The Whine At The Door

Every soul needs a guide--even if it isn't human. Based on a true event.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

All Souls’ Day blanketed the pavements and roads in velvet black and the dim light of street lamps; anything but a typical day for a little pet dog.

Snowball stationed herself at her home's bay window, hoping to unsettle the patrons at the coffee shop opposite with her insistent, barking overtures.

She didn't have mischief in mind that day; instead, she stood at the window, each paw trembling, hackles raised.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

The air froze with biting cold; atypical for Singapore, a country with heat and humidity as its middle name.

A chill numbed the air indoors; the smell of damp leaves pervaded the air. I concentrated on my book review, for the first time donning an outdated cotton sweater.

Then—the low, persistent growls.

Snowball had positioned herself in front of my bedroom wall, paws stiff, nails clicking on the floor.

An almost-human whisper grazed my ear. My breath caught, and my jaw dropped as it looked around.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

The little West Highland Terrier lunged at the wall. A long silence followed.

Too long.

Then, a faint shimmer—the ambiguous outline of a silhouette.

Lost.

Caught between Heaven and Earth.

Asking—

Just for a name.

My heartbeat synced with its pulse—

One that echoed for a presence.

The little dog had guided—

And found.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Snowball. It's alright. No need."

Her cue not to bark.

She obeyed and lay down, finally calm.

The room felt—

Lighter.

Warmer, with the whisper now unheard.

But the chill was a permanent guest.

Teasing a little dog wasn't the name of the lost soul's game—

It had asked the little terrier for guidance.

To where it belonged.

The whisper left. But at night, Snowball still faced the wall--and heard the clicks.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Original story for All Soul's Day, November 2nd 2025, by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.