapped her bare scalp. Right there with you, tiger. Duck man, okay. I had so much wind in my sails, and now the boat is parked. We are in port. I was about half chubbed up talking about Lucy Liu. I was so excited. Yeah. Just crashed it. Okay. Dr. Bradshaw smiled, but I could tell he was burdened.

I saw him glance at the small idol I'd placed on my mother's nightstand. The talisman was a miniature oak tree carved from grey soapstone. There were four faces etched into the tree, a sentry against ill health and bitter spirits. I could tell the stone tree made the doctor uncomfortable. In all honesty, I had a tough time looking at the idol for more than a few seconds. The faces were each whittled in vivid expression. The face closest to my mother's bed was smiling kindly. The face pointed towards the door was snarling, meant to ward away harm.

The final two faces were both weeping. All four shapes were too human, too raw. There was a weirdness to the stone tree that put people on edge, but I'd grown used to every shade of weird you can imagine. My mother's side of the family was full of stories of unexplained luck and mysterious tragedy, whispered secrets and unexplained deaths. By all accounts, my maternal grandmother was either an honest-to-goodness witch or full-bore, high-caliber crazy, or both. Probably both.

The stone tree was from a box of my grandmother's things I'd found in the attic earlier that month. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but my mom did seem to get a bit better when I'd brought in the talisman. At least for a while. I was daydreaming about family history and the odd box while Dr. Bradshaw checked his charts and mom's vitals. "Can I talk to you for a moment?" he asked, ripping me back to reality. Dr. Bradshaw tried to keep a light tone, but I could tell he didn't have good news.

Hospital hallway smelled like ammonia and birthday cake. So, oh my gosh. I know. What a brutal description. Oh my word. Piss and icing. Good God. Oh, I'm so sad. That's the sad, because I know exactly what he's talking about. I've been in like hospitals for a while. Like when my grandparents were sick and stuff, it just like, oh yeah. Old person piss is just always in the air. This author is beating me to death right now. My word.

Someone must have had a party, maybe a patient, maybe a nurse. Strangely, you remember the insignificant details while your world is crashing down around you. I'm so sorry. The results came in this morning. It's spreading aggressively. We held it back as long as we could, Brian. Your mom is a fighter, but right now we just need to, well, to try to keep her as comfortable as we can. Brian? The wall was cracking, grief waiting on the other side, heavy and cold as an empty house.

I'd known for months that this was the most likely outcome, but it still hurt to hear. Hurt worse than I could stomach. "There's nothing left to try?" I asked, fighting down the urge to throw up. "Anything experimental? Untested? Anything?" Dr. Bradshaw shook his head. "I'm sorry. Sometimes we just run out of options. She fought a good fight. How long does she have left?" I asked, looking back into her room. She'd fallen asleep. "Not long. Maybe days.

Have you considered hospice? The smell of ammonia and birthday cake. The steady beep of mom's heart monitor. I try to focus on the world around me. My hope wasn't dead yet. If medicine couldn't help my mom, maybe something older could. I thought of the box of my grandmother's things waiting in the attic. There was a lot in there I hadn't gone through yet. Books and candles and secrets and lost things. Maybe there was a cure or at least a way to keep the fight going. No. If all that's left is to make her comfortable, I want to take her home.

The doctor smiled. I understand. We can give you some medication, ways to help her with her pain. He put his hand on my shoulder. Your mom's been in a lot of pain, but she'll have peace. You've done what you can. I know. I lied. Thank you. I love this setup because I like these setups when...

Someone is pushed to the brink of no return, right? Like this guy's mom's death. There's like a palatable desperation to what's happening. Yeah. And I did the simple setup with the stone tree has me hopeful that this is going to go into like, he's going to try to,

almost like paranormal like spiritual practices that are probably going to go awry i love that kind of setup it's it's always fun and it always what i like about this too is i have so much sympathy for not only the mom brian and even the doctor in that situation all very just like people in just a shitty situation obviously the mom is in there but you don't want to be the son you don't want to be the doctor having to deliver that news when there's obviously so much camaraderie between them

Does a great job initially of setting up the weight of the story and also the... A lot of the time, stories have problems justifying why their characters cause problems, right? But it's done a good job of setting up...

this is so heavy. Yeah. Yeah. What else are you going to do? Right. You've got to try something very real too. I don't think, yeah, I mean, I, I don't know. Have we had any, I'm trying to think if there's any stories read so far where cancer is kind of a part of the equation. I think the, uh, it seems like cancer is such a violently real thing. I feel like it's impossible to go through your life without having been affected by it somehow. Yeah.

whether you or somebody you know or you know personally has gone through it it's such a fucking horrible thing so it's just horribly real a very horribly real evil thing it's uh yeah i don't think we've had anything i can't even think of anything we've done that has been a disease outside of abstract stuff like um yeah the thing it breathed yeah it breathes it bleeds that old one um

But even then that was like, you think it's a disease and it's something else. So I think this is certainly a first in that regard. I think mom lived in a small ranch house, 10 miles outside of town. There wasn't much in the way of neighbors besides some woods and a Creek slithering through her yard. It was a windy warm March afternoon when I took my dying mother home. Then I began my work. I was going to turn the house into a bunker, a maze death can never solve, but keep my mother safe. I'd find a way to keep her alive.

The little red book was full of ideas. Running water was an obvious place to start. The creek behind the house was barely a trickle, but it should provide some coverage to the south side of the property. Salt was next, lining the doorways and window frames, then in an unbroken circle around the entire house. The step was to be repeated daily, the red book stressed, or even multiple times per day.

Even a moderate breeze played holy havoc with any salt poured outside, so it was always best to trace and retrace every few hours. Water and salt were common defenses against man's oldest enemy and well-known.

the book offered other less conventional advice i already love this oh my gosh oh i would make the house to a maze not even death could solve i was just like there's a lot of uh really great little one-liners like that the ammonia and birthday cake was an all-timer for me i love this line the wall was cracking grief waiting on the other side heavy and cold as an empty house

I really like that. Just like little beautiful little lines like that. Yeah, I really love his alliteration so far too. I like a little, I'm a little too eager right now. Admittedly, I could get rug pulled at any moment that's happened before, but I'm, I'm on board right now. I am fully bought in and I, I'm, you know what? I am ready to be hurt again. Always and forever. It took me nearly a week to finish carving the symbols and signs into the walls, the floors, even the trees on the property.

Sometime around noon on the third day, on my back in the crawlspace etching strange marks onto the underside of the floor, it struck me how ridiculous I was acting. There was no proof that any of the information in the little red book was anything other than the delusional ramblings of a bizarre woman I'd only met once or twice as a child.

For all I knew, the runes meant to ward off death were actually a grocery list written in Cantonese. But I was desperate. And every time I saw... That's so funny. You're like, you're trying to stop death and you're out on the tree like, eggs! Yeah, eggs, milk, tomatoes. Yeah, like all the trees. But I was desperate. And every time I saw my mother, she looked frailer, more fragile.

So I continued carving and praying and building layers upon layers of protections to keep death far away. Making my marks took me all over the property. It was a big yard, nearly three acres that blended gradually into the surrounding forest. I wasn't able to pinpoint the exact boundary where cultivated nature, the edges simply bled together. But I did my best to create a clean border with lines between the symbols.

I'd always loved the wildness here. The way you could wander a few hundred yards away from home and feel like you traveled hundreds of years into the past to somewhere primal. This was the perfect playground for a kid. Whether I was out exploring trails or trapping minnows or spending the summer building yet another treehouse, convinced this would be the final one, it never was. I was never satisfied. The house itself, though small, was more than enough room for my mother and me. Dad died when I was seven.

I don't remember much about him, just how big he seemed, with a bonfire grin and arms that I thought could hold the whole world. My mom often said I took after my father. I could see it in the old pictures of him. We had the same eyes, green as moss in the summer, the same fiery shock of red hair, enemy to every comb on the planet. The sicker mom got, the more often she called me by my father's name. I worried when she drifted away like that, but a part of me was proud she'd mistake me for him.

After all of the symbols were carved, there is a few steps left in the book to deter death from visiting. There are dozens of charms and talismans in the bottom of the old box in the attic. I sat up there combing through everything my grandmother left behind, referencing the red book, pushing the tiny charms into tidy piles. None of the idols were larger than my thumb. Some were iron and others were wood, some were heavy, others light. All of them were uncomfortable to look at or touch.

The attic was drafty, but not nearly enough to explain the cold that burrowed into me as I sorted the charms. I'm not particularly tall, but the attic felt like it was designed for dolls. Beamed so low I couldn't even walk bent over. I moved around on my knees, rough floorboards threatening splinters even through my jeans. I could have taken the box downstairs where I'd have more room, but the idea filled me with a deep unease.

It seemed better to leave the box up in the attic, only taking down objects as I needed them. Up here, at least, my grandmother's items, her legacy was quarantined.

Kind of an interesting usage of words there. Like quarantined is like, I'm like, I'm nervous with the urgency he has of his mom. He has a few days left to live. Right. He's doing all this in a rush, but there's a lot of things where I'm like, you're unboxing and you're like doing all these things that you don't really understand. You're doing them in a rush. And even like words like her legacy was quarantined feels like maybe he is getting ready to unleash something. Yeah.

not particularly good is what I would say. Yeah. It's like, there's a path. He's opening up the door to something a lot worse than just his mom dying. Basically. He's going to make this into a much, much bigger problem. And it feels like the devil's just on the other side of the door. You know what? Honestly, this is a weird comparison, but it kind of reminds me of, uh, the witch, uh,

you remember how like the opening of that movie so long is like rapping at the door of like playing with the devil then eventually it comes out i was gonna say it's reminding me of hereditary with the mom and then the grandmother who is gone and now you're like delving into some of the uh

traditions that she used to do also just i'll say old women just scare the fuck out of me like grandmas and that kind of stuff just like old people in general but specifically old women freak me the fuck out so having just this weird collection of items from this old woman i god forbid he starts seeing her or something i would freak out freak out where where's my list at

i have a list somewhere oh it's in my button towards the top i'll have to pull it out yeah but i'm putting old women i'll add it someone remind me to add that yeah the red book was very specific about the distribution of the totems around the house and property i walked carefully through my mom's backyard boots plopped in and out of mud compass in hand it had rained nearly every day since i'd taken my mom home from the hospital

and it was almost certainly a coincidence but couldn't help wonder if the soft curtains of rain falling to the ground were for her. I placed charms in a compass rose with the house in the middle. The most disturbing objects were given places of honor at each cardinal direction. Water, salt, wards, charms, all placed carefully, intentionally. My grandmother's book promised that these would offer some degree of protection against the inevitability of death.

The symbols would confuse it, the talismans distract it, and the water and salt make barriers to slow it down. But death might still find a crack to slip through, so the Red Book recommended one final trick. There's a small candle on the bottom of the box. Dirty white as stained paper. When I took the candle from its case, the smell made me gag. Have you ever walked past a portable toilet in the dog days of summer? When it's so hot, the blue plastic has started to warp and bubble.

Imagine that smell distilled into a finger's worth of wax. I brought the candle downstairs, place it on the dining room table and set it alight. Oh, see, and one thing has like also just what, sorry to derail it again, but the, even like just in terms of like rituals and stuff, usually candle lighting, a candle offers like spirit, like welcoming spirits, opening doors or whatever it,

Is there any indication that this is like that they're Native American or like any kind of culture that believes in that stuff? Oh, Cantonese. Okay, my bad. Yeah, so Southeast Asian. Right, okay.

So it's like, like think like Japanese. I mean, not literally Japanese. You know what I mean? Like similar to East Asian traditions and stuff like that. Incantation type of like symbols and that kind of like rituals and stuff. Right. There's also like, he doesn't know what a lot of this stuff does. And like, maybe you don't just like light the candle, right? Maybe you don't know what you're doing with that action. I think in this desperation, I think that I would be, I would go through that book and

as thorough as I could and just do every single thing. And this, if this is a part of my culture and my beliefs and you know, I'm like, I'm just willing to try anything. I think that you're going to do every single thing that book says is what I would imagine. Right. I mean, I, there's not even any real logic to it. He's just like, I'm doing every single thing like a, like a laundry list. The wick caught immediately the flame burning an unusual red Brown. No heat came off the candle and it actually seemed cooler. The closer I moved my hand to the fire.

Once the wax began to melt, the smell was ten times worse than it was back in the attic. I choked down a greasy sickness crawling up my throat and quickly left the room, shutting the French doors as I went. That helped trap the odor, but I couldn't shake the sense of nausea. I went to check on my mother. "Do you remember the day you ran away?" My mom asked, sitting in her bed, lunch untouched on the nightstand beside her.

I didn't think she had any weight left to lose before. She was nothing but bone and memory. Her skin was rice paper over a frame that seemed smaller every day. Her eyes, though, no matter how fragile the rest of her became, remained two little lanterns against the dark, blue and bright and alive. I didn't make it very far, and I wasn't really running away, only stretching my legs. Mom smiled. You told me you were leaving for the circus.

You wanted to be either a lion tamer, or a strong man, or maybe a fire eater. I think I wanted to be all that combined. Young me was big on multitasking. My mother turned, so she was looking out the window into the yard. I was so scared when I found your note. The one saying you were leaving. My hands were shaking like you wouldn't believe what I called the sheriff. And then Mr. Jonas down the way. I felt like we were searching for you for half the night.

Even though it couldn't have been more than an hour before we found you there, lost in the woods, wandering around and shivering. You hadn't even bought a jacket. I sat next to my mom on the bed. Yeah, I didn't exactly plan ahead for the circus escape. I remember getting over the idea quick, but I couldn't find my way back. I'm glad you found me. I'm glad too. My mother said, and I noticed her wipe away a tear. I'm so glad. That hour you were gone, Brian.

That was the most afraid I've ever been. Afraid we wouldn't find you. Afraid you might be hurt or worse. I couldn't hardly breathe through the fear. Then suddenly, you were there, and the relief nearly knocked me over. I think we stayed up together the rest of the night watching the stars. I wanted to make sure you could find the North Star in case you ever got lost again. She turned back to me, reached out her thin hand and placed it over mine.

There were still tears in her eyes, but she smiled. Her lighthouse smile. And for a moment, I saw her just as she used to be. Just as she was the night I ran away and my mom found me. I squeezed her hand. "I was scared too. I was afraid I'd be stuck out there. What made you think of it?" "I've been thinking a lot about dying lately and..." "Don't! Don't talk like that! You're not going anywhere! Not for a long time! It's okay." She said, squeezing my hand back.

It's okay. I've known real fear, and what I'm feeling now, it's not like that. I'm scared, I guess, but I'm at peace with it. I had such a beautiful life, and I'm so glad I got to meet you, to be your mom. I'm glad too. I whispered, voice breaking on the last word, but I won't let you go without a fight. I added silently in my mind. Man, that was rough. But what that also, not only is that like emotional, and I think it's like,

like a good, like it's a paid off emotional moment, but that's also kind of like the narrative offering him an exit right there. Right. I've kind of like, you can let me go before this gets much worse. Yeah. Um, I think, uh, I think it's going to be something where not that I think she realizes that something horrible is going to happen because she would probably say something, but I think it's also like almost, uh,

It's almost like divine intervention, almost having someone just be like, no, seriously, I'm okay to go. You don't have to do this. Yeah. Yeah. That's also, that's an impossible thing to, to grasp. Right. Oh yeah. Of course. You know, I'm like, I completely sympathize with Brian about being like, I'm not fucking this fight. It's understandable why he doesn't give up. Right. But yeah, I just mean thematically. It's like that was his last door on the left. Yeah. Yeah. Something was trying to get my mom.

The strangeness began the day after I lit the candle. At first it was small blips, tiny wrongs that I chalked up to my imagination. Doors I knew I'd closed at night were open in the morning. Food began to rot and spoil within days of me bringing it into the house. Eventually, food would go bad almost immediately. Every few hours, the television in the living room would either turn off if it was running or on if it was off. Clocks would stop overnight, always at 3.03 a.m.,

Shadows began sticking to the corners of rooms independent of any light sources. The shadows were stubborn and they would linger for as long as I would stare, then disappear when I blinked. I began hearing bumps and knocks at all hours and sometimes when I'd enter an empty room, I had a sharp, fleeting certainty that it was only just occupied.

i avoided the dining room except to check in twice a day to see if the candle was still burning the smell was vicious and went clawed sway into your throat and nostrils the moment it was given a chance i kept the door to the room shut and kept air fresheners running in the surrounding rooms 24 7. the funny thing was the candle never went out never even seemed to shrink i could see the wax melting but day in and day out the candle refused to change days marched into weeks and the wrongness only grew deeper

My mom and I both lost sleep to vivid nightmares that we couldn't remember when we woke up. Only the echoes remained, but those were enough to leave my pulse sprinting until morning. I started sleeping in a chair in my mother's room. I did this to comfort her if she woke up confused during the night, but also because, if I'm being honest, I was too scared to sleep alone. I felt like a child running into his parents' room, convinced there was a monster under the bed. Thing is, maybe there was.

By the third week, I couldn't keep doors closed. They would slam open the moment I left the room. A terrible scratching began inside of the walls. I told my mom it might be squirrels or mice, but the sound was so insistent. Not like rodents milling about, more like a dog wanting in. I stopped leaving the house for supplies. Instead, I had what little food we ate delivered. I kept the curtains drawn. There was tapping on the glass every night.

About a month after leaving the hospital, we were living like zombies. The dining room couldn't contain the smell of the candle anymore. The entire house was clogged with the scent. Tiny noises had graduated into full-on laughs and screams and whispers in the rooms around us. Something kicked the bathroom door so hard while I was taking a shower that the hinges warped.

I covered every mirror in the house. I'd start to see things in the corners looking back at me, half hidden faces, shapes that skittered away as soon as I turned around. Mom was drifting further and further away. She had long moments of confusion where she'd forgotten my name, forgot where we were. Sometimes she'd think I was my dad. Other times she'd just stare at the wall for hours, growing fainter and fainter each day like a Polaroid left in the sun. But she was alive.

It was clear that we were under siege by something. My world shrank to only one room and every trip to the bathroom or to answer the door for food felt like going over the trenches. The noises kept getting worse and worse, the shadows closer, the sense of movement around the house sharper. Every now and then I would feel hot breaths on the back of my neck or walk through a cold patch hanging in the air.

I stopped bothering redrawing the lines of salt around the house. I knew deep in my bones that as long as the sickly candle burned, death could not take my mom away. On the 33rd day after leaving the hospital, I woke with a start from a nightmare, only to find my mom's bed empty. She hadn't been able to walk the past week at all, so my first feeling was hope that she might be improving at least a little.

Then I noticed the odor we'd been living with for weeks was gone. "MOM!" I shouted, running bare feet out of the room. I found her in the dining room, the door wide open. She was standing at the table, frail as a neglected scarecrow, bobbing back and forth. Her hands were hovering over the candle. The flame was out. "Why did you do that?" "M-mom, are you okay?"

I padded into the room, the wooden floor freezing cold. My mother didn't react to my presence. She just continued rocking side to side. I realized she was still asleep. Mom? I gently shook her shoulder. Wake up. Her head snapped back and she nearly fell. I caught her on the way down. It felt like she weighed nothing at all. She asked, looking around the dark room. You're okay. You were sleepwalking. I was having the most unusual dream. There were so many stars in it.

She began to shiver uncontrollably. The cold hit me a moment later. I let out a gasp. The house was chilly before, but the dining room was near arctic. My breath bloomed into a thin cloud in front of my face. I became acutely aware of the complete silence filling the house. Then I heard scratching. It was coming all throughout the house. Deep tearing sounds at the walls around the dining room. Footsteps came immediately after, heavy and fast. Somewhere in the house, a window shattered.

"Ryan!" my mother said, holding onto me. "Don't worry. Everything will be-" My voice deserted me as a massive shadow unfolded in the corner of the room. It was shaped like a man, but tall. So very tall. And it was fast. Before I could yell, the shadow was on us, pouring over my mother. In the space of a heartbeat, she was simply gone. "No." I whispered, clawing at the dissolving shadow where my mom used to be. "No, no, no, no, no!

The shadow was disappearing like a puddle sinking into the floor. There was a texture to it, oily and too slick to hold. I thought of my mother the night she found me lost in the woods, the night I'd run away. Her face filled my memory, her lighthouse smile. I remembered the relief I felt when she found me, the overwhelming love. I held on to that feeling, clutching it close. You can't have her. I closed my fist around the last threads of the shadow. There was a terrible sensation of pulling,

It was like I'd caught a horse by the tail and it was trying to shake me, but I held on. A sense of ripping and being dragged. It was a riptide with a mind of its own, but I held on. It could not shake me. The temperature was dropping every second and I felt my vision growing dark. The last thought that ran through my head before I blacked out was a promise to myself that even if I died, my grip would hold.

I wouldn't let my mother's life slip away. All sounds and light faded, narrowing to a pinprick and then going black. I woke up under a field of stars. I was lying in soft grass, still wearing my pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt. It was cool, wherever I was, but comfortably so. I stood up. There were trees all around me, tall and close, stitched together with shadows. Immediately to my right, there was a road that ran straight as far as I could see, blurring into the horizon.

But the stars, they were like nothing I'd ever seen before. Bright ribbons of northern lights rippled above me in green and blue and purple. Stars lit the sky like millions of lanterns floating on a still ocean. The moon shone sharpest of all, a spotlight hanging above the tree line, so close I thought I could stretch up and brush its face. You are persistent, said a voice from the forest behind me. I whipped around but couldn't see anyone. Then a dark spot began to clarify against the gloom.

The silhouette separated itself and moved towards me. I recognized it instantly as the shadow from the dining room. As I moved closer, the thing grew and grew until it touched the sky and filled my vision. A deep dread sank into me, but I stood my ground. "Give me back my mom!" The silhouette pulled away from the sky and then it was standing in front of me. The shape and size of a tall man. But instead of a shadow, the thing had wrapped itself in stars.

Miniature constellations drifted across its body, floating slowly like a time lapse of a clear night sky. Burning brightness was the North Star, blue and warm. Space between the stars was absolute black. Not a shadow, but a complete absence of light. It was the most beautiful, terrifying thing I'd ever seen. What are you? You know. Give her back! Please give her back! I can't. It's her time. Past her time. You delayed me.

Delayed her. I clenched my fists. She didn't get enough time. I didn't get enough time. It's not right. It's not fair! Of course it's not fair. But it is right. You each have your time. And at the end of it, there's me. And there's a road. And we walk it together. Where to? Where are you taking her? I don't know. It's not for me to know. Only to know how to get there. I won't let you take her.

I planted myself in the road. The world was still and solemn around us. Constellations drifted like clouds and a soft breeze stirred the branches. The starry thing didn't respond for a moment. Your mother was kind and caring. Wherever she goes, she'll have peace. The creature raised its hand. Did you stop to think that death isn't an enemy? Death simply is. It is the natural partner to life. It knows no prejudice or malice. Has no designs or ambitions.

Your mother spent so long suffering, felt so much pain. Instead of letting her rest, you took it upon yourself to draw her life beyond its given course. You kept her alive and at the cost of stretching her thin, prolonging her sickness, diluting her. Did you keep her alive for her benefit or for yours? I couldn't answer. Stretching a life is unnatural, dangerous. In the weeks you kept me away, you drew the attention of old things.

Hungry things. Forces that would like nothing better than to swallow even the memory of your mother. To tear and bite until there's nothing left but pain and fear in a perfect emptiness. I shuddered remembering the clawing sounds, the shattered window, and the laughter from empty rooms. I'm sorry. Are they... Can they hurt her here? Is she safe? The stars in the shadow burned brighter for a moment. Your mother won't walk her road alone. None of you do. I walk with you.

"Always. To the end." "Can I see her? Please, just let me say goodbye." It considered for several seconds. "You are persistent." And then the starry thing was gone. I was standing alone on an empty road. I turned to find my mother behind me on the road. She looked younger, healthier than I'd seen her in years. Frailty was gone and my mother seemed exactly as I remembered her when she found me in the woods all those years ago. "Isn't this the most beautiful dream?" she asked staring up at the sky.

Yeah, a beautiful dream. I love you, mom. I love you so much, so very much. She smiled and touched my cheek. I love you too. Don't cry, it's okay. I'll wake up anytime now. I'll see you then. I nodded, wiping at tears. Sure, yeah, I'll see you then. What do you think is at the end of the road? You think I'll have time to find out before I wake up? I looked out at the road, scanning the trees for any hungry shadows. I don't know why.

i don't know where it goes but promise me you'll be careful my mom smiled wider of course i'll be careful and she won't walk alone instead of familiar voice behind us both i turned expecting the starry thing but the man standing on the road was entirely normal the light from the moon was enough that i could see he had moss green eyes and a bright shock of red hair such a beautiful dream the man came towards us and took my mother's hand he and i looked so alike see why my mother confused us when she was sick

Take care of her. I told the man. I- Just please take care of her. Make sure she gets where she's going. There are, well, there are things out there that want her. To hurt her. It's- It's my fault. I'm so sorry. The man squeezed my shoulder. She'll be safe. Watched over. If the devil himself is waiting on that road ahead, he'll move. Or he'll be moved. And I believed him. Thoughts raced through my head. There were so many things I wanted to say. Questions. A million ways to say goodbye.

I wanted to stretch out that moment for as long as I could, but I realized I'd already delayed my mother enough. "I love you." I told them both. "Goodbye." I woke up back in my dining room sitting at the table, the omelette candle in front of me. The house was quiet and still. There was no more scratching, no sound or sense of life at all. I walked through every room. The house was empty. I was alone. I've spent the past couple months working on the house, erasing the marks I'd made, fixing up the property.

Some nights I take long walks out in the forest. I'm far enough out in the country that on clear nights it's like looking up at a sea of stars. I think about my parents the most during those walks. I grieve and remember in my own way. And I wonder where their road went, if they're still traveling or if they reached their destination. I hope that their roads take them strange and beautiful places. When I walk at night, I look up for the North Star to keep from getting lost. Maybe they do the same. When it's full, I also look up towards the moon.

i wonder if my parents had a chance to visit to search for hidden oceans i like to think they did that the moon has at least one maria one i love most beautiful ending to an amazing story maria on the moon what'd you think isaiah uh i liked it uh i i honestly normally with stuff like this the emotional part

I'm always like, okay, you know, like it's kind of phoned in. But I liked it here. I really liked the twist of when they're standing there, when he's saying goodbye to his mom and says a familiar voice says she won't be alone. I assumed it was death again coming to them. But it was his father. And that was like, and they're like, sure, it's kind of cliche, but there was a sweetness to the father being like, if the devil himself was on this path, I'd make him move. Like, you know, like a...

A man coming back to Earth for his wife after she passes. It's a beautiful picture, and I think it does pretty well. I wish the story hung out in the horror part longer, because that was kind of like a quick skip to get to the Herdine part and him talking to Death. And I wish that Death never said anything. I feel...

I always feel like this is, this isn't just his story. This is with anything. I feel like whenever a human tries to write for a cosmic entity and it's longer than like a couple of words, it always kind of kills the vibe for me a little bit, just because in my head, it's like, okay, well, I don't think an infinite creature, you know,

you know, and the embodiment of death would talk in the way we expect him to talk. For me, it's always cooler to imagine that he's silent. And a lot of the stuff death says, like you've let in new hungry things. Like we could just have our author think that to himself. Um, I think I would have liked it more if death just kind of appeared and he just kind of breathlessly yelled, like, I want my mom back. Can I at least say bye to her? And then death disappears and his mom's there.

but that is such a minor nitpick. Uh, I'm honestly trying to think of stuff I don't like about the story. Uh, cause I did, I did enjoy it. I thought it was fun. It's very sweet. It was very, it is a very sweet story. Yeah. Very emotional, happy ending kind of thing. I think that it's the, it's the reassurance that when people are gone, that you love, uh, have to walk, everyone walks that same road. Yeah. Uh, and that you just, all you can do is hope that there's some kind of imbalance of peace on the other side. I think, um,

I agree. I think that the buildup wasn't there. Like there, there wasn't enough horror in there to have that fun reveal of death. Cause I do like the reveal of, I like the idea that, um,

death is a spirit that comes and takes your loved ones, but it's necessary, you know, like delaying the inevitable is only harmful in the, in this process and this like weird transaction after life is over. Yeah. You're doing more harm than good. Yeah. Yeah. I think that letting other spirits in and all that stuff. I mean,

There just wasn't enough threat or danger to make me feel like, well... I think the only reason I really feel that way, because I agree with you, I think the only reason I feel that way is because it was such a cool setup with the, like, I'm going to make a mess, a maze not even death could solve. I think maybe if it spent some more time there, that's such a creative idea. Yeah, I think that if you can spend more time doing that, right, I think that, one, it makes the subversion of death being...

like a peaceful, natural entity, much more, I don't know, much more revealing or much more satisfying ending. But also it makes me wonder what the candle of like, like with this, like how do you avoid death with these candles and stuff kind of, which has more repercussions to that or something more where it's like, why would you want that to happen? Like if this person's spiritual, you'd almost think that like they would know that death is a natural part. So it's, why are you trying to trick them?

that or prolong these things. Just, I mean, it's just, it needed more time. I will say it needed more time, but I will say that Travis is a fantastic author. A lot of his like symbolism and stuff and stuff like that was very well done. I liked it a lot. This wasn't the scariest story we've read, but in terms of an emotional pulling and stuff, very bought into Brian and his mom's relationship and that kind of, you know,

Just the hardship that comes with having to say goodbye to things. And that's so relatable, not only to even if your parents are still alive, like animals that you've loved or anything else that you've had to permanently say goodbye to is a...

very tough pill to swallow so it's just the ending also i want to say reminded me a lot of left right game ending of having this entity yeah i had the exact same thought i think that the story entity appearing and then yeah and you have the long road and you know that kind of stuff yeah but i will say this uh you know left right game did that i still appreciate it for the conversation with the entity was like

you'll know I remember like very brief right because then it's kind of still makes it out to be an unknowable entity and I I wish this story kind of took aspects from that a little bit more but I also understand they're in different directions I mean I I think that you're right too though of I think that in these situations I think it's more powerful to have the entity not respond like yeah think about how many times this entity has walked

a soul down this road or whatever, or like, yeah, that's set up this transaction to me. I'm like, I think that there's nothing to be said. It's only through action. I think it's better. You have the human being who's just processing this and emotionally responding. I think we're, you know, that's the person who's yelling and screaming and it is emotionally responding to the situation versus death has probably heard this a billion times over a billion times or whatever. Um,

So I agree, though, but all in all, I will say, I mean, like, I'm glad that we're doing two stories because I'm excited to see how something walks whistling past my house every night at 303. How this one holds up as well. Is this one also a little lighter on the horror? It's more of a emotional study. Or is this one going to be more? I will say it is kind of interesting, too, because the 303 was also in.

Maria and the, on the moon. So I think three Oh three is an angel number. Uh, the number three Oh three is said to be a message of personal growth, forgiveness, and inner peace. Uh, I feel like that is a very positive way to look at it. What's the negative one. Okay.

So are you familiar with angel numbers? Not at all. So it's this concept within some realms of spirituality that if you see a number appear like in your daily life, like at a time or on a receipt or something, right? It is spiritual beings trying to send you a message, right? If you see the same thing recur over and over.

I remember 444. What is the angel number representation? Is an angel number that can have meetings including guidance, stability? These are all the positive ones. There's creepy angel numbers too where it's like it means something's in the room with you or something's present. I remember reading one story as a kid that at the time of 444 a.m.,

If you turn on anything electronic or if you're not supposed to turn on anything and you're not supposed to enter a new room while it's 444 or else something else will enter the room with you. That's creepy. To this day...

I will. I refuse to do anything at four 44. The other night, this was two nights ago. I woke up at like four 42 to go to the bathroom. Oh shit. And I said, I laid in bed and waited for it to be four 45. I'm like, I'm not, I am not getting out of this bed. I'm not moving. I'm not moving.

It's fucked up. The amount of times I've woken up at exactly like 3.30 or 3.28, like right in there, I'm like, why? Why am I waking up right now? So that is one of the angel number things. The idea is if you have these reoccurring times things are happening, that is a message that's trying to be got across to you. The angels try to tell me I'm having a heart attack. Like, change your life! Change something!

I'm like, I'm sure it's fine. Just sleep apnea choking on my tongue. It's like all, whenever you look it up, it's always like, well, three 33 means you're about to find love, but there's evil ones too. I know it's like, I know there's ones that's like, there's a presence or, um, you're like, someone's going to betray you and stuff like that. Um, but yeah, there, there's a bunch of, there's a bunch of different angel numbers and stuff. There's obviously like six, six, six, right? Like that's right. Right. The devil or a famous one. Yeah. The devil's number. Um,

But yeah, so that's the concept. So maybe 303 is one of those. It has like religious significance. Only one way to find out. I say we dive into something walks whistling past my house every night at 303. Every night, no matter the weather, something walks down our street whistling softly. You can only hear it if you're in the living room or the kitchen when they walk by and it always starts at exactly 303.

The sound starts to faint, somewhere near the beginning of the lane near the Carson place. We're towards the middle of the street, so the whistling moves past us before fading away in the direction of the cul-de-sac. When I was younger, my sister and I would sneak into the kitchen some nights to listen. Mom and dad didn't like that, and we'd catch hell if they found us out there, but they were never too hard on us since we always stuck to the one big rule:

Don't try to look at whatever was whistling. I'm immediately bought in. Wow. So the parents even said that too. Hey, just whatever you do, don't look in the direction of the person whistling. I'm here for it. What a creepy fucking thing. Like, imagine your parents saying that to you when you were younger. Hey, someone's going to be whistling. Just don't look at them. Just don't look at them. Fuck that. Don't look. My neighborhood's a funny place. I've lived here since I was six and I love it.

the houses are small but well kept good sized yards plenty of places to roam there are a lot of other kids here my age i turned 13 back in october we grew up together and would always play four square in the cul-de-sac or roam around from back porch to back porch in the summer this was a good place to grow up i'm old enough to see it and there's only the two strange things here the night whistling and the good luck oh let's go the whistling never bothered me much

Like I said, I couldn't even hear it from my bedroom, but mom and dad don't like talking about it, so I've stopped asking questions. My dad's a strong guy, tall and calm. He has an accent since he moved to the US as a kid. His family, my grandparents, they're from the islands. That's what they call it. My dad, the only time he isn't so calm is if the whistler comes up. He talks a little quicker then, eyes move faster, and he tells us not to think about it so much and to always remember the one big rule.

Don't try to look outside when the whistler goes past. Not that we could look even if we wanted. See, there are shutters on the inside of every window. Thick pieces of heavy canvas that pull down from the top and latch to the bottom of the window frame. Each latch even has a small lock, about the size of what you'd find on a diary.

My dad locks those shutters every night before we all go to bed and keeps the key in his room. Oh my God. This little dumb piece of shit is going to open one of the shut. God damn it. I'm excited. This is fun. I'm already having a great time. What a great change from my mom has cancer and is dying. Now it's my dad. My dad won't let us look at the secret windows. Yeah. He's locking all the windows.

Imagine he looks outside and it's Tommy Taffy. He's got like a pinstripe suit on. My mom, I don't know what she thinks about the whistling. I've seen her out in the living room before at 303 when the sound starts. I could see her if I cracked my door open just an inch to peek.

She's not out there often. At least I haven't caught her much. But once or twice a month, I think she sits out there on our big red couch just listening. The whistler has the same tune every night. It's cheerful. Hold up, I'm going to try this. Wait, is that it? Da-da, da-da, da-dum. Da-da, da-da, da-dum. Da-da, da-da, da-dum. Like that? Is that right? Creepy. Yeah. Maybe. Or is it a bit slower? Is it like... I like that. Yeah, it's creepier. Remember how I said there are two odd things about where I live?

Well, besides our night whistler, everyone in my neighborhood is really lucky. It's hard to explain and dad doesn't like us talking about this part much either, but good things just seem to happen to people around here a lot. Usually it's small things. Winning a radio contest or getting an unexpected promotion at work or finding some arrowheads buried in the yard. You know, the authentic kind. The weather's pretty good and there's no crime and everybody's gardens bloom extra bright in the fall.

A million little blessings, I've heard my mom say about living here. But the main reason we stay here, why we moved here in the first place, is my sister Nola. She was born very sick, something with her lungs. Couldn't even bring her home when she was born, only visit her in the hospital. She was so small, I remember. Small even compared to the other babies. The machine had to breathe for her. We moved into our house here to be closer to the hospital.

As soon as we moved here, Nola started getting better. The doctors couldn't figure it out. They chalked it up to whatever they were doing, but we all could tell they were confused. But my parents knew. Even I knew. Nola getting better was just another of the million little blessings we got for living in our neighborhood. So that's why we stayed even after we found out that for every small miracle that happens here every day, now and then, some bad things happen.

but they only happen if you look for the whistler. This is great. I'm already bought in. Let's go. This is like, this is like a Tommy Taffy Baraska hybrid. Am I all right? We'll see. I wonder what happens when the whistler comes into your house. We'll find out.

Yeah, because it's like, it's like, sure, you get good stuff, but there's a price to pay, right? And that element of it's very Baraska. I mean, that's not a bad thing either. But I can't look outside at 3.03 a.m. I don't get it. Yeah, it's like your daughter doesn't die of an illness she was born with. Just don't look outside at night. Okay.

Sure. But that damn whistler, I must peek. I have to look for the whistler. I have to peek. But I imagine it's going to be like the kid or someone invites the presence in. Oh, 100%. The kid is going to fuck this all up. I can feel it in my bones. Okay. Imagine you don't get it. You can confirm your family won't get an illness and you'll do well financially and stuff like that. And just no one in your house look outside at 3.03 a.m. If I could find a way to make sure my kids absolutely, like I lock them in their bedroom for two minutes every night, done.

Easy deal. I'd have them go to bed with blindfolds on that are also locked. Yeah. It's like a chastity cage, but for their face. Exactly. Daddy, it's too tight. Shut up. I don't care. Do you want your sister to be sick again? Idiot. You son of a bitch.

You know what? You just throw him on the front porch. Yeah, if I could take him. You hear him trying to get in. Daddy! The whistling's getting closer to the door. See, our neighborhood has a welcoming committee. They show up with macaroni casserole and a gift basket and a manila folder whenever someone new moves in.

Imagine you move into a neighborhood and they slide you a folder. Yeah, so here's your macaroni casserole. Here's a gift basket. There's some lotion in there. Smells good. So a man whistles and you are not to look at him. Do not do that. What? Well, where I'm expecting this goes is that for every good thing that happens, someone has to look. There has to be a bad thing that happens. That's what I suspect. Well, we'll find out, but I just have a hunch. Okay.

They're very friendly. Four people showed up when we moved in seven years ago. The committee made small talk, gave me a Snickers bar, and took turns holding Nola. It was her first week out of the hospital, so they were extra careful. Then the committee asked to speak to my parents in private, so I was sent to my room where I still managed to hear nearly every word. The welcoming committee told my parents about how nice the neighborhood was. Really exceptionally. Hard to explain, kind of nice.

And then they told my parents about the even harder to explain whistling that happened every morning at 3:03 and ended at the tick of 3:05. The group, our new neighbors, warned my parents that the whistling was quiet, would never harm or hurt us as long as we didn't look for what was making the sound. This part they stressed, and I pushed my ear into the door straining to hear them. People who went looking for the whistler had their luck change, sometimes tragically. A black cloud would hang over anyone that looked,

Anything that could go wrong would. The manila envelope the committee brought over contained newspaper clippings, stories about car crashes and ruined lives, public deaths and freak accidents. Not everyone dies. I heard the head of the committee tell my dad. But the life goes out of them, even if they live. There's no light in them ever again. No present.

My mom, I could tell she wasn't taking it seriously. She kept asking if this was some prank they play on new neighbors. At one point, my mom got angry, accused the committee of trying to scare us out of our new home, asked them if they were racist on account of my dad being from the islands. My dad calmed her down, told her he could tell our new neighbors were sincere and they were just trying to help us. He explained that he grew up hearing those kinds of stories from his mom and that he knew there were strange things that walked among us.

Some of those strange things were good, some were bad, most were just different. After the committee left, Dad went out to the hardware store, bought the canvas blinds, latches, and the locks, and installed them on every window in the house after dinner. That first night in our new house, I crept out of my room at 3 a.m., only to find my dad awake sitting on the living room couch holding my baby sister. My dad held up his finger in a shush motion, but patted the couch next to him. I sat, and we waited.

At exactly 3:03, we heard it. It came and it went just like our neighbors said. The whistling returns each night and we never look and we enjoy our million little blessings every day. Nola breathes on her own and she's grown into a strong, clever girl. My dad even joined the welcoming committee. We don't get new neighbors often. Why would anyone want to leave? But when a new family moves in, my dad and the committee bring them macaroni casserole, a gift basket, and the manila folder.

I can always tell by the look on my dad's face when he comes back if the family took the committee seriously or if we'd be getting new neighbors again very soon. Not long ago, a family moved in directly next to us. Previous owner, Miss Maddie, passed away at the age of 105. She lived a good, long life. Our new neighbors seemed like they'd fit in just fine. They believed the welcoming committee, took my dad's advice about the locking shutters since they had a young child of their own,

Whatever newspaper clippings were in that manila envelope, whatever evidence, my dad never let us see. But I imagine it must have been awfully convincing since our neighbors got along with no issues for the first month. One night, when our new neighbors had to leave town, they sent their son, Holden, to stay with us. He was 12, a year under me in school. I didn't know him well before that night, but as soon as his parents dropped him off at dinner, I could tell it was going to be a bad time. Do you know who's always out there whistling every night?

Holden asked the moment the adults left the room. Three of us were sitting in the den, some Disney movie playing idly on the television. My sister and I exchanged a glance. We don't talk about that. I think it's the weirdo that lives in the big yellow house in the corner. Mr. Tolles? No way, he's really nice. Hmm, must be a psycho killer then. Nola tensed. We don't talk about it. Let's go in my room and play Nintendo.

We spent the next few hours playing games, eating popcorn, and then watching movies. Typical sleepover, but I could see Holden was getting antsy. After my parents had wished us a good night, locked the blinds, and gone to bed, Holden stood up from his beanbag and walked over to where Noel and I were sitting on my bed. Have you ever tried looking? It's nearly time. Like most sleepovers, we conveniently ignored any suggestion of a bedtime. I was shocked to see he was right. It was almost 3am. We don't... See, I can't!

I can't even try to look because my dad locks the blinds every night and hides the key. So does our dad. He continued, ignoring me. No. No, he doesn't. You saw him do it. I said, a little sharper than I meant to sound. Holding Grant. Your dad locks the blinds? Yeah, but he doesn't hide the key. He keeps it right on his normal keychain. So? I asked, worried I already knew what he would say next.

Because I had noticed that my dad didn't bother hiding the key anymore after all those years. Because he knew we took it seriously. So after your dad locked up before your parents went to bed, I went to the bathroom. And on my way, I may have peeked into the room. And I may have seen your dad's keychain on his nightstand. And I maybe went and borrowed the keys to the blinds. Noel and I stared and his grin only grew wider. You're lying. You can check if you want. Just open your parents' door and look.

You'll see his keychain right there on his nightstand. Stay here. Told both of them. Don't move a muscle. I hurried over to my parents' room, but hesitated at the door. If Holden wasn't lying, my dad would be angry. Beyond angry. I was scared thinking about it. But more scared of an open window with the whistler right outside. I opened the door barely an inch and looked in, but it was too dark to see. Taking a deep breath, I walked into the room.

Two steps into the dark, I froze. The whistling started, and I could hear it clearly from my parents' room. I never realized, but they must have heard the sound every night since we moved into the house. They never told us. I don't think I could have slept through it. I stood there, listening to the whistling come closer. Unsure whether I should turn on a light or call out for my dad, soft sounds from the living room brought me back to reality.

"Nola!" I yelled, running out of my parents' room. Holden and Nola were standing near the front door next to a window. Holden wasn't lying. I could see him fumbling with the lock on one of the blinds. I heard a click. He did have the key. Holden let out a quick laugh. Nola stood next to him, hunched up, afraid but maybe curious. The whistling was right outside our house now. I think I made a sound. Called out. I can't remember.

Time felt frozen, clock hands nailed to the face, but I found myself moving. I'm not fast, I've never been athletic. Somehow though, I covered the space between myself and Nola in a moment. My eyes were locked on her, but I heard Holden pull the blind all the way down so it could release. I heard the snap of it start to raise, and I heard the whistling just on the other side of the window. But I had my arms around Nola, and I turned us so she was facing away from the window.

At the same time, I jammed my eyes shut. The blind whipped open. The whistling stopped. I felt Nola shaking in my arms. Don't look, okay? Don't turn around. We were positioned so that she was facing back towards the hallway and I was facing the window. My eyes were still closed. I felt her nod into my shoulder. I reached out with the arm not holding Nola and tried to touch Holden. My hand brushed against his arm. He was shaking worse than Nola. Holden? Silence.

I reached past him, gingerly felt for the window. Eyes still sealed shut. The glass was cold against my fingertips. Colder than it should have been for that time of year. I moved my hand up the window, searching for the string to the blind. The glass began to get warmer the further I reached. There was a gentle hum feeding back into my fingertips. I tried not to think about what might be on the other side of the window.

Finally, I touched the string, yanked the blinds shut, opened my eyes. In the dim light leaking out from the kitchen, I could make out Holden, pale and small, staring at the now closed window. "Holden!" He turned towards me and screamed. Everything became a flurry of motion. Light sparked to life in the hall, then the living room. My parents' footsteps thudded across the hardwood floor. I didn't turn to look back at them. My eyes were glued to Holden.

He was pale, had bit his lip so hard there was a thin red line of blood running down his chin and he'd wet himself. What happened? My dad asked from behind me. I managed to swivel away from Holden and look back. He looked. I'd never seen my dad scared before, but I saw it that night. In that moment, an old, ugly tear stitched on his face. A parent's fear. Just Holden?

I nodded yes. Oh, man. I'm loving this right now. This is doing it for me. Oh, man. My dad let out a breath.

He looks so relieved. I nearly expected him to cheer. Oh, man. It's like such a serious intense moment. Yeah, exactly. And it's like, okay, the three kids are in the room. Are my kids okay? Yeah. Okay. Thank God only that one kid is dead. You know, like it's such a harrowing moment, but you also understand. Yeah. Yeah. It's like, it's such a serious, it's such a heavy moment.

implication that it's almost like a survival scenario about like, okay, well, my clan is safe. My people are okay. Well, not my kid, so. Exactly, yeah. Also, at the same time, though, dude, fuck Holden. Yeah, well, he's a little brat, but he's also only been there for a month. And also, honestly, we have our main character who, like, my father grew up in that kind of culture, so I'm sure his father told him the seriousness of this, where I don't think Holden had that.

I think Holden was just kind of like disrespectful to it the whole time. I still think about him sneaking in and stealing the keys. I'm like, what a little, what a little rat fuck. Yeah. Well, I'm sure, I'm sure he's going to get, I like that. I'm, I'm, I'm very excited. It's, it's about to happen. Yeah. Oh, he looks so relieved. I nearly expected him to cheer, but then he turned to hold it in. My dad's face changed. I wondered if he felt bad for feeling good and that Holden was the only one that looked like,

There was a knock at the door. We all froze. Holden whimpered. Don't answer it, my mom said. She stood at the threshold of the hall. I'd always thought she was a skeptic and just humored my dad about the windows and the whistler, but that night we were all believers. I noticed that both of my parents held baseball bats they must have taken from their bedroom. The knock came again, a little louder this time. Please don't open the door, Holden whispered.

My dad walked over to him, hugged him close. "We won't." My dad promised, still holding his bat. "Nothing is coming in here tonight." This time the knocking was loud enough to rattle the door. Holden screamed again and Nola clutched her arms around my neck. My mom came over and knelt down next to us, wrapping my sister and me close. "Call the police." My mom whispered to my dad. The knocking instantly stopped. My dad looked over his shoulder at us.

do you think he was cut off by frantic knocking that trailed off to a polite tap tap tap police something said from the other side of the door the voice from outside sounded exactly like my mom like a parrot repeating the words back to her yes please call the police police my mom pulled us closer police police police please please please stop

I don't think calling them will help. How will we know when they're the ones at the door? The knocking came back harder than before. The door shook, then it stopped. After a long moment, I heard the knocking again, but it was coming from our back door. Oh god. We all turned together towards the back door, but the knocking immediately returned to the front door. Front to back, back to front, loud and quiet, then loud again.

Suddenly, sound was coming from both doors at once. Big, heavy blows like a sledgehammer. Then something started rapping against all of the windows in the house, then the walls. It was like we were living inside of a drum with a dozen people trying to play at once. Or we were a turtle and something was attempting to claw us out of our shell. Stop! Holden yelled. The knocking died. I won't tell. Holden said, staring at the door. I promise I won't tell anyone what I saw. Just...

Please go away! We waited for nearly a minute. Then we heard it. A soft tap, tap, tap coming from the window Holden had looked through earlier. Holden started to cry, sobbing like a prisoner watching gallows being built outside their cell. My dad held him, brushed his hair, but never lied to him, never told him things would be okay.

The tapping at the window went on for the rest of the night. We huddled together in the living room for I don't know how long. Eventually, my mom tried to take us kids into my room while my dad stayed to watch the door. But the second we moved into my bedroom, so loud, it was impossible to ignore. I was afraid the door could have taken. We went back to the living room and the knocking stopped. Only the tap, tap, tap on the window remained. None of us slept that night. The tapping stopped around 7 a.m.,

That's about the time the sun comes up here. Waited another two hours before my dad opened the blinds from one window. Made us all go back to my parents' bedroom first. I heard him open the door and come back in. Okay, it's done. Holden's parents came back around lunchtime. My mom and dad walked Holden over to his house and they all went inside for quite a while. Nola and I watched from the window. She stuck to me the whole day, right at my side, sometimes holding my hand.

When my parents came back, they looked grim but wouldn't tell us what they said to Holden's family. It was a Sunday, so we all spent the day together, ordered pizza and watched movies. That night, everyone slept in my room. Nolan, my mom, in the bed with me. My dad in the chair he'd pulled over. There was no knocking that night, or any night since. We didn't see much of Holden or his parents for the rest of that week, but by Thursday, there was a moving truck in their driveway. Nolan and I watched them packing up the whole afternoon after school.

What sticks with me most is how tired Holden and his parents looked. All three had the same paler, grim mouths and lightless eyes. Even from across the street, I could tell something was very wrong. Holden and his family were gone before sunset. I remember what the original welcoming committee said to my parents when we moved in. Not everyone who looks at the Whistler dies, but even those that live have the light go out of them and the rest of their lives are full of misfortune. A million little tragedies.

I think Holden's parents must have looked either to comfort him if they didn't believe or share the burden if they did. I watched Nola some days, happy and young and alive. I wonder if I'd been slower if she'd looked out that window that night. Would I have looked too to comfort her, to share that burden? I'm glad I don't have to find out. We still live in that house, in that neighborhood. We still hear our whistler walking past every night.

The blessings, the luck, the good things here are too good to leave. But we're careful. We don't have friends over to spend the night anymore. My dad hides the key to the blinds very, very well. Not that I've gone looking. Some things you just don't need to look for. And that is the end of The Whistler!

I loved that. That was a fucking great one. I'm so glad. That made me feel all warm inside. I'm so glad we read that one second. First off, I just want to say how awesome. Two completely polar opposite stories. Both ends of the spectrum. Even with Rebecca, I love her, but I would say she does have a consistency of you can see her comfort zone. There's recurring character types and stuff like that. Recurring themes and stuff. I'm sure there's obviously different ones, but the ones that we've read

there's some similarities. This one felt so different. The only thing is the sister was sick, but it wasn't something of detriment. If anything, it was supposed to show how lucky. Oh, she was sick, but when they lived in this neighborhood, now she can breathe on her own and all this different stuff. This is also a great polar opposite to death talking.

you know, in the first story, this one, the whistle, you don't even know what the fuck it is. It is haunting. It's just that. And then it's like a mimic, you know, but how much more haunting was that story because of so much more haunting. Yeah. I love that. I see that racing right now. I'm

Like, okay, so if it's a mimic, maybe it's some ancient being that's like, maybe the story started when a man came whistling through town and then he died in a tragic way and it's his ghost. And now it repeats whatever anyone throws at it. Right. Like I have so many different theories in my head for what this creature could be. And I don't want any of them to be answered because it's so much more fun imagining like what it could be.

And especially like this child saw the guy standing outside of his window or whatever it was. And immediately like bit his lip to where it was bleeding himself. Like that is how terrifying this image was that he only saw for a few seconds.

You know what? I really love the description. Whenever our main character is reaching for the glass and it says the glass was too cold, but then it got hotter as he reached up. He was like breathing in the glass. You know that he was like right there. Right there. Yeah. Oh, it's so good. The, uh, what I love about these kinds of stories, the something walks whistling kind of stories is if I read this tomorrow, I might interpret it in a different way. Like the, like, I feel like I would love to read this again.

down the road and see if there's like a different way my mind processes or wraps around the story it's very very fun to me this is also the kind of story that like a tommy taffy was meant to be you know this thing is like a better tommy taffy to me honestly yeah a creature that is plaguing a neighborhood but it's just i love also they don't harp on the rule it's just a rule that's what it is

You know, we're not just like, let's just let you know. You can break it. You're going to probably leave. You're going to like, not everyone. And I like that. Not everyone dies to the idea of like, it's almost, it seems like even a worse life of having to live completely void of life. And then it's nothing but bad luck and misery is such a fucking like prison sentence of a life. It's like,

I like the mention too, like maybe his parents look to make him feel better. You know, like what a haunting idea, right? You kind of give yourself to the same, because you don't want your child to be the only one to suffer, right? So you kind of go there with him. Do you think the dad has probably, because he looks excited, right?

He doesn't make a good note to about being like, well, the dad didn't lie to him being like, hey, things are going to be OK because the dad's like, you're fucked, buddy. Sorry. Yeah. Good luck. How many times do you think the dad had seen something like that before? I know he said that not a lot of people move in. I don't know a ton, but.

Oh, you mean like other people? Yeah. Or just he knows the repercussions. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Yes, but I don't think any were in his house. No, no, no. This was by far the most extreme, which even at the end, I do like that they reiterate like he's like now even when we don't have guests over, my dad hides the keys. He's like, I'm not even going to risk that anymore. Also, I will say too, you know what I love is smart characters in stories. The dad is an incompetent.

You know, the mom isn't incompetent. It's one of these things where it's like, we were told this thing, even if you think it's lackluster, the dad has this belief system where he's like, Hey, I've heard of this before. Cause you could have at first, I thought it was going to lean that the mom was going to be like, well, this is fucking stupid. And something would do something. Yeah.

Yeah, that's where I was thinking it was going to. I also like I thought less of the story. Admittedly, I thought it was going to go kind of the trope route of, well, some people have to suffer for good things to happen to others. So I thought it was going to go to like the evil neighbors direction where they were trying. They purposefully told a few people wrong. But no, it's like if everyone plays by the rules, only good things happen.

It's when someone breaks the rules that we're not even the ones enforcing them. It is just the law of the land. That's what I like about setting up narratives like that or narrative devices where it's just like, follow the rules and everything will be fine. Once again, very left-right game-esque. It's also very like...

There's a camaraderie almost established between everyone there because it's like we like these good things. And yes, there is a threat. We're not causing the threat, but we're going to try to help you get through it. So even though there's like this foreboding atmosphere to the neighborhood, everyone's on the same page. I really like that moment when the son looks at his dad and he's like, hold and looked and the dad mouths just him.

Or like just you? And he says, yeah. It's like there's this moment between the two of like each understanding how severe this moment is and like, please tell me. And then there's like, even though Holden's suffering, like...

potentially going to die from this. There's this relief on the father's part because his son did what he was supposed to. And you kind of feel that atmosphere throughout the entire community for such a short story to to establish that many emotions. Yeah, I loved it. That was awesome. Being able to live a prosperous life in a dangerous environment is a very interesting world building tool.

Yeah. Like you're, you're, you're basically living in a hell for two minutes every day, which is an interesting take to you have 24, 23 hours and 58 minutes of prosperity.

but two minutes of hell is very interesting. Hopefully you're asleep for us, right? Hopefully you're asleep, even though you would be driven mad as the child is in a way of like, I, there's no way I could sleep through that. Nope. I forgot what I was going to say. I was going to say, I had, I had another thought, but more of the story is I, it was just, it was very, very good. Very, I really enjoyed all of, uh,

Just all of that. I mean, like just such a great setup. I like that they didn't linger on the other neighbors and stuff too. You know, like in Tommy Taffy, they had the part where it was like, Oh, that's what I was going to say is yeah.

The idea of setting up a setting up a world where there is a specific rule that cannot be broken, such as the left right game thing, too, is you can always account for human error. And that's like a fun thing is who is going to be the weakest link. And that's the fun thing about like having humans in these narratives is that there is always human error, always human. I mean, like.

Send it all the way back to the first story, right? Not to make, I'm not comparing this story to that one in terms of impact or anything, but like the earliest story of humanity is like Adam and Eve, right? And it's like, just don't touch the tree. Like that's all, that's all you have to do. You can do whatever you want. Just don't go to the tree.

And sure enough, what happens? Eventually, one of the two people on Earth go to the tree. Selfishness always will find its way into human error. Like you said, there's always a human error. If humans are capable of anything, then eventually anything will happen. It is the most believable...

It is the most believable thing in a story is that a human selfishly will fuck something up. It's like there's without a doubt, you know, like it's impossible to think that there would be a prosperous kind of society in this neighborhood where it was just like, yep, we all abide by the rules. There's just no way. And honestly, like...

So I like Tommy Taffy and I still want to read the rest of it. I know that you people like were upset about mature themes in the story, but grow up like I like Tommy Taffy. But at the same time, this is so much more.

more terrifying to me because I'm like Tommy, I know there's a lot of differences, but one of them is in Tommy Taffy, you have this creature who like is directly interacting with people. And it's kind of like, people are trying to scheme how to get rid of it. And like me and you were joking the whole time about like, just shoot it a bunch. Right. Just set up a position. I get a tank. Right. Like there's feasible ways to stop it. Maybe like,

So it's kind of like us game planning it, but there's no way to game plan this creature. It's just, you have to follow one rule. And if you don't follow that rule, then get out quick. That's the only hope you got. I think that to add to that, your point as well, I think with Tommy Taffy, it's this cartoonish supposed to be, you know, I mean, it's very indicative of probably like, to me, it always read almost as like a

a family friend who assaults you. It's essentially what it is. Yeah, they're completely different stories. They're completely different stories. It's a fake nice character that is, you know, the same thing as like a family friend or a relative or whatever in that way. But the problem is by envisioning so much of it, it makes it less frightening in terms of face value. I mean, it does horrible things, but the idea of the whistler, and we kind of, you touched on this earlier, is that you cannot...

You cannot fake a whistle. Like, it doesn't matter. So to me, this thing... I don't even know if it's human. I don't know if it's, like... It could have any shape, because you cannot get out of that register of a whistle. Like, if something is whistling, it's going to be in the same key, right? So to me, it's just...

There's just something very mysterious. And I love thinking that like my mind has gone to like four different designs of what I'm like, what could this be? Because initially I was thinking of a guy in a like a trench coat and a hat walking down like the hat man hat man. You would you would almost hear like the soles of his feet scraping on asphalt or whatever. But you didn't even hear that. You just hear the fucking whistle.

So that takes out that equation. Like my mind has just been racing with it. Just such a great story to end on. I'm glad we read Maria, Maria first, but I am glad that we ended on this one because this is just such a, such a heavy hitter. I had a lot of fun. This is a banger for sure. Do you know what for, I don't know why, but for what he looks like, my mind goes to like,

Do you remember the episode of Courage the Cowardly Dog about the barber? Yeah. The guy in the pinstripe suit with like the blonde hair who like shaves courage. Right. It's like a psycho parody. I imagine like a human version of that character with like these like tiny eyes. Right. Like very. You know, it's funny. Sadistic grin.

what's his name is uh freaky fred was his name freaky fred that's it yeah it's you know many people said that freaky fred reminded them of tommy taffy when we post that video we i saw really a lot of people say that makes sense you know big smile blonde hair tommy taffy bleed over in my head but yeah that's that's fine yeah just really interesting parallels with some of the other stuff we've seen you know what i really liked about today's recording and i hope that people did too was the

just the kind of the similarities between stories, but just done in different ways. Like they, it not to say that the, any of them like took from each other. I'm just saying that like the differences between like the Tommy Taffy here or the differences between like left, right game, uh, in the other story. And you know, if it, if it, uh, it bleeds, it breeds all that kind of stuff. Uh,

It's just fun. I'm glad we're seeing we're getting different examples of similar themes that we can actually compare now versus having just completely new things that we have to compare to stories that might not be necessarily fair to compare them to. But just because we've read them, they're a part of the discussion, you know, just a lot of fun. Travis Brown, we you know, once again, we will also link his two books together.

In the description as well. I think I'm going to go ahead and just, there's a bundle on Amazon to get both of them. I think I'm just going to go ahead and throw them in my cart. I think I am too, because there's also some nice hardback versions. So I'd like to do that. What was the, what were they called again? It was the, the house with 100 doors and then 23 stories of foreign supernatural and how to build a haunted house.

strange and settling and unforgettable tales. Yeah. I'm going to go ahead and throw those in my cart because those are both bangers and I'm down to hear more of what he has to say. So very, very cool. I love it. Yeah. Hardback hardback versions of both of them, which is cool. I was just the hardback ones, just the superior superior way of, of having them of collecting books, I think.

Thank you guys so much for listening to Creepcast. As always, be sure to check us out on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, any of those places and give us a nice rating. It helps us out a lot. We appreciate you so much. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Stay spooked, you crazy sons of bitches. Also, the live tour episode should be coming out soon as well. I think we're editing down all that footage. So be looking forward to that as well.

Hope you all enjoyed it. Thank you all so much. You came out to the live shows and met the world. There were a ton of fun and Hunter didn't die on stage. So that's good. Almost, almost, almost. He got close a couple of times. We pulled him out of it. Uh, but no, thank you all so much for watching. It means the world. Hope you enjoyed the episode and be sure to show some support to Travis Brown as well. The other authors we've covered. Of course. Thank you all so much for watching and stay creepily spooked. Sure. Stay scared. Bye. Bye. That, that, that too. Do that. Bye.