The Last Lantern

It was the final night of summer before we all scattered to different high schools, and I’d convinced my parents to let me host a bonfire at the old Miller farm, a place we’d claimed as our own since we were kids. My friends Lena, Zoe, Maya, and I had been coming here for years, but this time it felt different—tinged with the sadness of endings. We dragged old logs around the fire pit, and the flames crackled, casting dancing shadows on the surrounding trees. Zoe, ever the wildcard, pulled out a dusty wooden box from her backpack. ‘I found this in my grandmother’s attic,’ she said. ‘It’s an antique spirit board, not that plastic Ouija crap. My grandma used to tell me stories about it.’ Ethan, who had just walked up from the path, added, ‘My uncle mentioned that the Miller farm was built on land where a family disappeared in the 1800s. No one ever found them.’ We all exchanged nervous glances, but curiosity won. Zoe set up the board on a flat rock, and we lit a single lantern, the only light besides the bonfire. The first question was tentative: ‘Is anyone here with us?’ The planchette, an old glass button, didn’t move. We tried again, ‘Are you the spirit of this land?’ Still nothing. Frustrated, Zoe placed her fingers more firmly. ‘Come on, we’re not scared,’ she taunted. The lantern flickered, and the temperature dropped. The planchette began to glide, spelling out ‘B E W A R E’ in jerky motions. ‘Who are you?’ I asked, my voice shaking. The answer came: ‘E L I J A H’. Then, ‘L E A V E’. We all pulled back, but Zoe laughed nervously. ‘It’s just the wind,’ she said. But then the lantern went out. We heard a rustling in the trees, and a figure emerged—a tall man in a dusty coat, his face hidden. He stopped at the edge of the firelight and spoke in a low, raspy voice: ‘You should have listened.’ We scrambled, grabbing our flashlights and running down the path back to my house, not stopping until we slammed the door. We didn’t speak of it for weeks, each of us hoping it was just a prank. But a month later, I received a package with no return address. Inside was the antique spirit board, and a note: ‘I know you didn’t listen. The lantern is still lit. It’s waiting for all of you.’ The board had a new inscription carved into the back: ‘The Last Light’.