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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Lazy_Palpitation_517 on 2026-08-12 02:31:01+00:00.

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I never really learned why we moved around so much when I was a kid. I always had the feeling dad was chasing something or maybe running from something. Unlike mom's usual excuse, of, “Daddy got a new, better paying job.” Dad would never answer when I would ask why we had to leave again.

He would come home from work one evening and loudly announce, “Time to go!” and mom and I would quickly pack up whatever shitty little apartment we happen to be staying in, and we would be on the road that later that night. That was my life for 14 years.

We were renting a run down singlewide somewhere in Missouri, when one day I came home from school and dad's pickup was already home. It was almost unheard of for dad to be home early on a weekday. My concern grew as I approached the house and saw that the trucks driver's side door was standing open, and so was the front door to the house.

I remember that walk, down the driveway to the house. The absolute silence of the world as my footsteps crunched over the gravel and dirt. The creak of each wooden step up to the small wobbly porch. The feel of the warm breeze that blew through the trailers open door, carrying with it a coppery smell.

I saw mom first, slumped down against the wall beside the couch. She was pale and wouldn't look at me, no matter how loud I called to her. She just stared straight ahead, shivering. After summoning up as much courage as I could, I stepped into the house and around the corner, and there was dad. At first, I couldn't understand what I was seeing, I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that, that was dad.

He was on his back, on top of the dining room table. His head hung backwards off of the edge, at too sharp of an angle. His eyes rolled in their sockets before focusing on me for the briefest of moments. He tried to speak but all that came out was a wet gurgle as blood poured from his lips and... God his throat, it was gone. It was like it had been ripped away and flung across the room. Blood coated the walls and ceiling in thick dripping lines.

I don't remember much after that, but they say I ran to a neighbor's house and got them to call 911. Dad was obviously dead when police arrived. They took mom to the hospital and tried to get her to tell them what she had seen, but the shock was too deep. She wouldn’t speak. She was eventually admitted to the psyche ward. For years, therapists tried to help her to process and talk about what she had seen.

I ended up moving in with my grandparents in El Paso. They had mom moved to an assisted living home an hour's drive from their house. We visited her often at first, hoping and praying that she would come back to us. But she never did. Occasionally she would whistle, but only ever one tune. Grandpa said the tune sounded familiar, but he could never place it. Eventually the visits became every other week, then once a month. By the time I was 18, I only saw mom a couple times a year for special occasions. I spent a lot of my free time in therapy, I had nightmares of my dad's face for years, still do sometimes.

My life with my grandparents was more comfortable than I could ever have imagined. I had good food, a warm bed every night, and I was finally in school long enough to make real, lasting friendships. And I struggled with the guilt that I was happier with my grandparents than I ever was with my parents.

Now I'm a relatively happy, stable, and sane 35-year-old history teacher with a wife and a son of my own, despite the trauma I went through as a child.

For the past couple weeks, I've been waking up in the middle of the night with my mother's whistle stuck in my head. Grace told me it could be the manifestation of my guilt for not visiting mom in a while. It made sense, after all I hadn't gone to visit for the past two years. But to be honest, I didn’t feel much guilt. Maybe that made me an asshole, but I was pretty sure she didn’t even know who I was anymore. But, I was off work the next day, so I figured I had no excuse.

That morning, I got Shawn off to preschool and headed for the Shady Grove care home. I still lived roughly an hour from the home, plenty of time to think on the drive. I realized my hand was shaking as I raised my coffee to my lips and did my best to clear my mind of the questions that would probably never be answered. I took a steadying breath and turned up the radio.

“Hi Susan.” I said as I approached the nurse's desk.

The older woman with poufy blonde hair looked up and studied me for a moment before recognition spread a smile on her face, “Jim, hi. Wow it's been a while.”

I nodded, “Yeah well, I've been busy.” Clearing my throat I continued, “How is she?”

Susan stood up and came around the desk, “Oh you know her, she just sits quietly most of the time. Although some of the night staff say she has started whistling more lately. Come on, I'll take you to her.”

“How long has she been doing that for?”

“Oh, just the past week or so.”

We walked down the sterile white halls, the smell of soiled bed sheets, bleach, and stale body odor permeated the air. I hated this place, it felt like deaths waiting room.

Finally, Susan brought me to a brightly lit reading room with large windows facing a garden outside. There she was, sitting slumped in her wheelchair. Her once dark brown hair now turned gray, hung down around her shoulders in tangles. I slowly walked across the room, picking up a white plastic chair on the way. I sat down next to her and looked her over.

“Hey mom.” I said, touching her arm.

She didn't look at me; she never did. Her vacant eyes stayed fixed forward. Lost in a moment, years ago.

“Mom, it's Jim. Your son.”

Still nothing. I don't know why I always come here expecting anything else. I nodded, “It's okay mom, I'll just sit here with you for a while.”

We sat and watched the butterflies in the garden for a while. Then I stood and just as I was about to leave, mom started to whistle. When I turned to look at her, I noticed something I hadn't seen before. Her eyes, while still mostly fixed straight forward, had more focus in them than I had seen in years.

“Mom?” I asked. Bending down to her.

She didn't answer just kept whistling and looking straight ahead, a single tear ran down her face. I turned to see where she was looking. Out the window, across the garden, in a darkened upstairs window on the other side of the courtyard. At first, I thought I could see something, was it a person? I couldn't tell. But when I blinked, whatever I thought I saw was gone.

I stopped a nurse as she passed, “Excuse me, what's on the other side of the building there?” I asked as I pointed to the darkened window.

“Oh, that's going to be the therapeutic wing when its finished, unfortunately the contractors are dragging their feet.” She answered.

“So, it’s empty? There’s nothing or no one in there?”

“Shouldn't be. Unless it was one of the workers.”

I nodded and turned back to mom as she slowly stopped whistling and went back to her vacant stare. I looked back at the window again but there was nothing there. I sighed and bent down to kiss her on the cheek. “Goodbye mom, I'll see you next time.” And with that I left Shady Grove.

That night, I spoke with Grace about the visit with my mother while we washed the dishes.

“Well, it sounds like not much has changed. Do you at least feel better after seeing her?”

“I don't know, maybe. On the one hand it was good to see her, but...” I trailed off as I absently dried a plate.

“But?” Prompted Grace.

I shrugged, “But at the same time, she’s not her. I keep waiting for her to snap out of it. Every time I visit, I walk in thinking maybe this time she will turn and just...”

Grace put her hand on my shoulder, “I'm sorry.”

“I know it's awful, but sometimes I wish that if she can't get better, she could just move on. Does that make me a monster?”

She wrapped her arms around me, “No, honey. It just means you just want her to be free, whatever freedom looks like.”

I leaned in and kissed her. And then Shawn started yelling.

“Momma I had a bad dream!” He cried.

Grace sighed and smiled up at me, “To be continued.” She said before turning and leaving me to finish the dishes.

I woke up again that night, it wasn't the whistling in my head though. You know how when you think you are alone, but then you slowly get that feeling crawling up your spine that someone is looking at you? It was like that. I sat up and looked around the room but saw only shadows. I lay back down and tried to sleep.

After a while I decided to get up for a glass of water. I left my bedroom and walked down the hall past Shawn’s room, his SpongeBob nightlight illuminating his room in a yellow glow. I walked downstairs and into the kitchen. I downed one glass and was about to fill it again when I heard it. Moms whistle. Only it wasn't in my head. It was on the other side of my front door.

I froze listening to the whistle for a solid minute before it stopped. It was the exact same tune. I stepped over to the front door. Was mom out there? Could she have gotten here? No, she didn't even know where I lived. My heart was pounding as I looked through the peep hole. But, there was no one there. I pulled the curtain on the front room window aside and looked out but still nothing. Just the empty street, the neighbor's houses were all dark except for porch lights and the single streetlight on the corner.

I went bac...

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