• The Silver Whistle


    Long, thin tendrils of fragile sunlight fell upon a mist-shrouded forest. Whispering gray fog danced about the shuddering leaves and needles, twirling about the fingers of Jack’s out stretched hand. The trees watched with expectant, eyeless faces, creaking as they waited. The birds that fluttered through the morning air gave this odd scene curious glances, but no more than was expected of them.

    It was unusual for a small boy of ten to be wandering about the woods by himself at such an early hour. What was he doing in the mist with no adult to guide him? This question ran through the minds of the trees and the birds, the grass and the beetles. What a strange boy he must be.

    Jack’s short, glove enclosed fingers clasped about his new prize. He had seen it glittering from the trail, and even though it was a spectacularly plain, silver whistle, it was still very pretty. Oh, and the sound it must make! Practically bouncing with the jubilation the little tube had brought him; Jack began to head back for the path.

    The world echoed every snap that occurred when he stepped on the twig-covered ground with his white sneakers. The boy’s ears picked it out as some otherworldly laughter, weaving about his brain and crushing all rational thought. Jack stopped and glanced around, listening as the snickers and cackles died away. Another step brought more guffaws in his direction.

    Getting closer to tears with every passing moment, Jack looked down at the silver whistle resting in his hand. A smile fought for a place on his features, and after much struggle, won. The boy grinned as he examined his discovery for the hundredth time. He decided to see if it worked, for maybe the musical sound would drive the taunting laughers away.

    He raised the whistle to his lips and took a deep breath, closing his eyes tightly. This allowed the stranger to sneak up, undetected.

    “I wouldn’t do that if I were you…” came the voice that startled Jack and made him jump. He lowered the whistle and looked towards the speaker cautiously. As his blue eyes locked on the figure, he couldn’t help but be disappointed.

    The boy had expected an elf, a monster, a spirit, an angel, or at least Santa Claus. However, it was just a normal, human, man, guy, standing in the foggy forest. But, most importantly, it was a stranger, and as every child, that has paid at least minimal attention to their parents, knows that one must never speak to strangers.

    What a shame, Jack thought to himself as he eyed the stranger. With his long, gray hair, gray eyes, brown hiking boots and black coat that brushed the ground, he looked to be very interesting. Not to mention the man had a kind smile. Jack sadly informed him of the facts.

    “Can’t talk to strangers, eh?” the man said, looking thoughtful. “Well, my name is William and I live just up the trail. See, now I am no longer a stranger to you.”

    Jack wasn’t too sure that this counted as knowing the man, but wasn’t about to care much. He had questions that needed answers.

    “It is very nice to meet you,” Jack said, remembering his manners. He didn’t, however, remember the man’s name, for he had the uncanny ability to forget such things. “I’m Jack, and I was wondering why you would not blow the whistle if you were me?”

    “Because, Jack,” the man, whom the boy had decided to call Forestman, said softly. “That whistle you hold is not at all ordinary… It’s magical!”

    Jack’s eyes grew wide and his smile broadened as he looked from Forestman to the whistle, and then back to Forestman. He knew he should tell the man to go away and worry about his own whistle, but magical whistles were something you didn’t normally hear about. He decided to listen and ask further.

    “What would happen if I blew it, sir?” the boy asked, barely containing his excitement.

    “The sound of this magic whistle is sweet,” Forestman began softly, kneeling down before the boy. “And all the spirits and devils in the land will be drawn to it. They will come here searching for a powerful sorcerer, but will instead find you.”

    Jack was slightly confused by his words. How would calling spirits and devils forth be a bad thing? He thought to himself. What a great way to frighten one’s older brother. He was about to ask for clarification, but Forestman cut him off.

    “They would be sorely disappointed,” the man said, looking serious. “For excuse me for pointing out the truth, you are not, at all, a great sorcerer. They would be angry that they had been awoken by a mere child of ten.”

    The boy had to admit that he wasn’t sure he wanted that to happen. The idea of bringing angry monsters to himself, where he would be vulnerable, was not appealing. He was becoming very glad that he had decided to listen to the stranger.

    “Yet there be another side,” Forestman said, smiling at the boy’s expression. “If one is to breathe in and not out… a different sound is made. It is deeper, and less joyful, thus it will not attract the attention of those who would do you harm.

    “It is a haunting tone to the ears of most, and can make wondrous things happen.” He paused for effect, which Jack willingly gave him. The boy was absolutely amazed.

    “What does it do?” the boy whispered, as if afraid that speaking about the miraculous whistle was a great wrong. “What would happen?”

    “Close your eyes, young man,” Forestman said with a warm smile dominating his fine features. “And I shall show you exactly what it can do…”

    Jack closed his eyes and listened to Forestman tell him about the wonders of the little whistle. As the boy listened to Forestman’s soft, smooth voice, pictures floated across his mind. Colorful, exciting images, with no pesky sounds to get in the way.

    The man told him about how the sound from the whistle could weave wonderful greens, oranges, pinks and purples across the plane night sky. How it could make the stars fall and the moon grow bright. At times it had clears the clouds away, or brought them, and made it rain and snow.

    However, as Forestman made very clear, the whistle was old, despite its bright glitter, it was very ancient, and some of the magic had worn away. Because of this, its actions could not be controlled, and on the rare occasions when they could, the process was quite slow.

    “You should keep it close,” Forestman said, attaching the whistle to a long piece of cord, which he then tied loosely around Jack’s neck. “And only breath in until the day you are grown up enough to handle those spirits and devils. Try it now.”

    Jack put the whistle to his lips and breath in. nothing happened. Frowning, he looked at Forestman accusingly.

    “It makes so deep a sound,” Forestman explained. “That it cannot be heard by the untrained ear. Now, you must promise to tell no one of the whistle, of the fact that you ever met me.”

    After a moment, Jack nodded and smiled. He knew that if he told any one about Forestman, he would get in trouble. And if he told of his prize, who knows what kind of things might happen!

    “Good boy,” Forestman said and clapped Jack on the back. The man then got to his feet, straightening his long, black coat. He then turned and walked away, disappearing into the gray mist.