The Whistler

Nick Medina returns with another haunting novel steeped in Native superstitions and legends. The Whistler dives deep into the terrifying consequences of ignoring age-old warnings. The prologue sets the tone with full-force supernatural horror — a grisly tale illustrating the disastrous results of breaking the taboo against whistling at night, which summons evil spirits who can control your life. From there, the main story follows twenty-four-year-old Henry, a man haunted by a mythological presence that is methodically stripping away everything he loves.

Dark, intense, and chilling, The Whistler had me looking over my shoulder and jumping at every strange sound. And while I don’t consider myself superstitious, I can say with certainty: I will never whistle at night again.

The novel unfolds in a past/present structure through Henry’s point of view. Readers see him at the height of his happiness, on the cusp of achieving his dreams; we then witness the tragic accident that changed his life forever, confining him to a wheelchair, and his struggle to adapt to this new reality. The timeline shifts — from the horrifying prologue set in the infamous Cadow house, where young Jacqueline’s careless whistle unleashed something monstrous, to Henry’s current struggles, and then back again — may feel disorienting at first. But as connections between the legend of the Cadow house and Henry’s fate emerge, the pieces begin to lock into place. Medina uses superstition and myth not just as atmosphere, but as the framework for the story itself.

To avoid spoilers, I’ll just say that Medina has crafted an emotional, tightly woven tale blending Native lore with a compelling plot and unforgettable, three-dimensional characters. His skill lies in making legends feel alive — not just terrifying, but deeply personal to those caught in their grip.

Readers of Medina’s Indian Burial Ground will find an added layer of richness here. While The Whistler focuses on different characters and mysteries, it picks up threads from that novel — including the fate of Roddy — making it feel like a loose sequel. That said, prior knowledge isn’t required; this book stands firmly on its own.

The Whistler is unsettling and atmospheric, exploring themes of fate, acceptance, reckoning with the past, and the devastating price of ignoring warnings. Medina handles Henry’s life as a paraplegic with nuance, portraying both the physical and emotional toll on him and his family. Once again, he shines in weaving Native legends with the modern struggles of Indigenous communities living on reservations.

That said, I found this book leaned more heavily into outright horror than Medina’s earlier work. The abundance of shocking, gory detail sometimes overshadowed the cultural elements I hoped would take center stage. But horror fans who crave visceral scares and don’t mind blood-soaked imagery will find this utterly engrossing.

Ultimately, The Whistler is a dark, gripping tale that fuses legend, fear, and tragedy into a story you won’t soon forget. Highly recommended for fans of horror and supernatural thrillers.