My name is Evan. I'm 28 years old. After my divorce, I moved to a small town named

Shatham in Alabama. Apart from my parents' house, I didn't really have anywhere else to go, so I came to

live in my grandfather's old house. He passed away a few years ago and left the place to us. It's about

ten minutes outside town, sitting on ten acres surrounded by woods. It's real quiet out there. I thought

I'd enjoy that. The house is old, wood floors that creek, doors that stick, the kind of place that always

feels a little cold no matter how high the thermostat is.

But it was free, and I didn't have a better option.

The first few nights were normal.

I unpacked and cleaned.

I spent the evening sitting on the porch with a beer.

It was peaceful. No traffic, just the wind through the the porch with a beer. It was peaceful.

No traffic, just the wind through the trees and the occasional owl.

But then the noises started.

The first time I heard it was on the seventh night.

I had just gotten into bed around midnight.

I was almost asleep when I heard whistling outside.

It wasn't a song I recognized, just a slow, broken tune, off-key.

It sounded like someone walking through the woods behind the house whistling as they went.

It creeped me out, but I figured it was some hunter or drunk neighbor.

The next night, it happened again. Same time, same tune, but this time it sounded closer.

I got out of bed and turned on the porch light, but I didn't see anyone.

I went outside with a flashlight and checked around the yard.

...