Penang National Park’s Lost Lanterns

It began with a root.

Not a shout, not a scream, not even a flash of lightning—just a thick, gnarled root snaking across the jungle path that made Nana stumble and drop her sketchbook.

“Gotcha,” Eddy said, grinning. “Told you this trail was cursed.”

“It’s not cursed,” Lily said, rolling her eyes. “It’s just old. Like your jokes.”

The group of sixth graders from Bayan Lepas Middle School had arrived at Penang National Park just that morning for their annual outdoor learning trip. The sun blazed overhead, the air hummed with cicadas, and the scent of salt and damp earth clung to everything. They’d hiked past the turtle sanctuary, through the mangroves, and now followed a narrow trail winding up toward the coastal cliffs.

But Nana had stopped.

Her sketchbook lay open to a half-finished drawing of a kingfisher. But her eyes were on the stone half-buried beneath the root—smooth, dark, and carved with a pattern: a wave, a crescent moon, and a tower with light.

“That’s not natural,” she said softly.

Bell crouched beside her. “Whoa. Looks like a map.”

Eddy kicked at the dirt. “Or a tombstone. Probably cursed. I saw a movie like this. Everyone dies by sunrise.”

“Then you’ll go first,” Lily muttered, already pulling out her phone. “No signal. Of course.”

But Nana wasn’t listening. She brushed away the soil and revealed a small, rusted iron lantern, half-sunk into the earth. It was shaped like a lighthouse, with a glass panel clouded by time. When Eddy twisted the base out of curiosity, a hidden compartment clicked open.

Inside: a brass disc, cool and smooth, etched with the same symbols.

“Whoa,” said Ren, who had been quietly observing. He took the disc gently. “This isn’t modern. The metalwork… it’s hand-tooled. Late 1800s, maybe?”

Everyone stared at him.

“What?” Ren shrugged. “My grandpa collected old things.”

That night, around the campfire, the ranger told a story.

“Long ago,” she said, her voice low, “before radios and GPS, sailors depended on lights along the coast. But during the monsoon, the big lighthouse at Cape Point couldn’t be seen past the headland. So a keeper—Captain Ariffin—set up a secret chain of lanterns. Seven of them. Each one lit in order to guide ships through the storm.”

She paused. “They say when the storm lights return, the sea remembers.”

“Creepy,” Eddy said, but he didn’t laugh.

Nana looked down at the brass disc in her palm. The symbols glowed faintly in the firelight.

Wave. Moon. Tower.

She believed the story.

And she believed the lanterns were still out there.

Day Two: The First Clue

At dawn, the group slipped away from the main tour—just for a little exploration, they promised themselves.

Back at the root, Nana studied her sketch. “The symbols… they’re not random. Look.” She pointed. “Wave means water. Moon means time. Tower means high ground. Maybe the next lantern is near water, at high ground, during a certain time?”

“Like… high tide?” Bell asked.

“Or moonrise?” Ren added.

Lily’s eyes lit up. “Wait. My grandmother used to sing a little rhyme:
‘When the moon wears a silver comb,
the watchman lights the seventh lamp.’
She said it was from her grandfather—a fisherman.”

Eddy groaned. “Now we’re solving poetry?”

But Nana smiled. “We’re solving a puzzle.”

They pressed on.

By midday, they found the second lantern perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. It faced west, toward the setting sun. This one had no glass—just a hollow chamber inside. And another brass disc.

This one showed a star and a number: 1885.

“1885,” Ren whispered. “That’s the year the old lighthouse was first lit.”

“And the year Captain Ariffin vanished,” Lily said quietly.

Eddy scratched his head. “So we’re looking for seven lanterns. Each with a clue. And when we light them all… what? A treasure? A ghost?”

“Maybe,” Nana said, “we just need to finish what he started.”

The Challenges Begin

Over the next hours, they followed the clues—each lantern hidden in a different part of the park, each protected by a challenge.

Lantern 3 – Deep in the mangrove swamp, half-submerged at high tide.
To reach it, Bell had to balance across slippery roots, her arms out like a tightrope walker.
Clue: A compass rose. Direction matters.

Lantern 4 – Hidden in a sea cave, only reachable at low tide.
They had to crawl through damp tunnels, guided by Ren’s solar-powered flashlight.
Clue: A shell and a date: “Monsoon, 12th Night.”

Lantern 5 – Atop a rocky hill, where the wind howled like a warning.
Nana noticed the shadow of a dead tree pointed directly at the lantern at exactly noon.
Clue: A sun, and the words “True North.”

Lantern 6 – Buried beneath driftwood on a quiet cove.
Lily remembered her grandmother’s song and hummed it. The rhythm matched the pattern of holes in the lantern’s base—like a flute.
When Eddy blew across it, a soft, clear note rang out.
The sand shifted. The lantern emerged.

“Okay,” Eddy admitted. “That was kind of cool.”

Only one remained.

The Final Lantern

The last disc showed a lighthouse, a storm, and a single word: “Remember.”

They pored over the clues.

“The order matters,” Ren said. “They’re not just scattered. They follow a path—like a signal chain.”

Nana laid out the discs in a line. “Water. High ground. Direction. Time. North. Sound. And now… memory.”

Lily gasped. “The rhyme! ‘When the moon wears a silver comb…’ — that’s tonight! Full moon!”

“And the storm’s coming,” Bell said, pointing to the dark clouds rolling in from the sea.

They raced to the highest cliff—Bukit Kerachi, where the old watchtower once stood. Wind tugged at their clothes. Rain began to fall.

“There!” Nana shouted.

Half-hidden behind a boulder: the seventh lantern.

But it was broken. The wick was gone. The mechanism rusted shut.

“We can’t light it,” Eddy said.

Ren examined it. “It’s not meant to burn. Look—the base has a slot. Like a key.”

Nana’s heart dropped. “We’re missing something.”

Then Lily remembered. She pulled out the first brass disc—the one from the very beginning. “What if… it’s not just a clue. What if it’s a key?”

She slid the disc into the slot.

It fit.

With a soft click, the lantern’s inner chamber opened.

Inside: a leather-bound journal, wrapped in waxed cloth.

Hands trembling, Nana opened it.

The pages were brittle, the ink faded, but the writing was clear.

“If you are reading this, the watch has not ended.
My name is Ariffin bin Hassan, Keeper of the Storm Lights.
In the year 1885, the great monsoon came.
The lighthouse failed. A fishing boat was lost at sea.
I lit the lanterns—one by one—to guide them home.
I reached six.
The seventh… I did not return.
But if the lights burn again, know this:
Courage is not the absence of fear.
It is lighting the lamp anyway.
To those who come after—keep the watch.”

No treasure. No gold.

Just a story.

And it was worth more.

The Lighting

“We have to light them,” Nana said.

“But how?” Bell asked. “No fire. No oil.”

Ren smiled. “We don’t need fire.”

He pulled out a small vial he’d collected at the mangroves—bioluminescent algae, glowing faintly blue in the dark.

“Like sea stars,” Nana whispered.

Using the gel, they coated the wicks of each lantern—starting from the first, all the way to the seventh—activating them not with flame, but with living light.

One by one, the lanterns glowed.

From the cliff, the seven points of blue light formed a perfect arc across the coast—just as they had over a century ago.

Below, the storm raged.

But on the cliffs of Penang National Park, the watch was kept.

Epilogue: The New Lantern

Back at school, the journal was donated to the Penang Heritage Trust. A new exhibit was created: “The Keeper’s Chain: The Lost Lanterns of 1885.”

And at the entrance of the park, a new lantern was installed—solar-powered, shaped like the seven originals. Every evening, it glows with a soft blue light.

Visitors often see a group of kids standing beside it, whispering.

“That’s the one Nana found,” Bell says.

“Ariffin’s last message is in the museum now,” Lily adds.

Eddy grins. “I still think it was cursed.”

Ren just smiles.

And Nana opens her sketchbook to a new page. She draws the seven lights, shining across the dark coast.

Beneath it, she writes:

“The past isn’t gone.
It’s just waiting
for someone
to light the way.”

The End.