Every night, no matter the weather, something walks down our street whistling softly. You can only hear it if you’re in the living room or the kitchen when they walk by and it always starts at exactly 3:03. The sound starts faint, somewhere near the beginning of the lane near the Carson place. We’re towards the middle of the street, so the whistling moves past us before fading away in the direction of the cul de sac. When I was younger, my sister and I would sneak into the kitchen some nights to listen. Mom and dad didn’t like that and we’d catch Hell if they found us out there but they were never too hard on us since we always stuck to the one Big Rule. Don’t try to look at whatever was whistling. My neighborhood is a funny place. I’ve lived here since I was six and I love it. The houses are small but well-kept, good-sized yards, plenty of places to roam. There are a lot of other kids here my age, I turned 13 back in October. We grew up together
I was born and raised in Sheboygan, Wisconsin . Unless you live nearby you’ve probably never heard of it. Even people in the large Wisconsin cities (Madison, Milwaukee) don’t know we exist. Wisconsin in general is known for our cheese, our cows, and our love of beer. And of course for our excess of mental institutions and serial killers. Ed Gein and Jeffery Dahmer hail from my home state. In case you’ve been living under a rock, they are two of the most infamous serial killers in America. I don’t know if it’s the cold climate or what, but we seem to breed quite a bit of crazy up here. Sheboygan is not immune from the crazy. We have this old abandoned asylum by the highway. Here’s a picture of it from an old post card . It used to house the criminally insane, at least according to local folklore. This is where the Milk White legend came from. Milk White was supposedly a patient at the asylum. He was born there, his mother