The Lantern Game

The summer I turned fourteen, my family rented a cabin on Lake Serenity, a name that felt like a joke after what happened. The lake was surrounded by eight other houses, each owned by a different family for generations, and just like my cousins, I’d known the other kids since we were all in diapers. Our parents had a tradition: every summer, we’d spend two weeks there, and every night, we’d sneak out to the crossroads where the dirt paths to each cabin met, to play flashlight games.

That particular summer, the group was a mix of ages. The oldest was a girl named Margo, who was fifteen, and I was right behind her. The youngest was a kid named Toby, only eight, and he was always the first to get freaked out. So early on, we made a rule: if anyone got too scared, they’d call out ‘blueberry pie’ and we’d stop whatever we were doing and go find them. It was a silly phrase, but it worked.

It was near the end of the trip, and we were playing Sardines, which was always my favorite because it meant hiding in the dark, waiting for someone to find you, and then joining them in their spot until we were all crammed together like sardines. The sky was so black it felt like a blanket had been pulled over the world, and the only light came from the moon, which was just a sliver. I remember glancing at my watch when we started the new round: 11:23 PM.

Margo was the first to hide. We all scattered, counting quietly to sixty, and I ran down the path toward the old boathouse, thinking it would be a good spot. I ducked behind a stack of canoes that smelled of dried algae and old wood, and I crouched there, listening. After a minute or so, I heard footsteps crunching on gravel, and then the sound of a flashlight beam sweeping. It was Toby. He was breathing hard, and his little voice quivered as he called out, ‘Mar? Are you in there?’

I almost giggled, but I knew if I made any noise, he’d find me and we’d be stuck together. So I stayed quiet. He passed by, his beam flickering, and then disappeared around the corner. The minutes stretched, and I heard distant shouts and laughter as other kids found each other. Then, everything went silent. Too silent. Even the crickets stopped.

I waited, my heart thudding against my ribs. After what felt like an eternity, I heard a rustle behind me, and I thought, ‘Finally, someone’s here.’ But when I turned, there was no one. Just the dark maw of the boathouse, the water lapping gently against the dock. And then I heard a whisper, so faint it could have been the wind, but it wasn’t. It said my name.

I jumped up, my flashlight trembling in my hand. I swept it around, but there was nothing. Just the boats, the shadows, and a chill that crept up my spine. I called out, ‘Who’s there?’ but no one answered. I decided to get out of there, to find the others, but as I stepped forward, my foot hit something solid. I looked down, and in the weak beam, I saw a small, worn teddy bear. It was Toby’s. He never went anywhere without it.

My stomach dropped. I knelt and picked it up, and that’s when I heard the scream. It was high and thin, and it came from the direction of the crossroads. It was a child’s scream, and it was cut off abruptly. I bolted, running faster than I ever had before, my legs pounding on the dirt. When I reached the crossroads, the other kids were standing there, frozen, their flashlights aimed at the ground. In the center of the intersection, there was a single, small shoe. It was Toby’s.

We all stood there, not speaking, and then Margo whispered, ‘Where is he?’ We called his name, we shouted ‘blueberry pie’ until our throats were raw, but there was no answer. The adults, who had been up on the porches, must have heard the commotion, because soon parents were running down, flashlights bobbing. They searched the woods, the lake, everywhere, but Toby was gone. The police were called, and they searched for days, but they found nothing. No trace. No body. Just that shoe, and the teddy bear I held.

After that, the lake became a place of whispered grief. The families tried to carry on, but the summer gatherings stopped. The cabins were boarded up, and the crossroads became a place we avoided. But I couldn’t forget. I had nightmares of Toby’s voice calling out, and sometimes I’d wake up with the feeling that I was being watched.

Years passed, and I grew up, but I never went back. Until last year. My grandmother died, and she left me the cabin. I had to go there to settle her estate, and I dreaded it. I drove up alone, and as I approached the crossroads, I felt the old dread return. The cabin was just as I remembered, dusty but intact. I walked around, trying to find peace, but at night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed, listening to the lake, and then I heard it: a faint, childlike whisper. ‘Come play with me.’

I got up, my heart racing, and I followed the sound to the crossroads. There, in the moonlight, I saw a figure standing in the middle of the intersection. It was a small boy, but his face was wrong—it was too smooth, like a mask, and his eyes were black pits. He held a flashlight, and he pointed it at me. ‘You’re it,’ he said, and his voice was Toby’s.

I wanted to run, but my legs wouldn’t move. He turned and ran into the woods, and in that moment, I understood. The game had never stopped. Toby was still there, in some in-between place, and he wanted someone to take his place. I stumbled back to the cabin, locked the doors, and stayed up until dawn, praying.

I sold the cabin the next week, but it didn’t help. I still hear him at night, whispering my name, and the play. I know he’s waiting for me, and one day, I’ll have to go back to the crossroads and finish the game. But not yet. Not yet.