Episode 3
1330 Words
The Journal of Secrets
The rain did not stop until dawn.
Gray clouds covered the sky above Ayanmo village, leaving the world cold and heavy with silence. People gathered in frightened groups outside their homes, whispering prayers and rumors as though speaking too loudly might awaken something terrible in the forest.
Nobody talked openly about the lantern found beside the river.
But everyone knew.
The curse had returned.
Amara stood near her bedroom window, clutching her mother’s journal tightly against her chest. She had barely slept after returning home. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the glowing lantern lying in the mud beside the child’s footprints leading toward the forest.
Toward the Lantern Tree.
Her grandmother had locked every door before sunrise and burned herbs throughout the house until the rooms smelled thick with smoke and bitterness.
“Spirits dislike bitter leaves,” the old woman had whispered nervously.
Amara was beginning to realize that her grandmother truly believed the stories.
And that frightened her more than anything else.
She sat slowly on the edge of her bed and reopened the journal.
The old pages trembled slightly in her hands.
Most of the earlier entries still seemed normal — market lists, recipes, small village notes — but deeper into the journal, the writing became desperate. Some pages looked as though they had been written in darkness, the ink uneven and rushed.
One sentence had been underlined three times:
The lanterns do not guide people. They hunt them.
Amara swallowed hard.
Outside, distant voices echoed from the village square. More people were gathering again.
Another page caught her attention.
There are tunnels beneath the roots. I heard them singing below the ground.
A chill crept down her spine.
Before she could continue reading, a knock sounded softly at her bedroom door.
“Amara?” her grandmother called. “Someone is here for you.”
Amara frowned.
Nobody ever came looking for her.
She tucked the journal beneath her blanket before heading downstairs.
When she entered the living room, she froze.
Eli stood near the doorway.
Morning light filtered across his dark clothing, illuminating raindrops still clinging to his shoulders. He looked older in daylight than he had the night before — perhaps nineteen or twenty — with sharp features and quiet eyes that seemed to notice everything.
Her grandmother clearly did not trust him.
The old woman folded her arms tightly. “You should not bring strangers into this matter.”
“I didn’t come to cause trouble,” Eli replied calmly.
His gaze shifted toward Amara.
“I came to help.”
Amara studied him carefully. “Why?”
For a moment, silence filled the room.
Then Eli reached into his pocket and removed a small object wrapped in cloth.
He placed it gently onto the table.
Amara’s eyes widened instantly.
It was another lantern.
Unlike the others, this one was small enough to hold in both hands. Strange symbols had been carved into its bronze surface, twisting around the glass like vines.
Her grandmother gasped softly.
“Where did you get that?” she whispered.
“It belonged to my father,” Eli answered.
Baba Duro entered from outside before anyone could speak further. The old man looked exhausted, dark circles resting beneath his eyes.
“The council has gathered,” he announced. “The village elders want everyone indoors before sunset.”
Her grandmother nodded quickly. “Good. People should stay away from the forest.”
“They are afraid,” Baba Duro replied.
“And they should be.”
Amara stepped closer to the table. “What is special about this lantern?”
Eli hesitated briefly before answering.
“My father studied the Lantern Tree before he disappeared.”
Amara stared at him.
“Your father disappeared too?”
Eli nodded slowly.
“Seven years ago.”
For the first time since meeting him, Amara saw pain flicker across his face.
“He believed the tree was connected to ancient spirits trapped between worlds,” Eli continued quietly. “He spent years searching for a way to stop the curse.”
Her heartbeat quickened.
“That sounds exactly like my mother.”
Baba Duro sighed heavily. “Because they were searching for the same thing.”
The room fell silent.
Amara looked between them in confusion. “You mean they knew each other?”
“Yes,” Baba Duro admitted. “Your mother and Eli’s father worked together in secret.”
Amara felt as though the ground beneath her had shifted.
Her mother had hidden an entire part of her life from her.
“Why would they keep it secret?” she asked.
“Because the village elders forbade anyone from investigating the tree,” Baba Duro replied. “Too many people disappeared trying.”
A cold wave of anger rose inside her.
“So everyone knew something dangerous was happening, and nobody told me?”
Her grandmother looked away guiltily.
“We were trying to protect you.”
“By lying to me?”
“No,” the old woman whispered painfully. “By keeping you alive.”
The words settled heavily in the room.
Amara suddenly understood something terrifying.
Her mother had not simply vanished by accident.
She had been hunting the truth.
And whatever she discovered had consumed her.
Eli gently pushed the lantern toward Amara.
“There’s something inside,” he said.
Amara carefully lifted the lantern into her hands.
It felt strangely warm despite the cold morning air.
At first she saw nothing unusual.
Then she noticed folded paper hidden beneath the metal base.
Her breath caught.
With trembling fingers, she unfolded it carefully.
A map.
Old ink lines stretched across the page, marking sections of the forest surrounding the Lantern Tree. Strange symbols covered certain areas, along with warnings written hurriedly in faded handwriting.
Do not follow the singing.
Never enter after midnight.
The roots move beneath the ground.
Then Amara noticed something circled near the edge of the map.
A location labeled:
The Hollow.
“What is this place?” she asked quietly.
Baba Duro’s expression darkened instantly.
“No.”
Eli looked toward him. “You know where it is.”
“The Hollow is forbidden,” Baba Duro replied sharply.
“Why?”
The old man hesitated.
Then he spoke in a low voice.
“Because that is where the missing are taken.”
A heavy silence followed.
Rainwater dripped softly outside.
Amara stared at the map again, unable to look away.
Somewhere in that forest were answers about her mother.
Perhaps even proof of what truly lived beneath the Lantern Tree.
“We’re going there,” she said firmly.
Her grandmother looked horrified. “Absolutely not.”
“You heard what Baba Duro said. People are disappearing again.”
“That is exactly why you must stay away!”
Amara clenched the map tightly. “If nobody does anything, more people will vanish.”
“Child—”
“My mother tried to stop this alone,” Amara interrupted. “I’m not running from it.”
The old woman’s eyes filled briefly with tears.
“You sound exactly like her.”
Amara’s chest tightened painfully.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then suddenly—
A loud scream echoed from outside the house.
Everyone froze.
The scream came again, filled with terror.
Baba Duro immediately grabbed his staff.
Eli moved toward the window.
Villagers were running through the muddy streets again.
But this time, they were not heading toward the river.
They were running away from the forest.
Amara rushed outside with the others.
Cold wind struck her face instantly.
People shouted in panic across the village square. Some carried children while others slammed doors shut behind them.
Then Amara saw why they were afraid.
At the edge of the forest path stood dozens of glowing lanterns.
Not hanging from trees.
Standing upright on the ground.
Perfectly still.
Watching the village like silent eyes in the darkness.
- Writer
