The Lantern in the Woods

The Lantern in the Woods

They warned us not to go into Marlowe Woods after dark.

The stories were old—passed down through whispers and drunken tales. People spoke of a ghostly lantern that floated through the trees, and if you followed it, you'd never come back. Of course, my friends and I thought it was just small-town folklore. We were seniors in high school, full of skepticism and bravado, and it was Halloween night.

"What if it's real?" Liz said, half-laughing as we reached the edge of the woods.

"Then we’ll finally be famous," Jake grinned, lifting his phone. "Ghost vloggers of Marlowe County."

The trees swallowed the light behind us as we stepped under the thick canopy. A heavy quiet settled in—no birds, no wind, just our crunching footsteps and the occasional snap of a twig.

We wandered deeper, the flashlight beams slicing through the darkness. Then Liz froze. “Do you see that?”

It was faint, far ahead—a flickering, golden glow weaving between the trees.

“The lantern,” she whispered.

Jake laughed, but it sounded forced. “Probably someone playing a prank.”

We followed.

The light was just far enough to stay out of reach, yet it never disappeared. Every time we thought we were close, it drifted further into the woods.

“We should go back,” I said, heart racing. “This doesn’t feel right.”

But no one listened. We were all too curious… or too afraid to be the first to turn back.

The trees grew denser. The air, colder.

Finally, we came to a clearing. At its center stood an old, rotting cabin. The lantern hung from the porch, swaying though there was no wind.

"Jake, are you filming this?"

No answer.

I turned. He was gone.

“Jake?” Liz called out, panic creeping in.

We ran back the way we came—nothing. No footprints, no rustling. Just silence.

Then came the whisper.

At first, I thought it was wind. But the sound was unmistakable: my name, spoken softly from the trees.

"Emily..."

I turned to Liz. “We need to go. Now.”

But she wasn’t behind me anymore.

I was alone.

The lantern flared to life, brighter than before. And then it moved—floating down the path back toward the cabin. I should’ve run the other way, but something pulled me forward. Not physically, but emotionally. The light felt familiar. Comforting.

As I stepped onto the porch, the door creaked open.

Inside, it was exactly what you’d expect from a haunted cabin—dusty furniture, broken windows, old photographs curled with age. But the strangest thing was the smell. Not of rot or mildew... but lilacs. My mother used to wear lilac perfume.

I turned and saw her.

She stood by the fireplace—pale, eyes hollow, wearing the same dress she’d been buried in three years ago.

"Mom?" I whispered.

She raised a finger to her lips.

Behind her, in the shadows, I saw Jake and Liz—motionless, eyes wide, their mouths open in silent screams.

My mother's ghost turned to me, her voice no longer soothing.

“You followed the light,” she said. “Now you stay.”

The lantern extinguished.

Darkness swallowed me.

The next morning, a search party found the edge of the woods, but no tracks. No bodies. Just a broken camera near the trees, its screen cracked, stuck on the last frame: a glowing lantern and a girl walking toward it.

Each year on Halloween, someone new disappears in Marlowe Woods.

And always, just before they're gone, someone swears they saw a light in the distance… flickering, waiting.