In Nick Medina’s third novel, The Whistler, three supernatural enthusiast friends living on the fictional Takoda Reservation in Louisiana embark on various ghost hunting adventures, exploring local hauntings and indigenous folklore. Their ring leader, Henry Hotard, is both passionate and driven to capture their encounters on camera to grow the gang’s small but mighty online fanbase. Just as Henry feels he is breaking ground as a semi-famous ghost hunter, he suffers from a serious accident that paralyzes him and leaves him in a wheelchair. Despite the support from his caregiving grandparents, his loving girlfriend, Jade, and his loyal best friend, Toad, Henry is defeated, depressed, and struggling to accept his new reality. As a young twenty-something facing new barriers and unsure how to reimagine his dreams, Henry is not only haunted by what could have been, but also by something else—a dark specter that lurks in the corners of his room and follows him around, whistling in his ears.
The Whistler is a ghost story that blends the horrors of the supernatural, the unexplainable, and the unknown with the unsettling internal disparities of tragedy that can disrupt a regular human life. Utilizing First American cultural myths, this novel diligently rides the narrow line between real and imaginary, the visible vs the spiritual, and the shadows we carry around with us in every version of our lives.
In subtle but intentional ways, the events of The Whistler coincide with Medina’s other two novels, Sisters of the Lost Nation and Indian Burial Ground. These stories are all set on the same Louisiana reservation, share recurring characters, answer mysterious questions once left unanswered—all the while addressing some of the real and unjust realities regularly faced by the indigenous peoples living within the 500+ reservations scattered throughout the United States. Medina effortlessly combines effective storytelling tactics, the re-telling of folk tales, and shines a bright light on modern life within these corners of our country that are undervalued and underrepresented. Though a work of fiction, The Whistler takes place in a truthful world, where supernatural horrors haunt the lives of a people already haunted by an oppressive regime. One that confines a rich culture of people to a territory within a land that belongs to them.
Throughout the varying timelines and points of view, we get to know a few different versions of Henry Hotard. Before his accident, Henry was a passionate, forthright, charismatic—and above all, an incredibly boyish young man with a dream and a girlfriend he adores. In the chapters where we get to know Henry as he adjusts to being a quadriplegic, he is abrasive, angry, pessimistic, and the sum of a person struggling to find his new path forward. Henry’s inner monologue throughout this time period is raw, honest, and treated with care and compassion. Alongside Henry, all of the characters read very authentically, their traits and quirks feeling real and fun to get to know.
Personally, I believe in ghosts. Reading The Whistler was an enjoyable and creepy experience. In the heat of a haunt or a thrilling encounter, it took extra effort to remind myself I was safe on the couch with my cat and not exploring the scene of a gruesome murder. The spiritual unknown intertwined in the narrative had an unnerving impact—the specter that haunts Henry’s nightmares often snuck into my peripheral vision after I bookmarked the page and called it a night.
Having been familiar with Medina’s other work, as well as the 2023 short story anthology book Never Whistle at Night, I have found First American folklore to resonate more deeply than other, more “common” types of haunts. In far more ways than one, it is clear that our country’s indigenous peoples have always understood this land much better than their colonizers. Thanks to novelists like Medina and other writers giving these stories a deserved place on the bookshelves, I feel grateful to understand that just as there are things we cannot explain lurking in the shadows, and evil forces governing our way of life, there are also lessons to be learned when the light sneaks back in. Though not always in the ways we expect, light has a way of sneaking back in.
FICTION
By Nick Medina
Berkley
Published September 16, 2025
