The Lantern Man

The old farmhouse on Hemlock Road had always been a restless place, but that night was different. At 3:17 AM, the power died with a click that settled into the walls like a held breath. I woke to the sound of my cousin Layla weeping, her fingers curled around the edge of the mattress she shared with me in the upstairs guest room.

She was pointing at the foot of my bed, her voice a cracked whisper. ‘There’s a man standing there. By the window. He’s holding a lantern.’ I squinted into the darkness, but the only light came from the moon through the thin curtains, and it caught nothing. Still, Layla’s terror was so real that I felt a cold wash over my own skin.

I started to sit up, but her hand clamped on my wrist. ‘Don’t move,’ she hissed. ‘He’s coming closer.’ I strained to see, and then I did see something. A shape, darker than the dark, a silhouette with a faint, orange glow at its chest, like a coal. It shifted, and the glow moved with it. I blinked, and it was nearer.

‘I know what he wants,’ Layla sobbed, her face a mask of primal fear. ‘He wants you. He’s been waiting. The lantern man.’ I tried to laugh, to tell her she was seeing things, but my throat closed. The figure took another step, and the floorboards did not creak. I could smell something like candle wax and rot.

I finally tore my gaze free and lunged for the door, pulling Layla with me. We stumbled down the dark hallway, banging into the walls, and I screamed for my Aunt Mariam. The whole time, Layla kept moaning, ‘He’s behind us, he’s behind us.’ The air turned cold, each breath a puff of frost.

We burst into Aunt Mariam’s room, and she sat up, startled. The lantern light flickered at the threshold, a wavering glow that outlined the doorway. Aunt Mariam did not scream. She only stared at the glow, her face gone pale, and whispered, ‘You saw him. The lantern man. He comes for the firstborn, and he never leaves without one.’

I looked back at the light, and the silhouette now stood beside Layla, who was shaking, her eyes wide, fixed on the floor. I tried to pull her into the room, but she was rigid. ‘He’s not here for me,’ she said, her voice flat, ‘He’s here for you. Because you broke the pact. You spoke his name.’ But I had not spoken his name. She had.

The lantern man reached out a long, pale hand, and where his fingers passed, the wallpaper peeled and blackened. He pointed at me, then at the window. I followed his gesture and saw, on the glass, a smear of soot in the shape of a hand. And then, from outside, a sound like a child’s laughter.

Aunt Mariam grabbed a matches and lit a candle, and as the flame caught, the lantern man vanished, but his voice, low and gravelly, filled the room: ‘I will wait. You will come to me. The moon will be full, and your debt will be paid.’

We huddled in that room until dawn, and when the sun rose, we found that every mirror in the house had a black handprint, and the front door stood ajar. Layla refused to speak, and Aunt Mariam only said, ‘It’s not over. He never forgets. And tonight, he’ll come for a promise.’

Months have passed. We moved to the city, but sometimes, when the lights go out, I see a faint orange glow in the corner of my eye, and I hear Layla’s voice in my ear, saying, ‘You were the one who saw him first. He’ll always be your shadow.’ I have not told her that every night since that one, I’ve kept a candle burning by my bed, and I’ve never let it go out. Because I’m afraid that if it does, he’ll be there, holding his lantern, waiting to take me home.