Don’t Whistle Back

In the Appalachian woods, if you hear whistling… pretend you didn’t. My granddad,

a child of those depths, whispered a warning before passing. “They learn your

sound, don’t whistle back.” Last night, fog crept in as I walked my dog.

Silence swallowed the trees. No critters. No breeze. Then it came—three

soft, unsettling notes repeating. My dog turned statue, breathless.

The whistle faltered… returned, nearer. I dared to whisper, “Hello?”

Behind, the whistle mimicked me, too perfectly, too quickly.

This morning, bare footprints encircled my home. Tonight, the haunting whistle