The whistle is considered one of the happiest sounds on earth by many. I’m not one of those people. I hate the sound of whistling. Another thing I hate is the tune of “Oh, Susanna.” I can’t bare to hear the two combined. Not after that night.

It started on the night before my final, I was only in highschool, and I was trying to pull an all-nighter studying for it. While studying, I began to whistle absent-mindedly. It started with just random notes, nothing too advanced, then slowly I began whistling melodies that were familiar to me, “Pop Goes the Weasel,” “Ring Around the Rosies,” and then finally “Oh, Susanna.”

While whistling I heard the same tune being whistled behind me. I turned around quickly to the the sight of nothing. I continued studying, thinking it was just my imagination, and again, I began whistling, picking up where I left off. My lips soon got tired, so I started to hum. To my absolute horror, the whistling started up again. I turned around again, afraid for my own sanity, but this time I saw a shadow on my wall. I thought nothing of it at the time and turned back to my studies.

A scream I couldn’t control escaped my throat.

In front of me was a shadow, my shadow. I turned around, hoping to see nothing, but to my dismay the shadow seemed darker. The whistling picked back up, and the shadow seemed to become solid.

I backed up as the faceless thing began to gain features. A logo slowly molded itself into the thing’s torso, eyes, ears, hair a nose and mouth molded themselves into the face. It looked like an exact replica of me. It took a step toward me and I blacked out. I later woke up and the shadow was nowhere to be seen.

Ever since then, I have hated the sound of whistling and “Oh, Susanna,” but even worse, I’ve had periods were I black out and wake up with blood on my hands or holding someone’s organs or something horrible. I remember nothing from this but one thing, I remember singing “Oh, Susanna.”

Oh, Susanna, don’t you cry for me. . .