The Whispering Rules: A Creepy Tale

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When I was eight years old, my grandfather made me memorize four rules. He never smiled when he said them. Rule one... If you hear footsteps in the attic after midnight... Count to ten. Don't look up. Rule two... If someone knocks exactly three times... Wait until the knocking stops. Then wait one more minute. Rule three... If you wake up and your bedroom door is already open... Close your eyes. Pretend you're still asleep. No matter what you hear. I followed those rules for years. Then one summer night... I found a folded piece of paper under my pillow. It was written in my grandfather's handwriting. Rule Four. "If you ever hear me whistling outside your window... Run. Because I died years ago... ...and whatever is calling you... Learned my voice." I froze. Then... A soft whistle floated through the darkness. The exact tune Grandpa used to whistle every evening. Slow. Calm. Familiar. I almost looked outside. Then I remembered something. Grandpa never whistled at night. The whistling stopped. A voice whispered from the window... "You remembered." The next morning... There were muddy footprints beneath my bedroom window. Only one set. They led to the glass. None led away.