The Lantern Keeper’s Revenge

The autumn wind carried the scent of damp leaves and woodsmoke as Lena and I finally found the turnoff to Brannock Keep. We had been lost for nearly an hour on the winding back roads of the Scottish Highlands, the GPS stubbornly silent. It was almost seven when we parked the rental car in the gravel lot before the ancient hilltop fortress. The sky was a bruised purple, and the keep, a dark hulk against the fading light, seemed to watch us with its blind windows.

Lena, who had been my travel companion for the past two weeks, was practical as ever. She pulled her coat tighter and pointed at the sign: ‘Closed for Restoration.’ We both sighed. I had been excited to see this place, its history, its legends. I promised her a quick look, just from the outside. I started to climb the worn stone steps that led to the main gate, now sealed with a heavy wooden door, banded with iron. I ran my hands over the rough stone, feeling the chill that seeped from it. For a joke, I pulled out my keyring and pretended to unlock the door, rattling the keys. The sound seemed too loud in the stillness.

Lena laughed, a nervous sound. She kicked off her hiking boots to shake out a pebble, and as she did, she took a couple of steps back, her bare feet on the cold grass. I turned back to the door, and on a whim, I gave the iron handle a sharp tug. To my astonishment, it turned with a groan, and the door creaked open a few inches. A cold, musty air wafted out, like the breath of a tomb. We froze. I looked at Lena, and her eyes were wide. ‘Did you see that?’ she whispered. I didn’t answer. I pushed the door wider, the hinges screaming in protest.

We shouldn’t have gone in, but we did. The courtyard was a jumble of fallen stones and overgrown weeds. The main tower, a massive square structure, stood against the darker sky, its top lost in the clouds. A single lantern hung from a hook by the doorway, casting a weak, flickering light. It was strange, because there was no wind. We walked to the base of the tower, and I saw a narrow spiral staircase curving upwards into darkness. Lena grabbed my arm. ‘We shouldn’t go up there,’ she said. But I was already moving, drawn by the silence and the sense that we were not alone. I took the first step, the stone cold under my shoes.

We climbed in silence, the only sound our breathing and the soft scuff of our feet. The air grew colder and thinner. At the top, we emerged into a small chamber, the walls lined with wooden shelves filled with dusty artifacts—old weapons, pottery shards, and a heavy, leather-bound ledger. A desk sat in the center, covered with a thick layer of dust. On the desk, there was a single oil lamp, its flame burning steadily, although there was no one in the room. I felt the hairs on my neck stand up. I approached the desk, and I noticed a book lying open, its pages yellowed. It was a diary. I began to read, my heart pounding.

The handwriting was spidery, the ink faded. It spoke of a man named Angus, the last keeper of the keep. He had been accused of treason and sentenced to be walled up in the tower, his jailers bricking him into a small cell. The last entry, dated centuries ago, read: ‘They have sealed my fate, but I will seal theirs. The one who opens my door will take my place. The visitor who climbs my steps will never leave. For I will come for them in the night, and the lantern will guide me.’ I dropped the book, stumbling back. Lena was reading over my shoulder, her face ashen. ‘We have to go,’ she said.

But as we turned to leave, the lantern on the desk flickered and went out. A deep, resonant voice filled the room, a voice that seemed to come from the stones themselves: ‘You have entered. Now you shall serve.’ The door to the staircase slammed shut with a deafening boom. We were trapped. I ran to the door, pulling and pushing, but it wouldn’t budge. I looked out the window, but the world below was dark, the clouds had swallowed the horizon. And then I saw him—a figure, gaunt and grey, standing in the corner of the room, his eyes glowing like embers. He pointed at me, and a cold laugh echoed through the chamber. ‘Two are better than one,’ he said. ‘The lantern needs two flames now.’

We tried to fight him, but he was not of this world. He faded and reappeared, and with each pass, a piece of the room changed. The artifacts on the shelves began to rattle, and the diary’s pages fluttered as if a ghost were turning them. I felt a tug at my feet, and I looked down to see a faint, blue light beginning to encircle Lena and me, like a circle of fire. The light rose, and the tower began to dissolve, replaced by a stone cell. In the cell, two inscriptions were chiseled into the wall: one with Lena’s name, one with mine. We were the new keepers, doomed to serve the lantern, to lure others to their doom. I screamed, a sound that echoed into the night, but the keep was far from any road.

We spent the long hours in that cell, the lantern always burning at its center. We tried everything to escape, but the lantern’s light held us. As dawn approached, a faint glimmer of hope—the door might open at sunrise. But instead, the voice returned. ‘You will wait. You will serve. You will beckon.’ And in the silence, I saw my reflection in the lantern’s glass, my face growing gaunt, my eyes hollow. Lena was next to me, her hands trembling. We knew we were lost. But as the sun rose, casting a faint light through a crack, I realized that the lantern was the only light left. And when the next visitors came, we would be the ones to open the door, to pull the chain, to invite them up the stairs. And the cycle would never end.

The title of this story, I suppose, is The Lantern Keeper’s Revenge. Because it is a curse, a revenge that never dies. The keep’s keeper laughed, and I promised myself I would never let another suffer as we did. But the lantern’s flame is my master now, and I have no will of my own. The last thing I remember is the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and a voice calling out, ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’ And my hand, of its own accord, reached for the door handle.