The Lantern Man

In the summer of 2015, when I was nine, our family lived in a sprawling colonial bungalow in the hill station of Darjeeling, not the usual government quarters but a sprawling compound that once housed British tea planters. The house was enormous, with creaking wooden floors and tall windows that looked out onto a misty tea garden that stretched down the slopes. There were rumors that the bungalow was built on an old cemetery, and the local caretakers often whispered about a ghostly figure they called the ‘Lantern Man’ who wandered the garden at night, carrying a flickering light. But we dismissed it as superstitious nonsense.

Our staff consisted of four maids, a gardener, and a cook, all of whom lived in small quarters at the back of the property. I was particularly fond of the youngest maid, Aditi, who would often teach me local songs and tell me stories about her village. She had a warm smile and a gentle laugh, and I felt comfortable around her.

One sweltering summer night, the air was heavy with humidity, and every room had its air conditioner humming at full blast. My parents and my younger brother were in the living room watching a Bollywood movie, while I sat on the back porch with Aditi, trying to recall the lyrics of a new tune that had just been released. The porch overlooked the tea garden, which was shrouded in darkness except for the faint glow of the moon.

Suddenly, my mother called Aditi inside to help with something, leaving me alone on the porch. I hummed the melody to myself, swaying gently in the wooden swing. That’s when I noticed a strange light bobbing down in the tea garden, far below the low wall that separated our compound from the dense rows of tea bushes. The light moved erratically, like someone carrying a lantern while stumbling through the uneven terrain. At first, I thought it might be a firefly, but it was too steady and too bright.

Curiosity got the better of me. I stood up and walked to the edge of the porch, peering into the darkness. The light was moving closer, and I could make out a tall, gaunt figure, draped in what looked like a white dhoti, holding an old-fashioned brass lantern. The figure stopped at the boundary wall and looked up, directly at me. Even from that distance, I could see its hollow eyes, dark as pits, and a faint, sickly smile. It raised its free hand and beckoned to me.

My heart started racing. I knew I should run inside, but my legs felt frozen. The figure then turned and began walking along the wall, toward the main gate, the lantern swinging, casting long, dancing shadows on the garden. A cold dread washed over me, and I finally snapped out of my trance, dashing inside and slamming the French doors shut.

My parents were still absorbed in the movie, and my brother was laughing at something on screen. I didn’t want to alarm them, so I said nothing and sat quietly, but I couldn’t shake the image of that figure from my mind. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed, listening to the hum of the air conditioner, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw the lantern light.

The next morning, I told Aditi about what I had seen. Her face went pale, and she whispered, ‘That was the Lantern Man. My grandmother told me he appears on the full moon night, and whoever he beckons… they disappear within a week.’ I laughed it off, but a small part of me believed her. I looked up at the calendar: it was a full moon. I had been born on a full moon, and I remember thinking that was a bad omen.

Over the next few days, strange things began to happen. The air conditioner in my room kept turning off by itself, even though the remote was on my nightstand. Doors that I had closed would be found ajar. And one morning, I found the old brass lantern from the garage sitting on my desk, covered in dust. When I asked the gardener, he said it had been missing for years, and his face was etched with fear.

On the third night, I woke up to a faint sound outside my window. I crept to the window and peered out. The Lantern Man was standing in the garden below, right outside my window, the lantern held high. Its eyes met mine, and it pointed a long finger at me, then at the ground. It mouthed something, and though I couldn’t hear the words, I felt the meaning: ‘You will be with me soon.’

Panic seized me. I ran to my parents’ room and shook them awake, babbling about the ghostly figure. My father, annoyed at being woken, checked the garden but found nothing. He dismissed it as a nightmare and sent me back to bed. But I couldn’t sleep, and I stayed up the rest of the night, trembling under my sheets.

The next morning, Aditi found me looking pale and exhausted. I told her everything, and she said, ‘There is one way to protect yourself. You must take the lantern and light it at midnight, then leave it at the old grave beneath the banyan tree. That will appease him.’ She pointed to a twisted banyan tree at the far end of the garden. I wasn’t sure if I believed her, but I was desperate.

That evening, I retrieved the lantern from the garage. It was heavy, with a glass panel and a wick inside. I filled it with kerosene and waited until the clock struck midnight. My family was asleep. I slipped out the back door, the air clinging to my skin. The garden was eerily quiet; even the crickets seemed to hold their breath.

I made my way to the banyan tree, its massive roots forming a dark cavern. The moon was nearly full again, casting an ethereal glow on the garden. As I approached, I saw a mound of earth that looked like a grave, overgrown with weeds. I knelt down, my hands shaking, and lit the wick. The lantern flickered to life, casting a warm glow. I placed it on the grave, said a silent prayer, and turned to go back.

But as I stood up, a hand touched my shoulder. I spun around, and there was the Lantern Man, his gaunt face inches from mine. He was not holding the lantern; it was I who held it. He spoke in a voice that was like dry leaves rustling: ‘You lit the lamp, child. Now you must take my place as the keeper of this garden, unless you release me.’

I tried to scream, but no sound came out. He handed me a rusty key, cold and heavy. ‘The key to the old well,’ he said, pointing to a stone well near the house, half-hidden by bushes. ‘Throw it in, and you will be free.’

With trembling hands, I took the key. He faded into the darkness, leaving me alone with the lantern. I stumbled back to the well, my heart pounding. I looked down into the black void, and I felt a presence below, waiting. I knew that if I threw the key in, something else would come out. But I was so afraid of this haunting that I didn’t think. I let go of the key, hearing it splash into the water far below.

Immediately, a gust of wind blew out the lantern, and the well began to emit a low hum. I ran back inside, not daring to look back. The next morning, the lantern was gone from my room, and no further apparitions occurred. I thought it was over. But a week later, Aditi was found missing from her quarters. The police searched the compound and found her in the well, drowned. They never explained how she got there. And sometimes, late at night, I can still see the glow of a lantern moving through the tea garden, and I know that the Lantern Man now has a new keeper, and that I narrowly escaped my fate.

But deep inside, I fear that he is still waiting for me, with a new key, and a new promise of release. And I often wonder if it was Aditi who died that night, or if it was the Lantern Man who was set free, and I am now living with the guilt of what I didn’t do. The bungalow was sold years later, and I never returned to Darjeeling. But to this day, whenever I see a flickering light in the dark, my heart stops, for I know who it might be.

The lantern now sits in a museum of curiosities, but no light ever burns within it. They say it is haunted. And I know, somewhere, that light will beckon again.