302: Jack-O’-Lantern 🕯🎃
Daily Image created using ChatGPT (Anime AI Art)
🎃 The Lantern Watch
The storm had rolled in just after dusk, thick with mist and the kind of rain that clung to everything, be it glass, bark, or skin. Inside the cabin, the air was still, save for the crackling of the fireplace and the occasional creak of old wood contracting in the cold. The jack-o’-lantern sat on the windowsill like a sentinel, its jagged grin flickering with candlelight that danced across the warped panels of the wall.
Elliot hadn’t carved it for Halloween. He hadn’t expected visitors, hadn’t stocked candy, and hadn’t even bothered with the usual decorations. But the pumpkin had been left on his porch three days ago, no note, no knock, just sitting there begging for a purpose. He’d brought it inside, wiped it down, and stared at it for hours before finally carving the face like he remembered from childhood: sharp eyes, crooked smile, a triangle nose that always leaned a little left.
Now it sat there watching the forest. The window glass was streaked with rain, each droplet catching the candle’s glow before sliding into shadow. Beyond the glass, the trees stood like ghosts; bare, tall, and silent. Elliot could barely make out the path that led to the old well, swallowed by fog. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the window frame, undisturbed. He’d meant to clear them, but something about their presence felt earned.
He sat in the armchair, blanket over his knees, a mug of tea cooling on the table beside him. The candle inside the pumpkin sputtered once, then steadied. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. There was movement in the forest. Not much, just a shift in the mist, a suggestion of something tall and slow. Elliot didn’t flinch. He’d seen it before. Every year, around this time, when the fog came thick and the moon refused to show. It never came closer than the tree line.
It never made a sound. Just watched. He didn’t know what it was, nor what it wanted. Maybe nothing. Maybe just the ritual. The jack-o’-lantern’s grin widened in the flicker, casting long shadows across the floor. Elliot stood, walked to the window, and placed his hand on the glass. It was cold. The figure in the forest didn’t move.
He whispered, “Still there. Still here”
The candle flared once more, then dimmed. Outside, the mist thickened. The figure faded.
Elliot returned to his chair, pulled the blanket tighter, and waited. The lantern would burn until morning. It always did.
