Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark is a series that is legendary among children’s horror.
The actual stories themselves are fine, but it’s the terrifying images that joyously scarred a generation.
So what better way to celebrate Halloween than by writing our own spooky stories based on brand new terrifying images!
During the last stream, a subscriber requested that for Halloween, we write our own Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark.
If you’ve never heard of the series before, be sure to check out the preview on Amazon. The illustrations are among some of the most terrifying ever produced.
You can watch the full video here to or scroll down to read what we wrote.
Chat voted that we write a story based on this image:
Here’s what we came up with:
“Have you guys ever heard the story of the Whistler?” Andy asked his friends sitting around the campfire.
His girlfriend Susan, and the other couple, Tom and Nancy, each shook their heads, their faces only illuminated in the darkness of the forest clearing by the crackling flames. Three marshmallow-roasting sticks lay forgotten nearby, the s’mores they’d been used to make already long devoured. The two tents they’d set up earlier in the light were now almost invisible in the inky blackness all around them.
“It’s actually a true story, and it goes like this,” Andy said, shuffling forward a bit on his squeaky chair. “A hundred years ago, there was this guy named Leon Revington. He was the adventuring type, always climbing the highest mountains, trekking the hardest trails. He’d walked the Appalachian, climbed McKinley, you know, real outdoorsy guy.
“So when he heard that the Wakalay reserve was opening to the public for the first time, he was the first in line to start exploring.”
“Sounds like he had good taste,” Tom said with a snort, looking around. “Wakalay’s a pretty nice spot here.”
“It is now,” Andy said, his voice lowering. “But back then, it had just opened. No human had set foot in it for more than a hundred years. It was wild.”
“What do you mean?” Susan asked.
“I mean that it was unlike anything that Leon had seen before. The trees, the animals, even the leaves, it all felt like it was breathing in unison. It hadn’t been contaminated by people yet, the life hadn’t been choked out of it by pollution and vending machines.”
“Sounds like a dream come true to me,” Nancy said with a snort. “I bet it didn’t have phone bills or five paragraph essays either.”
“Or Twitter,” Tom added.
“Yeah, it didn’t have any of that,” Andy said. “It also didn’t have any rangers or police or any sort of safety personnel.”
No one said anything to that. The only sound was the crackling of the hungry flames.
“Leon was so entranced by the purity of Wakalay, that he never wanted to leave. He started breathing in unison with it, thinking in unison with it. So much so that, consuming part of Wakalay to live became something unthinkable to him.”
“What do you mean?” Susan asked.
“I mean that there was no one around to keep track of him, and he starved to death. Slowly but surely, he whittled away with hunger and madness, until….”
“Until what?” Tom asked, his voice not as steady as before.
“Until they started finding his victims. Whenever someone would go missing in these woods, they’d never find them alive. It was always the same: days after they’d gone missing, their corpses would turn up, emaciated skeletons tied to trees with cords of heavy vine. Children, adults, anyone. Though he especially loved tying up kids.”
Nancy let out an airy laugh, as if forcing herself to try and stay calm through humor.
“Nice one, Andy,” she said. “But if any of that was true, I’m pretty sure we would’ve heard about it in the news.”
“Yeah,” Susan added. “Dead kids tied up to trees would be pretty big news for little old Saskachet, population approximately eight.”
“That’s because Wakalay Park doesn’t want anyone to know,” Andy says. “They do a good job covering it up. Rangers and police are basically frat brothers, each of them covering each others’ asses for whatever they need. The missing persons reports always just end with whoever it is being found dead, no need to mention the gruesome details.
“The only reason I know is because my Uncle Pete works for the Department of Natural Resources, and he has to inspect the health of the park each year. The rangers told him just enough to help him explain the weird readings from the water and animals, but he had to do some sleuthing of his own to find the rest.”
“What did he find out?” Nancy asked.
“That if he ever came out with the news of the Whistler to anyone, he’d end up hanging dead on a tree himself.”
Silence again coolled the heated air between everyone. From far, far away came a dim sound that would’ve usually just been background noise, but now had Susan and Nancy turning their heads.
“Do you know why they call it the Whistler?” Andy asked them, his voice the quietest it had been yet. “It’s because when Leon died, he transformed into… something else. Wakalay became a part of him, changing his cursed human form into something more natural. The body of a deer, the rigid spine of a crocodile, the antlers of an elk, and the face of a human, to remind him of what he was. All of it bone and skull, sticking out at painful angles, with strips of string muscle-sinew barely holding the jumble together. He has not had anything to eat or drink for decades, and he punishes those who are alone and lost who dare to abuse a piece of Wakalay.”
“But why do they call him the Whistler?” Tom asked, grunting out a small laugh as if trying to keep his tough-guy demeanor strong.
“Because every time he takes another victim, the wind blows through his bones. Straight from the back all the way through the front, right out his empty eye sockets and gaping open mouth. It makes this sort of whistling sound, you know? Like blowing over the top of a bottle.”
Andy raised an empty beer bottle to his lips and blew, sending a howling whisper through the air. It was surprisingly loud, almost unnaturally so, wrapping and flowing around the tree trunks that surrounded them, and crashing through the crispy leaves. Even Andy looked surprised for a moment as he set the bottle back down.
“But anyway,” Andy said, his voice shaking for the first time since he’d started his story. “It’s just something my weird Uncle Pete told me. I mean, it’s obviously not true or anything.”
“Yeah, obviously,” Nancy said, hugging herself tight. “Still, pretty good story though.”
“I guess it’s a good thing we brought our own food,” Susan said with a little laugh. “God forbid we dare to eat some Wakalay grass or whatever. Don’t want to incur the wrath of the Whistler.”
“Well,” Tom said rocking his head, “to be fair, we did use sticks to roast the marshmallows.”
“Yeah but we didn’t eat the sticks,” Nancy said.
Tom slowly picked up one of the sticks from the ground. “Still, you three had to break them off the trees.”
“Whatever,” Susan said. “It’s just a dumb story anyway. I say we break off all the branches in the forest if the Whistler is that big of a stickler for his stupid little Wakalay’s purity or whatever.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Tom said. “He’s already coming as it is.”
All faces turned to Tom, who was now looking down as he spun one of the branches between his fingers.
“Dude, nice hijacking of my story,” Andy said. “I gotta say, never took you for the storytelling type. You really had me there for a second.”
Tom didn’t reply. He just slowly raised his face back up to everyone.
A whistling sound blew through the woods around them. Like a giant blowing over the top of a massive bottle made of bone. It rattled and creaked, like an old attic slowly suffocating them from every side.
Andy, Susan and Nancy each leaped up from their chairs. Tom stayed seated.
“What the hell was that?” Andy said.
Tom stared back at him. “You know how Leon came to Wakalay and fell in love with it? He wasn’t the only one, you know. In fact, far from it. He has helpers. And we’ve been helping him for many, many years.”
The whistling erupted again, like a volcano of wind whipping from every direction. The clearing in the woods was suddenly the center of a roaring tornado, knocking over the chairs and tents and blowing them away.
“Dude, drop the act!” Andy yelled over the wind. “This isn’t funny anymore.”
“Yeah, stop it, Tom!” Nancy cried.
“It’s too late to stop it now,” Tom said, barely audible over the screaming whistles. He dropping the branch to the ground. “You killed a piece of Wakalay. Now you’ll get what you deserve.”
Immediately, the whistling stopped, stealing away the glow of the fire with its last breath. With the only light now extinguished, the clearing was drowned in complete shadow, silence, and small whimperings from Susan.
Until the sound of sinewy hooves came shambling in.
Be sure to check out the video to see other ways the story could’ve gone, and for a live reading!
If you want to join us and help write a story by trolling in chat, or share your own writing for feedback, then we’d love to have you join us on Twitch.
And you missed the stream, you can still watch them on the YouTube channel or watch the full stream reruns.
Hope to see you next time, friend!
