The Whistler In The Night

Chapter 12

I woke up early, the warm glow of the fire still faintly crackling as the sun struggled to break through the cloudy sky outside. Scarlet was still asleep, wrapped up in the thick blanket, her face peaceful. For a moment, I let myself feel a sense of calm—no nightmares, no strange occurrences. Just a quiet, cold morning.

I decided to make us some breakfast. Quietly, I got up and began cracking eggs, whisking them for an omelet. The sound of sizzling oil filled the cabin, and I felt a small sense of normalcy returning. Maybe, just maybe, we had escaped whatever was chasing us.

Soon after, I heard Scarlet stirring behind me. "Good morning, babe," I said softly, glancing over my shoulder. She stretched and smiled sleepily.

"Good morning," she replied, her voice still thick with sleep. Then she giggled. "Finally, a night without nightmares."

I grinned, plating the omelets. "Yup. Maybe it's over, who knows?"

She sat at the small wooden table, eyeing the food with a hungry smile. "Yum! That omelet looks delicious," she said, already digging in. We ate together, chatting about everything but the darkness that had been hovering over us for days. For a moment, it felt like we were normal again.

But that peace was short-lived.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Both of us froze. It was just a light tapping at first, barely noticeable, but as it continued, the sound grew louder and more insistent.

Scarlet and I exchanged a worried glance. "Who could that be? We're in the middle of nowhere..." she whispered, standing up.

She walked cautiously to the door while I stayed back, a strange feeling creeping into my stomach. As she reached for the handle, I had a sudden, horrible thought. What if it's him?

I bolted up, but it was too late. Scarlet had already opened the door.

Standing there, smiling that same creepy smile, was him. The man from my nightmares. The man from the diary. The man who had been following us. He wore the same black clothes, his skin pale and thin like it was stretched too tightly over his bones. His cold, empty eyes fixed on Scarlet as he stood on the doorstep, whistling that same haunting tune.

Scarlet let out a terrified gasp and stumbled back. My heart raced as I grabbed the gun my grandfather had left in the cabin, rushing to stand between her and the man.

"Don't come any closer," I warned, pointing the gun straight at his chest. But he didn't seem phased. His smile widened, and he took two slow steps forward.

I pulled the trigger.

The sound of the shot echoed in the cabin, loud and jarring in the still morning air. The bullet hit him square in the chest—but he didn't stop. He didn't flinch. He just kept walking slowly toward us like nothing had happened, his smile never faltering.

"What the fuck?" I muttered, my hands shaking as I backed away. I grabbed Scarlet, pulling her behind me as I ran to the door and slammed it shut, locking it. She was trembling, clinging to me as the knocking on the door started again. This time, it wasn't light or playful. It was loud. Violent.

"Evan... he's not human," Scarlet whispered, her voice barely audible. "What are we going to do?"

I held her close, trying to calm my own fear. "I don't know... but he can't get in." I tried to sound confident, but I wasn't sure of anything anymore.

The knocking went on for what felt like an eternity, the sound of his whistling echoing through the small cabin. I glanced over at the windows, and that's when I saw him. He was standing outside, staring at us through the glass, still whistling. He waved at us, his pale eyes wide and unblinking, that terrifying grin stretched across his face.

"No... no..." Scarlet whispered, her face pale. "He's not stopping."

Then, as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone. The whistling stopped, and all that was left was silence.

Scarlet and I sat there, staring at the empty window, trying to process what had just happened. "Why didn't he die?" I asked, my voice shaky. "I shot him... and he just—he didn't even feel it."

"Maybe he's that witch," Scarlet said, her eyes wide with fear. "The one in the diary, the man who killed his girlfriend to become something... something inhuman."

I shook my head. "No... the man in the diary had a different face. He wasn't like this."

Scarlet was about to respond when there was another knock at the door. This time, it wasn't just a knock. It was a rhythmic pounding, in time with that haunting whistle.

The sound sent a shiver down my spine.

Scarlet grabbed my arm, her voice trembling. "No... no...fuck... not again."

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the gun still in my hand. But even with that, I didn't feel safe. Whoever—or whatever—this man was, he wasn't going to stop.

And we were trapped.

The knocking grew louder, more frantic. The door shook with each impact, as if he was trying to break it down. And all the while, that cursed whistle filled the air, getting louder and louder, as if it was coming from inside my own head.

We had to figure out what he wanted. We had to end this... before he found a way in.