The Whistle

Written by Edmund Siadari

illustrated by Yulia Saraswati

I can recall every single detail about that day. It was cold, and the city was covered in mist. I would look outside the window, to watch him come home and water the plants. I knocked on the window to get his attention. He would notice me and make silly faces. For some reason, I would always laugh every time he did it. My breath fogged up the glass and my face felt the warmth of my breath. My mom would yell at me for leaving my food cold, but I didn’t mind her. My attention was stuck on my dad making those silly faces. He would usually leave at about eight in the morning and come back home before nine.

***

It felt like any other day. I woke up at six a.m. and went outside for a little walk. I would be back home before seven and my mom would’ve prepped breakfast already.

I was late, so I tried to sneak in so that my mom wouldn’t know. I opened the door slowly, and there she was...waiting for me at the door.

“Why are you late!? I told you to be back here by seven and yet here you are thirty minutes late!” she yelled. She would always snap if anyone was late. She had started to act like this ever since Uncle Tom passed away. I would ask her what happened to Uncle Tom, but she would always say that his death was tragic.

Dad would come back home before we had dinner. But that day, he wasn’t home yet. Mom called Dad to ask where he was, and he said that he had extra work to do. Mom was worried, but I told her that everything was going to be okay.

“You don’t get it. Things become dangerous in this city after 9.” She quivered.

“Are you gonna eat?” I asked.

“No, I’ll wait for your father.”

I ate alone, and every bite made me worry more about Dad.

A loud ring echoed through the whole house.

I tilted my head up to check the time, and it was nine. I stopped eating and looked out the window. But Dad wasn’t there.

Mom was calling him non-stop. I asked her what happened in the city after nine, but she screamed at me to stop asking. Mom started crying, but Dad finally picked up.

“Where are you? It’s nine and you’re not back home,” she yelled.

“H-hey, sorry for not picking up your calls. Look, I’ll be back home in a zip. Don’t worry about it, my car just broke down,” Dad’s voice mumbled through the speaker.

Then, we all heard a whistle, but it was on Dad’s side.

Mom froze. She dropped her phone and started to cry even more. She was breathing heavily. Her face turned red.

After that, all there was coming from the other end was silence. The call didn’t end.

Mom dropped to the ground and shrieked.

“M-mom? What happened? Is Dad okay?”

“When the clock strikes nine, there are things out there that come out, and they are not friendly. They would make whistles to attract their prey and strike them,” she cried. “This is why I’ve been overprotecting you. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you. I’ve failed twice, and I don’t want to fail more than twice.” She sobbed.

I hugged her. My tears ran down my face to her shoulders.

I would never forget that day, the day when he left all of us. The day when I last saw him make those silly faces. The way the whistle sounded and how long it lasted.

I would never forget him.