The WhistlerThe postman made me uneasy, though I could never put my finger on why. I wasn't afraid of him but there was just something about his presence that set my back teeth on edge. He kept to himself; was always whistling, early or late and it always seemed to be the same repetitive, mysterious tune. I'd had always envied others their ability to whistle. The best I could produce was a discordant half-blast that was more spittle than sound. I didn't envy him though. For I knew, as did all the little kids in the village, that it was bad luck to whistle at night.The Whistler6 years ago in Horror More Like This
I lived in a shanty-like neighbourhood that was called The Alley. This alleyway was really just a dirt track that connected several tiny houses, crowded together in a small space. Everyone knew their neighbour and their neighbours' business, which was avidly discussed on many an idle evening, across back fences and front stoops.