Essay about Whistle and I ll come

Whistle…..and I’ll come to you

100 years ago, Tibet, Himalayas.
They didn’t realise the rope had snapped… my climbing partner’s silhouette got smaller and smaller as gravity took its toll on me; I rummaged franticly in my pockets for my whistle. It wasn’t there. My mind played back to yesterday, in the tent with my partner, “all you have to do is whistle and I’ll come to you, buddy”, the words of truth just playing on my mind like an old record player, over and over again. The cool metal found my hand as I yanked it out from the layers of warmth; I blew it as hard as I could. The soft tinkle rang out throughout the deep, forgotten crevice carried away on a gust of wind...
100 years later, Tibet.
Two intrepid mountaineers were following the ‘Whistlers route’ discussing the old myth of the man that had accidently fallen down a hole. “It won’t be true, don’t be scared mate, you’re not exactly going to be haunted with me!” It was a light-hearted joke, but they were unaware of the underlying horrifying truth of the old story. Later that evening as the two explorers reached their camp for the night they hear a faint whistle on the cold northerly breeze gusting through their hair. “It’s only the sherpers, don’t be a wimp Mike!” The crackling embers of the glowing fire were the only noise that could be heard, the whistling came again, this time louder, more distinct, rustling the sides of the tents. “I’m going to sleep; we’ve got a long day ahead of us. Good night James.”
“Oh wait. Before you go I haven’t used my safety whistle yet. All I need to do is whistle and you will find me, right?” He walked away, the only thing on his mind was the haunting whistling, and wondering what may be in store for him that night.
Pondering on the irking whistling, the restless mountaineerer looked at his father’s old watch, it was exactly midnight. Without warning the shadowy sides of the tent started to shake, accumulating until the whole tent was shifting around. He got up out of his toasty sleeping bag, sneaked to the entrance of the tent and crept out into the chilly sinister night. Unnerved by the constant whistling, he edged to the deep shadowy crevice where the whistling emanating out of. It suddenly dawned on him, there was injured explorer in there, and he needed help. Stumbling over loose rocks, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him back to camp. “James! James! Wake up, quickly!” He shook his tent, and a lethargic James appeared at the doorway, squinting in the dark. “We need a torch and

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