Don’t listen to the Whistle
| Written by | The Rebellious Stranger |
|---|---|
| Published on Creepypasta.com | November 2026 |
| Length | 3,602 words · about 16 minutes to read |
| Story level | Medium |
| Category | Beings and Entities |
I’ll tell the story as I told it a dozen times before. And you will smile and shake your head as a dozen people did it before. I don’t care. You asked. And I will answer. As I answered before. Not for pity but to warn people. This new land we conquered and continue to conquer each new day. It has deep, dark secrets covered in blood. I cannot tell if it’s an Indian curse or some invention gone wrong. Or maybe, something far darker and more ancient than I could imagine. Yeah, there’s that glimmer of doubt in your eyes. People are talking about me, I know that. I am mad, they say. Probably told you to not pay heed to the stories of an old drunk, spending his last days in a saloon day in, day out. You want me to go on? Alright, alright. I’ll get going. Forgive an old man his ramblings.
It was a dark night. Even darker due to my current circumstances which had led me into the wilderness. My sense, confused by uncertainty and…. The first embers of remorse. Choices made, things lost. I didn’t even have a horse. Just my two feet. Feet which were starting to ache from the long walk. Only the moon shed its silver light and the first cold wind blew. The early signs of the cold season. I shivered a good deal. It was a ghostly night. No animals could be heard. It felt as if I was the only damn human on the whole godforsaken planet. My body screamed for rest, but my mind drove me on. So I kept walking. Whereto, you might wonder. Only God knew. I sure as hell didn’t. After a while I came across some old tracks. I say old. Because they looked old. Neglected, rusty, the wood splintered in some places. It seemed strange to find rail tracks like that when the whole world depended on trains. As I mentioned, the nights were getting colder. So I decided to walk along those tracks in hope of finding a town. Perhaps I would be able to work a bit for food, money, better clothing. For they had to lead somewhere even if they should be abandoned. That’s when I heard it the first time. A whistle. But not like you think. It was a ghastly sound, twisted and drawn as if… as if the train itself was in torment. So otherworldly was that sound that I didn’t quite realise what I’d heard echoing through the landscape at first. Stubbornly I kept walking. Despite the soft shiver which started to run down my spine, I stayed close to the tracks. Then after a moment, the same sound echoed again. It was closer this time. Louder. More terrible. That’s when the eeriness set in. That’s when I felt my heart beat quicker and my guts crawl. A third whistle followed soon, indicating the dwindling distance between me and that ghostly train. With that last whistle came the distant sound of wheels and steam. It grew closer at a distressing pace. I started running now fully at the mercy of my panicking instincts. But it was too late. The next whistle almost caused my head to explode. And with it came a low, deadly-soothing voice.
“No rest for the wicked,” it whispered in my head. That was when I turned around to see the train. It looked not unusual in the slightest, just a bit battered and old. The black hull showed dents and bullet holes. I froze in my tracks, and the machine stopped. Silence. Smoke drifted around me from the locomotive. The occasional hiss, caused by the decompressing system, filled the night. I held my breath like a rabbit sitting in front of a snake. Then, with a long, agonised screeching sound, the smokebox door opened. Inside I could see nothing, only blackness. But I felt watched. I felt trapped. I took a step back, slowly, silently. Aiming to get away a good deal before turning around and run at full speed. I never got that far. Out of nothing the storm unleashed as a myriad of pipes came bursting out of the locomotive’s insides. Like tentacles they wrapped around me belying the metal’s stiffness. It was too quick for me to act, or think as I was dragged inside the black emptiness. All I heard and saw were fragments of my new surroundings. I heard the smokebox door close with a loud clank. The smell of rust, burned flesh and coal filled my nose. Stunned it until it was completely useless. Far ahead, as if I was in a long tunnel, I saw a fiery light. I didn’t move and yet got closer. The heat was becoming more unbearable the nearer I came. I was going to burn, I realised, full of panic. I tried to draw back, to get out, but there still were pipes wrapped around my ankles, forcing me closer. I heard distant screams of pain. And a loud, slow heartbeat. It was all around me as if the train itself harboured living organs made of flesh. I felt my skin grow hot, even melt. My own blood was boiling and the pain made it impossible to think or act. The fire was all around me now. I screamed until I passed out.
I wasn’t dead. Yet. I noticed that when I came to my senses. I was sure to be dead or at least heavily burned. But when I looked at my hands in the dim reddish light, they looked normal. Unharmed. As were my clothes and my hair. I was sitting on a rusty grid in a large cylinder-like room. Like a barrel. I assumed that I was still in the insides of the locomotive. Hot air ventilated upwards from below. It took me a second to realise, I was not alone. All around me I could make out faint silhouettes of other people. They whispered to each other, or, more often, themselves. As was the man closest to me. Huddled up, he spoke to himself.
“They disappear, they disappear!” and “A red heart for red embers.” Over and over, as if the words gave him strength. Or sanity. If he still possessed any. Reaching out, I touched his shoulder. The man shrank away with a start before composing himself.
“Who disappears?” I asked, not bothering with unnecessary introductions. Like a caged animal the man turned around and clung to my shirt.
“The tracks! The tracks! They are not real. Not real. They appear to catch flies. They vanish after feeding.”
“How do you know?”
“I know, I know,” the man put his hands to his head and struggled for a second before answering in clear sentences. “I know because I followed it a long time.”
“Why?”
“To save my boy.”
“Did you find him?” He needed a minute to answer that.
“I did. A red heart for red embers. Strong lungs for good air.” He started muttering again, losing the thread of our conversation.
“What is happening here?” I spoke louder, but that only agitated the poor man. Taking me by the shoulders he started shaking me.
“They disappear! They disappear! There’s no way out. Don’t you see?” A hatch opened in the ceiling, interrupting his rant. A bright light flooded the dim room for a moment and I saw how some of the other people seemed paler and more transparent than others. With a thud, a body was dropped from above. It was surrounded by the smell of burned flesh, the skin was scorched and bloody. The body moved a bit, then gasped, then stopped. It just kept lying in our middle. Then the pipes came again, long tentacles made of metal and yet, unlike any metal I have seen. They wrapped around two people, one was barely visible, the other just slightly transparent. Both tried to crawl away, but the pipes already had them. Dragging them screaming through the hatch above. Whatever it was, it was unimpressed by the fact that one of them even fought so hard that his arm was broken by the violence of the pipes when they dragged him through the hatch at an unlucky angle. The hatch fell shut. But their screaming faded only slowly, and shortly after the heat in the room increased. I understood now, we were fuel. Burned and healed only to burn again. I only struggled to understand how we could burn several times.
“They don’t just burn our bodies,” the man next to me said in a surprisingly calm manner. “They burn our souls,” he whispered. I could feel his distant, dreadfilled stare on me. The body in the middle started moving again, the smell had dissipated. The person was healing, like I had.
“And…” I started hesitantly. “What when our souls are used up?”
“That’s when the fading starts. You turn into a ghost and then vanish. Your soul…. gone. Devoured by the train.”
“You talk as if this thing is alive.”
“A red heart for red embers,” he muttered again, his voice breaking this time.
“I could hear a heart when I was dragged inside… Are you telling me…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the thought. Some of us were fuel. Perhaps some of us were spare parts too. I had to remember the ghastly whistling sound. So unlike the one of a locomotive. So almost alive.
It did not take long until the next victim was dropped through the hatch. Only one was returned this time. I had to assume the other, more transparent prisoner, had burned for the last time. His soul now trapped inside that metal shell forever. I swallowed. I had to get out of here. Now! My new companion had gone back to muttering to himself.
“They eat your skin and turn your eyes into lanterns.” I chose not to listen to more lest I wanted my stomach to churn completely. Again the pipes came for yet another victim which was dragged away. I could hear the ghastly whistle from outside our room. Was that train about to steal another soul? The man next to me covered his ears and started whimpering when the whistle sounded again.
“Don’t haunt me! Don’t haunt me, no more…” He sank down muttering like a madman. “Clear voice, good voice. Makes for a good whistle. A red heart for red embers. Sturdy bones for a sturdy frame…”
“Hey, hey!” I shook the man on the ground until he stopped to listen. “We are not dead yet. I’m going to get out. You can come or stay.”
“No one can get out. They disappear!”
“You mean no one ever tried to get out as far as you know.” By the time the next prisoner was returned, in the usual burned state, I was fairly dizzy from the heat and lack of water.
“It’s now or never, we have to hold on to the pipes.”
“No!” My new companion tried to draw back when I took him by the arm. The pipes were already coming for the next in line. I realised too late that the next in line was me. Jumping to my feet I avoided the first pipes, reaching for me. I caused quite the ruckus when I ran around in the little room, ducking to not get hit by anything and partly on all fours due to my dim surroundings. The pipes followed but when another unfortunate soul got caught in the crossfire, she was taken instead. Swiftly I turned in place to get to those damned pipes. Getting caught by someone else’s leg, I stumbled. But someone lifted me up at once bringing me closer as the screaming prisoner was dragged upwards. With one desperate jump I got my hand on one of the pipes. Despite the hot iron, I refused to let go as I, and my new friend, got dragged along through the hatch.
Blinding light caused me to squeeze my eyes shut. I just let go, hoping to not fall back into the dim room but also afraid of being dragged into the fire. We were lucky. The hard metal ground beneath was warm, but not as much as the room we’d escaped from. The light was still too bright, and I needed several minutes to get used to it. Somewhere not far from us, I could hear raging flames. I heard the woman scream and then a door being closed which muffled the screams but did not block them out. Apart from that and the sound of the locomotive itself, nothing stirred. The air was fresher, reviving my mind and body a bit as I opened my eyes to test the brightness. I wished I hadn’t but it was either that or lying on the ground until the pipes might come and pick me up and roast me good. The inside walls were a glossy black, the floor an eerie red. The lanterns on the walls gave off a tainted orange, yellow light. The glass seemed stained by blood as well. Outside the window all I could see was a dense white fog. The poor soul which had been chosen was burning behind us in the gigantic firebox whose door was locked for the moment. There was no one driving that thing. The doors to the passenger room stood open, but there too I couldn’t see a soul. And yet, I felt watched. As if the walls had eyes. To my left I found my new companion. His gray hair and beard hadn’t been cut in a while. God knew how long he had been in here already. The blue-grey eyes showed fear and disorientation. Their shine had been dulled by whatever he had seen already. First now did I see, how well dressed he was. Despite his body showing the first signs of turning into a ghost he gave off an air of knowledge and good manners.
“You look like a professor,” I blurted out, caught in the moment. The man adjusted his glasses and looked at me in the same inspecting manner.
“I am… And you look like a wanderer.” I had to grin due to embarrassment. Such a high company was far from suited for someone like me. “Or… I was,” he added after a moment. We both got up as we realised how vulnerable we were lying on the ground. I got to the window at once to look outside, left and right. But everywhere the dense fog prevailed. Leaving me clueless as to where we had come from, or were headed towards. Feeling something wet on my hands I stepped away from the window. Rivulets of blood were running down the walls here and there, more blood was on the firebox door, burned in by the heat. My gaze fell to the lanterns on the walls, whose light’s intensity varied from lamp to lamp. Getting closer I saw they were filled with eyeballs. Something had been done to them so they would glow. Different amounts of human eyes gave different intensities in light.
“Oh, god…” I muttered. This thing was using some of its victims as spare parts. I went into the passenger compartment. The benches looked soft and cosy, but when I touched them they felt like they were made of flesh. The same could be said of the structures, traces of bones, like imprints could be seen here and there. As if the train was slowly assimilating them, incorporating them into the metal structure. It was a muffled outcry from the professor that made me hurry back.
“Professor!” He looked at me with wide eyes. “What is it?” He only pointed towards the whistle, refusing to look at it.
“A red heart for red embers…” he muttered to himself in a shaky voice as his sanity wavered again. The whistle was partly metal and partly flesh. There was no string attached to it, like it should have been. Instead, I could see something red inside it. And I remembered the professor’s words from before about a strong voice. And how he had acted when the whistle had sounded. I swallowed, not wanting to believe what I saw.
“We have to get out of here. At once!” I said in an absolute tone of voice, taking the professor I went to the window. I had seen no doors, no gaps between compartments as if this whole train was one entity. The only openings were the two windows in the steering room. “We have to jump.”
Chaos broke loose before I could make him jump. The firebox door opened whereupon the pipes, glowing red from the heat, appeared again carrying with them the burned body. The hatch to the room below opened on its own so they could drop the body back down. The mighty beat of a heart could be heard now that the firebox was open. A rhythmic, eerie sound pulsating through the raging fire. Without a word I urged the professor to go on, when the pipes stopped. I turned my head just in time to see them come towards us. There was no way to fight hot, metal tubes, especially when they came after me at high speed. A hand on my shoulder dragged me to the side right before I could be caught. My head slammed against the wall, causing a nasty headache and blurry vision. By the time I looked back up, I could see the professor smiling at me. The pipes had stabbed him several times. The whistle sounded again.
“Professor!” I croaked trying to get up but he only shushed me gently as if I was his son. Tears had formed in his eyes and were now rolling down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry Wilson,” he spoke to the whistle. He was spitting blood. The pipes, now stained with red, pulled back and the man’s legs gave in. They remained frozen in place, like a creature which was eyeing me. Waiting to pounce. I was torn between staying with the dying man, perhaps even mourning and making my way through the window to escape that very same fate.
“I’ll get you too,” the voice from the beginning whispered in my head again. It was the train itself, I assumed. It was barely human, twisted, ancient, and sent a shudder through my marrow and bones right into my very soul. It was the shock I needed to let go.
“No, you won’t.” I had barely spoken the words when I made it out the window. The pipes shot towards me but missed. Without thinking I jumped while the sound of tearing fabric, ripping flesh and breaking bones followed me. They were taking apart the professor. Like they had taken his son. He was too dangerous to be kept alive as fuel, so the train devoured him at once. I fell, through mist and wind and even rain. Then I hit the ground. I was too weak to get up. I only felt it with my fingers. Dry earth. Actual dry earth was beneath me. The smell of blood and death had vanished. I smelled clear air, as if it was about to rain. I couldn’t get up. My head was swimming. I was hungry and thirsty and tired. So I just gave in to sleep.
That’s how I ended up in this town. A farmer found me, took me to the town’s doctor. My hair had turned white as snow, but my body showed no illness. Nor did I see any change when I saw myself in the mirror. For me, it seemed, just a night had passed. I worked on his farm and then later in the mine not far from here. But the train never left me. I was afraid to be outside at night, afraid of the dark in the mine’s tunnels. Afraid of the silence and even ordinary trains. I always keep an eye out, but I haven’t seen those rusty tracks again. Nor have I heard the ghastly whistling. Only in my dreams it still finds me. And I wonder if this train could abduct me in those far away realms where only the soul goes at night. I was taken in 1836, when I jumped off I came to myself in 1874. Do you see, boy? Do you see? It robs you of more than just your sanity. For the track disappears and the train drives through the fog for all eternity. So whatever you do, don’t follow the rusty railway. And when you hear an eerie whistle like tormented souls. You run, boy. You hear me? You run, because the devil would be more pleasant company than this monstrosity.
I could see his doubts. But it had grown dark outside whilst he had listened to my tale. So to make my final statement I decided to blow out the candle which illuminated the corner of the saloon we sat in. A ghostly smile split my lips as I saw him grow pale for a moment. It was short-lived, only a split of a second. For when my hand passed over the candle the flame burned once again. I knew though. He had seen the truth. My hair glowing like the moon, my eyes burning like hot coals. And my body, a scorched skeleton-like appearance. Black and drawn. Was I still able to die? And if I was, would my soul be dragged back into the bowels of that train? Those were things I refused to find out.
Credit: The Rebellious Stranger
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