"Don't Play The Whistle Game" Creepypasta

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by goose.jpg:   / posts  
Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. 
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This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:02):
Camp Grinlow shut down the year after our last summer there.
I remember the envelope arriving at the house, the way
my mom read it twice before setting it down. That
was it no more summer. I met Max and Annie there.
We were Cabin three, our first year, packed in tight

(00:22):
with five others, none of whom we talked to any more.
We weren't friends right away. Max never shut up. He
had a comment for everything and laughed hardest at his
own jokes, which I found annoying. Annie was a nerd.
She knew all the counselor's names by day two. One night,

(00:44):
Max and I snuck out during rest hour to pull
a prank on Cabin seven. Annie caught us slipping out
and followed. We got halfway there before a flashlight being
caught us across the clearing. Max bolted froze. Annie stepped
in front of me and said she had dropped a
bracelet somewhere near the trail and we were helping her

(01:07):
look for it. The councilor bought it and we didn't
get written up. Then we became close friends. After camp.
The three of us kept in touch. We borrowed our
parents' phone, sent letters, and eventually got our own phones.

(01:27):
For a while, we barely saw each other. Then we
ended up at colleges close enough to take a train.
After that, it just stuck. Max found a clip of
droned video of the camp on a hiking channel and
sent it to our group chat. The place looked gutted.

(01:51):
Most of the cabins were collapsing, and the docks were
reduced to their frames. My stomach dropped. All the things
that made the place feel alive. Campfires, night hikes, the
games we played were gone. My phone buzzed with a
message from Annie. I kind of miss it. He missed

(02:15):
cold showers and sunstroke. Max replied, I miss what it
was like being there, She wrote, with you two. The
chat went quiet after that. I typed something and deleted it.
A few minutes later, Max replied with we should go?

(02:36):
Annie replied seriously, Yeah, why not? One night camp like
we used to? I thought Max was messing around. Then
I thought about it and didn't hate the idea. We'd
had fun there as kids, so why wouldn't we now

(02:57):
Going back as adults felt strange but also kind of exciting.
Can we just do that? I asked? Yeah? Why not?
We've still got tents, still know how to build a fire,
Bring some marshmallows, tell stories, play the old games, he replied.
There was a long pause, then Annie sent fine, but

(03:21):
if it rains, I'm sleeping in the car. And that
was that. As I pulled up, I noticed Annie her
car was already pulled up off the gravel loop when
I arrived, parked just far enough from the overgrowth to
keep her tires clear. She was out of the car,

(03:44):
arms crossed, lips pressed. I waved through the windshield, parked
beside her, and stepped out. The air was cool, and
there was a slight breeze that blew through. You're late,
she said, not looking up. You're early, I grinned. She
gave a half smile. Maybe I just won the race.

(04:07):
Here the trees are crept and closer than I remembered.
The old sign that used to say Camp Grinlow in
thick green letters was just a frame, now dangling splinters.
And he strolled over to the pit where a bell
used to hang, poking at the weeds with the foot.

(04:28):
You checked the cabins, yet, I asked. She shook her head.
By myself, no way. I figured we'd do it together.
Ten minutes later we heard the crunch of tires and
Maxi's car rounded the bend. He barked, crooked and got out,
already chewing gum and wearing a huge grin. Took the

(04:52):
scenic group, he said, slamming the door. And by scenic,
I mean I stopped twice because I thought I saw
a bear. One was a stump, one might have been
a bear. He brought the tent right, Annie asked. He
patted the trunk and snacks and an old speaker. He

(05:13):
looked around, nodding slowly. We'd how it feels smaller. It's not,
I said, We're just bigger. Speak for yourself, Max said,
adjusting the waistband of his shorts. I peeked in eighth grade,
we know, Annie joked. We started toward the fire pit,

(05:35):
catching up on each other's weak The trail was still there,
but the trees leaned in low, branches low enough to
catch his shoulders. Annie walked ahead of us, eyes on
the ground, stepping over roots. To the left, the messle
looked worse. The windows were gone and it was missing

(05:55):
a door. It was strange seeing it all like this.
When we were kids, this place felt permanent, like it
would always be waiting for us, just as we'd left it.
But now the buildings sagged under their own weight, paint
stripped by years of weather and abandonment. When we reached

(06:17):
the fire pit, he looked almost untouched. The benches had
sunk a little, but was still there. The stones were scattered,
but familiar, scorched black the way we remembered. Still here,
I said. Max dropped his bag beside a bench and
stretched his arms overhead. Not bad, I thought we'd be

(06:41):
pitching tents in a field of used needles. We stayed
silent for a moment, letting it sink in. Max broke
the silence first. All right, who's up for some marshmallows?
He pulled a bag from his pack and top on
the bench. I dug out some skewers we brought and

(07:03):
passed them around. Annie knelt near the fire pit, clearing
away old dash and leaves, and we got the fire
going fast. The wood was dry enough, and the smoke
drifted upward in lazy streaks. We roasted in silence at first,
letting the heat take the edge off the air. Max

(07:24):
burned his first one, entirely black and proudly ateed him
two bites. Annie laughed at him and methodically turned us
over the flame until it browned perfectly. You guys, remember
that game, I asked, statues and songs. Max's mouth was full,

(07:45):
but he mumbled something that sounded like a yes. Annie
nodded her eyes on the fire. I don't remember who
made it up, I said, Oh, counselor reed, Annie piped up,
of course, you still remember his name. Max rolled his eyes.

(08:06):
The rules started coming back in pieces. One person stood
at the end of the field with their back turned,
humming a tune. Every one else had to move toward
them if they caught you moving. When they turned round
and the hum ended, you were out. You used to cheat,

(08:27):
Annie said, jabbing a skewer into Max's arm. Please, I
played to win, Max said, It's called having tactics, pushing people,
tripping them, whatever it takes. You pushed me twice, she whined,
Both times you deserved it. You were getting cocky. I

(08:48):
was eight exactly. You needed humbling. You didn't win, though,
I added, no one once. No you didn't, Annie, and
I said in unison. Max held up his hands. Look,
just because my brilliance wasn't appreciated, doesn't mean it existed,

(09:09):
Annie said. We laughed for a second, and it was
like we'd never left. The fire crackled low, dipping into
the quiet. Max leaned back, looking up at the darkening
sky through the trees. Annie picked at the edge of
a marshmallow bag, folding and unfolding the plastic in a lap.

(09:35):
Then came a familiar tune, but this time it was
a whistle. Annie sat upright, Okay, I know you hit
ye speaker Max. Max tilted his head. You're kidding, right,
that's not me. Seriously, I asked, you didn't cue something

(09:59):
up in your He held it up. Battery's almost dead.
Been saving it. We all turned toward the trees where
the sound had come from. The tune came again, the
same rhythm we'd been talking about. Max gave Anny a look.

(10:20):
You didn't rig something, some timer or remote thing. She scoffed.
Do I look like I brought a fog machine too?
You brought back up marshmallows? He said, anything's possible. He
looked from one to the other, then grinned, all right,
when do you plan this? Fess up, and he snorted.

(10:44):
If I went to that much effort, I'd be filming
your reaction. Then it's you, Max said, pointing at me.
You've been quiet, not me, I said, I figured it
was you, mister. There for a moment, the whistle drifting
through the trees again. Shall we play? Max said, with

(11:06):
a smirk, we might as well, and he raised an eyebrow.
You're serious, What are you scared? He grinned. No, she huffed,
brushing past him. I just don't want to humor your prank.
We stepped into the clearing. It hadn't changed much, the

(11:28):
same wide circle that funneled into a straight part into
the trees. It was marked with half buried stones, grass
pressed low in patches. Max rolled his shoulders like it
was warming up for a race as we walked forward
toward the sound off in the trees. Then the whistling
stopped and we froze in place, grinning like idiots, and

(11:53):
he glanced over her shoulder and mouth. Still got it,
Max said, one foot lifted in the air. This is
weirdly fun. A second later, the whistle started again, and
this time we sped walked. Max bumped into me while
trying to get ahead. Annie was already a few strides

(12:14):
ahead of both of us. Her braid bounced off her
back with each step, arms pumping like she was taking
it way too seriously. Max laughed and tried to catch up.
She's gonna win, I said, not if I reach her,
Max said, under his breath, speeding up to get behind her. Grinning,

(12:36):
Max reached out and shoved Anny just enough to throw
off balance as she tumbled forward. The music stopped and
Max froze with his arms stretched out. Max. She screamed,
stumbling forward as the whistling cut out. Her body seized,

(12:57):
her knees, locking neck, jukeing upright. Her spine twisted so
violently we heard it pop. Her vertebrae bulged against the skin,
Her arms flung outward like she was being yanked, and
a wet crack snapped through the air. Her body fell
limp on the ground. Annie, I called out, horrified. Max

(13:24):
remained frozen, the grin on his face melted. I didn't
push her that hard, he stuttered, eyes frantic. Then the
whistle started back up like nothing had happened. We both
rushed forward, dropping to our knees. Her body was curled unnaturally,

(13:46):
one leg twisted under the other, arms splayed out ahead
of her. Her face was frozen mid breath, eyes wide,
mouth half open. Max's hand harvered nearer but didn't touch.
Which she's not. I started struggling to find my words.

(14:06):
What the hell is happening? Max sputtered. I leaned over,
pressed my fingers into a neck, but there was no pulse.
I didn't know what I was expecting. She's dead. The
words felt like they didn't belong to me, as if

(14:27):
it wasn't real. Max backed up, shuddering. Maybe she hit something,
he said, looking past the body, scanning the dirt for
a rock or a branch, or anything, desperate for anything
to prove he didn't hurt her. She didn't hit anything.

(14:47):
I looked at Max, felt my throat tighten. You pushed
her too hard. His head snapped towards me. It was
a joke, No, it wasn't. My voice shook. You killed her?
His mouth opened, but nothing came out, and watched it

(15:07):
land on him all at once, the guilt, the weight
of what he did. His jaw clenched. He looked down
at her again and backed away, like distance would undo it.
You always had to win, I spat even now. The
whistling stopped again. We both rose instinctively breath stalled half

(15:31):
way in our throats, and his body was inches away,
broken and bent. I couldn't look directly at her. I
could hear Max swallow hard, chest barely rising. His hands
were clenched at his side, knuckles pale. The air buzzed
with pressure. I felt it in my spine, in the

(15:55):
tension creeping up my neck. Every second stretched longer than
the one before. Then the whistling returned, same melody, same distance,
carried on the wind, like none of this had happened.
My breath came out sharp, and Max broke. He took

(16:18):
two steps back, fists in his hair, eyes wide like
they were trying to blink away while we were both seeing. No, no, no, no, no,
this can't be real. He began, his voice, pitched higher
than I'd ever heard it, words spilling out faster. She
was fine, I swear to God. I just we were

(16:40):
messing around. I didn't push her that hard. He turned
from me, walked a short circle, then spun back. His
mouth moved like he had more to say, but nothing
came out. His shoulders dropped. Then he hit his thigh
with the side of his fists so hard and made
a dull thud, she laughed. When I burnt the marshmallow,

(17:04):
I was going to give a grief for it. Later.
He looked at the clearing, then at me, and then
up into the trees. We were supposed to hang out
this week, and that's all, not this. He swallowed, wiped
his face roughly with both hands, and took one glance
at and his body. Then he turned and said, screw this.

(17:28):
I'm not doing this. Max. No, he snapped, I didn't
hurt her, I swear. He turned and started walking back
toward the campfire fast. Just as he stepped over the
stone edging, his body arked hard like something. He yanked
upward from his spine. The twist was fast, and his

(17:52):
feet lifted from the ground as his back contorted violently.
There was a low crack, then a snap. Max's arms
filed once, then dropped, His legs folded in on themselves.
He hid the ground. I screamed, still crouched over Annie.

(18:14):
He landed, face down, limbs crooked. From where I sat,
I could see the base of his neck bent too far.
I blinked hard, stared at the flickering light at the
edges of the fire where his body lay crumpled in slack,
and realization washed over me. He hadn't killed Annie the

(18:37):
way she fell and twisted. There was no way that
he did that, especially since he met the same fate
as soon as he left the game boundaries. Fear sent
pinpricks of electricity through my body, and an ominous feeling
washed over me. Whatever this was, it wasn't natural, and

(18:59):
it had something to do with the game and the whistling.
If I wanted to survive, I had to play. My hands,
my back, my legs, all of me trembled. When the
whistlings started back up. It scraped across my nerves. I

(19:20):
could still hear Andy's voice in my head, Maxi's laugh.
The bodies weren't even cold, and I was already thinking
like I was the only one left. I pressed my
hands into the dirt and begged myself to keep breathing.
This was real, This was happening, and I had to

(19:42):
finish it. I held my stance. Every part of me
wanted to run, to curl in and myself to scream,
but the rules were clear. I couldn't move. It stopped,
and it felt like the paws dragged out. My knees
were tight, I blinked once, slow and dry. Then the

(20:07):
whistling started up again. I forced myself up and started
to take shaky step after shaky step. The distance between
me and the whistling shrank. I could make out a
figure in the dark distance. Its arms hung low and
close to its sides. The space between us was still wide.

(20:30):
I didn't know how many rounds there would be, or
how close I had to get with the thought of
making it all the way forward. Reaching out and placing
a hand against the thing's body felt impossible, but that
was the rule. You reached the host and touched them.

(20:50):
That's how you won. That's what I had to do.
The rhythm carried me forward again. I moved with it,
one step at a time, every shift of weight, deliberate,
every breath matched to the space between each whistle. I
was getting closer now. The thing ahead had shape. The

(21:14):
dim glow of the campfire passed through uneven slits, carved
deep into its chest, casting faint beams into the undergrowth.
Every time it exhaled, a thin column of air passed
through those holes, and the whistle came with it. I
felt a scrape along my spine. My eyes kept drifting

(21:36):
to the lines of its body, the exposed ribs, stiff posture,
the way it stayed fixed in place, like it was
waiting for me. I tried not to think about the
final rule. Then I'd have to touch it. Then my
heel struck something, maybe a root or a stone, buried

(21:58):
just enough to catch the edge of my foot. My
balance pitched. My arms shot forward, but I was too slow.
My ankle rolled underneath me, and I landed hard on
my knees and hands. Pain searched up my leg. The
ground pressed into my palms. The whistle cut out, my

(22:22):
vision blurred, My ankle throbbed in sharp pulses, but I
stayed frozen, arms shaking from the fall. Dirt and rocks
pressed into the raw skin of my hands. Every second
that passed made my chest tighter. I could feel the
pulse in my neck hammering against the stillness. I started

(22:45):
to imagine my death if I failed. What part would break? First?
Would it twist my head like Max's or tear through
me the way it had Annie? And then what would
anyone find us? Here? Would it be? Days later, after
the car sat too long in the gravel, pullen with
the ranger's office, even bothered to look past the sign.

(23:09):
I thought about my parents. I thought about Annie's mom.
I thought about the three of us walking to the
messile on our first day, all of us sunburned and
tried to act cooler than we were. Max had carried
a plastic lightsaber in his bag and pretended it was
an accident. Annie had rolled her eyes and corrected the
names of all the counselors when we got them wrong.

(23:32):
That first week, we had barely spoken, but somehow we'd
ended up here years later together, and now they were gone.
The whistle started again. I clenched my teeth and tried
to push myself up a spiker. Pain ran through my foot, white,

(23:56):
heart and deep. My ankle had twisted did in the
fall badly. I put a little weight on it and
felt the strain in my joint. I would have to
limp the rest of the way. I'd have to keep
perfect rhythm, stay completely still, and make it to the
thing on a busted ankle. I blinked the sweat from

(24:18):
my eyes, swallowed hard, and started forward again. The pain
made it harder to tie my steps. Each pause left
more weight on the ankle than I could stand, but
I kept moving I had to the distance between us
was maybe thirty feet now maybe less. Every whistle came

(24:41):
with a fresh jolt of dread, but it also meant
I was still playing, still alive. That counted for something.
I kept my eyes low, trying not to look at
it again, the way it stood so still, waiting. Each
breath it took dragged through his chest like wind through

(25:03):
loose panes. A few more rounds and I'd reach it
if I could hold my balance, if the ankle didn't give.
I moved again, half step, wait another. The whistle stopped.
I froze with my heel halfway up, struggling to settle

(25:24):
it flat without shaking. The muscle in my legs seized.
I could feel it trying to twitch, trying to collapse
under me. I let my heel sink, gradually waited for
the whistle to return, the sound of my pulse louder
than the crickets of the wind. The whistle came again.

(25:44):
I moved one step, then another. My ankle buckled slightly,
but I caught myself. I was close now ten feet
maybe less. The shape stood tall, still, arms set close
to its sides. Every breath it took pushed another note

(26:06):
into the air. I stopped weight on one foot and stared.
I could almost see its hands, long fingers curled slightly inward.
My hand was slick with sweat. I wiped it against
my jeans, braced myself and stepped forward again and again,

(26:29):
five feet three, close enough to see the seams between
its ribs, where the skin held taut around the frame.
There was a smell like warm metal and moss. I
felt it in my throat one more step. I didn't
want to see it any clearer than I already had,

(26:51):
didn't want to remember its shape when I closed my
eyes later, I kept them open one last breath, then
shut them tight and reached. My fingers landed on something solid,
and the whistles stopped. I stayed frozen, hands still pressed forward,

(27:14):
every nerve wound tight. My chest hurt from how hard
my heart beat. The pain in my ankle flared steady
and sharp. Minutes passed with no sound, no whistling, but
I kept my palm planted where it was resting against it.

(27:34):
But finally I grew impatient, curious, so I peeled my
eyes open. The thing was gone, and I was touching
a tree. It took a few seconds for it to
register that it was just a trunk, tall and rough

(27:57):
and solid, nothing strange about it, no gaps in the wood.
At first I hoped I had imagined it all, but
my ankle still screamed hot and deep. And when I
turned around, limping slowly dragging the weight of my body
behind me, I saw the truth. The fire still burned low,

(28:21):
the shadows flickered, and the bodies on my best friends
were right where I had left them, and his twisted spine,
Max's bent limbs. The firelight danced over their skin like
I didn't care what had happened, like this was any
other night. I collapsed just outside the circle, legs giving

(28:43):
out beneath me. All at once, the emotions I had
shoved into a corner to stay alive came crawling back,
flooding my chest and throat too fast to stop. Then
I sobbed from the terror, from the pain, from the
sick throb of loss that settled into the center of
my chest. I cried for Annie and Max, for the

(29:08):
marshmallows we didn't finish, for the game we never should
have played. I cried because I lived