The Lantern’s Whisper
Every Halloween, the old oak tree on Maple Hill lit up with a strange glow. Locals said it was just kids playing tricks - until the whispers started.
Ten years ago, a girl named Eliza vanished on Halloween night. She’d been carrying a carved pumpkin lantern, its grinning face lit from within by a single candle. They never found her, but every October 31st, that same lantern appears at the base of the oak, flickering in the dark.
This year, curiosity got the better of me. I grabbed my phone, a flashlight, and hiked up to the hill at midnight. The air was thick with the scent of damp leaves and something… sour, like old copper.
There it was - the lantern. Its carved eyes seemed to follow me as I approached. I bent closer, and that’s when I heard it:
«Find me.»
The voice was thin, reedy, like wind through broken glass. I shone my flashlight on the pumpkin, and the light caught something tucked inside - a tattered ribbon, the same shade of blue Eliza always wore in her hair.
I reached for it, and the candle inside the lantern surged with greenish flame. Shadows stretched, twisting into the shape of small, grasping hands. The whispers grew louder, overlapping:
«Too late. Too late. Too late.»
I ran. By the time I reached the bottom of the hill, my flashlight had died, and my phone showed no signal. But when I looked back, the lantern was gone - and in its place, a single blue ribbon fluttered from a low branch.
Now it hangs on my wall. Some nights, I swear I hear faint footsteps outside, and the air turns cold. And if I listen very closely…
«Find me.»
Happy Halloween. 👻
Kl1mQW