The Lantern in the Rain

The house sat at the edge of a sprawling cranberry bog, its paint peeling like sunburned skin. My father, Roland, had taken the caretaker job after the mill shut down, and we’d moved into the old farmhouse that came with it. The bog was a strange, flat expanse of green and red, bisected by canals and dotted with pump houses that leaned like drunkards. I was fifteen, and the only thing that made the place bearable was the swimming hole—a wide, deep basin fed by an artesian spring, reputed to be bottomless. The locals avoided it, muttering about cold spots and things that tugged at your feet, but I was a strong swimmer, and I loved the way the water felt like silk against my skin.

My mother had left us the previous spring, taking my younger sister with her. My brother, Carl, was seventeen and spent most of his time in town, chasing a girl named Becca. So I was often alone with Roland, who had taken to drinking more since the layoff. He would plant himself in his armchair with a bottle of bourbon, his eyes fixed on the muted television, until he slumped into a stupor. That afternoon, the sky was the color of old dishwater, and a light drizzle had started. I donned my swim trunks and stepped out onto the porch, the wooden planks groaning under my weight.

The water was warmer than the air, and I slipped in with a gasp of pleasure. I swam laps, the rhythm of my strokes and the gentle patter of rain creating a hypnotic trance. The bog stretched out around me, its silence only broken by the occasional call of a red-winged blackbird. I floated on my back, watching the clouds roll by, and for a moment, I felt at peace.

That’s when I saw the lantern.

It was a kerosene lantern, the kind you see in antique shops, its glass globe flickering with a warm, amber flame. It hovered at the far end of the pool, just above the water’s surface, bobbing gently as if held by an invisible hand. I blinked, thinking it was a reflection or a trick of the light, but it remained. I started to swim toward it, my curiosity overriding any sense of dread. As I approached, the lantern began to drift away, moving toward the edge of the bog where the reeds grew tall.

I stopped at the pool’s rim, my hands gripping the metal edge. The lantern paused, as if waiting for me. Then it dipped slightly, and I swear I heard a voice–soft, almost like a whisper carried on the wind–say, ‘Come.’

I pulled myself out of the water, my feet sinking into the cold mud. The lantern began to move, gliding through the rain, and I followed it. It led me along a narrow path that snaked between the bog and a dark line of pines. I knew I shouldn’t go, but something about that light felt familiar, like a memory I couldn’t quite grasp. My bare feet squelched in the muck, and the drizzle turned into a steady downpour, plastering my hair to my skull.

The lantern stopped at the base of an old pump house, its wooden walls warped and green with moss. The door was ajar, and from within came a low humming, the sound of a single note held for too long. The lantern flickered, then extinguished, leaving me in the gray twilight. I pushed the door open, and the smell hit me first: wet earth, copper, and something else, something sour and sweet like rotting fruit.

Inside, there was a well–an ancient stone well, its mouth gaping like a hungry mouth. The humming grew louder, and I realized it was coming from the well. I peered over the edge, expecting to see darkness, but instead there was a faint green glow, pulsing in rhythm with the humming. And then I saw it: a pale face, indistinct, rising from the depths. It was a woman, I think, but her features were blurred, as if she were made of water. She reached out a hand, her fingers long and dripping, and her lips moved, but no sound came out. I screamed and stumbled backward, but the door slammed shut behind me, and the latch clicked with finality.

I was trapped. The glow from the well grew brighter, and the humming intensified, resonating in my chest. I scrabbled at the door, but it was no use. The woman rose fully from the well, her body twisted like a root, her face a mask of sorrow. She spoke then, but her words were not in any language I knew. They were a jumble of consonants and vowels, like a language drowned in mud.

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, I was back in the pool. The rain had stopped, and the sun was breaking through the clouds. I was floating, my arms wrapped around a plastic float, my body shaking with cold. The lantern was nowhere to be seen. I swam to the edge, pulled myself out, and ran to the house, not daring to look back.

Roland was still in his chair, the bottle nearly empty, his eyes glazed. I knew he hadn’t even noticed I was gone. But as I stood in the doorway, dripping water on the linoleum, I heard a sound from the direction of the bog: a faint humming, and the soft clank of metal. I looked out the window, and there, at the edge of the pool, was the lantern, now resting on the ground, its flame extinguished. But next to it, on the wet grass, was a set of wet footprints leading away from the pool… and into the house.

I turned, but the hallway was empty. Yet I could feel a presence, cold and damp, brushing against my cheek. I heard a woman’s voice, clear as day, say, ‘You forgot me.’

Roland stirred, mumbling something about another drink, and I knew I couldn’t tell him. He wouldn’t believe me anyway. So I did the only thing I could: I went to my room, locked the door, and pulled the covers over my head. But I could still hear the humming, and I knew that the lantern would be waiting for me again, the next time I swam.

I never went back to the pool after that. But sometimes, at night, I would look out my window and see the lantern floating above the water, its flame dancing as if in laughter. And I knew that the woman in the well was not done with me, that she was just waiting for the right moment to call me back. And I was right, because a month later, when my brother Carl drowned mysteriously in that very pool, I knew it was not an accident. The lantern had claimed him, and now it wanted me.