The Whispering Lanterns
written by: Etya Krichmar
@etyakrichmar
No one dared to ignore Halloween in the small, forgotten village of Eldergrave. It wasn’t just a night of costumes and candy. It was a night bound by an ancient ritual that every villager feared and revered.
As twilight fell, the villagers trudged toward the heart of the ancient forest, where the gnarled branches of the oldest oak tree reached out like twisted, skeletal hands. The air was cold, biting at their skin, and a thick fog rolled in, muffling their footsteps. The Whispering Lanterns, carved from the densest pumpkins, hung from the oak’s branches, their flickering lights casting eerie shadows on the ground.
Marla, the Keeper of the Flame, a young girl with wide, frightened eyes, walked at the front of the procession. Her heart pounded in her chest as she clutched a single match in her trembling hand. The elders chose her to light the final lantern tonight for reasons she couldn’t understand.
“Do you feel it, Marla?” whispered old Mrs. Briggs, the village elder’s voice husky. “The air is colder this year. The spirits… they’re restless. I feel it in my heart.”
Marla nodded, unable to speak, her throat tight with fear. She could hear the whispers, too. The soft, murmuring voices seemed to come from the trees themselves. At last, they reached the clearing. The villagers gathered around the oak, their faces pale in the dim light.
The lanterns swayed gently in the wind. The faces carved on them appeared to grin, grimace, and twist in the flickering glow. Marla’s breath came in short gasps as she approached the base of the ancient oak, where the final, unlit lantern rested. The young girl could feel the weight of a hundred eyes on her as she struck the match. The tiny flame sputtered to life. It seemed the whole world held its breath for a moment.
“Be quick, child,” urged Mrs. Briggs, her voice trembling.
Marla’s hand shook as she touched the flame to the lantern’s wick. The fire caught. Its sudden intensity made the girl stumble back as it flared up. Marla watched in awe as the lantern burst into life, its light warm and comforting, but her comfort was brief. It lasted a second.
The other lanterns around the oak began to flicker as if on cue. One by one, their flames died, plunging the surroundings into darkness. The villagers gasped. Fear rose like bile in their throats.
“What’s happening?” Marla cried, her voice breaking.
“They’re coming,” Mrs. Briggs whispered, her words barely audible over the rising wind. The whispers had grown louder, forming syllables that sent shivers down their spines. “We’ve failed…”
Suddenly, a deep, resonant groan echoed through the forest. The oak tree trembled. Its ancient bark cracked and splintered. The ground beneath it shuddered. Marla felt a tremor run through her feet. The earth at the tree’s roots split open, revealing a dark, yawning chasm. From the abyss, a tall, cloaked figure with a menacing expression and eyes that glowed with an unnatural light appeared.
The villagers shrank back in terror, but Marla stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear her gaze away. The figure that emerged from the depth spoke. Its voice resembled the sound of the rustling of dead leaves.
“Indeed, you have failed,” it hissed, glaring at Marla. “The lanterns were meant to keep me bound, but now I am free.”
The villagers screamed. Their pleas cut through the night like a knife. They turned to flee, but there was nowhere to run. As the figure moved toward them slowly and deliberately, the darkness, spread from the chasm, swallowed the light.
Marla clutched the lantern to her chest, tears streaming down her face. “Please… please, no…” she whispered, but her voice was lost in the wind.
One by one, the figure dragged the villagers into the abyss. Their horrifying screams filled the air before they faded into silence. Marla was the last. As the blackness closed around her, she felt a cold hand grip her shoulder. The lantern slipped from her grasp. Its pieces shattered on the ground. The flame flickered for the last time and died, leaving nothing but darkness.
In the morning, the village of Eldergrave was still. The villagers were gone, and the Whispering Lanterns were no longer. Only the old oak remained, its branches bare and lifeless, and a deep, black void in the heart of the forest where the village once stood.
Some say that on Halloween night, if you listen closely, you can still hear the whispers of the lost souls of Eldergrave, warning you to keep the lanterns lit. The darkness, just beyond the light, is always waiting.
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