The Last House on Lantern Road

Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is to write a story about the darkness at this time of year. 

This week’s contribution comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara is an Italian author and currently lives in Berlin, Germany. She writes fiction, with a focus on children’s literature and science fiction.

 

The Last House on Lantern Road

by Chiara De Giorgi

 

Created with Canva

“Who was supposed to take care of booking the room?”

Jeremy cast a stern look at Benjamin, Elijah, and Dorothy, his three younger siblings.

They had driven all afternoon to reach Hearthwick in time for the Winter Solstice Festival. And now that they were finally there, in a village that looked straight out of a fairy tale, blanketed in snow and at least one hour’s drive from the nearest town, it turned out the inn had no reservation under their name. Worse still, there wasn’t a single room left.

The three of them exchanged a lost, embarrassed look.

“Oops,” Dorothy finally whispered.

Jeremy threw his arms up in the air but didn’t comment. He got back into the car and started the engine.

“Where are we going?” Elijah asked from the passenger seat, already pulling up the satnav on his phone.

“The girl at the front desk said there’s an empty house in Lantern Road. It’s at the top of the hill, just before you leave Hearthwick, right at the edge of the woods. She said it used to belong to the founder of the festival, Mr. Bowler.”

“You want us to sleep in an abandoned house?” Benjamin asked incredulously.

“We’ve been talking about coming to this festival for years, and we finally managed to coordinate our schedules,” Jeremy said. “When’s the next chance going to come around?”

His siblings didn’t answer, so he added, “Let’s at least go see what this house is like.”

The last weak rays of sunlight filtered through the branches of the nearby woods when they reached the abandoned house. All things considered, it was in good shape. Once inside, they even found logs stacked neatly beside the fireplace in the ground-floor living room.

They explored the upper floor and found bedrooms furnished with old four-poster beds and decorated wardrobes, writing desks, chairs, and small armchairs.

“It’s old-fashioned, sure, but nothing looks broken or beyond saving,” Elijah said, surprised.

“I’d still rather sleep in the living room in front of the fireplace,” Dorothy said. “The mattresses on those beds might be full of bugs.”

“If no one’s slept in them for decades, the bugs are long dead,” Benjamin pointed out.

“Mmm, okay… Still, if the four of us sleep in the same room with the fire lit, it’s better anyway.”

When they returned to the living room, a surprise was waiting for them: a cheerful fire was crackling in the fireplace.

“Hey! Who lit the fire?”

“Is there someone here?”

“Come on, guys, nice prank. The fire was exactly what we needed.”

“Yeah. It’s so warm over here…”

“I’m going to get something to eat,” Jeremy announced, while the others tried to figure out how the fire could possibly have lit itself. Benjamin went with him, while Dorothy and Elijah stayed behind to prepare four makeshift beds so they could all spend the night together in the living room.

 

When Benjamin and Jeremy came back with the food, they found the other two whispering with worried expressions on their faces.

“We got bread, cheese, cold cuts, and some fruit,” Benjamin announced as he walked in. When no one answered, he added in mock exasperation, “Okay, okay, you caught me. I also got chocolates!”

Jeremy noticed their siblings expressions and asked: “Is something wrong?”

“Well, it’s just that…” Elijah replied.

“Since you left, some strange things have been happening in this house,” added Dorothy.

“Like what?”

“Nothing serious, really, but…”

“But what?”

“Just… strange things.”

“Inexplicable,” Elijah added.

“For heaven’s sake, be clear! What is it? A gas leak? Rats in the walls? What?”

“Well, the fire, for instance. None of us could have lit it. We were all upstairs together.”

“Yeah. And then some candles lit themselves too.”

“Dangerously close to the curtains, by the way.”

“And the doors keep opening and closing on their own.”

“And we can hear footsteps going up and down the stairs.”

“I’m pretty sure the chandelier started swinging too.”

“And also—”

“Ooh, awesome, we ended up in a haunted house?” Benjamin asked enthusiastically, jumping onto the sofa and kicking up a cloud of dust.

“Stop. Just—stop,” Jeremy ordered.

“Achoo!” sneezed the sofa.

All four fell silent, three of them staring at Benjamin with wide eyes.

“You just sat on a ghost,” Dorothy said in a strangled voice.

“Oops,” Benjamin said, carefully getting up from the sofa.

“What do we do?” Elijah whispered. “Do you think we should leave?”

“I don’t think it makes much difference if you whisper,” Dorothy pointed out.

“We can’t go back out on the road now,” Jeremy said. “It’s dark, we’re in the mountains, we don’t know these roads, and they’re covered in snow and ice. On top of that, we’re exhausted after spending all afternoon driving. It’s too dangerous.”

“And staying in a house with a ghost isn’t?” Elijah whispered again, still darting nervous glances all around.

“Footsteps on the stairs, doors opening and closing… it doesn’t seem evil,” Dorothy said. “And it even lit the fire for us!”

At that moment, one of the windows flew open and a gust of wind swept a flurry of snow into the room. A laugh drifted through the air—sharp and clear, but slightly distorted. Just enough to send a shiver down their spines.

Needless to say, none of them managed to get any sleep that night. Around them, small strange things kept happening. Nothing dramatic: shadow puppets flickering on the wall opposite the fireplace, notes of piano and violin drifting down from the upper floor, floorboards creaking… On top of that, a snowstorm broke out during the night, so every now and then they had to walk around the house to shut the windows. And when they returned to the living room, they would inevitably find the beds in disarray.

Toward morning, the storm finally died down. Pale sunbeams filtered through the window, and the first light of dawn fell on a small leather-bound book lying on the floor.

“Hey, what's that?”

Benjamin picked it up and leafed through it.

“It looks like a diary to me, look: it's all handwritten.”

“Is there the owner's name? Check the first page!”

“It says... Robert Bowler!”

“That’s the owner of this house.”

“A.k.a. the founder of the Solstice Festival.”

“Could be interesting! Let’s read a few pages!”

 

This is unbelievable! My fellow citizens held a procession this afternoon. All dressed in dark clothes, they walked through Hearthwick in silence, looking glum. I followed them out of curiosity, because I was not aware of any celebrations or festivities at this time of year: it is the middle of spring and Easter is already past, and in any case, people do not dress in black at Easter... Anyway. In the end, I realised they were playing a prank on me... They staged my funeral, no less. Ha ha ha, how funny! Yet I'm still here. But I’m not offended. Don’t say Robert Bowler can’t take a joke! They’re such a bunch of jokers!

 

There’s something strange in the air. I feel like I’m missing moments lately. Even whole days, as if I were sleeping for days without ever waking up. And when I finally wake up, the things I remember have changed. I’m confused. I’ve tried to talk to my friends about it, but sometimes I can’t remember their names and they’re distracted and don’t hear me. So I get distracted too and poof! I forget what I was doing. Then I go back to sleep. I think I might have the flu. They said this year’s flu would be bad and unusually severe...

 

I’m starting to feel bored. The situation hasn’t changed, everything is still very strange. I think the flu must have left some after-effects in my brain. I’ll go to the doctor at the first opportunity. If I think hard, I’m sure I can remember his name... Crickstone, no wait... Frickstone... something like that. It’ll come to me. However, I’ve found a new pastime to fill my days: I open and close all the doors in the house one after the other. Sometimes it doesn’t take much to have fun, and after all, everyone knows I’m a jolly fellow! Ha ha ha! Laughing makes me feel so good, so... alive!

 

The siblings read some passages from the diary and slowly came to a conclusion.

“He’s...”

“Passed,” whispered Elijah.

“But he doesn’t know it yet,” whispered Dorothy in reply.

“Poor thing. He seems to miss life.”

“That’s what he’s been trying to do since we’ve been here: interact with us.”

“Guys... I have an idea...”

 

The four siblings spent the day wandering through the streets of Hearthwick, where stalls overflowed with food, hot drinks, and handcrafted souvenirs. At sunset, street musicians and performers began taking turns, giving small shows of music and theater around large bonfires. The winter solstice night was beginning: the festival’s climax.

They returned to the abandoned house loaded with good food, drinks, and decorations. Soon the living room by the fireplace had been transformed into a party hall, and they danced, sang, laughed, and toasted together.

It didn’t take long before the ghost that had kept them awake the previous night appeared. They invited him into their dancing, offered him a glass of wine, and little by little, the shadow gained color and substance, until it took on the appearance of Mr. Bowler, still slightly translucent. He was a truly friendly, jovial sort, though a little confused about his place in the world.

Unsure how to act or what to reveal, the four siblings never told him that he had passed. Instead, they gave him a night full of fun and life.

And when the sun rose on Yule morning, Mr. Bowler turned to the window and let the sunlight wash over him. A moment later, he smiled at the four siblings and waved.

“Thank you. I understand where I must go now. Goodbye.”

At the first light of day, he disappeared.

 

 

 

The Spot Writers:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/