The Lantern in the Hall

The storm had been building all evening, a low growl that shook the windows of our cabin. I’d put my three nieces to bed early, tucking them into their sleeping bags on the floor of the main room because the roof over the bedrooms leaked. Now, at three in the morning, I was jolted awake by a crack of thunder that seemed to split the sky. The cabin went dark instantly, the hum of the generator dying with a sputter. Rain lashed against the walls like a thousand tiny fists.

I felt around in the blackness, my hand landing on the damp wool of my blanket. My youngest niece, Lily, was curled beside me, her small body shivering. I heard the other two, Maisie and Ruth, shuffling down the hallway. Their bare feet slapped against the cold linoleum. ‘Auntie, we’re scared,’ Maisie whispered. I fumbled for the child gate I had wedged in the doorway—a poor substitute for the broken door—and lifted it. They crawled over, and I pulled them into the daybed, my arms around all three of them. ‘Lay down, lay down,’ I murmured, trying to shield their eyes with my body.

The lightning flashed, and in that split second, I saw the walls. They were covered with eyes. Dozens of glowing white orbs, unblinking, floating at different heights, as if creatures were perched on the shelves and window sills. My heart seized. I yanked the blanket over the girls’ heads. ‘Don’t look, don’t look,’ I hissed.

Then I saw the glow from the kitchen. It began as a faint, light green-blue shimmer, like a firefly trapped in a jar. But it grew brighter, pulsing, and I realized it was moving. Coming down the hallway. As it drew closer, the light intensified until it was like a car’s headlights bearing down on me in a dark tunnel. I could feel its warmth, but there was no heat—just a cold, sickly light that made the shadows on the walls writhe.

The eyes all turned to face the light. They blinked in unison, and I heard a sound like a wet tongue dragging over dry lips. The glow stopped at the foot of the bed, and in its center, I saw a figure—not human, but shaped like one, made entirely of that pale green light. It had no face, just a smooth oval where a face should be, but it tilted its head as if studying us.

I clutched the girls tighter. The light was so bright now that I could see every crack in the ceiling, every dust mote in the air. My eyes burned, but I couldn’t look away. The figure raised a hand, and in its palm, a small, flickering object appeared—a lantern, old and rusted, with a door of glass. Inside, something moved. Something with too many legs.

The lantern chimed. A soft, melodic sound, like a music box. And the eyes on the walls began to blink faster, faster… as if they were counting down.

I knew then that we were not in the cabin anymore. The floor beneath us had become cold stone, and the air smelled of damp earth and decay. The light from the lantern cast long, shifting shapes, and I saw we were in a vast, underground chamber, surrounded by stalactites that dripped with a black ichor. The walls were lined with tiny, round doors—like the doors of a dollhouse—and from each one, a pair of white eyes peered out.

The figure spoke. Its voice was like the echo of a scream. ‘You have brought them to me.’

I wanted to scream, but my throat was raw. I looked at the girls. They were asleep, their faces peaceful, but they were fading. I could see through them, like ghosts. The light was pulling them from me, disintegrating them.

‘No,’ I rasped. I reached out to grab them, but my hands passed through empty air.

The figure tilted its head the other way. ‘They are already mine. They have always been mine.’

Then the lantern blinked. Just for a second. But in that darkness, I felt something cold slip into my hand. A small, metal object. When the light returned, I saw it was a key—old and tarnished, with a star shape at the top.

The figure laughed. ‘You can free them, if you find the lock. But beware the one who holds the key to your own.’

And then the light vanished, and I was back in the cabin, the storm raging outside. The girls were still beside me, breathing softly. But I could see the faint green glow of the lantern in the reflection of the window, hovering just beyond the glass.

I clutched the key so hard it left an imprint in my palm. I knew the lock it belonged to was not in this world. And I knew the figure was waiting for me to come looking.

But first, I had to find out why the girls had been marked. Because in the morning, when I looked in the mirror, I saw my own eyes glowing faintly white.