The Green Lantern Man

It was pitch black, and lowly private Miller was standing in a daze outside of one of the countless concrete bunkers built for the War. He had long since lost track of the time. It could be one in the morning or three. His head nodded down and then shot back up as he fought the irresistible urge to doze. The only things keeping him going now was the shimmering, almost spectral glow of his standard-issue green lantern, and the stories. He talked about them in the barracks with his fellow soldiers – after all, there wasn’t much to do with their time. Most had expected to be fighting heroically in the battles they had once heard over the tinny sound of the radio, but in reality they had been guarding these useless bunkers in some dejected hole on the deserted leeward side of Oahu. So they passed time telling stories, and one the private had heard so many times before was the sleeping soldier. Apparently, another recruit just like him had been caught by an upper officer and had been subjected to the draconian army punishment – death. These tales were what pushed Miller to stay conscious during the endless, monotonous nights. But this night was particularly dreadful. The silence was suffocating, and it seemed like he was being taunted by receiving this job. He had signed up to and kill some people, not waste away the night here. What the hell, he thought, and he walked into the bunker, where no guard was ever supposed to go. He reassured himself that no officer in his right mind would be walking around a half mile from camp. Little did he know what the implications of his actions would be that night. The recruit walked into the cramped bunker, feeling refreshed by the slow breeze. He saw the mounted machine gun, amused. Why would the Japanese fly over here? Then he spotted some officer’s uniforms collecting dust on a rack mounted on the wall. He put on the jacket and laughed. How angry the sergeant would be if he found him wearing his very own uniform! But his attention was soon wooed by something far more interesting. In the corner rested a medium sized, nondescript beige canister. He sized it up, wondering what could possibly be inside. Gas? Kerosene? Well then, he thought aloud, what harm could it cause if I opened it just a bit? So he firmly gripped the metal gasket on top and popped it off. Instantly, yellowish gas spurted out of the canister at astonishing speed. He had barely registered what was going on when it seemed like somebody had pressed a red-hot iron directly on his face. His hands, neck, any patch of skin not covered by clothing blistered immediately. Some part of his mind that was still thinking muttered, mustard gas… But he couldn’t focus. Every cell of his body was in its own private hell. His hand squeezed the handle of the lantern until it cracked. But far worse than what was happening to his skin was what was happening to his mind. He lost all control, became mad with fear and anger. Who had caused this to happen!? He stumbled, raging out of the bunker and hobbled off into the woods.

The next morning no one saw private Miller. No one even gave it more than five seconds thought, desertions were increasingly common these days. But in the weeks, months, and years to follow nobody denied the ghastly green glow that emanated through the forest, or the haggard looking monster wearing the officers’ jacket that was the source of it all. To this day, when night falls in the forests of the leeward side, some say they can still see the green lantern man trudging away while they lay down to sleep.