The Lantern That Never Went Out

The road to Black Hollow was long forgotten, swallowed by vines and twisted roots. Travelers spoke of the town in hushed voices, but none dared to venture near. Not anymore.

Yet, on a night thick with rain and restless winds, a lone traveler named Elias found himself drawn to a flickering light in the distance. It swayed in the darkness like a silent beckoning, a lantern’s glow whispering through the mist.

His horse refused to move forward, its breath heavy with fear. Elias dismounted, gripping his coat tighter as the cold pressed in around him. The town—if it could still be called that—lay in ruins. Homes reduced to skeletal remains, doors hanging open like gaping mouths, and the air carried the stale scent of forgotten things.

Yet the lantern burned, hanging from the rusted iron post of an abandoned inn. Its flame was impossibly steady, untouched by the howling wind.

A voice drifted from the shadows.

"You shouldn’t have come."

Elias turned sharply. A woman stood near the steps of the inn, her face partially hidden beneath the hood of a tattered cloak. Her eyes, however, burned like embers—watchful, knowing.

"I lost my way," Elias admitted, his voice cautious. "I saw the light."

She let out a soft, mirthless laugh. "That’s how it begins for all of them."

"All of who?"

She gestured toward the town. "The ones who saw the lantern. The ones who stayed."

Elias felt a chill creep down his spine. "Who lights it?"

She studied him for a moment before stepping closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "It lights itself."

Something in her tone made the night feel even colder. Elias glanced at the lantern again. The flame cast long, flickering shadows, stretching unnaturally across the ground. He swore he saw figures move within them—thin, distorted shapes writhing in silence.

"The town was cursed," she continued. "Many years ago, a man named Ambrose owned this inn. He was a kind host, welcoming all who passed through. But kindness was a mask he wore. Late at night, when the guests fell asleep, he would visit their rooms. And they would never wake again."

Elias swallowed, the weight of the story pressing against his chest.

"When the townsfolk discovered what he had done, they burned the inn with him inside it. The fire swallowed everything. But when the smoke cleared, the lantern was still hanging, its flame untouched. And from that night on, it has never gone out."

Elias took an uneasy step backward. "And the people?"

"They vanished. Some say they fled in terror. Others say the lantern took them, trapping their souls in its glow. One thing is certain—anyone who stays too long becomes part of its story."

Elias turned back to his horse, but the creature had already fled. Panic clawed at his throat. The wind had died. The night was too quiet.

He turned to ask the woman another question?

But she was gone.

Only the lantern remained, swaying slightly, its flame burning ever steady.

Then;

A whisper.

It came from the shadows, curling around him like smoke.

"The lantern glows for those who stay."

Elias felt his limbs stiffen. His breath turned to ice in his chest. The shadows beneath the lantern stretched toward him, long fingers reaching, twisting, claiming.

And in the silent, ruined town of Black Hollow—

The lantern burned a little brighter.