The Fourth Lantern

In the autumn of 1987, I was seventeen, and the world was a place of endless possibility and unnamed dread. My older brother, Cal, and our friend, Dez, had convinced me to walk the old towpath along the abandoned canal that snaked through the outskirts of our town. The path was a relic of a bygone era, its cobblestones uneven, its iron bridges rusting, and its water, where it pooled in the locks, a murky, stagnant green. They said we’d see the ‘ghost light’ — a weird phosphorescent glow that danced above the water on moonless nights. But tonight, the moon was full, a silver disc that turned the canal into a ribbon of mercury and the towpath into a stark, black line against the pale fields.

It was past midnight, and the air was cool and damp. The only sounds were the crunch of our boots on gravel and the occasional rustle of unseen things in the reeds. I was a bit behind the others, my mind on a girl from school, when Cal said something to Dez. I answered, thinking he’d spoken to me, but when he didn’t respond, I looked up. They were both a good ten feet ahead, walking side by side. And there was a third figure between them — a tall, thin black shape that seemed to absorb the moonlight. I blinked, and it was gone, but a cold finger of fear traced my spine.

‘Hey, you guys see that?’ I said, my voice a little too high.

Cal and Dez stopped, turning to face me. ‘See what?’ Cal said. His face was in shadow, but I could hear the irritation. ‘Keep up.’

They resumed walking, and I quickened my pace. As I caught up, I felt a presence behind me. I spun around, but there was nothing but the empty path and the dark, glinting water of the canal on my left. I jogged to catch them, and as I fell into step between Cal and Dez, I saw it again — the silhouette, now on the other side of the canal, moving with a speed that was not human, jumping from one patch of shadow to another. It was as if it were keeping pace with us, but on the water, where no one could walk.

‘Did you just see that?’ Dez asked, his voice tight. ‘Over there?’ He pointed across the canal.

Cal squinted. ‘I saw something,’ he admitted. ‘Probably a heron.’

‘Herons don’t move like that,’ I said. ‘It went from that tree to that clump of reeds in half a second.’

The three of us stood still, scanning the opposite bank. The night was quiet, but now the atmosphere was charged with unease. We had been here many times before, in daylight and dark, but tonight felt different. The moonlight seemed too bright, the shadows too deep.

We decided to continue, but we walked closer together, our shoulders almost touching. As we approached the first lock, a dilapidated structure of crumbling brick and rusted iron, I saw it again. This time, it was on the path ahead of us, blocking our way. It was more defined now — a humanoid shape with long, spindly limbs, and a head that was slightly too large, cocked at an unnatural angle. It didn’t seem to have a face, just a smooth, dark surface. Then it was gone, as if it had dissolved into the air.

‘That was not a heron,’ Cal said, his voice barely a whisper.

We should have turned back, but the towpath continued, and we were young and stupid. We thought it was a prank, maybe a friend trying to scare us. But no one else was out here. The nearest house was miles away.

As we reached the point where the towpath crossed a stone bridge, I fumbled in my pocket for my lighter. I lit it, the flame a tiny, orange beacon. We all looked around, and then we saw them — not one, but several of the silhouettes, standing in a semicircle around us, at the edges of the light. They were all different heights, but they shared that same elongated, skeletal build. They didn’t move. They just watched.

My heart hammered so hard I felt it in my throat. I dropped the lighter, and it clattered on the stone, plunging us back into darkness. But the darkness was worse, because now we could not see them, but we could feel their presence. There was a sound, like a wet whisper, and then the cloying smell of stagnant water and decay.

‘Run,’ Cal said, and we did. We sprinted back the way we came, but the path seemed to stretch and twist. We ran until our lungs burned, but we couldn’t reach the familiar turn-off. Instead, we found ourselves at a part of the canal we had never seen before — the ruins of a small chapel, its roof long gone, its walls covered in ivy.

Gasping, we ducked inside, pressing ourselves against the cold, damp stone. The whispers outside grew louder, like a gathering crowd. Through a gap in the wall, I could see the silhouettes had multiplied, forms pressing against the window holes, watching us.

Then, the lead figure began to levitate, rising above the ground, its head tilting back as if to look at the moon. And in that moment, I saw its face for the first time. It was not empty — it was a void, but in the void there was a single, pale eye, which focused on me with an ancient, patient hunger.

I screamed, and the sound echoed off the walls, a horrible, lonesome noise. The eye blinked, and the figure lowered itself back to the ground. It turned, and one by one, the others turned with it, and they walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the trees. We waited until our breathing steadied, then we stumbled back to the road, not speaking until we reached our front door.

We never went back to the canal. Cal and Dez moved away years ago, and I am the only one left to remember. But sometimes, on a bright, full moon night, I look out my window and see a dark shape standing at the end of the driveway, watching. And I know it is waiting for me to come out again, to walk the towpath under the silver light, to join it in the cold, silent water. It has my lighter, you see. It has been waiting all these years to return it.