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

Every night, no matter the weather, something walks down our street whistling softly. You can only hear it if you’re in the living room or the kitchen when they walk by and it always starts at exactly 3:03.<br><br>The melody is always the same and it’s unmistakable. I once heard the same tune whistled by someone on the bus while I was on my way to work and I had a panic attack. A full on, hand-wringing, soul-crushing panic attack. Other people on the bus must have thought I was going crazy.<br><br>I don’t know what is whistling but I know it's nothing human. It sounds like a cross between a bird and a person and I can’t compare it to anything else. Just that it’s the most hauntingly beautiful whistle I have ever heard in my life.<br><br>My brother discovered the whistling a month or so ago. He was up late binge-watching tv because the only job he could find was a first shift job and he couldn’t sleep until 2 or 3 most nights. He was watching tv and he told me he heard someone whistling outside, walking down the street. He thought it was a drunk just wandering home until he heard it again the next night. Then the next. He said he tried to record it the third night but it stopped as soon as he opened the door.<br><br>It was a couple nights after that when he woke me up pounding on my door and telling me to come listen. I was annoyed because I’m a real bitch when I’m tired but I got out of bed and came out to listen. I heard it whistling and it sent shivers down my spine. I tried to ask my brother what the hell that was but he told me he had no idea. He’d tried following it the night before but whoever was whistling had either stopped and left or had gone inside a house.<br><br>After that, my brother would reiterate how hauntingly beautiful the whistle was every night. He’d listen to it from the porch sometimes; he loved it that much. I told him it was creepy as hell and it wasn’t beautiful; it was weird. But my brother didn’t like that answer. He thought the whistling was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard and he wouldn’t let it go.<br><br>I worried about him because I know he has a history of mental issues. He had an exorcism performed on him when he was a kid because he kept talking about demons and he begged our parents to hire a priest. After the exorcism, my parents refused to ever talk about it again. They said it was an slip up, my brother had never been possessed and it had been a mistake; my brother had been acting out. It had all been a big misunderstanding.<br><br>But my brother tells a different story. He says it hadn’t been a mistake and the priest had told him never to talk about it again. He said our parents didn’t know the truth or they were hiding it but he knew the truth. He told me the truth was that demons were real and that demons lived inside people sometimes. The priest had pulled one out of him when he was a kid.<br><br>I don’t know what really happened and I don’t care. I wasn’t there and I don’t believe in ‘demons’. I do know that my brother has a lot of problems and I worry that his mental health issues will come back if he gets too fixated on something. The whistling has become his treasure, his secret. Something that he won’t let go of, no matter how hard I try to tell him it’s creepy.<br><br>Then I started to hear it too.<br><br>After my brother kept talking about how beautiful the whistling was, I started to think differently. It’s haunting and lovely and you can’t quite explain it in words. I found myself looking forward to that time every night and it started to feel like home. I’d come home from work and tell myself it was only X hours until I could hear my treasured whistle.<br><br>I know that’s the effect the whistling is having on me and I hate it. I feel like I’m in a cult. Following the whistling is the only thing that matters, everything else is irrelevant. I don’t want to be in a cult. I want to go to work and come home and watch tv and go to bed like normal people do. But I just can’t seem to function anymore.<br><br>My job is suffering. I’ve had conversations about quitting and I know my boss is going to fire me if I don’t get my act together. I just don’t care anymore. I’d rather spend my time out on the porch listening for the whistling.<br><br>My brother and I sit on the porch at 2:30 now; waiting eagerly for whistling man or whatever it is. My brother will tell me all the things he thinks whistle man has done during the day, like whale watching or walking through a park or fishing on a lake. He tells me how he thinks whistle man is a nice guy and probably has a family to support and he’s just doing his whistling shift. Sometimes my brother pretends he’s whistling man and walks around the neighborhood whistling the tune for hours.<br><br>I just sit there.<br><br>I sit there on the porch and I listen to the whistle and my heart swells. My soul is so full of joy and love and I can’t explain why. I’m just happy. I feel so happy when I listen to the whistling and my brother is there next to me being happy too. Nothing else matters; work, money, food, family, friends, nothing. All that matters is us and the whistle and our happiness.<br><br>I think I might be possessed.