The Lantern in the Hall

It was dusk on the second of November, and the small town of Ashford was quiet. Nine-year-old Lily sat cross-legged on the living room floor, her nose almost touching the television screen as she watched her father, Mark, type at his computer. Her mother, Clara, was in the kitchen, humming softly as she fed Lily’s baby brother, Sam. The house was an old Victorian with creaky floorboards and a draft that whispered through the window frames, but tonight, it felt particularly heavy, as if the walls were holding their breath.

At 8:30 sharp, the front door rattled. Not a knock, but two solid thuds, like someone or something had kicked the storm door hard. The sound echoed through the hallway, and the wood groaned in protest. Lily’s heart leaped, and she scrambled to her feet, running to the kitchen. ‘Mom!’ she cried, her voice trembling. Clara looked up, her eyes wide. Mark was already at the door, peering through the peephole. ‘Nothing there,’ he said, his voice uncertain. He tried the handle; it was locked, and the deadbolt was on. The screen door was also locked from the inside. They exchanged worried glances.

Lily remembered the tiny lantern her grandmother used to light on All Souls’ Day, a family tradition to guide the spirits of the departed. ‘Should we light it?’ she asked, her eyes darting to the hall. Clara nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. They retrieved the old brass lantern from the cupboard, its glass dusty with age. Mark lit a candle inside, and the warm glow flickered across the walls. The oppressive silence that had followed the thumps seemed to soften. A calm settled over the house, and for a while, they all sat in the living room, listening to the clock tick.

At nine o’clock, the doorbell rang. Mark peered through the peephole and saw his sister, Emma, and her husband, Paul. He opened the door, and they stepped inside, bringing a gust of cold air. ‘Did you hear something earlier?’ Emma asked, her face pale. She explained that as they were driving up, they saw a figure standing in the driveway, a tall man in a long coat, just staring at the house. Then, after a few seconds, he walked away into the darkness. Mark told her about the thumps, and Emma’s face went white. ‘That wasn’t a ghost,’ she said. ‘That was someone trying to get in.’

Mark frowned. ‘But the door was locked, and the screen too.’ Paul shook his head. ‘That’s the thing. We checked the screen after you told us. It’s not locked anymore. The latch is broken, and it’s swinging open.’ A chill ran down Lily’s spine. She looked at the lantern, its flame dancing as if caught in a sudden draft. The house felt cold again. ‘Dad, maybe we should call the police,’ she whispered. But Mark was already reaching for the phone. As he dialed, they heard it again—two thwumps, this time from the back door, followed by the sound of footsteps retreating into the woods behind their property.

The police arrived and found muddy footprints leading from the back door to the tree line, mismatched shoe sizes, as if there had been two intruders. They searched the woods but found nothing. That night, no one slept. They gathered in the living room, the lantern burning bright until dawn. The next morning, the screen door was repaired, and the locks were changed. But Lily never forgot the look on her father’s face when he realized the screen wasn’t just unlocked—it was open, as if someone had deliberately left it that way, waiting for them to come out. She also never forgot the strange smell, like wet earth and burnt matches, that lingered in the hallway for weeks. And sometimes, when the house was quiet, she would hear two soft thumps against the front door, just before the lantern flickered, as if someone was outside, listening.