The sun had just begun to dip behind the hills, casting long shadows across the quiet village. Laundry swayed on lines between windows. Vendors packed up what remained of their bread and bananas. The boy stood at the gate of his small wooden home, lantern hanging loosely from his fingers, its flame still.
For now.
"Hey, Ghost Boy."
The familiar voice came from across the street, followed by the squeak of worn rubber slippers on pavement.
A boy strode toward him with all the energy of someone who'd never truly learned how to walk quietly. He was a little taller, maybe sixteen, with skin sun-warmed from long afternoons outdoors. His black hair was messy—intentional, but it worked. His eyes were sharp, but always playful, as if constantly hiding some mischief just behind a smirk.
He wore a plain dark shirt, cargo shorts, and an old dog tag necklace that clinked when he moved. Over his shoulder, a drawstring bag hung carelessly. Probably full of junk food.
The boy with the lantern turned, already smiling.
"Calix."
Calix grinned. "Still brooding at your gate like some tragic spirit? People are starting to think you're the haunted one, you know."
"I'm not brooding."
"You're holding a creepy lantern and staring at nothing. That's like level five brood."
The lantern boy shrugged. "I was waiting."
"For a ghost?"
"For you, actually. You're late."
Calix placed a dramatic hand to his chest. "Touched. And here I thought you'd forgotten how to talk to normal people."
"I did. Then you showed up."
Calix barked a laugh, then shoved his shoulder lightly. "There he is. I missed you, freak."
They stood in silence for a beat. The breeze tugged at their shirts. The lantern's flame remained quiet.
Calix glanced at it. "Still glowing at weird times?"
The boy nodded. "Last week, it brought me to a man who forgot the woman he loved."
"And?"
"He remembered her."
Calix's smile faltered—just a little. "You sure this thing isn't cursed?"
"It's not cursed. It's guiding souls."
Calix exhaled slowly. "Right. Your grandma really left you with the weirdest heirloom."
At the mention of her, the boy's eyes drifted to the empty chair by the window.
"She left more than that," he said softly. "She left clues."
Calix didn't tease this time. He followed the boy's gaze and nodded.
"I know you'll find her," he said, voice steady now. "And when you do, you'll give her the same peace you're giving everyone else."
The lantern flickered.
Calix noticed.
"…That's new."
The boy turned.
The flame danced—not bright, not frantic. But focused. Calling.
They followed it.
Through the far side of the village where no one lived anymore. Past fences held up by vines and lampposts that hadn't worked in years. A firefly danced beside them briefly before disappearing into the dusk.
Finally, the lantern dimmed near the edge of an old dried-up well.
Calix scratched the back of his neck. "What are we doing near this horror-movie cliché?"
The boy crouched beside the well. Its stones were mossy. The air here was colder.
Something moved.
A girl stood just a few feet away.
She was no older than ten. Her dress was torn, stained with dirt. Her feet were bare, her arms wrapped tightly around a ragged stuffed rabbit missing one eye. Her face was pale—not from death, but from something worse: forgetting.
She didn't look at them.
She didn't move.
Calix whispered, "You see her, don't you?"
The boy nodded. "She's the soul."
Calix's mouth tightened. "She looks… scared."
The boy stepped closer.
"Hi," he said gently. "You're not alone."
The girl didn't answer.
Then—
"I forgot my name," she whispered.
The boy froze.
"What's your rabbit's name?" he asked.
She hugged the toy tighter. "His name's Bunny."
"That's a good name," he said.
She trembled. "I… I think I was looking for someone. But I don't know who."
The boy's heart tightened.
Sometimes, it wasn't the violent deaths or dramatic losses that made souls linger.
Sometimes, it was simply being left behind.
Forgotten.
He reached for the lantern. Its light brightened slightly, enough to warm her face.
"You're not forgotten," he said. "We'll remember you. Together."
Her eyes shimmered. Her lips parted as if to speak—
But a sudden wind rushed through the trees.
And then—something cold.
The lantern's flame dimmed slightly, flickering uncertainly.
The boy stepped back.
Calix moved beside him instinctively. "What was that?"
The girl clutched her rabbit tighter, looking over her shoulder.
"He's coming," she whispered.