It was a stormy night when Jake decided to take a shortcut through the old forest. The townspeople had always warned him about the woods, whispering stories of the "Whistler," an entity that could mimic any sound to lure people deeper into the forest. But Jake didn’t believe in ghost stories. As he walked, the wind howled through the trees, making it hard to hear anything else. Then, a soft whistle cut through the wind—a slow, eerie tune. Jake paused, listening carefully. It was familiar, almost like the lullaby his mother used to hum when he was a child. He shook his head, convinced it was his imagination, and kept walking. But the whistling followed him, growing louder. His heart raced as he quickened his pace. The trees seemed to close in, their branches like clawed hands reaching toward him. He pulled his jacket tighter and muttered, “It’s just the wind.” Suddenly, the whistling stopped. Jake breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. In the silence, a new sound emerged—footsteps. They were slow, deliberate, and heavy, matching his pace exactly. Jake spun around, expecting to see someone, but there was nothing there, just shadows dancing between the trees. Panicking, he broke into a run, the footsteps still behind him, never speeding up, never slowing down. And then he heard it—his mother’s voice, calling his name from somewhere deep in the woods. "Jake, come here, sweetie." He stopped in his tracks. That voice...it was impossible. His mother had died five years ago. “Jake, I need you.” The voice was closer now, but it was distorted, wrong, as if it were being pulled from some deep, dark place. Jake's breath caught in his throat as he looked into the trees, where the shadows twisted unnaturally. A figure stepped out from the darkness. It was his mother, or at least something that looked like her. Her face was pale, her eyes too wide, and her mouth twisted into a grin that didn’t belong on a human face. “Come here, Jake,” she whispered, her voice dragging out the words in a way that made his skin crawl. He turned and ran as fast as he could, the laughter of the creature echoing behind him, rising and falling like the whistle that had first drawn him in. No matter how fast he ran, the footsteps stayed with him, the voice whispering his name, getting louder, more insistent. Finally, he reached the edge of the woods, bursting out onto the road. The footsteps stopped. Everything went silent. Panting, Jake looked back into the trees. There was no one there. But just as he turned to leave, a soft whistle floated out from the darkness, low and haunting, as if to remind him that the Whistler was always watching... always waiting.