The Lantern of the Fallen Star

The year I turned eight, my father’s engineering job relocated us to a small mountain town in northern Luzon. We moved into a sprawling ancestral house that had been in his family for generations, though it had stood empty for decades. The house was a maze of dark wood and creaking floors, with a wide veranda that overlooked a valley of rice terraces. My parents were busy restoring the place, so they hired a procession of housekeepers to look after me. They came and went, each with a different warning, each more unsettling than the last.

My favorite was Aling Rosa, a wiry woman with silver hair who smelled of camphor and sun-dried tobacco. She would sit with me on the veranda as the sun dipped behind the mountains, and she told me stories in her lilting Ilocano, which I only half understood. Her stories were of the engkanto, the spirits of the forest, and of the Aswang that could take the shape of a neighbor or a friend. But her most chilling story was about the lampara, a lantern that was said to have fallen from the sky during a meteor shower many years ago. According to Aling Rosa, whoever found the lantern and lit it would be granted a single wish, but the wish would come with a terrible price: the wisher would be bound to the spirit of the lantern, and when they died, their soul would be trapped inside the glass, waiting for the next soul to take their place.

I laughed at the story, thinking it was just a fable to scare children. But Aling Rosa looked at me with such seriousness that I felt a chill run down my spine. She said, ‘The lantern is real. I have seen it, But you must never touch it, child. It is not a toy.’

Weeks later, I was exploring the old storage room at the back of the house when I found a dusty box hidden under a pile of moth-eaten blankets. Inside was a lantern made of brass and green glass, with a star-shaped pattern etched into its surface. It looked exactly like the one in Aling Rosa’s story. My heart raced. I felt an unexplainable pull, a curiosity that overrode the warnings. I decided to keep it as a secret, hiding it in my closet.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. The room was dark, but the moonlight streamed through the window, and I noticed the lantern on my nightstand, even though I had left it in the closet. I thought I had moved it in my sleep. I got up to put it away, but as I reached for it, it felt warm to the touch. Then, involuntarily, I struck a match and lit the wick. A soft, bluish flame flickered to life, and the room seemed to dim. I whispered a foolish wish: ‘I wish I could understand everything Aling Rosa says.’

The flame flared, then died, and the lantern went dark. I felt a strange sensation, like a cool liquid trickling over my brain. The next morning, when Aling Rosa greeted me with ‘Magandang umaga, bata,’ I understood her perfectly. I responded in fluent Ilocano, and she stared at me, bewildered. ‘You speak now?’ she asked. I shrugged, but inside I was thrilled. My wish had come true.

But the wish came with a cost. That afternoon, I heard a voice in my head, not my own. It whispered, ‘I have given you what you desire. Now you must give me what I desire.’ I spun around, but the room was empty. The voice came again, this time from the lantern, which was sitting on the dresser. ‘I am the spirit of the lantern. I have been waiting centuries for a new soul to bond with. You have chosen me, and now you are mine.’

I tried to throw the lantern away, but it always found its way back to my side. I tried to break it, but the glass was as hard as diamond. Aling Rosa noticed my distress. She took me aside and said, ‘I warned you, child. I saw the lantern and I knew you had it. You must never wish on it. The spirit inside is ancient and evil. It feeds on fear and loneliness. There is only one way to break the curse: you must pass the lantern to another person willingly. They will take your place, and you will be free.’

I didn’t want to curse anyone, but the voice grew louder, more demanding. I started seeing things—shadows that moved against the wind, faces in the ceiling, and a cold, bony hand that would brush against my cheek at night. The spirit began to take over my dreams, showing me visions of its previous owners, all of whom had died horribly, their souls trapped forever in the glass. I knew Aling Rosa was right. I had to get rid of it.

One rainy evening, I heard a knock at the back door. It was a traveler, a man soaked to the bone, looking for shelter. I opened the door and saw my chance. I offered him a dry place to stay, and as he thanked me, I pressed the lantern into his hands. ‘Take this,’ I said, my lips trembling. ‘It will keep you warm.’ He looked at the lantern with curiosity, then lit it with a match he had in his pocket. As the flame rose, I saw his eyes widen in fear, and the voice in my head was silent. The man dropped the lantern, which shattered on the floor, and a black wisp rose from it, swirling around him before dissipating into the air. The man fell to his knees, gasping, and then seemed to forget what had happened. He left the next morning, never speaking of the lantern.

I thought I was free, but the curse had only changed form. The spirit had been released from its glass prison, but it was still bound to me, because I was the last to wish. It appeared to me that night as a tall, thin figure made of smoke. It said, ‘You have passed the lantern to another, but the bond is not broken. You must find a new soul to replace you, or you will join me in the dark.’

I ran to Aling Rosa’s room, but she was gone. In her place was a note: ‘I am sorry. I could not save you. The only way is to make the wish a true wish, not a selfish one. You must wish for something that has no price.’ I was confused, but I knew I had to try. I picked up the broken glass and held it in my hands, closing my eyes. I wished not for myself, but for the spirit to be put to rest, to no longer haunt the living. The moment I spoke, a bright light filled the room, and the spirit shrieked in agony. It was engulfed in flames and vanished, leaving only a small, burnt mark on the floor.

The house grew quiet. I felt a profound emptiness, but also relief. I never told anyone about the lantern, and Aling Rosa never returned. I grew up, moved back to California, and forgot about that summer. But sometimes, at night, I see a faint, blue flame flickering at the edge of my vision, and I hear a voice whispering my name, as if the spirit was not gone, but only waiting. And I wonder if the lantern will ever find its way back to me, and if the wish I made was truly free. The only thing I know for certain is that some stories are not just stories, and some wishes are better left unmade.