The specific memory from my innocent childhood was so vivid. I thought I've forgotten about this certain event for years, but it has been lingering in the back of my brain. Just waiting there, waiting for it to all come back to me. Causing me fear and paranoia. Delusions occur often as it comes by, taunting and haunting me. Never stopping, it all hurts me inside. That dreadful tune, the catchy whistle. As it plays it comes out as a low, soft tune. It seems peaceful, but it's dreadful.

As a 6-year-old child, I was curious about certain things. Adults, school, life, and most of all. Ghosts. On my 6th birthday, I received a detective case and supplies. It was amazing, I used to go around my large, spacious home, pretending to be a detective.

I remember, when my friends and I. Bill, Jack, Tony, Parker, and Toby. We lived near a park. Everyday, our parents would drop us off at the park to play. I never realised the oddities of this park. Until it nearly destroyed me.

My friends and I were playing at the park. A classic game of tag. Something that a normal child would play as their childhood continued. As I climbed the tall, sturdy playground, I lost my footing and descended down. I hit my head on a hard, wooden board. 

I passed out. But I could still hear the innocent voices of my childhood friends. I could hear crying and sobbing, but saw nothing.

I found myself in a hospital, a child's hospital. I had not yet learned how to sleep by myself, thankfully enough. My parents stayed the night. As I slept, I had entered astral projection. I didn't know I was astral projecting. On that same night, I got past the astral plane. Where the lost souls and devils linger and roam freely. Hoping to be free by entering a human body.
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I sit here depressed

As I roamed around, I heard that dreadful whistling sound. Peaceful, but somewhat depressing and sorrowful.

I finally woke up, sweating profusely. I saw my parents sleeping on the pullover bed on the couch. I wanted to cry, but couldn't. Nothing came out of my mouth, my eyes filled with tears but it couldn't flow. I sat there, being devoured by the pitch black room.

I finally fell asleep.

After a few years I never heard that whistle gain. 

Until I was 12.

I was 12, entering grade 7. Nervously, I put on my new clothes. Simple, but looked great. As I looked into the mirror, I noticed something different about me. I was tired, and my eye bags were dark and puffy. I ignored it and washed my face. Making sure to enjoy the splash on ice cold water.

The first week of school went by. Followed by the second. On the third week of school I heard the whistle.

I was walking to school. I could hear the sound of birds chirping and the wind blowing. The skies were clear, and the hot sun blazed upon my back. I entered the school yard, I saw a bunch of kids on the playground. Happy and energetic. As I got off the last flight of steps on the stairs, I heard it. The whistle.

I started to feel dizzy and drowsy, I could notice black patches as I looked across the school yard. I started to see things, demons, figures, men with arms large as a 10 foot pole. I turned behind me to look at what was tapping on my bony shoulder.

A blood covered entity.

I passed out, waking up in the hospital.

When I got home a few days later, I was able to function without the dizzy feeling.

As I laid on my bed one night, I started to hallucinate. I looked to my sides, figures pinning me to the bed. I struggled to break out, but only managed to roll out of my bed, and onto the cold hard ground. 

I struggled even more, I looked at my walls. I could see scratch marks on them. My posters of NBA players covered in blood. I screamed. But no one heard me, I was petrified. I didn't know what was happening to me. I couldn't breathe. I eventually blacked out.

I woke up, struggling for air. I started to go insane. I tore down the posters on my walls, I cried loudly. I started to throw things across my room. I couldn't stop, I was scared. I eventually started kicking and punching my bedroom walls, feeling no pain. As I cried in the corner of my room, I saw the my hands covered in blood.

My parents entered the room.

They held me tight, crying with me. They didn't know what was wrong either.

"It's going to be all right Justin," my mother said tearfully.

For 20 years my life was normal.... Until the day I lost my family.

I was out playing ball with my son, Jacob. As we shot the basketball, I started to feel dizzy. I told my son that I was going inside.

As I sat on the couch, I heard the whistling noise. I couldn't remember it was the whistling noise that haunted me as a kid at the time. I closed my eyes, and dreamed.

I saw my son, Jacob, with a tall disfigured man. I'm not going into perspective. All I knew was that he was tall and covered in drapes.

"Dad! Help me!" my son said to me, eyes filled with tears.

"Jacob…" my voice trailed off.

That was the last time I saw him. A week later my wife disappeared.

I have nothing left, I'm depressed. I've never felt like this in my life.

I sit in my empty house, awaiting the whistle to play once more...