The Lantern Man in the Wall

My grandfather always said that the old farmhouse in the dusty town of Redemption, Kansas, had ‘a memory for trouble.’ When we inherited it after his death, my mother thought it was a fresh start. I was ten, my brother Sam was eight, and we moved into that creaking, two-story structure with its peeling paint and a cellar that smelled of damp earth and old iron. We didn’t listen to the neighbors. They’d glance at the house and mutter things like ‘that place has a long shadow’ or ‘the previous owner left in a hurry.’ But we saw the faded sign nailed to the porch railing, half-rotted, reading ‘BEWARE OF THE STILLNESS.’ We thought it was a joke.

At first, the house was just old and noisy. But then we started renovations. My mom wanted to knock down a wall between the kitchen and the dining room. We hired a contractor, and while he was chipping away at the plaster, he unearthed a small, hollow space behind the wall. Inside was a rusted lantern, its glass blackened, and a child’s wooden toy—a carved horse with one leg missing. The contractor refused to continue. He said, ‘That’s a bad omen. You should fill that cavity back up and leave it.’ My mom scoffed, but Sam and I were fascinated. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept hearing a faint scratching sound coming from the wall beside my bed, like something trying to dig its way out.

About a week later, the real trouble began. It was around 9:30 PM. The whole family was in the living room, watching a movie. My cousin Lily, who was only four, had come to stay for the weekend. She started squirming and whining, tugging at my mom’s sleeve. ‘I want to go outside,’ she said. My mom said, ‘It’s too late, sweetie. We’ll play tomorrow.’ But Lily got more insistent. ‘No! I want to play with the man!’ She pointed at the dark, empty hallway that led to the back of the house. A shiver went down my spine. There was no one there. But Sam looked at me, his eyes wide. He whispered, ‘I saw something move in the hallway earlier.’

I decided to investigate. I grabbed a flashlight and walked to the hallway. The air felt colder there, and I could smell that same damp, metallic smell from the cellar. I shone the light into the corners, but there was nothing. Then I heard a low, rhythmic hum, like a song, coming from the wall where the lantern was found. It was a child’s voice, faint and eerie. ‘Come play. I have a lantern.’ I froze. I backed away slowly. When I returned to the living room, Lily was staring at the wall, her face pale. She said, ‘The man in the wall wants to take me to the light.’ My mom tried to calm her down, but that night, Lily had nightmares. She screamed about a man with no face who carried a glowing lamp.

Over the next few days, the sounds intensified. Sam started sleepwalking. I’d find him standing in front of the wall in the kitchen, his hand pressed flat against it. Once, I heard him mumble, ‘He says the lantern is his. He wants it back.’ My mom tried to laugh it off, but I could see she was scared. She called a priest, but he just blessed the house and left, looking uneasy. Then, on a Saturday evening, we were all in the living room again. Lily was playing with her toys on the floor. Suddenly, she went rigid. Her eyes rolled back, and she started speaking in a deep, gravelly voice: ‘You have my lantern. I need it to find my way home. My mother is waiting.’ Then she collapsed. When she woke up, she didn’t remember anything.

That’s when my mom finally decided to get rid of the lantern. She took it out of the wall and drove to a nearby lake, planning to throw it in. But as she was driving, the lantern started humming, so loudly that she swerved off the road. She returned home, pale and shaking. ‘It won’t leave,’ she said. I knew then that we had to do something. That night, I had a dream. A little boy, no older than six, stood in a white void, holding a lantern. His face was featureless, smooth like a doll’s. He said, ‘I was locked in the wall. They took my lantern and sealed me up. Now I can’t find my way back. Help me find my mother.’ I woke up screaming.

I researched the house’s history. It turned out the previous owner, a widower named Mr. Hargrove, had a son who disappeared mysteriously in 1923. The official story was that he ran away, but neighbors whispered that Mr. Hargrove had gone mad and sealed the boy in the walls after accusing him of stealing the lantern. The boy’s name was Thomas.

We found a way to release him. The lantern was the key. We had to light it and place it back in the wall, but that would seal the house’s fate. But we couldn’t keep living like this. So we did it. We lit the lantern, and as we placed it in the hollow space, the whole house shook. A cold wind blew out the flame. Then there was silence. We thought it was over.

But that was only the beginning. A week later, I heard the humming again. It came from the new wall we’d built over the cavity. And one night, I saw a faint, ghostly light moving from room to room. The lantern man was still here, but now he was angry. He didn’t want to go; he wanted to spread his darkness. My brother started talking to him. He said, ‘He says we’re his new family. He says we’ll never leave.’

We tried to move, but every time we packed, the lights would flicker, and we’d hear a voice whisper, ‘Don’t go. Stay with me.’ And we couldn’t bring ourselves to leave. It’s been three years now. My mom is hollow-eyed, Sam barely speaks, and Lily refuses to come back. I’m 25 now, and I still live in that house. I can hear him sometimes, humming in the walls. He has my brother’s voice now. And I know that sooner or later, he’ll take over all of us. This is our home now. Our eternal home.