Story 1002: The Lantern Man’s Toll

The lantern glowed again at dusk.

High above the hollow town of Ferndale, the bell of the ruined chapel rang thrice—though no hand touched it. Fog spilled from the woods, thick as oil. The living had long since fled. Only the marked remained.

Gideon Moth, shovel slung over his shoulder and revolver rusted at the grip, knelt before a broken headstone. He didn’t bury anyone anymore. He just waited. “They say he comes for debt,” he muttered. “But what did I borrow?”

The Lantern Man had been seen in the town square the night before—hovering, face stitched and void, the flame in his lantern pulsing like a heartbeat. Three townsfolk vanished that night. Their bodies weren’t found. Just... footprints, walking backwards into the graveyard.

Now, Gideon stood in the mist, surrounded by silent mausoleums. His breath was visible. The air thickened. And then—the chime. A low, bone-deep toll that echoed far too long.

He turned.

The Lantern Man floated out of the shadows.