The Last Lantern

August 13, 2012

by Katharina

Elara and her partner, Julian, were spending his final night before a long deployment at a coastal inn, the Sea Spray, near the harbor where he would catch a dawn ferry. They had booked the last room, a quaint attic space with a view of the lighthouse. After a farewell dinner at the inn’s restaurant, they returned to their room, both quiet with the weight of the impending separation.

As Julian drifted off, Elara found herself unable to sleep. A faint, rhythmic scraping sound came from the walls, like something dragging across the floorboards above them. Assuming it was a seagull on the roof, she tried to ignore it, but the sound grew more persistent. She decided to inspect the hallway, but as she opened the door, she saw a flicker of light from the end of the corridor—a small, old-fashioned lantern, hovering just above the floor, moving slowly away from her.

Intrigued and unnerved, Elara followed the lantern. It led her up a narrow staircase she hadn’t noticed before, to a locked door at the top. The door was slightly ajar, and she could see a spiral stairway descending into darkness. The lantern seemed to pause, as if waiting for her. She felt a cold draft and heard a faint humming, like a lullaby. Compelled, she stepped through.

The stairway opened into a vast, gutted ballroom, dust-covered and forgotten. In the center stood a large, ornate mirror, its glass dark and cracked. The lantern floated beside it and then vanished. In the mirror’s reflection, Elara saw not her own image, but a woman in an old-fashioned dress, holding the same lantern, her face sorrowful. The woman pointed to a small, brass key on the floor.

Elara picked up the key. When she looked again, the reflection showed the woman pointing to a door on the far side of the ballroom. Elara crossed to it, unlocked it, and found a hidden room filled with old photographs and letters. The photos depicted a couple, happy and in love, but also a series of notes, each in a different handwriting, describing the same experience: seeing the lantern, following it, and finding this room. The last note ended with, ‘If you read this, you must never let go of the lantern. It will guide you back.’

Suddenly, the lantern reappeared, but this time it was dimming. The entire room grew darker, and the humming turned into a low, mournful wail. Elara heard Julian’s voice calling from far away, but it sounded distant and echoey. She realized she was trapped in the past, or a memory, and the only way out was to follow the lantern’s fading light. She grabbed the lantern just as it was about to go out. In a flash, she was back in the hallway, the lantern now cold and dead in her hands, the door to the stairway sealed shut.

She returned to the room, shaken, and found Julian still asleep. She placed the dead lantern on the nightstand and climbed into bed, but she couldn’t sleep. The lantern suddenly flickered to life, and she saw the reflection of the woman in the mirror, now smiling. The woman mouthed, ‘Thank you,’ and faded. When morning came, Julian boarded his ferry, and Elara returned the lantern to the inn’s owner, who said it had been lost for decades. As she drove away, she noticed the lantern was gone from her car, and a small, brass key lay on the passenger seat, with a note in an old script: ‘For when he returns.’

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