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The Whistler

Short story By: TwoStepz
Horror



Short story for a competition! Might change it into a novel:D


Submitted:Oct 28, 2011    Reads: 121    Comments: 3    Likes: 0   


The thing walked in the night, it's back hunched, and a cap over its hairless head. It's hands were stuck deeply in it's dark coat pocket and it's coat dragged along the floor. The wind picked it up, showing black hefty boots that didn't make a sound on the concrete pavement. Heads turned as the thing walked, it's face not seen at all due to the cap over his head.
Today the stars did not twinkle brightly, and the moon was hidden behind dark clouds. There was only a small amount of light to lead it as it when on with it's mission.
A dog barked at it's side and it's head turned at it. The dog barked again, threatening to jump. The dog for one didn't like new strangers, and thought every stranger was a danger.
The dog threatened to pounce but the thing whistled. The dog was about to charge, but something went wrong with it's body. It shook violently, letting a yelp escape his mouth. The dogs legs gave way and it's body was torn apart bu the simple sound.
What was left was not what looked like a dog, just a splatter of blood and guts.
The thing walked, smiling and was careful not to whistle with joy.

For he was the whistler.

*********************

A womam stared at the sky, her blonde hair being whipped up by the wind. Her blue eyes had the reflection of the barely visible moon and her fingers trailed the windowsill. The woman let out a loud sigh and walked away from the window, before going downstairs to make something.
Today the weather was showing that something bad was going to happen, it had been dark all day, and the woman always had a sense of when something good or bad was going to happen.

She bit into the ham sandwhich she had just made and wandered over to her sofa. The woman did not press her remote to turn the television on, but instead chose to sit in thought.
The air wasn't what it normally was, cheery and full of life. It was dull, dark and dangerous. Everything she hated.

But she couldn't let it get to her, so instead she closed her eyes, trying to drift of into sleep, but it seemed she could.
There was a low stepping sound that made her spin around to her front door. She gasped, putting down the rest of her sandwhich on the table.
The woman tried to steady her heart beat as she stood up, her legs feeling like jelly.
She prayed this wouldn't be like the horror movies, but she was wrong, so wrong.

The whistler stood at the door, head down and his coat flying in the air. Though she couldn't see it, he had a smile on his face, a crazy confident one too.
He had come here on a mission, a mission to kill.
He rolled his neck, clicks escaping from here and there, until finally he grabbed out at the woman's neck and rose her off the ground.

She tried to scream, but it was choked as the air was being taken from her. The woman hit at the Whistler's hand, but he didn't let her go. He found happiness when seeing pain in people's faces and he always knew how to play with his victims. He knew when they were close to unconsciousness and that was when he would let them go.
The woman dropped to the floor, free of the Whistler's gripped and spun around, holding her throat to protect it and breathing as heavy as ever.

"Who are you?" She managed to say between breaths. The whistler smiled under his cap.
"I am the one you got rid of." He said, his voice dark and hurt. He reached for the woman again, but she kicked him and tried to run.
The whistler had no entertainment of running after his pray. He sent a harsh whistle in the air, one that he knew would hurt the woman.

It did. It ran through the wind and wrapped itself around her throat, parts of it going through her body and eating her organs from the inside.
She dropped to the ground, her face turning blue as she grabbed at her throat, trying to see what was choking her. The woman's eyes rolled into the back of their head, blood dripped from her eye sockets as the whistle ate at her, killing every organ she had.
Her final sound was a small scream that would have been large if she could breathe.

The whistler looked at the sight, not a single emotion on his face.
Then he turned to walk away from the deadly sight.

So if ever you hear a whistle, cover your ears, for that might be the whistler, head low, hunched back, with hefty boots. Coming. For. You.





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