The Lantern Maker’s Bargain

The October air was crisp with the smell of wet leaves and woodsmoke when my mother finished sewing the last patch onto my scarecrow costume. I was seven, and tonight I would join the older kids: my best friend Mira, her cousin Tess, and Tess’s friend Ruby. Ruby’s older brother, Dante, was our designated chaperone. We were all gathered in Mira’s kitchen, stuffing our pillowcases with hopes of candy, when Mira’s mom, Mrs. Okafor, called us over. She had a serious look on her face, the kind she wore when she was about to lay down the law. ‘You be home by nine, no exceptions. Do not talk to strangers. And whatever you do, do not go down Cormorant Lane.’

Cormorant Lane. I knew the name. It was a narrow, winding road that branched off the main street, skirting the edge of the old marsh. My father had pointed it out once, saying it was ‘the kind of place where the trees grow sideways and the fog never lifts.’ I remember how the streetlights along it were always flickering, even on clear nights. ‘Why can’t we go there?’ I asked, my voice small. Mrs. Okafor’s face tightened. ‘Because that’s the rule. Now, off you go. Have fun, and be careful.’ She shooed us out the door with a handful of quarters for the pay phone at the gas station, just in case.

We hit the usual houses first, the ones with the best candy: Mrs. Alvarez’s house with the full-size bars, the Hendricks’ with their homemade popcorn balls, Mr. Cho’s with the glow-in-the-dark bracelets. The streets were alive with the rustle of costumes and the high-pitched calls of ‘Trick or treat!’ But as we moved deeper into the neighborhood, the houses grew farther apart, the porch lights dimmer, and the sugar-fueled excitement began to curdle into a restless anxiety. We were near the edge of the neighborhood, where the sidewalks ended and the asphalt of Cormorant Lane began, a black ribbon disappearing into a tangle of old oaks and hanging moss.

‘We should turn back,’ I said, tugging at Mira’s sleeve. But Ruby, who was a year older and bolder, scoffed. ‘Are you scared? It’s just a stupid road. I bet there’s a house with the best candy at the end. My cousin went down there two years ago and got a whole bag of King-sized Oh Henrys.’ Dante, who had been texting on his phone, looked up. ‘Ruby, no. Mom said no. We’re not going down there.’ But Ruby was already walking ahead, and Tess, ever the follower, went after her. Mira looked at me, and I could see the same conflict in her eyes. ‘We’ll just peek,’ she said. ‘We don’t have to go far.’ I shook my head, but I couldn’t let them go alone. And Dante, though he grumbled, followed.

So we crossed the boundary, our feet hitting the cracked asphalt of Cormorant Lane. The air felt immediately colder, and the sounds of the neighborhood faded behind us as if a door had closed. The streetlights here were old, the kind with cast-iron posts and glass globes, but they were all dark, except for one at the very beginning, which buzzed with a sickly yellow light. The trees leaned in over the road, their branches like knotted fingers, and I could hear the drip of water somewhere in the darkness. We walked a few minutes, our flashlights cutting weak beams into the gloom, when we saw a house set back from the road, its porch light glowing a warm amber. It was a small, two-story Victorian, with peeling paint and a sagging roof, but the light was inviting. And on the porch, there was a figure.

It was an old man, gaunt and tall, with a face like crumpled paper. He wore a long, black coat and held a lantern, not an electric one, but a brass oil lantern with a glass chimney, the flame dancing inside. He didn’t speak, just gestured for us to come closer. I felt a knot in my stomach, but Ruby, fearless and foolish, marched up the steps. ‘Trick or treat!’ she said, holding out her pillowcase. The old man smiled, a thin line that didn’t reach his eyes. He reached into a burlap sack at his feet and pulled out a candy. But it wasn’t wrapped. It was a single, dark truffle, dusted with something that shimmered like frost. He placed it in Ruby’s bag. Then he looked at each of us in turn and said, in a voice like dry leaves skittering, ‘Come closer, children. I have a bargain to offer.’

I wanted to run, but my feet felt rooted to the spot. The old man produced a small, glass jar filled with a swirling, silver mist. ‘A few of your precious memories,’ he said. ‘In exchange for enough candy to last you a year. Just a small piece of your soul’s tapestry. You won’t even miss it.’ He held the jar out to Ruby, who reached for it. ‘No!’ Dante shouted, finally stepping forward. He grabbed Ruby’s arm and pulled her back. ‘We’re leaving.’ The old man’s smile vanished, and his eyes turned dark, like bottomless pits. ‘Leave then,’ he said. ‘But the lane will remember you.’ He stepped back into the shadows of his porch, and the porch light flickered out.

We ran back the way we came, our footsteps pounding on the asphalt. But the road seemed longer than before, and the trees seemed to close in. We passed the same landmarks: a broken mailbox, a gnarly tree with a tire swing, but we couldn’t find the main road. We ran for what felt like hours, but the end of the lane never appeared. The sky had turned dark, and the moon was hidden behind clouds. We were lost. Dante was shouting into his phone, but there was no signal. We were trapped on Cormorant Lane.

Eventually, we came upon a fork in the road, and in the middle stood a tall, thin man with a lantern. It was the same old man. ‘I see you’ve changed your minds,’ he said, his voice oily. Ruby, now shaking, whispered, ‘What do you want?’ The old man took a step closer. ‘I want the lantern keeper’s due. Every year, a child must work the lane for a night, to light the lamp posts and keep the spirits at bay. Tonight, that child is you.’ He pointed a long, bony finger at Ruby. ‘But I’m not a child,’ Dante said, stepping in front of her. ‘Take me instead.’

The old man’s eyes widened with interest. ‘A willing soul? Very well.’ And with that, he reached out and touched Dante’s forehead. Dante stiffened, his eyes went blank, and a wisp of something silver left his mouth, curling into the lantern’s flame. The old man smiled, then pointed down the road. ‘You may go now. And remember, you never saw me.’ As he spoke, the fog began to lift, and I could see the familiar glow of streetlights ahead. We stumbled out of the lane, onto our block, and we didn’t stop running until we reached Mira’s house.

We burst through the door, breathless and terrified. Mrs. Okafor was waiting, her face pale. ‘Where have you been? It’s nearly midnight!’ she cried. But we could only stammer, ‘Dante… Dante’s gone.’ The police searched, but they found no trace of him. The only thing they found at the end of Cormorant Lane was an old, abandoned house with a porch light that wouldn’t turn off. Ruby started having nightmares, talking about ‘the lantern man’ in her sleep. Mira refused to go outside after dark. And I, I couldn’t shake the image of that silver wisp leaving Dante’s mouth.

Years passed, and the incident became a local legend. Kids dared each other to walk down Cormorant Lane, but none ever did. I never went back. But sometimes, late at night, I can still hear Dante’s voice, not from memory, but carried on the wind, calling my name from the direction of the marsh. And every Halloween, a new child disappears from somewhere near that lane, and a strange, pale light is seen flickering among the trees. I know now that the lantern keeper’s bargain is never truly over. He collects a soul each year, and I have a feeling he’s still waiting for the one that got away—me.