The Lantern Man

My name is Elara, and I moved to the small town of Ashwick six months ago, looking for a quiet place to write my thesis. The town was picturesque, with its cobblestone streets and old mill by the river. But there was a history here that I couldn’t ignore, especially after what happened.

I first saw him on a foggy October evening. I was walking back from the library when I noticed a figure standing at the end of the lane, holding a lantern that cast a sickly green glow. He wore an old-fashioned brown jacket, and his face was obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. I thought it was a local reenactor, so I nodded and continued. But as I passed, I felt a chill, and the lantern light seemed to flicker, like it was breathing.

Over the next weeks, I saw him more often. Always at dusk, always in the same spot. My neighbor, Mrs. Gable, an elderly woman who had lived here all her life, told me his name: ‘That’s the Lantern Man,’ she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. ‘He was a farmer, Elias Thorn, who lost his mind after his young daughter drowned in the mill pond. He used to walk the riverbank every night with his lantern, searching for her. They say he made a deal with the devil to bring her back, but instead, the devil took his soul. Now he roams, waiting for the devil to collect.’

I dismissed it as local folklore, but the unease grew. The Lantern Man started appearing closer to my cottage. I would see his light through my window at night, and sometimes the shadow of his figure would pass by my door. One night, I heard a scratching on the glass, and when I looked, the lantern was right outside, the light so bright it filled the room, and I saw the face—not human, but a hollow void, with two glowing embers for eyes. I screamed and stumbled back, and the light vanished.

I tried to research more, but the town records were sparse. In an old diary at the museum, I found a mention of Elias Thorn, dated 1892. The entry read: ‘Thorn was found in his barn, raving about the Great Serpent, saying he had given his daughter’s soul to it in exchange for knowledge. He died a week later, screaming that the Serpent had come to collect.’ There was no mention of the devil, but the similarity was chilling.

Determined to understand, I visited the mill pond one evening. The water was still and black, reflecting the last light of the sky. I felt a presence, and turned to find the Lantern Man standing behind me, so close I could smell the damp earth and decay. His voice, if it could be called that, came from everywhere and nowhere: ‘She is not here. He came for me instead.’ He raised his lantern, and I saw in the light the image of a young girl, her clothes soaked, her eyes wide. ‘She is with him now. I must wait.’ Then he turned, and vanished into the trees.

I fled back to my cottage, shaken. That night, I had a nightmare: I was drowning in the pond, and something pulled me under, whispering, ‘You will take my place.’ I woke gasping, and in the corner of my room, I saw the lantern light, hovering. A voice, soft and feminine, said, ‘He is not the one you should fear. It is the Serpent that wants a host. He chose me, but I refused. He is still waiting.’

Now, the Lantern Man appears outside my window every night. He never speaks, but I feel his desperation. I am afraid that he is not the one haunting this town—he is a guardian, warning me of the true evil that sleeps beneath the mill pond. I have started packing. I will leave Ashwick tomorrow. But as I write this, I hear a scratching at the door, and from the keyhole, a green light seeps in. And I can almost hear a voice, old and cold, whispering, ‘You cannot leave. The Serpent has tasted your fear. It will come for you tonight.’