Wild dogs

I have two dogs—Rocky and Bella. Rocky is a big German Shepherd with a deep bark, and Bella is a tiny Pomeranian with a sharp, high-pitched bark. They bark at everything—knocks, car doors, footsteps outside.

A few years ago, my son and I moved to a quiet little town. Our house was old, but it felt cozy. Everything seemed normal—until the doorbell started ringing.

One evening, I was lying in bed when I heard it. The doorbell rang loud and clear. Rocky barked like crazy, Bella yapped beside him. I got up, walked to the front door—nobody was there. I checked the back door—nothing. I even peeked out the windows, but the street was empty.

At first, I thought I was imagining it. But then it happened again. And again.

Sometimes I’d be on the couch, sometimes in the kitchen. Each time, the doorbell rang, and the dogs went wild. But no one was ever outside. My son heard it too. We both did.

After a while, I started to question it. Our doorbell hadn’t worked since we moved in. It was wired into the house, no batteries, completely dead. The previous owner had it disconnected years ago.

So how were we hearing it?

Curious, I looked up the house’s history. The last owner was an elderly man. When I searched his name, I found an old obituary. It said he had passed away… in this very house. Peacefully, they wrote.

I don’t know if that’s true.

Because every now and then, late at night, the doorbell still rings.

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