I couldn't get through, couldn't whistle through.

I think I can now tell you about it without fear that something might happen.

It all started when I woke up one night to the doorbell. I looked at my watch—3:05. Throwing on my robe, I ran to the door. Our apartment is located above the entrance to the building, as is the water main. Sometimes pipes start leaking right into the building, and whoever notices it first usually rings our doorbell right away, and we call a plumber. That's when the thought immediately came to me: "Another pipe burst..."

I went to the door and looked through the peephole—no one was there. I asked,

"Who's there?"

No one answered. After standing there for a couple of minutes, I finally decided not to open the door. I thought, "If it's something serious, they'll come again, and I'm not going to stick my head out." So I went to bed.

In the morning, I went down to the entrance to check if everything was alright. I didn't notice anything unusual. A little surprised, I put that ringing nighttime call out of my mind.

The next night, I woke up again to the doorbell. I looked at my watch—3:05. I went to the door—no one was there, I asked who it was—silence. I went back to sleep...

These nightly calls at the same time continued for about two weeks, not every night, but with enviable stubbornness. Not only did I stop going to the door, I even stopped waking up. I'd hear the doorbell and go back to sleep. Oh, I forgot to mention that no one but me heard these calls. Only the cat would raise his head every time it rang and, at first, he'd follow me to the door.

Soon, the ringing stopped. But one night, I woke up to a whistling sound outside my window. I looked at my watch—3:05. The cat jumped up onto the windowsill and stared out the window. Looking at him, I felt a terrible fear. Looking out the window was out of the question. Sleep had simply vanished. It must be said that my bed is right next to the window. If I sat up, I'd be visible through the window, so I slid down to the floor without getting up. I pulled the blanket and pillow down with me.

The cat turned its head, clearly watching something or someone, and vigorously swung its tail from side to side. Honestly, I was scared for it. Raising myself slightly, I grabbed the cat by the tail and yanked it toward me. The cat rolled onto the bed, where I successfully caught it and pulled it to the floor. I don't know why—whether from what I saw through the window or from the sudden and awkward change of position—the cat screamed terrifyingly, its eyes rolling, its body tense. He couldn't come to his senses for a long time.

So, cuddling the cat, we lay under the bed until dawn, about an hour. Then I lay back down on the bed, and the cat broke free and climbed back onto the windowsill. After sitting there for about five minutes and apparently seeing nothing else of interest, he lay down next to me, and we fell asleep.

This whistling, like the ringing of the bells, continued for about two weeks. Eventually, even the cat stopped responding to it. Then everything stopped.

I'm still baffled—what could it have been?