Dead Man Walking

They fell quiet again, and now indeed there was something – a tune of some sort. At first it was very faint, as though being carried on the breeze. Except that there was no breeze. And the longer they listened, the clearer it became. Incredible though it seemed, someone relatively close by was whistling. Both of them recognised the tune, though neither could initially put a name to it, and now they were too excited to try.

‘I don’t believe it,’ Jane said. ‘Where’s it coming from?’

‘Over there, I think.’ Tara indicated the other side of the wall.

‘Hello!’ Jane shouted at the top of her voice. ‘Hello, is someone there?’

‘Jane, don’t,’ Tara said.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I don’t … nothing. It’s just silly.’ The misgivings Tara had briefly felt, about how vulnerable they were trekking through this endless gloom, had returned; suddenly, pinpointing their exact location seemed like a bad idea. But surely that was folly – a fear born of some ancient animal instinct, whereas logic advised that if there was someone out there, they should draw attention to themselves as soon as possible. ‘I just thought …’

‘Shhh!’ Now it was Jane’s turn to hit her friend’s arm. Whoever the whistler was, he was persisting with it. He sounded closer, and yes, it did seem as if he was somewhere on the other side of the wall.

‘Hello!’ Jane shouted again, attempting to scramble up the bricks, which wasn’t easy with feet numb inside frozen boots. Tara switched her phone back on, so they could identify hand and footholds. Jane reached the top of the wall first, and straddled it. ‘Excuse me, we’re lost! Can you help us?’

The whistling ceased.

‘He’s heard us,’ she said.

‘Hello!’ Tara called.

The only reply was another dim echo of their own voices.

Nevertheless, they were sufficiently re-energised to clamber down the other side of the wall. ‘Whoever it is, he probably can’t believe there’s someone else up here,’ Tara said, laughing with relief. ‘Excuse me … we’re over here! I’d like to tell you which direction, but …’ she laughed again, ‘I don’t know.’

The whistling recommenced. Now they were on the other side of the wall, it sounded as if it was coming from just ahead of them, but a way to the left.

‘What the hell is he still whistling for?’ Jane said. ‘Didn’t he hear us?’

‘Oh God,’ Tara replied. ‘Suppose he’s got earphones on, and he’s whistling along to a song.’

‘Oh shit. Okay … we’ll just have to find him.’ Jane started forward urgently, hoisting the straps at her shoulders with gloved thumbs.

‘Strangers in the Night,’ Tara panted.

‘What?’

‘That song he’s whistling … it’s Strangers in the Night. You know, the old Frank Sinatra number.’

Jane listened, and she too recognised the timeless ditty. ‘Yeah … what a choice of song for a place like this. Quite apt for us though, eh?’ She chuckled, though there wasn’t much humour in it. ‘Come on, Tara … we’ve got to find this guy.’

Tara also adjusted her pack, and hurried in pursuit. Again they were blundering through foggy blackness, their feet crunching on clumps of frozen grass. But the whistling was getting louder, clearer. Perhaps somewhere just ahead there’d be a campsite, maybe containing two or three climbers or fell-walkers. Their hi-tech canopies would be arranged around a small, neat fire. The guys themselves would be lean, rugged outdoor types, probably bearded, stoking the flames, eating peanuts, chocolate and other energy-enhancing foods, drinking hot coffee from a thermos flask; maybe it was laced with rum or whiskey to give it some bite.

But Jane and Tara found no such campsite.

They’d walked in what they were certain was the right direction for a good hundred yards, increasingly tired and irate again. And still the unlit reaches of fog extended on all sides of them. The whistling persisted somewhere ahead, but how far ahead they had no clue. And now, very abruptly, it ceased. Despite their own heavy breathing, the silence was ear-ringing.

‘Hello!’ Jane shouted again, with more than a touch of her normal petulance. ‘Newsflash … there are people lost out here!’

They waited but there was no response.

‘Come on, mate! You must have heard us by now!’

The whistling recommenced somewhere behind them. Strangers in the Night again. But now at a slower pace – deliberately slower, for effect.

‘Is this guy taking the piss, or what?’ Jane said, glancing backward.

‘It must be the acoustics,’ Tara replied. ‘This landscape’s really weird like that. I’ve heard stories about people hearing voices that have come from miles away.’

‘Great, Tara. That’s all I needed to know.’

‘But listen …’

‘Now what?’

‘It’s moving.’

The whistling continued – very clear, very precise, a slow and highly tuneful rendition of Strangers in the Night, but as Tara said, it was drifting from left to right, as though the whistler was strolling casually in that direction.

‘Another atmospheric effect?’ Jane wondered tartly. ‘Or some dickweed playing stupid games?’

‘Why would someone be playing games?’ Tara asked, though it was a question she was posing to herself as much as Jane.

‘Let’s just find the bastard.’

They pressed on, heading right. As they did, the whistling steadily reduced in volume, as though the whistler was retreating from them.

‘Hey, wait up!’ Jane bawled hoarsely. ‘You fucking idiot! We need help!’

‘Jane, that’s not the way you do it,’ Tara hissed.

‘Wait ’til I get hold of him, then you’ll really hear something.’

The whistling stopped. They slid to a halt.

‘Christ,’ Tara said. ‘It’s like he just heard us.’

‘Good, that’s the idea.’

‘Jane, I’m not sure about this …’

The whistling recommenced – closer than it had been, but now on their left.

‘What the hell?’ Jane said. ‘Why is he walking around us?’

‘Maybe he isn’t … maybe it’s like I said, the acoustics.’ But from the tone of her voice – a breathless quaver – Tara knew she wasn’t making a convincing case.