The Lantern Man of Weligama

In the summer of 2017, I turned sixteen. That was the year I learned that the dead don’t always stay dead. My grandmother had passed in March, and by September, I was still adjusting to the quiet of her empty room. But then the dreams began—not of her, but of a black cat that would sit on my chest, its eyes glowing like embers. It would whisper her name, ‘Nila,’ over and over, until I woke up gasping. I told no one, because who would believe me? I was just a kid in a small town, trying to get through school.

That town was Mirissa, a coastal village where the heat was a constant wet blanket, and the sea breeze brought salt that stuck to your skin. I hated it—the sameness, the way everyone knew everyone’s business, the way the weather would swing from scorching to stormy in hours, making me dizzy. So as soon as I finished my exams, I packed my bags and moved to the city, Galle. I studied, got a job in a tech firm, and made a life for myself. It was there I met him—Kavi, not his real name, but that’s what I call him. He was my best friend, and eventually, my boyfriend.

Kavi lived in a suburb called Weligama, with his mother, because his father had died when he was barely a year old. We were inseparable. Every weekend, I’d take the bus to his place, and we’d walk along the beach, or sit in his garden under the huge mango tree. His mother was warm, always offering me sweet tea and homemade snacks. It was a peaceful existence, far from the ghosts of my past.

But the black cat followed me. It would appear on the bus, on the windowsill of my apartment, even in Kavi’s garden. It never made a sound, just stared with those burning eyes. And then the dreams changed. Instead of my grandmother, I saw a man—tall, gaunt, with a face like carved wood, and a lantern that swung in his bony hand. He was walking through a field, and behind him, a procession of figures, all shapeless and grey. I’d wake up shaking, and I knew it was a warning.

One night, I told Kavi about the cat and the dreams. He listened, his brow furrowed. ‘You’re probably just stressed,’ he said, but his eyes betrayed worry. ‘Let’s go to the beach tomorrow. Sun and salt will do you good.’ And so we went. But as the sun set, painting the sky in reds and purples, I saw a single black kitten dart between the dune grasses. Kavi didn’t see it. He was looking out at the horizon. But I did.

The kitten led me away from the beach, down a narrow path choked with ferns. Kavi called after me, but I felt compelled. I followed the kitten to an old, abandoned lighthouse at the edge of the cliff. The door was ajar, and inside, the spiral stair was dark. The kitten vanished, and I heard a voice—my grandmother’s voice—whispering, ‘Nila, look under the boards.’

I knelt on the damp floor, my heart pounding. I pried up a loose plank, and beneath it, I found a small metal box. Inside was a locket with a faded photograph of a young woman, and a piece of paper folded so many times it was brittle. I unfolded it. The ink was faded, but I could make out a name: ‘Thilini,’ and a date: ‘1987.’ And then, in a frantic script: ‘He comes with the lantern. He takes the ones who see the black cat. He is the Lantern Man. Burn this, and the box, and bury the ashes at the crossroads, or he will come for you too.’

I stuffed the paper back and ran out, shaking. Kavi was at the entrance, looking scared. ‘What the hell, Nila? You can’t go off like that.’ I showed him the box. He read the note, and his face went pale. ‘This is my mother’s writing,’ he said. ‘Thilini is her name. She was about to marry my father when they had an accident. He died, and she… she never talked about it. But she has this locket she keeps in her drawer.’

We went to his mother that night. She was sitting in the dark, a single candle burning. She looked at the box and started to cry. ‘Oh, my God,’ she whispered. ‘He’s found out.’ She told us the story: The Lantern Man was a spirit that had haunted the region for a century. He preyed on those who were sensitive, who could see the black cat—the cat was his herald. He would take them to his realm, and they’d never return. She had been marked when she was young, but she performed the ritual to protect herself: she buried the cursed items at the crossroads, and he passed over her. But she couldn’t save my father; he took him instead. ‘I thought it was just bad luck,’ she sobbed. ‘But now, he’s coming for you.’

We followed her instructions. Kavi and I took the box to the crossroads at midnight, and we burned it. The fire turned black, and the trees around us shook, and for a moment, I saw the Lantern Man standing at the edge of the light, his lantern swinging. I stared into his hollow eyes, and I felt a pull, like he was reeling me in. Kavi grabbed my hand, and we ran. We didn’t stop until we were back at his house. I was shaking, but the shadow was gone. The black kitten was gone too.

Now, I’m older, but the memories are as sharp as ever. I still live with a constant fear that he’ll return. Every time I see a stray black cat, my heart stops. And sometimes, in the dead of night, I hear a faint whisper, ‘Nila, I’m still here.’ But I’ve learned to ignore it. I’ve built a life, and I’ve buried the past. Yet I can’t help but think that the Lantern Man is patient. He’s waited this long. And I know, with a certainty that chills my bones, that one day, he’ll come back to finish what he started.