A Dream of A Whistle

A Dream of a Whistle

By: Kadin Wethernolt

The sun set gently in the south region of Westwinds: Senior condo complex. Ethan was visiting his grandfather late this evening; anger fluctuating in the air.

"Ethan sweetie, do you think you can give me a hand."

"You old bag, just get out of the shower; you can do it yourself, can't you?" Ethan yelled, as his eyes rolled internally.

"Uhhhh...Uhhhh..uhhhh...Et..ha..n..I...need..som...e..hel..p" The grandfather quivered.

"Papa, do it yourself. It isn't that hard." Ethan got up from the coach; his feet hit the ground so atrociously, the couple downstairs thought a circus was going on. He went over to Edgar's bedroom, remedying through the drawers, picking at the most valuable items.

Ethan rushed into the bathroom and aggressively helped dress his Papa.

"Thanks, darling," Edgar said ever so tenderly, as his eyes filled with satisfaction.

"What did I tell you about calling me, darling? Am I a girl? No, I am your last grandson; how hard is it to remember that, that is singular."

"I'm sorry dear, could you please make me a cup of tea before bed? It calms my nerves and makes me sleep better,"

"You know me with sleep; I haven't gotten sufficient sleep since your grandmother died in that car accident-" Edgar said after being rudely cut off.

"And you think dear is better, whatever, I am out of here, I will come to visit tomorrow or whenever, I get a chance. I'm a busy boy-when, in reality, he works a dead-end 9-5 job at 10 dollars an hour.

"What about my tea, dear," Edgar said crippling, trying to remember his grandson's name.

"I told you don't call me that; it looks like someone's dementia is getting to them," Ethan remarks arrogantly, feeding his ego. Taking five long strides out the door, very carefully slipping a golden Rolex into his pocket- the 5th edition his grandfather was awarded for helping build water wells in third-world countries. Mischievously slid out the door with a grin more prominent than the grinches.

The night was nippy and obscure. Edgars shut the window starting a warm fire in his living room as the wind roared outside. He went to the kitchen and filled a tea kettle to put on the stove. Edgars sat by the fire waiting for the water to boil; as he opened a little black photo book from the 50s when he was in the prime of his life. As he got to the end, old memories flew back into his mind, he started to taste salt as small streams of water poured down his face. His eyes began to heavy, and his head lit. His head hit the nearest decorative pillow. Edgar's dream was him on a train, with his lovely wife, sipping warm chamomile tea, as the train whistled and whistled. Edgar's dream almost felt too real, but the train kept whistling and whistling and would not stop.

The wind let out a sinister howl and sent a gust down the chimney stirring up the red ashes. The wind only grew more devilish and sent an immense blast of wind down the chimney. This time the red ashes caressed a small black corner of the little black photo book. The ashes turned into a flame, and the flame spread like a plague- infecting every square inch of the condo. But Edgar's dream all grew more intense; he felt the warm sensation in the air and heard the train whistling and whistling non-stop. The train came crashing into a car - the driver was oblivious to the road sign. The front half went up in flames, and Edgars felt the warm sparks of ember eat at his skin. All he could think was, how could a dream be so vivid, so life-like? The clock ticked and tied and tickled until it was devoured by an orange-reddish monster that danced an indigenous inferno. And then the clock ticked off the wall, and Edgar's dream soon became lost. Edgars stop hearing the whistling. Edgars stop feeling the heat of the train crash. Edgars stop feeling everything- laying there lifeless.

The sun rose over the blue, cracking thin stripes of pink within. Ethan woke up with an awful headache.

*ring* *ring*

The phone buzzed off the apothecary table.

"What, who is this? I'm kinda busy!" Ethan grumbled.

"I am calling for Ethan Atherholt," The officer said.

"This is he"

"Can I have a second of your time, there have been some tragic news, and you were on the emergency contact list."

"I guess so; what is it?"

"Well, there was a fire in your grandfathers, condo.....unfortunately, he did not make it; by the time we went into the apartment, everything was up in flame except a safe."

"Omg, this is tragic" a smile grew on Ethan's face.

"I believe this safe belongs to you along with all the other stuff we can manage to dig up."

"I will be right over there" Ethans, a dismal morning, has turned into a dream come true because he knew what was in the safe, he knew what was in it, that is the only reason he dealt with his grandfather because of the sweet, sweet green that runs the world.

Without losing time in the morning, Ethan hops in his car speeding down the freeway like a cheetah on cocaine. Unfortunately, time didn't feel the same way. Ethan caught every single red light on the way to his grandfather's house; he ran a red light to get there faster.

When he arrived at the house, the sun stood so beautiful, so full and bright in the sky. It shined long rays into Ethans eyes, blinding him as he walked up to the black char-covered door.

"You must be Ethan; I hope someone has informed you."

"Well, duh, or I would not be here."

"So where is the safe at?"

"Just right over here," A firefighter pointed, Ethan followed.

"Is there a cause of death set out yet?" Ethan questioned to raise some sense of remorse.

"No, we are still investigating."

"Do you know the password, Ethan" The fireman continues,

"Well, let's hope. I mean, I practically lived with him. He was the only family member I cared about." Ethan deceived them with fake tears.

"Allow me," with shaking but eager hands, Ethan types on his dead grandmother's birthday, July of 1934.

"Wow, you must have been their favorite to have gotten it on the first try," An investigator shouted from the back.

"Well, I mean, we were very close; after his wife died, I was all he had."

As he opened the safe, dirty old paper released a potent odor, and it made Ethan cry tears of joy. Ethan reaches his hand and feels stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills with rubber bands around them.

"I'm rich," Ethan gasped.

"Omg, that is a lot of money; how much is it?"

"Well, let's count it together."

"20,000, and it is all mine, all mine, I'm rich."

"Congrats, son, you earned that money; it sounds like you took such good care of your grandfather." The officer remarked.

"Yes, I did."

Ethan, gathered up the money and his belonging and walked out the front door,

"I will keep you posted on the details of the accident; our team is just finishing up." the lead investigator shouted before Ethan slipped out the door.

A Rolex and 20,000 dollar is all he could think to himself. On his way home, Ethan quit his job; he went furniture shopping, clothes shopping, and even put a deposit down on a new car. He was living the way celebrities did, walking on his own red carpet. He was driving back from the car dealership without an ounce of remorse-he just spent almost all of it. The phone started ringing.

"Hello, I'm trying to reach Ethan Atherholt; this is Eva calling in regards to your deceased grandfather."

"This is he," Ethan jerked the car between lanes.

"We have found the causes of death for the fire this morning... I believe it was a tea kettle, he must have fallen asleep while it was still on the stove, and even the whistling of the wicked water could not wake him up.

"Thank you for telling me th--"

Before Ethan could finish his sentence, he lost control of his wheel and headed towards a railroad crossing sign. Ethan's car started spinning and crashed through the rail guard, and a train crashed into the vehicle; within seconds, flames were everywhere. Ethan disappears forever, a lifeless soul captured in a dream.