The Lantern Keeper

The summer I turned twelve, my cousin Lena and I stayed at our great-aunt Margo’s boarding house in the town of Stillwater, a place that seemed to be built entirely from fog and creaking wood. Aunt Margo was a retired lighthouse keeper, and her house sat on a bluff above a bay that no longer had a lighthouse, just a crumbling stone tower that stood like a broken tooth against the sky. Her living room had a vast bay window that faced the sea, and every night, we’d drag our sleeping bags onto the floor and watch old VHS tapes from her collection. That particular evening, we were watching a low-budget vampire film with terrible special effects, but I couldn’t focus. Outside, the fog had rolled in thick, and the moon cast a pearly glow through the mist. I kept glancing at the window, where a small balcony jutted out over the drop. And then I saw it: a faint, luminous shape, like a person wrapped in a sheet, but not exactly. It was seated on the balcony railing, swaying slightly, and I could see only its left side, a profile that blurred at the edges. My gut said it was a man, though I couldn’t see a face, only a suggestion of a jaw and hair that might have been long. I told myself it was just the neighbor’s scarecrow, but we were a hundred feet above the water.

After the movie ended, Aunt Margo turned off the lights and said goodnight. Lena and I lay on our backs, staring at the ceiling. The room was dark, but the window glowed softly. Then Lena whispered, ‘Do you see that white figure outside?’ Her voice was thin. My heart hammered, but I kept my tone steady. ‘Yeah, I think it’s a man.’ Lena nodded in the dark. ‘I do too.’ I squinted, and in the faint light, I could make out the shape, its head tilted as if staring directly at us. ‘It’s looking at us,’ I whispered. ‘I can only see half of his face and body.’ Lena shifted, craning her neck. ‘Is it still there? I can only see his shoulder from my side.’ I said, ‘Yes, but don’t let it bother you.’ A long pause. Then Lena said, ‘Can you go and take a closer look to make sure?’ Her voice wavered. I didn’t want to, but I also knew that if I didn’t, we’d lie awake all night. So I sat up, my sleeping bag rustling, and crept to the window.

I pressed my face to the cold glass, my breath fogging it. The figure was still there, and now, closer, I could see its form more clearly: a tall, gaunt man in what looked like an old-fashioned oilskin coat, but the fabric was translucent, like smoke condensed into a body. His face was partially obscured by a wide-brimmed hat, but I could see one eye, a milky white orb that seemed to be looking past me, into the room. Then, I noticed something else: in his hand, he held a lantern, an old iron lantern with a sickly green glow that cast no light on the balcony, only on his form. He raised it slowly, as if offering it to me. Then he pointed with his other hand, not at me, but at the stone tower on the cliff. I followed his gesture. On the tower’s top, I saw another figure, a woman in white, and she was waving. The man in oilskin turned his head toward her, and as he did, I saw his profile clearly: his jaw was unhinged, hanging slack, and inside his mouth was not darkness but a swirling vortex of stars, as if his head was a window to another sky. I stumbled back from the window, landing hard on the mattress. ‘It’s a ghost,’ I blurted. Lena screamed.

Aunt Margo burst in, flicking on the light. The balcony was empty. ‘You saw him, didn’t you?’ she said, her face grim. We nodded, trembling. She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘That’s the Lantern Keeper. He’s been waiting for someone to see him for a hundred years. He’s not here to harm you, but to warn you. The woman in white is his lost wife. She wanders the cliff, and he lights her way. But there’s a curse: if he sees you see him, you must take his place until she crosses over.’ Lena was crying. ‘What does that mean?’ I asked. Aunt Margo looked at me, her eyes sad. ‘It means that from tonight, you’ll see them everywhere. But you must not speak to them. If you do, you’ll join them.’ That night, we didn’t sleep. The next morning, we left Stillwater, and I never saw the Lantern Keeper again. But sometimes, when the fog rolls in, I see a glimmer of green light in the distance, and I know he’s still watching, waiting for me to become a keeper of the lost.