The Lantern in the Fog

The fog had rolled in thick, pressing like a silent ocean against the narrow cobbled streets of Braxton Hollow. Most nights in the village ended by eight, the townsfolk tucked away behind heavy drapes and bolted doors. But tonight, one light still burned—a solitary lantern swaying gently from a crooked wooden post just outside the tailor’s shop.

Seated beneath it on an overturned crate was Elia, a girl of fifteen with wild, wind-blown hair and a notebook clutched tightly in her hands. She watched the fog, eyes sharp, as if expecting it to speak.

"You're still out here?" came a voice—soft, unsure—from the shadows. It was Bram, her only friend, the son of the grocer.

Elia didn’t look at him. “You ever hear the fog whisper?”

Bram paused. “Whisper what?”

“Stories,” she said. “Or warnings.”

He sat beside her, careful not to disturb the notebook. "You’re always chasing something strange. Sometimes I think you want magic to be real more than people.”

She smiled faintly. “That’s because magic doesn’t disappoint you.”

He didn’t argue. They both knew why she came out here every foggy night: Her brother, Cassian, had vanished three years ago on a night exactly like this. No note. No clues. Just a broken lantern post and muddy footprints that led nowhere.

“Maybe it’s time to let go,” Bram said softly.

Elia turned sharply. “You don’t just let go of someone you loved.”

He fell silent.

Then, a sound—barely a whisper—broke the stillness. A shuffle in the fog. The lantern’s flame flickered.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, already rising.

“Elia, wait—”

But she was moving, her notebook forgotten on the crate. The mist thickened, curling like fingers around her boots as she stepped off the path. The sound came again—closer now. A rustle. A breath.

And then… a light. Pale, bluish, hovering just ahead.

Elia’s heart pounded, but her steps were steady. As she approached, the fog parted like curtains before a stage. There, in the clearing, stood a boy—no older than her—wearing a threadbare red scarf she hadn’t seen in years.

“Cassian?” she whispered.

He turned. His face was pale, thinner than she remembered, but unmistakably him. He didn’t smile.

“Elia. You shouldn’t be here.”

Her knees buckled, but she stayed upright. “You’re alive. You’re here. Where did you go? Why didn’t you come back?”

Cassian glanced over his shoulder. “I tried. But I got lost. The fog… it’s not just fog.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a door,” he said, “and a cage. Once it opens for you, it doesn’t let go.”

She stepped forward, reaching. “Then we’ll go together. I’ll take you home.”

But he shook his head. “I can’t leave yet. But you must. The longer you stay, the more it sees you.”

Suddenly, the light from the lantern began to dim, as though swallowed by the air itself. Elia’s skin prickled. Something was coming.

Cassian looked pained. “Go, Elia. You have to tell them. Write it down. Warn them. The Hollow needs to know.”

“Cassian, no—”

But he was already fading, swallowed by the fog.

“Elia!” Bram’s voice pierced through the mist like a lifeline. She turned and ran, every step a fight through something unseen and heavy.

She burst out onto the street just as the lantern flared back to life. Bram caught her, holding her upright as she gasped for breath.

“I saw him,” she choked out. “I saw Cassian.”

He didn’t question her. Not this time.

She retrieved her notebook and began to write.


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🌫️ Epilogue:

The next morning, the townsfolk of Braxton Hollow found her story posted on the church bulletin board.

Some scoffed. Others shivered.

But the lantern outside the tailor’s shop now burned every night—and no one, not even the daring boys or the drunkards, dared follow any whispers in the fog again.

"And in the quiet that followed, the world seemed just a little softer, as if it, too, had listened."