The Lantern Game

The summer I turned fifteen, I believed in nothing but the hum of crickets and the weight of the afternoon sun. My cousin Rhea and I spent our evenings on the cracked concrete of Mohalla Lane, a dead-end street lined with wilting marigolds and houses that leaned into each other like old men. The other kids called it the Colony, but it was just a row of identical two-story homes with rusted gates and peeling paint. I thought it was dull. I was wrong.

On the second night of my stay, Rhea and I joined the usual gang under the single flickering streetlamp. A boy named Arjun, all elbows and loud laughter, was holding court. He claimed he had spent a summer in some remote village in the hills, learning things from a man who wore a mask of dried leaves. ‘I can call the lantern,’ he said, grinning. ‘I saw it in a dream. It comes when you call it, and if you don’t look away, it takes you to the other side.’ The other kids laughed, but I saw a flicker of doubt in their eyes. Rhea elbowed me. ‘He’s just trying to scare us,’ she said, but her voice was thin.

I was still a skeptic. I’d never believed in God or ghosts, only in the concrete world of school exams and my father’s promises. So when Arjun announced he’d prove it, I rolled my eyes but stayed. He told us to sit in a circle in the middle of the road, where the dead end met the empty lot overgrown with weeds. He placed a small clay oil lamp in the center, lit it, and closed his eyes. The flame danced, and he began to chant in a language that seemed to stick in his throat. The air thickened. The crickets stopped.

Arjun’s head snapped back, his eyes wide but unseeing. He started to shake, his teeth chattering, and then he let out a high, keening wail that didn’t sound human. The other kids scrambled back, but I was frozen. I thought it was an act, but then I saw the lamp’s flame turn from orange to a sickly green. Arjun’s fingers dug into the gravel, and his voice broke into sobs, begging for something to go away. ‘It sees you,’ he rasped, pointing at me. ‘It sees you all.’

I wanted to laugh, to mock him, but a chill crawled up my spine. Just then, the streetlamp above us buzzed and died. The green flame flickered out, plunging us into darkness. In the silence, I heard a sound like slippers dragging on asphalt—slow, methodical, coming from the empty lot. A thin, reedy voice, like wind through a cracked door, sang a lullaby I didn’t recognize. I grabbed Rhea’s hand, and we ran, leaving Arjun sprawled on the ground. We didn’t stop until we slammed my uncle’s door behind us.

That night, I lay awake, telling myself it was all staged. But at 3 a.m., I heard the same dragging sound outside my window. I peeked through the curtain and saw a figure under the streetlamp—a tall, thin silhouette with a lantern in its hand, its face obscured by the glow. It stood perfectly still, watching the house. I ducked down, my heart pounding. When I looked again, it was gone.

The next day, Arjun was missing. His parents said he’d gone to his grandfather’s, but the kids whispered he’d seen the lantern and been taken. I tried to convince myself he’d left to escape embarrassment, but a cold certainty settled in my bones. That evening, Rhea and I were alone in the house. She pulled me aside, her face pale. ‘I found this in his room,’ she said, holding out a crumpled piece of paper. It was a drawing of the lantern, with a single word repeated: ‘Call me.’

I felt a pull, an inexplicable urge to go back to the empty lot. I fought it, but the image of the lantern burned in my mind. That night, I woke to find the house silent and my own feet carrying me out the back door. The air was thick, and the ground was cold. The lot was bathed in an eerie green light, and there, in the center, stood the figure with the lantern. Its face was a smooth, featureless mask, but I could feel its gaze. It raised the lantern, and the flame inside was a swirling vortex of grey. ‘Look,’ it seemed to whisper, and I couldn’t turn away.

I saw my own reflection in the glass—but it was older, gaunt, with hollow eyes. I screamed, and the sound broke the spell. I turned and ran, but as I fled, I heard the dragging sound following me, closer and closer. I stumbled through the gate, slamming it shut, and pressed my back against a wall. The figure stood on the other side, its head tilted. Then, slowly, it lifted the lantern and blew out the flame. The world went black.

They found me the next morning, curled in a corner of the lot, gibbering in a language I didn’t know. I was taken to a doctor, then to a temple, but the fear never left me. The lantern’s image is burned into my mind. I’ve seen it in my dreams, always at a distance, always with that terrible patience. And now, I know what I never believed before: there are things in this world that are not good or bad, but simply hungry. And once the lantern sees you, it never forgets. I still hear the dragging at night, sometimes. And I know, one day, it will find me again.