The Serpent’s Lantern

In the summer of 2015, I was a twelve-year-old with a mason jar and a mission. The fireflies had just begun their nightly dance, and I chased them across the backyard, their emerald pulses flickering in the humid air. My parents called from the porch, their voices a mixture of worry and exasperation. ‘Mai, come inside! Those lights will make you blind!’ they warned. But I was determined to capture a constellation in glass, to hold a piece of the night in my hands. I ignored them, as I always did.

Later, as I sat on the steps, releasing my captives, I overheard my mother speaking to my father in a hushed tone. She was talking about something she had seen in her youth, in the highlands of northern Thailand, where she had grown up in a small farming village. ‘Do you remember the white orbs, the ones that moved like snakes?’ she asked. My father nodded, his face grim. ‘I’ve seen them too,’ he said. ‘They are not of this world. They are evil spirits, bringers of death.’ My ears perked up. I loved ghost stories, and this was better than any I had read in books.

My mother continued, her voice trembling slightly. ‘When I was a girl, there was a woman in our village, Auntie Bua. She was known for her stubbornness. One evening, as she was walking back from the rice fields, she saw a line of white lights slithering through the tall grass. They looked like a giant snake made of moonlight. She was curious and followed them, ignoring the warnings of the elders. She said the orbs seemed to beckon her, leading her deeper into the forest. She was gone for three days. When she returned, she was changed. Her eyes were vacant, and she spoke of a beautiful lady made of light who promised her riches. But within a month, she fell ill with a fever that made her skin burn to the touch. She died a painful death, and her family followed soon after. The village shaman said she had been claimed by the serpent spirit, and there was no cure.’

My father added, ‘In my village, we had a similar tale. A man named Niran saw one of those orbs near the river. He thought it was a floating lantern and went to retrieve it. When he touched it, it vanished, and a cold wind swept through him. He came home trembling, and within a week, he was coughing blood. The shaman performed a ritual, but it was too late. He and his whole family perished within the year.’ He paused, looking at me. ‘That is why we tell you not to chase the lights. You never know what they might be.’

I shivered, but my curiosity was piqued. That night, I had trouble sleeping. I stared at the ceiling, imagining a serpent of light coiling in the darkness. The next evening, as I was again chasing fireflies, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Near the edge of the woods, there was a faint glow, not like the flicker of a firefly, but steady and pale. It hovered just above the ground, elongated, like a snake’s body. My heart pounded. I remembered my parents’ stories, but I was paralyzed by a mix of fear and fascination. The orb seemed to pulse, and I felt a pull, an urge to follow it.

I took a step forward, then another. The orb began to move, slowly, weaving through the trees. I lost sense of time. I followed it deeper into the forest, my feet moving on their own. The air grew colder, and the sounds of crickets faded into silence. The orb stopped in a clearing, and I saw it more clearly. It was not just one orb, but a chain of them, like a giant glowing serpent, its head turned towards me. I saw no eyes, but I felt it watching me. A voice, soft and seductive, whispered in my mind, ‘Come closer, child. I have treasures for you.’

I shook my head, trying to break free from the trance. I remembered my mother’s words about Auntie Bua and my father’s recount of Niran. I knew I had to run, but my legs were like stone. The serpent of light coiled around me, its glow warming my skin, but I felt a deep coldness inside. I managed to scream, and the sound broke the spell. The serpent recoiled, and I fled, crashing through the underbrush, not looking back. I burst into the backyard, sobbing, my parents rushing to me. They held me, asking what happened. I could only point at the woods, where the light had vanished.

My mother’s face was pale. She knew I had seen it. That night, they called a shaman, an old man with a weathered face and kind eyes. He performed a ritual, burning herbs and chanting, sprinkling water on my forehead. He told my parents that I had been touched by the spirit, but that my strong will had allowed me to resist. He warned that the spirit would return, as it was drawn to those who had seen it. He gave me a small pouch of protective herbs to wear around my neck. I never went out at night again, and I never chased fireflies. But sometimes, when I look out my window, I see a faint glow in the distance, and I know the serpent is still waiting, patient and hungry.