The Lantern Man

It was the night of the Barangay Fiesta, and the whole town of San Isidro was alive with strings of colored lights and the distant thump of a bass speaker. My friends—Miguel, Bella, and Diego—had been talking about it all week, but I, Ariel, felt a chill creeping up my spine that had nothing to do with the evening breeze. I had been fighting a fever all day, my forehead hot to the touch, and my stomach churned with unease. But Miguel, ever the impatient one, was already at my window, his face half-lit by the moon. ‘Ariel, let’s go! The procession starts in an hour!’ I sighed, pulled on a jacket, and stepped out, ignoring my body’s protests.

We took the shortcut through the old coconut grove, a path that wound past the abandoned mill and over a rickety bamboo bridge that spanned a murky creek. The grove was always eerie at night, but tonight the shadows seemed to stretch longer, and the rustling of leaves sounded like whispers. My friends chatted and laughed, their voices echoing off the trees, but I walked in silence, my eyes fixed on the lanterns that marked the path ahead. Halfway across the bridge, I felt a sudden drop in temperature, as if a cold hand had pressed against my neck. I stopped, and my friends turned to look at me.

‘What’s wrong?’ Bella asked, her voice tinged with concern. I wanted to say something, but my throat felt tight. Then I saw it—a man standing at the far end of the bridge, beyond the beam of our flashlights. He was tall, gaunt, and dressed in a tattered farmer’s clothes, with a wide-brimmed straw hat that cast his face in shadow. In one hand, he held a dim, flickering lantern, the light weak and yellowish, like a dying firefly. He didn’t move; he just stood there, as if waiting for us to pass.

My heart hammered. ‘Do you see that?’ I managed to whisper. Miguel squinted. ‘See what? The old scarecrow? It’s probably just a farmer’s trick to scare off birds.’ Diego laughed. ‘Yeah, or maybe it’s the festival’s ‘Lantern Man’ statue they put up for the parade.’ But I knew better. The man took a step forward, and the lantern swung, casting long shadows across the bridge. I grabbed Miguel’s arm. ‘We should go back,’ I said, my voice trembling. But they were already walking ahead, their laughter echoing.

I had no choice but to follow. As we passed the spot where the man stood, he was gone. My friends didn’t notice. We continued on, but I kept glancing back. The bridge was empty. Relief washed over me, and I thought maybe it had been a trick of my fevered mind. We reached the festival grounds, and the music and lights should have calmed me, but I still felt a heavy presence, as if the cold had followed me. I tried to enjoy the night, but my eyes kept scanning the crowd for a wide-brimmed hat.

Hours later, as we walked back the same way, the festival’s noise faded, and the grove returned to its oppressive silence. This time, my friends were subdued, tired from dancing. I was shivering, my fever spiking. When we reached the bridge, I saw the lantern man again, this time closer, standing right in the middle. He raised his hand and pointed at me. I felt a jolt of fear. ‘Look!’ I cried, but my voice came out as a croak. The lantern flickered, and for a moment, I saw his face—not a face, but a hollow void, like a mask of shadow. Then he vanished.

My friends stopped, staring at me. ‘Ariel, you’re pale as a ghost,’ Bella said. ‘Maybe we should take you to the clinic.’ But I couldn’t move. I was frozen, staring at the spot where he had stood. And then I heard it—a faint, raspy whisper that seemed to come from the reeds below: ‘Not yet.’ I turned and ran, my friends calling after me. I didn’t stop until I reached my house, slamming the door behind me. I never told them what I saw. And for weeks after, I couldn’t sleep without a light on. But the worst part? That lantern man—I still see him sometimes, standing at the edge of my vision, holding his lantern, waiting. And I know, one day, he’ll come back.