The Whistling

I remember when the whistling started. Allie had been the first to hear it.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

It had been easy for me to disregard. Whenever someone works a late shift, it’s easy for them to think they heard something — to think they saw something.

“Were you whistling — just now? Was that you?”

“Why would I be whistling?”

Before I left that night, Allie never mentioned seeing anything in the stockroom. She was intent on the idea that I’d been whistling as I fixed up the store, but I know that I never made any sound.

“Must’ve been the ghost, then.”

They scoff that I made that night had offended her even more than my disbelief. She had said it is a fake, joking manner, but I could tell that she was being serious. Everyone has always been under the impression that the stockroom is haunted. We've all heard our names called by a bodiless voice when we're alone. But, it's like I said: in the middle of the night when you're by yourself in an empty store, it's easy to think you heard something. It's a far too simple task to spook yourself with your imagination. It's much harder to realize the bodiless voice you're hearing is truly your mind.

And that's what I had told Jane.

"It's just your mind playing tricks."

First was Allie. And then Jane.

"But — I'm telling you — I saw one of the boxes move."

"It didn't move, Jane. It's late, and you're tired."

When we checked the security footage for both nights, Allie provided with no more information. With only one working camera in the stockroom, we weren't able to see where Allie went. She was seen on the grainy, black and white video thirty minutes before I left, but after that, she didn't show up again. It's like she'd vanished.

I hadn't told anyone, but I'd wondered if she had gone insane. She was so convinced that she had heard something.

But then, Jane happened.

While it shows what happened to her, Jane's video is more confusing than Allie's.

Ten minutes before I left, I had gone into the back to grab my stuff. The security footage shows me crossing in front of the camera to get to my locker. Jane follows after me but stops directly in front of the camera. Although there's no audio, you can make out her mouth moving.

"Did she say anything important to you? Anything that would help us understand what happened?"

"No," I had lied to the investigators, "no, she didn't say anything out of the ordinary. Just told me to have a nice night and that she'd see me for my shift on Saturday."

Not even fifteen minutes after I had left, the camera shows Jane making her way down the aisle between all the shelves, holding a box filled with new products. As she begins to put them away, she's out of the camera's view for a few moments before returning into the aisle. With her box empty, she turns her back against the wall and starts to head out of the aisle.

Those twelve minutes of the recording are so incredibly normal compared to its ending. Just as the time shown on the camera hits 12 a.m, a box falls from the top of a shelf in the back. Jane comes to an abrupt stop as the box she's holding falls from her hands. She looks directly into the camera, dark eyes wide. She stays that way for a few minutes — standing completely still to the point where she must be holding her breath. And then, slowly, she turns back around and makes her way to the shelves in the back.

She's not even back there for five seconds before she's thrown across the room in the position that the opening employee will find her in the next morning: neck broken, body twisted, with both her eyes and mouth wide open. She had told me, and I hadn't believed her: "I saw one of the boxes move.".

And then, there were the lies I told. The investigators weren't the only people I lied to. I still remember when Jane came up to me in the back as I was grabbing my things from my locker.

"Can't you stay a little later?" Her eyes held so much anxiety, and I could tell that she'd been crying. But why?

"Jane, I've already been here for ten and a half hours. I'm going home." I closed my locker, ready to leave. But, as I turned to go, I watched Jane's face. Her eyes became wide as fear pooled into them, and her mouth opened in a small gasp. I'd never really watched someone go pale before, but the colour in Jane's face bled out of her as she stilled.

"Did you hear it? The whistling?" Her whispered Did you hear it? The whistling?" Her whispered question would forever remain unanswered as I pushed past her and out of the back.

I was the last person to see Jane. I was the last person to see Allie. If I had stayed with them, would it have mattered? What good would it have done if I had gone missing along with Allie? If I had died along with Jane?

But now, as I stand outside in the dark alleyway, I allow myself to realize that I'm a coward. How hard would it have been for me to say those words to Jane: Yes, Jane. I heard it too.

I heard it then, just like I heard it a few moments ago in the stockroom. It had been faint from the inside, but it was loud enough for me to hear: the sharp sound of a person whistling. It had been high-pitched — as if someone was trying to call their dog.

Taking a step forward, I pull out my phone. It becomes a spotlight for the empty boxes a few feet away from me. These boxes had been in the stockroom only a week ago — Allie and I had moved them out here once we unpacked them, joking around and making a makeshift fort out of them in the middle of the alleyway. Looking at them now, they've all been toppled over. Could it have been the wind? It hasn't been windy recently, but maybe even a small breeze would have been able to knock some of the boxes over.

Slowly, I begin to move my flashlight over them. The boxes have definitely been tampered with. Some have even been deconstructed — flattened out as if to hide something.

As I take another step forward, my phone illuminates something unusual among the boxes. It's a single pink shoe.

My throat constricts as I recognize them.

How were we so stupid? Why didn't we check under the gigantic pile of boxes back here? We all knew Allie would never just run away.

I begin to bend down, planning to move the boxes off her body, but my body goes still as I hear it again — this time, a little louder. No — closer.

The whistle starts out high, but the pitch lowers until it bleeds out into the darkness of the night. It sounds like it's coming from behind me, but I can't be sure as it echoes into the silence. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I realize it could be coming from the stockroom door.

Taking a deep breath, I turn towards the door and guide my light over it. No one is there.

I think about running from the alleyway and heading for my car. Would I be able to outrun whoever — whatever — is back here with me?

But I've already been a coward twice. I've left Allie here before; I can't leave her body like this now.

I turn back to the boxes and begin sliding them off of her one by one. As I take the first few of her, I can already tell: her body is oddly twisted.

When I've uncovered about half of her body, the whistles start up again. This time, they come in succession

Could it have been the wind I bite the inside of my cheek as I hear them get closer, and as I uncover Allie's broken neck, tears begin to draw lines down my face. The whistling, although it's in no particular tune, sounds off-key. I listen desperately for any other sounds: footsteps, breathing, anything besides the elusive echo that ricochets off the walls.

Finally, I uncover Allie's face, and a sob leaves my throat. Her mouth and eyes are wide open. Just like Jane's

The whistling stop

I fall to my knees on the asphalt as tears stream down my face. My shoulders shake as the silence envelops me. For a moment, I think that it's over. The whistling has stopped, I've found Allie's body, and now I can go home

A whistle sounds from directly above me. My shoulders slump, and I close my eyes for a moment before slowly opening them. Defeated, I look at you.

I'm not aware of my eyes widening or my mouth opening. The only thing I'm aware of is that it is over