A FLICKER IN THE DARK
The forest at night was a world of secrets. Shadows pressed close, and every sound was
amplified by the darkness. Maya had grown up with the stories—of will-o’-the-wisps that danced
on moonless nights, luring wanderers deeper and deeper into the forest until they were never
seen again.
She never believed them. Not until the night she saw the flicker in the dark.
It began as a single point of light, bobbing in the distance like a lonely star. Maya paused at the
edge of the forest, her lantern raised. She’d come to gather herbs for her grandmother, but now
she found herself rooted to the spot, staring at that ghostly glow.
She should have turned back. But the light called to her, whispering promises she couldn’t quite
hear. She stepped into the forest, the air growing colder with every breath.
The light danced ahead, always just beyond her reach. She followed it deeper, the world
shrinking to the flicker and the hush of her own heartbeat. The forest grew denser, the trees
twisting like old bones. Maya’s lantern cast a small circle of light, but the flicker was always
brighter, always moving.
She called out, her voice swallowed by the dark. “Who’s there?” But only silence answered.
The flicker paused beside an ancient oak, its trunk gnarled and hollow. Maya approached, her
breath steaming in the cold night air. The light hovered at the hollow’s edge, pulsing softly.
“Are you lost too?” she whispered.
A voice answered—a soft, lilting tone that seemed to come from everywhere at once. “Not lost.
Waiting.”
Maya’s heart skipped a beat. She peered into the hollow and saw a figure within the light—tall
and shadowy, with eyes that glowed like coals. She stumbled back, her lantern trembling in her
grip.
“Who are you?” she gasped.
The figure stepped forward, the light shifting to reveal a face both beautiful and terrible. “I am a
guide,” it said. “A keeper of paths. You followed the light, and now you must choose.”
Maya shook her head. “I just wanted to see…”
“And now you have,” the figure said softly. “But every light has a cost. Will you pay it?”
She thought of her grandmother waiting at home, of the stories that warned of spirits who fed on
dreams and memories. But the light was so bright, so warm. She could feel it reaching for her,
filling the hollow spaces in her heart.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Only what you’re willing to give,” the figure said. It held out a hand, palm up. “A memory. A
promise. A piece of your soul.”
Maya hesitated. She thought of the grief she carried—her mother’s laughter lost to time, the way
her father’s eyes had grown distant in his final days. Would it be so terrible to let go of the pain?
To trade it for light and warmth?
She reached out, her fingers brushing the figure’s palm. For an instant, the light flared, and she
felt her memories slipping away—like water through her fingers. The ache in her chest eased,
replaced by a soft, dreamy calm.
But then she heard her grandmother’s voice in her mind: “Beware the light that asks for pieces
of your soul.”
Maya snatched her hand back, gasping. The figure’s eyes narrowed, the light around it flickering
like a dying flame.
“You would refuse me?” it hissed.
“I won’t give you my soul,” she said firmly. “I won’t be lost to the dark.”
The figure’s smile was sad, almost pitying. “Then you will always carry the shadows,” it said.
“But remember—every light casts a shadow.”
The forest grew colder, the light fading. The figure stepped back into the hollow, becoming one
with the darkness. The flicker dwindled to a single spark, then vanished.
Maya was alone in the forest, her lantern the only light. She stood there, trembling, the weight of
what she had almost lost heavy on her shoulders. She turned and made her way back through the
trees, the forest silent but for the crunch of leaves beneath her boots.
When she emerged into the clearing, dawn was breaking, soft pink light spilling across the sky.
Maya breathed deeply, the cold morning air filling her lungs. She felt the shadows inside her, but
also the warmth of her own light—small, but hers alone.
She returned home to her grandmother, who was waiting with tea and gentle hands. Maya told
her everything—the flicker in the dark, the figure in the hollow. Her grandmother listened, her
eyes wise and kind.
“The forest always tests us,” she said softly. “It shows us what we’re willing to lose—and what
we’re willing to fight for.”
Maya nodded. She knew now that light and darkness were always twined together, that every
choice carried its own cost. But she also knew she would not be so easily lured again.
That night, she sat by the fire, her grandmother’s hand in hers. Outside, the forest whispered in
the wind, the shadows deep and endless. But within her, Maya carried a flicker of her own
light—bright enough to guide her way, no matter how dark the night.
