Something walks whistling past our house every night at 3:03.

Our house was built in 1907. It was a different time then. The world was more...gentle, I guess. When our realtor took us through the house for the first time, her eyes would light up as she’d explain all its characteristics and history. <br><br>I’ve always thought that the world needed gentle places to exist, even if they’re limited in their amenities. When the previous owner lived here, she didn’t have a refrigerator. Instead, she had an icebox. The ice man came and rotated the ice once a week. <br><br>My husband, Dave, and I were looking for a house that was a fixer-upper, something at a lower cost that we could improve as we both worked remote jobs and had the freedom to move almost anywhere. <br><br>We both fell in love with the house immediately. It’s…special. There’s just something about walking into it that feels like home. For me, that’s a big deal. As someone with PTSD and severe anxiety, finding a place that feels like home is not easy for me. And while this house was a bit out of our budget, it was still perfect. <br><br>So, a month later, we moved in. The seller was eager and didn’t try to negotiate too much, and we were able to get it for slightly less than asking price. <br><br>I’ll never forget, when the realtor handed us the keys, she hugged us instead of shook our hands. It was the first time I’d hugged someone in a year, and I didn’t like it very much, but I understood her excitement. <br><br>The first few nights were a whirlwind. The house was gorgeous. It had amazing built-ins, a long granite countertop that connected the kitchen and dining area, and big, sturdy doors throughout the house. <br><br>But at night…<br><br>The first time it happened, I woke up to the sound of whistling. It’s hard to explain, but it almost sounded like someone was walking slowly down the sidewalk in front of our house, whistling some old, jazzy tune. <br><br>“Dave?” I asked groggily.<br><br>“Hmm…?” He replied. <br><br>“Do you hear that?”<br><br>He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. I could tell he was still half asleep. <br><br>“Hear what?”<br><br>“That whistling…it almost sounds like someone is walking down the street.”<br><br>He listened for a moment and shook his head. “Nope, I don’t hear anything.”<br><br>He rolled over and fell asleep again. <br><br>I wasn’t so lucky. I lay there for almost an hour, listening to the whistling fade away. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and went to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. <br><br>I sipped it on the back porch in complete silence. I didn’t know why, but the whistling had left me with an empty feeling. I tried to think about what song it sounded like, but my groggy brain couldn’t pinpoint it. <br><br>That morning, I almost forgot about it. I went back to sleep and slept in. By the time I woke, Dave had left to go pick up some supplies for the house from the local hardware store.<br><br>I was eating breakfast when I heard the doorbell ring. I wondered who it could be, since we hadn’t met any of our neighbors yet. <br><br>I opened the door to reveal….nobody. There wasn’t even anyone on our street. I was confused and a little spooked. I stepped outside and into the yard, thinking it may have been one of those kids who likes to play pranks. <br><br>When I got to the sidewalk, a woman was standing on it, looking at me. <br><br>“Thanks so much, sweetie!” She said with a smile. <br><br>I was taken aback. I hadn’t brought anything out with me. “Uh, you’re welcome?”<br><br>She laughed. “You’re an odd one, aren’t ya?” She turned and started walking away. “My name is Carol, by the way. Welcome to the neighborhood.” <br><br>I waved awkwardly and told her my name. She continued down the street, walking at a slow, methodical pace. I watched her stop and pick up the newspaper at the house at the end of the block a few minutes later. <br><br>That night, I waited up for the whistling. It came, right at 3:03 am. <br><br>I sat up and rubbed my eyes, wondering if I’d dreamed the whole thing. As I listened, I threw off the covers and went to the window. I pulled back the curtain and looked….nothing was there. The street was empty. <br><br>“Dave, wake up,” I said, shaking him. <br><br>“What…it’s 3 am,” he complained. <br><br>“Do you hear that whistling?” I asked. <br><br>He sat up and listened. “Yeah. That sounds like…mhm.” He hummed a few bars. “I know that song.”<br><br>“What is it?”<br><br>He thought for a minute. “I know who sings it….Ella Fitzgerald, but the song itself is on the tip of my tongue.”<br><br>I sighed. “That’s what I was thinking. It sounds really familiar.”<br><br>“It’s probably just someone walking down the street whistling.” He shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with a little late night whistling.”<br><br>“But why every night?” I asked. <br><br>He chuckled. “You’re getting a little worked up over nothing, aren’t you?”<br><br>I frowned and turned my back to him. We both eventually fell asleep, with me setting an alarm for the next day to try to stay up and figure out the whistling. <br><br>The next day, I was working from home, and the mailman came to the door with a package. I wasn’t expecting anything, and I was confused as to who it could be from. <br><br>I opened the package and inside, I found a vinyl record, along with a note with a single sentence: *“.filePath: /media/7C/66/33/6E/5F/7c66336e5fc9d450a097eba0d7fcf763563dc8fc.MP3”*<br><br>I pulled out my record player and listened. It was Ella Fitzgerald. But none of the songs were the whistling song. I did some research and found that it was a compilation of her hits, and was released in 1990. <br><br>I was confused and frustrated that none of the songs were the correct song. I decided maybe I should ask one of my neighbors. <br><br>At lunch, I brought my half-eaten sandwich outside and sat on the front steps. After a few minutes, a girl with curly brown hair came out onto her front porch. I waved and walked towards her. <br><br>“Hi,” I said, starting with my name. “I moved into the house down the street a few days ago.”<br><br>She smiled. “Nice to meet you,” she replied. “My name is Amber, but everyone calls me Amby.”<br><br>We talked for a while, and when I brought up the subject of the package, her eyes widened. “Oh….you haven’t figure it out yet?” She asked. <br><br>I shook my head. “No, what’s going on? Do you know the song?”<br><br>She laughed. “Yes. Of course. I mean, its Alfred Green.” She shot me a funny look. “I thought everyone knew that.” <br><br>I frowned and she noticed. “Alfred Green was the previous owner’s boyfriend. He used to walk past her house every morning and whistle that song and she would come down and spend the day with him. It’s their song.” <br><br>I finally understood what the whistling was. It was a…ghost. <br><br>The next night, I waited up. At 3:03, the whistling started again. This time, I ran down to the front door and opened it. A strong gust of wind blew through, whipping my hair into a frenzy. <br><br>I ran out into the yard and down to the sidewalk just in time to see a man turning the corner. He was whistling that same tune. I followed him and watched as he turned onto the next street. <br><br>A woman was standing on the porch, watching him. As I came closer, she turned and smiled at me. “Good morning,” She said. <br><br>I took a deep breath of the cool morning air and smiled back at her. “Good morning,” I replied.<br><br>I went back to the house and crawled into bed, falling fast asleep.