Clara had only been in her new suburban home for three days, and the chaotic maze of cardboard boxes still dominated her living room. The house was charming, backing up to a dense, dark line of ancient woods that promised quiet privacy. But on her third night, as she unpacked a box of kitchenware, the silence was broken.
It was a faint, melodic whistle cutting through the crisp night air. It sounded completely human, a casual tune carried on the breeze. Intrigued, Clara stepped out onto the back porch, her eyes straining against the pitch-black treeline. “Hello?” she called out, her voice cutting through the dark.
The moment the words left her mouth, the whistling stopped instantly, dropping the yard back into an eerie, suffocating silence. She stood there for a long moment, a slight chill running down her spine. Eventually, she shook her head and went back inside, brushing it off as a passing teenager pulling a prank—or the wind tricking her ears.