The Forgotten Lantern

Maheshlal had always been a man of routine. He lived in a small, sleepy village, tucked away in the hills where the thick mist clung to the trees like a constant presence. His life was quiet, uneventful—until one fateful evening when an odd job offer had changed everything.

It had come in the form of a letter, the edges yellowed and the ink smeared in places, as though it had weathered a long journey. The job was simple: to watch over a lantern that stood on the outskirts of the village, deep within the dense forest. No one knew how long it had been there, but the offer was clear. A decent amount of money for a night shift that seemed harmless enough. Maheshlal was intrigued but wary. The villagers spoke of strange happenings near the lantern, of lights that flickered on and off when no one was around, of whispers in the wind. But Maheshlal was pragmatic—he dismissed such things as superstition.

The sun was setting as Maheshlal set off toward the lantern, his footsteps crunching over the thick carpet of leaves that blanketed the forest floor. He carried nothing but a small bag with provisions—water, a flashlight, and a small knife for protection, though he doubted he would need it. The air was thick with the smell of earth and decay, and the further he ventured, the quieter the forest became, as if it were holding its breath.

It wasn’t long before Maheshlal reached the clearing where the lantern stood, its light faint but constant, casting long shadows that stretched unnaturally across the ground. The lantern itself was old, its metal frame rusted and weathered by time. It flickered sporadically, as though something inside it was struggling to remain alight. Maheshlal set down his bag and examined the area, noticing nothing out of the ordinary. The wind was still, the trees swaying gently in the distance. He sat down beside the lantern, pulled out his provisions, and waited.

Minutes stretched into hours as the night deepened. The faint light from the lantern barely pierced the dark, creating an island of warmth in the sea of cold shadows. Maheshlal’s eyelids grew heavy, and he fought the urge to sleep. The forest was unnervingly silent, and though he had always prided himself on his ability to remain calm in the face of the unknown, something about this place unsettled him.

As the clock struck midnight, Maheshlal was jolted awake by a sudden, harsh whisper. It was a sound that seemed to come from all around him, rising from the very ground beneath him. His heart raced as he looked around, but there was nothing to be seen—only the swaying trees and the distant moonlight. The whisper faded, leaving him with a sense of dread creeping up his spine.

He tried to shake it off, telling himself it was just the wind, but then he heard it again, clearer this time. “Maheshlal…” the voice called, soft yet urgent.

He stood up, eyes wide, his pulse quickening. He felt as though the very air around him had shifted, becoming thicker, colder. The whisper had been unmistakable—there was no mistaking his name, and yet, there was no one around.

He reached for his flashlight, the beam cutting through the darkness, but it was no use. The light seemed to be swallowed up by the shadows, like the forest itself was hungry for the light. His heart pounded in his chest as the whispering voice came again, this time much closer.

“Maheshlal… you shouldn’t have come.”

Panic began to rise within him. His instincts screamed at him to run, but his feet felt frozen to the ground. He glanced at the lantern, its faint glow flickering rapidly, casting strange, distorted shadows on the trees.

Suddenly, the lantern’s light went out, plunging the clearing into absolute darkness.

The whispering stopped.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, a sound—a dragging noise, soft and slow—began to fill the air. Maheshlal’s breath caught in his throat as he turned toward the source of the sound, his flashlight trembling in his hand. The beam flickered and sputtered, casting shadows that seemed to twist and move.

And then he saw it.

A figure, tall and gaunt, shrouded in a cloak made of shadows, stood at the edge of the clearing. The figure’s face was obscured, but its eyes gleamed with a haunting, unnatural light—pale and cold, like the reflection of the moon on still water.

The figure lifted a hand, long, skeletal fingers reaching out toward him. “You were never meant to watch the lantern,” it whispered, its voice like the crackling of dry leaves. “It is a keeper of secrets… secrets that should remain buried.”

Maheshlal felt his legs shake, his body screaming for him to flee, but his feet remained rooted in place. The air grew colder still, and the trees around him began to sway violently, as though caught in a storm, though the sky remained clear.

The lantern suddenly reignited with a violent flare, casting the clearing in harsh, flickering light. Maheshlal could see the figure now, standing just a few feet away, its shadow stretching far beyond its body. The whispers returned, louder now, coming from every direction.

“You should have left when you had the chance,” the figure hissed, and Maheshlal’s heart skipped a beat. “But now… now you will join us.”

A chill ran through Maheshlal’s body as the figure stepped closer, its eyes burning with malevolent intensity. The whispers grew into an unbearable cacophony, drowning out everything else. The air thickened, suffocating him, and the shadows seemed to close in, wrapping around him like chains.

With every ounce of strength he could muster, Maheshlal took a step backward, then another, his heart racing. He had to get away. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t.

But the figure was closer now, and as Maheshlal turned to run, the ground beneath him gave way. His feet sank into the earth, and he found himself falling—falling through darkness, the whispers surrounding him, pulling him deeper and deeper.

And then, as suddenly as it had all started, everything stopped.

Maheshlal awoke to find himself lying on the forest floor, the lantern glowing faintly beside him. His body ached, and his mind swirled with confusion. He tried to sit up, but his limbs felt heavy, as though the night had drained him of all strength.

The whispers had ceased. The forest was still.

But as Maheshlal staggered to his feet and gazed around, he noticed something that made his blood run cold.

The trees, the clearing, the lantern—everything was the same, and yet everything was wrong. The air felt heavier, more oppressive, and when he reached for the lantern to turn it off, his hands recoiled. The metal was warm to the touch, but beneath the warmth, there was something else—a sense of wrongness, as though the lantern had been waiting for him all along.

He realized then, with a sickening certainty, that the lantern had claimed him. And the whispers—those voices that had once spoken his name—were now his to carry.

Forever.

As Maheshlal’s fingers recoiled from the lantern, a wave of nausea hit him, but he forced himself to steady his breath. The cold had seeped deep into his bones, but it was more than just the temperature. The very air seemed charged, heavy with something unspoken, something dark.

He took a step back, trying to clear his mind, but the shadows that stretched before him seemed to pulse, alive with some unseen force. The stillness was unnerving. The whispers were gone now, but their presence lingered like a bruise on the soul, aching, relentless. He could feel the weight of unseen eyes watching him from the edges of the clearing. The wind had died completely, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake.

“Leave now,” a voice suddenly whispered in his ear, sharp and close, like a breath against his skin. His heart pounded in his chest as he spun around, but once again, there was nothing. Only the lantern. Only the shadowed trees.

A chill ran through him, colder than the night air, and his skin prickled. Something about the way the lantern flickered—so consistently now—felt… different. As though it had been waiting for him to return, to look into it, to understand.

He hesitated, his hand trembling as he reached out toward it once more. This time, the light was warmer. Not comforting, but urgent, as if the lantern itself were beckoning him, pulling him closer. He didn’t know why he was compelled, but something deep within him told him he needed to look into it.

When his fingers brushed against the lantern’s metal frame, the light flared so bright that Maheshlal gasped and shielded his eyes. The world seemed to tilt, shifting like sand beneath his feet. His breath caught in his throat as the light from the lantern began to change—not in color, but in essence. The world around him twisted, contorted, and for one terrifying moment, Maheshlal felt as though he were no longer standing in the forest.

The whisper came again, but it was no longer a voice—it was an entity, a presence surrounding him, speaking directly to his mind, invading his thoughts.

“You are part of it now,” the voice echoed, endless and ancient. “You can never leave.”

The lantern’s glow dimmed, but not entirely. In the place of light was now a dark reflection—distorted, shifting, pulling at the fabric of reality. Maheshlal’s vision blurred, and before he could react, something twisted around him—something that looked like the shadows themselves, yet far more sinister.

His feet gave way beneath him, and Maheshlal collapsed onto the ground. He tried to scramble backward, but the earth had become slick, like oil, and he slid, unable to find purchase. Panic surged through him as the shadows writhed around his body, pulling him down, holding him in place.

The forest itself had come alive. The trees loomed over him, their branches curling and bending unnaturally, as though they were reaching out to bind him. And the lantern… the lantern still flickered, casting an unearthly glow over everything, as if it were the center of this nightmare.

“No,” Maheshlal gasped, his voice cracking. “No, this can’t be real.”

The whispers answered in unison, a chorus of voices from everywhere and nowhere at once. They didn’t speak words—they showed images. Terrifying, grotesque visions of people lost to time, of shadows that devoured souls, of a light that never faded, never waned.

“You’ve been chosen,” the voices said. “The lantern is eternal, and now so are you.”

Maheshlal could feel it. The pull. The sensation that something deep within him was being bound to the very heart of this cursed forest. His heart beat faster, faster still, but it wasn’t just fear—it was as if the lantern had already started to take root within him, altering him in ways he couldn’t comprehend. It wasn’t just the forest around him that had changed—it was him. He could feel the darkness curling around his own soul, pulling at his will.

“Let go,” the voices urged, seductive, promising peace. “Let it happen.”

Maheshlal’s breath came in shallow gasps, his body trembling with a mix of fear and disbelief. He tried to move, tried to break free, but it was as if the very ground had a hold on him. His limbs felt heavy, like lead. He couldn’t escape.

And then, a voice—his own voice—emerged from the depths of his mind. A memory, a thought that hadn’t been his for as long as he could remember. You are the lantern’s keeper now.

The realization was slow but inevitable. He wasn’t just trapped in this place. He had become a part of it. Just like the others, the ones who had come before him. They had been absorbed into the endless, unyielding cycle. This was their fate. And it was his now, too.

As he lay there, his body seemingly growing numb to the world, the shadows began to recede, folding back into the trees. The forest seemed to breathe again, the silence broken by the soft rustling of leaves, as if nothing had happened. But Maheshlal knew it hadn’t been a dream. The weight on his soul was real.

The lantern’s glow flickered one last time and then dimmed completely. But Maheshlal knew it wasn’t gone. It was still there, buried deep within him. He would never forget the feeling of its presence. The unyielding call.

And though the night would eventually fade into dawn, Maheshlal knew he had been forever changed. For the lantern’s keeper never leaves.

The forest was silent once more, but not for long. Soon, it would call out again.

And someone else would come, just like he had.

Just like the others had.