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When the Whistling Starts… Don’t Answer

A Free Dark Descent Horror Story


Every month, Dark Descent: Whispers From Beyond delivers fresh nightmares—original horror fiction that grips you and doesn’t let go. Published by Dark Holme Publishing, each issue features spine-chilling stories, haunting reflections, and award-winning writing from voices across the horror community.


This month, we’re giving you a free peek inside.


From Volume 14 (July 2025) comes The Whistle by Tasarla Romaney—the winning story of the issue. It’s a tale that proves some sounds are better left unheard…


So settle in, turn down the lights, and ask yourself:

Would you dare stand on the bridge?



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The Whistle

(July’s Winner)

Tasarla Romaney

 

No one lived past the ravine. Not anymore.

They used to. Long ago, kids rode bikes across the rickety bridge, couples carved hearts into trees, and old Mr. Halversen fished at the bend every Sunday. But then the whistling started—low and sweet like a lullaby played backward.

It began with animals. First a deer found skinned near the water. Then a racoon, jaw forced open as if in a silent scream. After that, people. Halversen was the first human loss—what was left of him, washed up two miles downstream, eyes plucked clean from their sockets.

No one ever heard it directly and lived or that’s how the story goes. The whistling. The sound came from nowhere and everywhere. It burrowed into bones and threaded nightmares. Some tried to record it. Some tried to follow it. All of them were found twisted and hollowed, like their souls had been sucked out through their throats.

But Rebekah didn’t believe in stories. Not really. Twenty-three, cynical, fresh off a breakup and two whiskey sours, she marched toward the ravine just before midnight, daring herself to prove it wasn’t real. Her phone camera was ready. Her middle finger was ready.

The moon was fat and glowing a bright white as she stepped onto the old bridge, planks groaning beneath her boots. Wind tugged at her coat. Trees loomed like silent witnesses. She laughed, cocky and cruel.

Then the whistling started.

It wasn’t music. It wasn’t human. It was the sound of something remembering what it used to be—before it bled through the veil, before it wore skin like clothing, before it had a name.

Rebekah froze. Her phone slipped from her hand and shattered on the rocks below. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The sound wrapped around her spine and coiled in her ears, and she remembered things she’d never lived—black woods, teeth like splinters, screams muffled by soil.

She tried to scream. Her throat didn’t obey. A slight whimper pushed its way through clamped lips.

The next morning, Rebekah’s coat was found on the bridge, neatly folded. Nothing else. But some nights, if you stand near the ravine and listen closely, you’ll hear something new.

Two whistles now.

A duet.

And if you’re unlucky—

They harmonize. The sound’s different.

Closer.

Hungry.

Still think you won’t believe?

Then go ahead.

Stand on the bridge.

And listen.

But whatever you do, don’t whistle back.



If The Whistle unsettled you, it’s only a taste of what waits in the dark. Dark Descent: Whispers From Beyond is where new nightmares are born—stories that haunt, reflections that linger, and a community that knows the shadows well.


Right now, you can start your subscription with your first month free. Just use code DARKDESCENT at checkout and step straight into the abyss.




 
 
 

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