The Lantern Man

I never imagined I’d be typing this out, not even on a site like this. I’ve always been the one who laughs at horror movies and then sleeps with the lights on. Paranormal stuff terrifies me, but I’ve never actually believed in it—not until last winter, when I was twenty-three and took a six-month carpentry course in the remote town of Ashford. My best friend, Marcus, came with me. We were both excited to finally leave our small hometown, even if it meant living in a rundown boarding house on the edge of the woods.

The boarding house was an old Victorian with peeling wallpaper and creaking floorboards. Our room was on the second floor, overlooking a backyard that sloped down to a thick pine forest. The landlady, Mrs. Hartley, was a frail woman in her seventies who warned us on the first day: ‘Don’t go into the woods after dark. And if you see the Lantern Man, don’t look him in the eye.’ We laughed it off, thinking she was just a superstitious old lady. But the other tenants—a quiet couple and a middle-aged man—all seemed to avoid the woods too.

The first week was uneventful. We attended classes, came back, studied, and slept. But on Friday night, Marcus wanted to explore the woods. ‘It’s just trees, man. And maybe we can find some cool stuff,’ he said. I was reluctant, but I didn’t want to seem cowardly. So we grabbed our flashlights and stepped into the forest around eight PM. The air was cold and still. The only sound was the crunch of dry leaves under our boots. We walked for about twenty minutes, following a narrow path, until we reached a small clearing with an old well. The well was covered with moss and rotting wood. I felt a sudden chill, like something was watching us. ‘Let’s go back,’ I said. Marcus, being brave, leaned over the well and called out, ‘Hello down there!’ A hollow echo came back. Then, from deep within the well, I heard a faint scraping sound, like fingers on stone. Marcus grinned, ‘Probably just a rat.’ But I saw his flashlight flicker, and he looked pale.

We hurried back, and as we approached the edge of the forest, I saw a faint light moving between the trees. It was a warm, golden glow, like a lantern. I froze. The light paused, then began to move toward us. Marcus grabbed my arm. ‘Don’t look,’ he whispered, his voice shaking. ‘Just walk.’ We kept our eyes down and walked fast. The light grew brighter, closer. I could hear footsteps, soft crunching, matching our pace. My heart hammered. Marcus started to hum a tune to drown out the sound, but it didn’t help. The light was just a few meters away now, and I could feel its warmth. I fought the urge to glance up. Then, as if by instinct, I raised my eyes just a fraction and saw a tall figure holding a lantern. The figure had no face—just a smooth, pale surface where features should be. In that instant, my head screamed with pain, and I heard a voice in my mind, whispering, ‘You see me.’ I snapped my gaze back to the ground and ran, pulling Marcus with me, until we burst into the yard. We didn’t stop until we locked our door and sat, panting, on the floor.

Marcus was pale, wiping sweat from his brow. ‘I told you not to look,’ he said, his voice barely a whisper. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t help it.’ We sat in silence, trying to rationalize. Maybe it was a lighthouse or something? But there was no lighthouse for miles. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept staring at the window, expecting to see that glow. Nothing came.

The next day, we told Mrs. Hartley what we saw. She sighed and handed us a small pouch of dried herbs. ‘Wear this around your neck. The Lantern Man haunts these woods. He was a traveler who got lost and froze to death, but his lantern still burns. If you look into his light, he’ll follow you until you look at his face. Then he’ll take your mind.’ We took the pouch, feeling foolish, but we wore it anyway.

For the next few weeks, nothing happened. We stayed out of the woods, but the memory lingered. I started having strange dreams—I was walking through the forest, and the Lantern Man was ahead of me, leading me deeper. In the dream, I always turned back, but the light grew larger.

Then, one night, Marcus woke me up. ‘I hear something,’ he whispered. We listened. From outside, there was a soft knocking on our window. The window was on the second floor, but the knock was gentle, rhythmic, like fingernails tapping. I pulled back the curtain, and there, floating outside, was the lantern. Its glow illuminated a face—not the blank one I’d seen before, but a shadowed, gaunt face with hollow eyes. It was smiling. I screamed and fell back. Marcus dragged me under the covers. The tapping continued for what felt like hours, then stopped.

The knocking came every night after that. We tried to block the window with blankets, but the tapping persisted, sometimes on the door, sometimes on the walls. We started sleeping during the day and staying awake at night, huddled together, eyes wide, listening. The other tenants claimed they heard nothing, but Mrs. Hartley looked at us with pity. ‘He’s chosen you,’ she said. ‘You looked him in the eye. He’ll stay until you leave or until he takes you.’

We wanted to leave, but we had to finish the course. So we stayed, growing more paranoid. I started seeing the Lantern Man in mirrors, in reflections on the TV screen, in the dark corners of our room. Marcus started hearing whispers, even in daylight. He became quiet, withdrawn, and refused to leave the room. I tried to shake it off, but I could feel its presence, like a cold breath on my neck.

One night, in desperation, I decided to confront it. I put on the herb pouch and walked out into the yard, leaving Marcus asleep. The moon was full, casting silver light. I stood at the edge of the woods, and I called out, ‘Why are you haunting us?’ For a moment, silence. Then, from between the trees, the figure emerged. The lantern swung at its side, casting dancing shadows. It stopped a few feet away. This time, I looked straight at its face—and I saw my own reflection, but twisted, with wide, bloodshot eyes and a mouth open in a silent scream. The figure’s lipless mouth moved, and a dry, scraping voice said, ‘You are me now.’ It raised its hand, and I felt a searing pain in my mind, as if something was being ripped away.

I woke up on the ground, no memory of how I’d gotten there. Marcus was leaning over me, shaking me. ‘What happened?’ he asked. I tried to speak, but my voice came out wrong—it was like a thousand whispers layered together. I looked at my hands; they were transparent, glowing faintly. I could see through them to the grass below. ‘Oh no,’ I whispered, my own voice echoing. Marcus stared at me in horror. ‘You’re… you’re fading,’ he said. I looked into the window of our room, and I saw myself still lying in bed, but my body was glowing, and the glow was slowly leaving, like a wisp of smoke.

I felt my mind slipping, memories dissolving. I knew I was becoming like the Lantern Man. I knelt, weeping without tears. Marcus grabbed my shoulders. ‘You have to fight it! Remember who you are!’ he shouted. But I could feel the pull, the desire to wander the woods, to find others and pass on the curse. The last thing I saw was Marcus’s face, contorted in grief, and then I was somewhere else—in the clearing, holding a lantern, my face blank. I had become the Lantern Man.

Now, I wander the woods, my lantern always burning. I wait for unsuspecting travelers, and I whisper to them, just as I was whispered to. But sometimes, I remember Marcus. I see him in my fractured memories, and I gesture for him to come deeper into the woods. But he always backs away, and I feel a pang of something—longing, perhaps. I don’t know if he escaped. I don’t know if anyone can. But if you ever find yourself in Ashford, near the pine forest, and you see a warm light in the distance, do not look. No matter how curious you are, no matter how beautiful it seems. Because if you see the Lantern Man’s face, you’ll become him, and he’ll be free—until the next soul comes along.