The real terror in 'Never Whistle at Night'

Mythology, folklore and storytelling are illustrious ways of passing down knowledge, caution and entertainment through the passage of time, a concept known all over the world – from ancient Greece and China and aboriginal and indigenous communities to empires of old and countries of new. The line of reality and fiction blurs more often than not, and in both religion and governance, the truth of the matter remains: we instil the values worth preserving, cautioning against those that aren’t, and ultimately try to keep ourselves and others alive.

Still, when we look at tales such as those of Greek mythology versus Native American stories for example, one can clearly see a sharper edge to the latter. The mark of violence, colonialism and all its traces, has distinctively ushered certain stories towards a more eerie undertone, lingering in the brush like a silent reminder of what was taken and lost.

Indigenous folklore often has just as much good as it does dark portrayal in its tales, much like Greek and Roman mythology; yet the further down the historical line we go, the darker and more lethal it seems to become. The patterns of the Native American tapestry of life have been woven with not just culture, language and customs but also dyed with blood, tears and the distinguishable mark of the oppressor.

Reclaiming identity and unity is an uphill battle even today, as witnessed by the marginalisation, systematic oppression and push into cycles that are hard to break, let alone overcome. Decolonisation is an arduous task that rarely truly comes to be, and it certainly does not erase nor restore what once was to its fullest.

Generally speaking, Indians are pretty nervous about possession narratives, since those are more or less stories about a body being colonized, which we know a thing or two about, but…the way to twist that, it’s to make the entity possessing you itself Native, yeah?

(Introduction by Stephen Graham Jones)

Oral traditions are a concept hard to catalogue and study in the long run, and unfortunately many precious stories and pieces of information have been lost in the throes of colonial violence, indoctrination and the uprooting of local ideals and beliefs. Aboriginal and native peoples are often rightfully cautious about who they share their tales with, making the process of recording such matters even more complicated.

The mistreatment, marginalisation and oppression of groups to the point of eradication of language, culture and traditions is an evil as old as time and as broad as the earth. Still, the embers of the flames cling on, burning in the tender cradle of an elder’s palms, waiting to be passed down to their descendants, along with all they can preserve while the times pass us by.

In recent years, youths within the aforementioned communities that now have the means, or perhaps even just the opportunity, have managed to record, put together, and release these stories, cautionary tales, and legends. Anthologies bloomed in many places across the world like wildflowers, fervently pushing through the overwhelming blanket of a long, colonial winter’s snow, signalling the perseverance of something that was here long before the snow fell and will be long after it melts.

These stories, while carefully guarded by the elders, are now making their way out into the world, and we may just come to find that civilisations thousands of kilometres away share more with us than we could ever know, while also offering to teach us about things we may perceive differently. Here, we’ll be taking a look at such a book, a fascinating Indigenous dark fiction anthology called Never Whistle at Night by Shane Hawk & Theodore C. Van Alst Jr.

This anthology, containing Native American and Canadian stories, was composed by the two editors in an effort to make an extensive collection of didactic stories from all over Central and North America – at the end of each carefully picked story, we receive a short biography of the author of each tale, describing their native background, achievements and personal causes they stand by, adding a layer of intimacy to this magnificent collection.

As the title suggests, it does contain dark fiction, including psychological, gore and horror elements, as well as socio-political issues and the everlasting cultural and lingual conflict of such a community, given their postcolonial evolution and development. For some time, the greatest horror of all has been the way humanity strays from its core values and deranges into something more sinister, with a lot less eldritch monster and a whole lot of failure on behalf of society towards the individual – as the African proverb says, a child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth, after all.

The anthology features 26 stories by indigenous authors, spanning over several social, historical and political issues, incorporating surrealism through the supernatural and Indigenous folklore, all while speaking on topics like the effects of colonialism, generational trauma, loss and alienation from one’s roots and traditions. While some stories are more volatile, or humorous, than others, they all manage to send your skin racing with goosebumps; the edge of the other, the blurry line of reality and psychological mind games, and the sombre tone set the mood for both an educational and impactful read.

Every story will grip you with its unique storytelling and setting, rattle you with its raw feeling and send you into contemplative introspection. We will be briefly referencing a handful that cater to the topics we mentioned above.

Spoilers and pulled heartstrings ahead.

The supernatural – a cloak of righteousness, trauma repression and explaining the unfathomable

Folklore, much like mythology, was once a guiding light at a time when science was still underdeveloped and provided reasonable answers to the many wonders of our world. While our state-of-the-art technology and scientific discoveries are a great advancement today, allowing us to explain that lightning does not come from Zeus but rather charged static electricity in storm clouds, the first people to try and make sense of these things conjured creatures and legends.

Some legends served as natural explanations, while others sought to protect humans and society, be it from physical or psychological harm. Cryptids, monsters and other such creatures have originated from numerous such instances – and in this anthology we have a more intimate insight into them.

Kushtuka by Mathilda Zeller

Starting off strong and chilling, we are entrusted with Tapeesa’s story, a young Indigenous woman in Alaska forced to serve at a rich white man’s party, orchestrated by her mother and the man, who want her to bear him a child despite her own feelings. Having told the white man on the drive there about the legend of Kushtuka – a shape-shifting creature that assumes the appearance of those dear to us in order to lure us to our imminent death – she witnesses him run over a woman that resembles Tapeesa, insisting she was nought but a deer.

Bearing with unwanted male attention and the unlawfully seized “decorations” of the lodge – her people’s belongings, “cultural artifacts”, recognisable as garments, blades and spears from as recent as a generation before her – she takes part in a sinister play: the same creature from the road slaughters everyone in the cabin while Tapeesa hides in the bathroom, narrowly escaping to the dog sled with her life, to be chased by the Kushtuka across the icy tundra.

What follows is a battle for survival, where a white boy, out hunting with Pana, Tapeesa’s childhood love, shoots the Kushtuka, as he has already done with two other natives that were accompanying the hunt that same night. As the white boy starts strangling the Kushtuka, a bizarre occurrence happens – when Tapeesa meets the creature’s eyes, somehow, she feels as if she were it; she finds herself exchanging places in flashes with the creature under Buck, feeling strangled.

Picking up the discarded rifle to kill him, she’s discouraged by Pana out of fear of retribution and the endless violence the white men rain upon them. Suddenly, the Kushtuka kills Buck with the spear from the cabin, a gleeful expression across a face that wears Tapeesa’s features. Switching between her own body and that of the creature, she finds that it’s her hands that hold the spear and her neck that feels bruised. Pana is now the only one left, tearfully holding the rifle.

Distraught and shocked, she asks him where the Kushtuka went, while he explains that the white boy had gone on a rampage, claiming indigenous lives, no different than the lodge owner had “cultural artifacts”. Seeing her disorientation, Pana makes a decision – yes, there was a Kushtuka. Gathering their rightful belongings, they get on the sled and ride off into the night.

While this story can be interpreted in many ways, we can certainly start from the sense of wrongdoing against the Inuit and the treatment from their oppressors. The undertones of power imbalance, complicity and gender roles, colonialism and all that follows it are hardly “under” – whether Kushtuka is a supernatural spirit appearing at the right place, right time, or whether it’s a physical manifestation of righteous rage, retribution and reclaiming what has been taken, the message is received. Perhaps the real monster is human greed and audacity, after all.

Behind Colin’s Eyes by Shane Hawk

Colin’s tale is another possession story, speaking of a ten-year-old boy going on an elk hunting trip with his father. In the early morning hours before they are to set out, he hears a whistle from outside – and naively, mimics it (it seems like somebody wasn’t told about the book title). The red eyes that momentarily meet his from the darkness warn of something sinister.

In the morning, they are out in the woods: father, son, and trusty Tiny, his dog. Reminiscing about hunting with a long-departed uncle, Chaytan, with a dopey smile and dead eyes, around twilight they end up hearing a whistle. Colin, naively thinking it may be other hunters, attempts to whistle back to alert them so as not to shoot. His father barely stops him. Spotting a figure with red eyes, they run for their lives – with Colin expressing that he loves his father. Once hidden, the readers are slowly alarmed about what’s to come.

As dawn finally breaks, Colin has undergone a body-horror transformation; two of his adult teeth and the nails of his left hand fall out. Keeping this to himself, he and his father push forward on their hunt. Eventually managing to track down and shoot the elk, not only does it not die easily, but rather he sees it flee on two legs instead of four. Chasing it down, they come to find a bloody elk organ on the snow, which explodes in fire ants and spiders, naturally causing Colin to pass out.

Once awake, his headache and disorientation only grow as he sees his nail-less hand twisting into elk horns. The scene that follows completes what can only be described as a ritual – Colin finds his missing teeth on the ground and proceeds to shove them right back into his gums. As his vision shifts to black and white, his consciousness is overtaken, and he finds himself a hostage in his own body. He witnesses himself picking up the rifle and speaking to his father in a foreign, cold voice. His father recognises the signs, albeit too late.

The story ends with them driving the truck towards Uncle Chaytan’s ranch “for medicine, for an ailment that happened a long time ago”, and Colin, realising his body has been overtaken, fades away as the entity claims complete control, telling him that it won’t be defeated this time.

The generational disconnect, the loss of gifts and instincts alike, as well as the enormous pressure that we face in making our ancestors proud despite not always having the necessary tools at our disposal, all play a part in this tale.

From smaller things like the forgotten reminder not to whistle in the dark to recognising the signs of evil afoot, all point to the distancing of each generation, farther and farther away from their roots and traditions. The tender age, naivety and familial love are all serving as devastating factors in the tragic end that is implied for our main character. This is yet another inclusion of the concept of a skinwalker or skin-changer, a creature known for transforming into animals and other people with intent to cause harm – the banishment of which is rarely successful without resulting in death.

The individual’s struggle – society’s failure to protect led to the creation of a tragedy

We’ve already discussed the use of the paranormal to allegorically explain the unfathomable with a handful of samples, so now we must dip our proverbial toe in the pool nobody willingly enters – introspection about the collective’s role with regard to the individual and how that ripple effect comes into play in the grand scheme of things that eventually affect us all. Yes, there is blame in the systematic oppression, but it is also us who continue the cycle of violence within, the most accidental conspirators, indeed.

White Hills by Rebecca Roanhorse

Another tragic story from a woman’s perspective, where Marissa, a woman that seemingly has it all – beautiful, carefully constructed looks, a handsome and wealthy white husband, and a baby on the way – only receives a very rude awakening when she accidentally slips up in front of company at the country club and admits to having indigenous heritage. What follows can only be described as a gradual descent into psychological horror: she is methodically picked apart by her mother-in-law, tricked into ingesting abortion medication, and then left to deal with the physical and mental implications of it all in the shambles of her white picket fence future, thanks to the family’s racial purism.

One may consider this to be one of the less scary stories in this book on the account of a distinct lack of outward violence and gore, particularly compared to outright murder or possession narratives, but it casts a spotlight into the real-life horrors that many Indigenous people, particularly women, are forced to tiptoe the line of – discrimination and assimilation; the cherry-picking of “exotic features” whilst trampling their origins; and the hearty dose of gender-based violence that comes with navigating these prejudiced waters.

In a world where women are already scrutinised for their image, among other things, this story reminds us that we may run from who we are and where we’ve come from, but we will never quite escape it – and what exactly are we left to face off with at the end of the day? Marissa’s narrative explores code-switching as a means of survival and becoming successful and the force that assimilation still is as a successor of colonisation and oppression.

Navajos Don’t Wear Elk Teeth by Conley Lyons

A riveting, carefully unravelling story with LGBTQ themes explores Joe’s lonely summer at his family’s vacation home as he is fetishized and manipulated by a fellow gay, white man who wears an “elk tooth” on his person and has a collection of other such teeth in a box. Forcefully pursued by this mysterious neighbour, he is progressively mocked and violated, physically, mentally and sexually, though his own trauma represses the oddness of it all, for the sake of acceptance and companionship. Having sent a friend a picture of the creepy teeth collection, he eventually receives frantic texts to escape – those teeth are, in fact, human.

Running to the beach with the white man hot in pursuit, Joe has no choice but to engage in a struggle for his life, while the white man attempts to subdue him and do the same thing he has done to his previous victims: pry teeth out with plyers. With the last of his strength and adrenaline, Joe knocks his abuser out and leaves him behind in the sand.

This tale alludes to the all too familiar theme of colonisation; the white man’s effortless fetishisation and invasion of Joe’s person and space remind us of the historical seizure of indigenous land and artefacts, as well as the mistreatment and brutalisation of its people. Bullying and belittlement of Indigenous heritage and artefacts, all while benefiting from their existence and all they offer, is finally driven to a boiling point where the protagonist fights back, reclaiming what was taken from him and those that came before him. This tale, like many in this anthology, reminds us the importance of drawing the line in the sand, saying enough is enough, and standing up against what has been forced upon us.

Queer representation is naturally also of significance here – the LGBTQ population, much like many other marginalised communities, is extremely vulnerable and more likely to be preyed upon; psychological factors like trauma, isolation and a need to belong are often used against the individual, alongside a volatile display of physical and sexual violence in order to acquire submission and/or subjugation.

Joe’s tolerance of his abuser’s behaviour constantly circles back to a need to stave off the haunting loneliness, the need to be desired yet also loved, seen and accepted. As mentioned in this, and many other stories in the book, as well as national statistics, Indigenous women and queer individuals are at a much higher risk of facing physical or sexual assault in their lifetime than others (Statistics Canada, 2022; Parker, Kelley, Redeye & Maviglia, 2024).

Heart Shaped Clock by Kelli Jo Ford

Standing trial for his little brother’s death, with his own mother as the prosecutor, this is the story of a broken man whose life started to tip downhill a long time before this courtroom recounting of his life story as he awaits a conflicted jury’s verdict – for us, it’s a journey through a boy’s grasps for his mother’s love, flailing in an ocean of self-loathing and failure.

Raised in a split home due to domestic abuse, he would end up repeating the pattern himself. He was brought up by his father in one state, while his ‘golden boy brother’ was dotted on by mom in another. After an unsuccessful attempt at serving in the military, he starts anew, moving in with his mother and working at her store, where every day is a constant reminder of his own inadequacies in comparison with his ‘perfect’ brother. Drug and alcohol abuse are the chaser to his daily shot of depression and expansive loneliness.

One evening, as he’s closing up the store, he discovers a discarded box of puppies, reminding him of a heartfelt scene where he and his grandmother had saved a handful of barn kittens when he was a boy, prompting him to attempt to nurse the puppies back to health in turn. In his quest for milk inside the dark, unlocked store, he’s met with two robbers that, despite the struggle, knock him out. Waking up concussed, he stumbles home nearby to care for the puppies, rather than calling the authorities.

When he eventually gathers his bearings and calls his mother, she arrives with his nephew, a boy he regards fondly as he reminds him of his own estranged son. The police are called, but do nothing but flirt with his mother. In a split, tender moment in the aftermath, his mother consoles him, yet still chooses to criticise him for failing to fix the VCR weeks prior, suspicion and victim-blaming filling the air. In a concussed fit of humiliation and anger, he pushes his mother to the ground right before his nephew.

Storming off home, he’s once again tittering between a concussed stupor and caring for the puppies; an alarm clock, wrapped in a blanket, to remind the orphaned kittens of their mother’s heartbeat, a trick his grandmother taught him, was now being prepared to nestle with the pups in turn. The scene brings us to the climax, where his drunken brother arrives, brimming with anger and accusations. As things escalate with his brother screaming and pushing him to the floor, he busts his already concussed head open.

The narrator then strikes his brother with a bat in the head, only to quickly realise the dire mistake he has made, cradling his caved head, regret filling the silence. Apologies falling on deaf ears, he prays over his brother, the clock ticking, buried in a shirt next to them, “marking his sin and failure to act”. The story ends with the brothers bundled together, the beating metal heart nestled between them.

This is perhaps one of the most difficult reads, as it mirrors less of a supernatural horror and more of a reality we often see in indigenous families and communities – the complex dynamics and emotions, domestic abuse and broken families, drug and alcohol abuse, low-income jobs and lack of opportunities the indigenous peoples have been conditioned to by an oppressive system that only seeks to control or exclude them.

The motifs of an endless cycle of violence, generational trauma, and the condemning decisions made due to unmet emotional needs are all encapsulated in an analogy that is a ticking bomb for the generations down the line to play hot potato with. The main character is further from any monster; he is incredibly human and far more intuitive than others around him are led to believe – the pinnacle of wasted potential, doomed by the narrative that is the cruelty of life, the abandonment of a child in need of its village.

The recounts in this dark anthology paint us a reality in shades of charcoal, the shadows of lingering colonial effects and unbroken cycles reminding us that post-colonial is never quite “post”. How can one build solid on the foundations another wrecked? And where do we begin to undo the wrongs, upkeep the rights, and learn to grow even where the earth is scorched?

The records – safeguarding tradition, one story at a time

In this final segment, we ought to circle back to the art of storytelling and the importance of honouring tradition and heritage through it. Many of the pieces in this anthology allude to the hostile takeover of culture and land alike. This led to apprehension and reservations amongst the elders, especially when it came to their oral traditions and folklore – the indigenous community has been exploited, and their customs ridiculed and used as entertainment. While some tales may have been intended for such use, the majority were meant to be an allegorical way of explaining and teaching the new generation the old ways, morality and a sense of unity.

Scariest. Story. Ever. by Richard Van Camp

Simon, a member of the indigenous community and a storyteller, is riding the coattails of his elders by using their stories to win awards and competitions. “Borrowing” these stories under the guise of collecting and cataloguing them, he profits off of his own people, quietly enjoying his spoils, without really keeping his word to them.

Preparing for a big scary story contest at Yellowknife, he seeks the most thrilling story yet from Mike, Irena Tobacco, a now deceased, respected storytelling elder’s nephew. Through some coaxing, Mike relents and gives Simon the story of the Origin of the domestic cat, a creature that was betrayed by all the other animals for its trusting nature and kindness and became a vengeful spirit thanks to the Devil.

Simon recognises that he has already used this story to make it to the final contest and pushes Mike for something even more scary. Mike decides to give him a lesson instead – he explains how Irena Tobacco made the community kids work hard to improve their community in order to earn the scariest story ever, achieving an incredible rejuvenation of not just the town, but the people themselves as well. In the end, Irena scares parents and children alike, narrowly avoiding telling the story to everyone but Mike.

Mike seizes the opportunity to call Simon out on his hypocrisy, admitting he knows about him stealing stories to use as his own, and chastises him for not staying true to his word about returning those stories and honouring the promises he made to get them. He concludes that he would be the one to tell Irena’s story in Yellowknife instead, surprisingly offering to split the reward with Simon if he delivers on his end. Simon finds within himself a reignited purpose to atone for his misbehaviour, in turn.

The origin of the domestic cat is used as a cautionary tale about betrayal and taking advantage of those who approach you with an open heart. Mike may have known of Simon’s insincere behaviour, but he also offered him a chance to atone and make things right in the end, regaining the misplaced trust he had received in the past.

The treatment of these sacred-to-the-people stories as transactions, pieces to sell for the entertainment of the masses, spoke about the other side of the coin, the one that ought to be: the tales should be used for the betterment of the community, like Irena had done with the children, not for personal profit, like Simon. Entrusting Simon with these stories was meant to be an effort to have them properly recorded and treasured, not exploited.

The indirect allusion to the way the colonisers had appropriated and profited off of their culture, art and traditions is not lost on us. This story serves as a reminder, however, that the exploiter doesn’t necessarily have to be an outsider and that sometimes greed or vanity can cause even those who ought to know better to stray from the right path.

In its own way, the title could also be referring to those Simon represents – he instead transforms into a symbol of hope, as he decides to learn and continue the legacy bestowed upon him, instead of standing in for the newer generation that has lost its way in favour of commodity and benefits, profiting off of one another, instead of standing united as a community, the way Aunt Irene Tobacco managed to rally the youths in her time. Perhaps the scariest story ever in this scenario was losing our way.

Conclusion

Never Whistle at Night offers a plethora of lessons if you’re looking for wisdom. It offers legends, if you’re looking to be spooked or maybe brought to heel. The anthology offers cautionary tales about both monsters and men as well as highlighting how blurry the line between the two actually is and how a small change in the course of our lives can turn us into either.

The loss of oneself, our principles and heritage, and the things we stand to protect and to lose; everything points towards the inhumanly human need to be conjured, to have meaning and purpose and to belong.

Through these select stories, and many others we can find in this book, we take a step closer into Indigenous culture and history, framed in a narrative that is close to the heart of these communities, from far and wide across the American continent. We are faced with real-life horrors and nightmares that are here to caution us and to remind us that the true enemy is far harder to kill, especially when it sprouts violently from within.