Whistle and I’ll Come To You
Adapted for audio from classic M.R. James ghost story. Original text here
St James College, Cambridge, December 12th 1903
It was the last staff lunch of the autumn term.
“Are you going away during the holiday, Professor Parkins?”
“Yes,” he said; “I’m going to Burnstow on the east coast tomorrow. I will spend a week improving my golf.”
“Oh, Parkins,” said Rodgers, sitting opposite. “You should look for the site of the mediaeval chapel ruin. They say it was washed away by a storm.”
“Another one of those silly stories, I’m sure,” said Parkins. “There’s been extreme sea erosion on that coast. That’s probably why the chapel was abandoned. Science always has an explanation.”
“Not for everything,” said Rogers. “Anyway, our archaeological department is planning to do a dig there next summer. Perhaps you could have a look first?”
“Of course, said Parkin. “I can give you a report when I get back.”
“No need,” said Rodgers. “I’m visiting nearby with my family. I might be able to join you for a couple nights.”
Professor Parker stared down at his plate.
“The site is very close to the beach now because of the erosion you mention.” Rodgers continued, between mouthfuls of soup. “It’s near the Globe Inn, at the north end of the town. Where are you going to stay?”
“At the Globe Inn, “ said Parkins, swallowing hard. “I’m afraid you would find it rather dull. You don’t play golf, do you?”
“No, thank Heaven!” said rude Mr. Rogers.
“Well, you see, when I’m not writing I shall be out on the links, I’m afraid.”
Rogers laughed loudly. “It’s all right. I won’t come if you don’t want me,” he said. “I just thought I could help to keep the ghosts away.”
Parkins face turned pink.
“Sorry, Parkins,” Rogers continued. “I forgot you don’t like to joke about these topics.”
“Well,” Parkins said, raising his voice a little. “I do not like careless talk about what you call ghosts. A man in my position has a responsibility.”
On the following day, Parkins travelled to Burnstow. His room at the Globe Inn had two beds, a large table and three windows looking out to sea.
The village was to the south. To the north, there were no houses, only the beach and the low cliff behind it. Immediately in front was a strip of grass, leading to a broad path and then the beach.
There were few guests at the Globe during the winter months but a Colonel Wilson was also staying there for the golf. The Colonel, a large man with a loud voice, joined Parkins on the links in the afternoon. He soon became frustrated by Parkins extremely slow play.
By the close of play, the two golfers were not speaking. Parkins returned to the hotel alone.
On his walk back along the beach Parkins stumbled upon the chapel ruin. In the poor light, he tripped over a stone concealed by gorse and fell into a patch of soft turf. This had to be the site described by Rodgers.
Dusting himself down, he took out his pocket notebook and measured the dimensions. He also examined the area where he had fallen. It was rectangular: the altar perhaps?
Parkins knelt down on the turf. Taking out his knife, he began scraping away the earth and the masonry beneath. One match after another blew out but Parkins continued to tap and scratch the sides with his knife.
Pushing his hand further into the hole, Parkins felt something smooth and metallic. He pulled the object free. Some sort of pipe? The light was too poor for more precise identification so he placed the cylinder-shaped object in his pocket.
In the gathering dark. Parkins continued along the sand. To the west, a faint yellow light shone down on the links. A few figures moving towards the clubhouse were still visible.
The beach was intersected at intervals by black wooden groynes. Out in the darkness the murmuring sea rolled against them. The wind was bitter from the north, but was at his back. He made good progress.
Looking back in the direction of the ruined chapel, he was surprised to see a figure on the horizon of that lonely shore. Someone seemed to be hurrying after him. Parkins stopped to wait but this running figure was not closing the distance. It was as if he was running on the same spot.
Late for dinner, Parkins could wait no longer. Turning on his heels, he continued walking back towards the hotel.
Back in his room, Parkins took out his discovery from his pocket. It was an old brass whistle. Holding it under the light from his candle, he could see there were inscriptions on the front and back.
The one on the front FLA FUR BIS FLE he did not recognise. The writing on the back, however, was clearly Latin: QUIS EST ISTE QUI UENIT
He tried to translate this from memory. Who is this who is coming?Instinctively, he put the whistle to his lips.
There was no sound. Parkins examined the whistle again. It was full of a fine sand or earth. He loosened this with a knife and poured the debris onto a piece of paper. When the whistle was clear, he and took the whistle and the paper over the table.
Opening the window, he tipped the debris out. The night was clear and bright. A man was standing on the shore in front of the inn.
Parkins shut the window. Again, he lifted the whistle to his lips and blew gently. This time it produced a soft, smooth yet powerful sound that was both startling and oddly pleasing.
He closed his eyes and a picture formed in his mind as the sound faded. A lonely figure was running down the beach in the darkness
A sudden surge of a gust of wind blew against the window. A flash of white, like that of seagull’s wing, appeared and then vanished somewhere outside in the darkness.
He blew the whistle again, harder. This time no picture appeared, but a powerful wind now came through the open window, blowing out both candles. Parkins struggled to close it but a tremendous pressure forced him back. Then the wind suddenly slackened.
Relighting the candles, Parkins checked for damage. There was nothing broken. In the room above, he could hear the Colonel moving about.
The wind’s desolate cry continued after Parkins retired to his bed. He lay in the darkness, too unsettled get to sleep. The wind, the golf, and the ruined chapel all raced around his mind as he counted the beats of his heart.
He could also hear the tossing and rustling of sheets nearby. Was that the Colonel? In the darkness, he could not tell the direction the sound was coming from.
Drifting into the world between sleep and consciousness, Parker found himself back on the long stretch of shore he had walked earlier. Cold rain was falling softly as a man appeared the distance. He was running along the shingle, jumping and clambering over the groynes.
Every few seconds he looked back. Though his facial features were blurred and indistinct, the runner’s movements conveyed fear. He was tiring and each successive obstacle seemed to cause him more difficulty than the last.
Then the man collapsed on the sand. There, he remained crouching under the groyne, without the strength to continue.
What was he running away from? Further up the shore, a figure in pale, fluttering fabric was moving across the sand.
It ran across the beach with swift, with jerky movements, zigzagging to the water-edge and back again. Then, rising upright, it accelerated forward, moving terrifyingly fast. In moments, it was almost upon its prey.
Opening his eyes, Parkins felt his heart racing. He was breathing heavily. Sweat poured off his face. Why did this horrible vision feel so real? Had he been working too hard? Smoking too much? Eating too much, too late?
Fearful of closing his eyes again, he lit a candle and read. As he struck a match there was the sound of rustling nearby. Mice? Rats?
The flame went out. A second match burned long enough to light a candle. Picking up his book, he read until he fell asleep. For the first time in his life, he forgot to blow out the candle.
He awoke the next morning at eight. The candle was still alight and a mess of melted wax lay on top of the bedside table.
After breakfast, Parkins returned to his room to prepare to play golf against the Colonel. The maid was making his bed when he entered. “Good morning, sir. I hope you weren’t cold with that wind last night. I’m just giving you an extra blanket. Which bed should I put it on, sir?”
“What? Why, that one — the one I slept in last night,” he said.
“I thought you slept in both of them, sir. That’s why I’ve made them both this morning.”
“No, I only slept in this one!” said Parkins, pointing to it.
The maid seemed confused. “Perhaps you were sleepwalking, sir,” she said. “To be honest, it looked like you had slept badly in both beds.”
“Extraordinary wind we had last night,” said the military man, his voice booming across the links. “Someone must have whistled for it, as we say in my part of the country.”
“Really? Do they still believe that old superstition?”
“You call it superstition,” said the Colonel. “But there’s generally something at the bottom of what these country-folk have believed for generations.”
Parkins said quietly, “I don’t believe in what people call the ‘supernatural’.”
“What!” said the Colonel, “You don’t believe in ghosts, or anything of that kind?”
“I do not,” said Parkins firmly. “People confuse what we call in science correlation and causation. Simple fishing folk see someone whistling. Later there is a storm -”
“You think these events are unrelated?”
“Completely unrelated,” said Parkins, with conviction. “Now, take last night’s wind. As it happens, I myself was whistling. I blew a whistle twice, and the wind seemed to come in answer to my call. If anyone had seen me — ”
The Colonel raised his hand to stop the lecture. “Whistling, were you?” he said. “And what sort of whistle did you use?”
“It’s rather a curious one I found yesterday,” said Parkins, reaching for his pocket. “I have it in my — — No; I’ve left it in my room. I’ll show it to you when we go back to the hotel this evening.”
The two men played all afternoon. Conversation came more easily. When the light began to fail, they walked back to the hotel together.
As they turned the corner that lead to the Globe, a boy came charging along the path from the other direction. He colleded with the Colonel.
“What on earth are doing, boy? You nearly -”
The boy remained hanging on to the Colonel until he got his breath. Then he began to howl with fright, while still clinging to the Colonel’s legs.
“What in the world is the matter with you?” said the two men.
“He waved at me!” howled the boy, “Out of the window.”
“Who waved? Out of what window?” said the Colonel.
“The front window of the hotel,” said the boy. “I was playing on the grass in front when I saw it. It looked like a man but was made of sheets!”
The men calmed the boy down. “You go home now,” said the Colonel, giving him a coin. “We will investigate. It was probably your friends playing a joke.”
The Colonel and Parkins then went to the front of the hotel. They stood on the grass and looked up. There was no so sign of life in any of the rooms but one window was open in Parkins’ room.
“That’s the window the lad was talking about,” said Parkins. “Will you come up for a moment, Colonel Wilson?”
They entered Parkins room and lit the candles. “No,” he said, “nothing seems disturbed.”
“Except your bed,” put in the Colonel.
“That isn’t my bed,” said Parkins. “I don’t use that one.”
Yet the bedclothes were twisted together in an unnatural way.
They rang for the maid.
“Has anyone been into my room while I was out?”
“No, sir. Not since I saw you this morning,” she said.
“It is a mystery,” said Parkins. “But I’m sure there is a rational explanation. By the way,” he added, “here is that old whistle I spoke of. When I get back to Cambridge I shall show it to the archaeologists.”
“If it were mine,” said the Colonel, handing the whistle back. “I would chuck it straight into the sea. I wish you a good night.”
The door closed behind him, leaving Parkins alone in his bedroom.
Parkins slept soundly for an hour or more, before a noise woke him. To his horror, a figure suddenly sat up in the other bed. In an instant, Parkins threw off his blankets and dashed across the floor to the window.
Looking round for a weapon, he grabbed his walking stick, which was propped against the table. The figure arose with a sudden smooth motion, spreading out its arms. It took up a position in front of the door then arose with a sudden smooth motion, spreading out its arms.
The professor screamed as the cloth-face lurched forward again, forcing Parkins back.
From outside the room, Colonel Wilson could hear a terrible unearthly noise. When nobody answered his knock, the military man shoulder charged the door. At the third attempt, it broke open. He rushed in.
“I saw two men wrestling by the window,” the Colonel later said.
Perhaps the poor light deceived the Colonel because there was only evidence of one man at the scene. Professor Parkins had fainted to the floor where he lay in a tumbled heap of bedclothes.
Original text here * BBC Version with Michael Horden (1968)
