A New Mission: Protecting Candle Face's Fugitives

December 16, 2024

I’ve known for a while that this day would come, though I can’t say I’ve ever felt truly ready for it. The crystal ball that I’ve kept so close, on my bookshelf, desk, dining room table, and wherever else I dared to put it, is finally going back into its box. I don’t need it anyway. The Lost Souls can use the portal in my living room or the one in the upstairs guest bedroom. But it has shown me things I hadn’t seen before. It also brought Candle Face and her Master Shadow deeper into my life, and the dread they’ve brought with them is something I can’t live with anymore.

The Master Shadow already warned me that he’ll return, and I know he doesn’t need the crystal ball to do it. Still, the crystal ball has always felt like a beacon, or at least a focal point. If I take it out of my home, maybe I can dull his reach, even if only a little. Maybe I can slow him down, buy myself a little peace, or at least the illusion of it.

I decided this afternoon to put it away. As I sat at my desk, the ball resting on its wooden stool, the silence in my home felt deafening. I lifted the ball and turned it slowly between my hands. A faint warmth radiated from it, unusual for a piece of glass that should have been at room temperature. My heart fluttered. Maybe this was a final parting shot, some remaining energy from the Master Shadow who had passed through it.

I took the crystal ball and lowered it toward its original box. Then I noticed something strange. The ball reflected more than my anxious face. Inside, I saw shadowy figures. At first, they were just silhouettes. Human-shaped but featureless, perched on wooden beams and surrounded by what looked like pink insulation. My mind instantly went to the attic. Pink insulation, wooden beams. The space above the second-floor ceiling, at the very top of the house.

I paused, holding the ball inches above the box. I tilted it slightly, and the angle changed the perspective of the shadows inside. More silhouettes came into view. There had to be around thirty of them, scattered along attic beams, huddled close, as if hiding from something. My pulse raced. I had seen these figures before. In late October, the crystal ball showed me shadowed shapes in a dark, enclosed space with slanted boards, sitting and crouching, holding almost perfectly still. I couldn’t place the location then. I was looking at my own attic and didn’t know it. And there were more of them now, far more than the few I’d glimpsed in October. They had kept coming.

Yet I had no idea who they were or what they wanted. I knew only that my attic had become a refuge for something. Before I lowered the ball into the box, I took a deep breath and lifted it close to my face, studying these silhouettes, hoping to make out a clue. They moved slowly, shifting their weight on the beams, leaning into the insulation. They seemed nervous and afraid. But afraid of what? Candle Face? The Master Shadow? Me?

I finally closed the box and set it aside. I couldn’t just shove the crystal ball in the garage now, not after this. I had to confirm what I’d seen. Curiosity and dread drove me upstairs. I climbed into the attic and turned on the overhead light. I looked around: dusty boxes and a huge HVAC system. Everything looked normal. No silhouettes. No movement. I waited at least ten minutes, listening to the hum of the HVAC system and the faint creaks of settling wood. If anyone or anything was up there, they stayed out of sight.

Eventually, I turned off the light and made my way back toward the crawl hole that leads into the guest room. The glow from the room guided my path, pale in the cramped attic. As I reached the opening and prepared to leave, I caught a glimpse. Two dark shapes darted behind the HVAC system. My heart slammed in my chest. So they were real.

Against my better judgment, I stayed in the attic and closed the doors behind me, blocking the guest room’s light. After a minute, my eyes adjusted. I saw them again: one silhouette peeking around the HVAC unit, curious and cautious. I spoke quietly, telling it I wouldn’t harm it. My voice sounded strange in the dark, and I hoped my wife wouldn’t hear me. The silhouette vanished, then reappeared, as if weighing my intentions. I repeated my offer of peace.

Then more silhouettes rose into view. Heads popped up behind corners and beams. Shoulders emerged from shadows. I counted thirty of them, arranged in a loose circle around me. They seemed less frightened of me now. In the near-total darkness, they communicated through impressions and something close to telepathy. It felt as if their leader stepped forward, a shadow taller than the others, and projected its thoughts, its story, into my mind.

Then I understood what had been happening. I didn’t figure out their identity through intuition or guesswork. The leader told me directly. The apparitions were Lost Souls who had escaped Candle Face’s Lair. That phrase, “Candle Face’s Lair,” filtered into my mind like a half-remembered thought. After all, I’ve seen that Lair with my own eyes twice. The leader filled my mind with images and emotions: the scorching horrors of that place and endless torment. My stomach churned. They hadn’t just wandered into my attic. They came here to hide.

The leader told me how they had used the portal in my guest room while other Lost Souls, the ones who appeared through my living room portal, risked themselves to distract Candle Face and her shadows. Those testimonies I’ve listened to, those flickering kitchen lights I’ve documented, were all part of a coordinated effort. The souls who visited me openly had bought time for these refugees to escape into my attic through the guest room portal.

So that’s what all the flickering kitchen lights had been about. Each arrival of a lost soul, each strange surge of energy, matched the testimonies in my living room and the escapes through the guest room. The leader impressed on me that their combined energy was growing too strong to stay hidden for long. The Master Shadow would sense it, and he did, but he didn’t look in the attic. He would return, just as he promised. And if he found them here, the punishment would be worse than anything they had already endured.

The leader’s message was clear: they needed my help. They revealed themselves because they were desperate. They believed I could somehow protect them, shield them from detection, or help them stay hidden until they found a safer place. I wanted to protest that I was just an ordinary person and knew nothing about protecting spirits or Lost Souls. But how could I turn them away after learning their story?

Surrounded by their silhouettes, I felt terrified and responsible. I told them quietly, my voice steady despite what I was feeling, that I would do my best. I didn’t know how, but I would try. The leader bowed its head slightly, a gesture of gratitude. The others looked on in silence. I could feel their fear, and I could feel the little bit of hope they had placed in me.

I understood their situation more deeply now. They had fled a place of unspeakable torment ruled by Candle Face. Now all of that rested on my shoulders. If I fail to conceal or protect them, the whole operation collapses and these souls will be dragged back to endless suffering.

I started thinking through what I could do. Wards. Protective symbols. Maybe something to mask their combined energy. The crystal ball had perhaps made it easier for Candle Face’s shadows to track my movements here, so putting it away might help.

Then a colder thought stopped me. Candle Face once told me the crystal ball is a window and that she looks through it too. Today, that window showed me the attic. If she was looking when it did, then I didn’t find the Fugitives first. She did. I can’t know either way, so I have to plan as if she saw everything.

Even though the Master Shadow or Candle Face doesn’t need the crystal ball to return, any step that weakens their foothold could help. I thought about folklore and old stories. Salt lines. Protective charms. Incantations. A friend of mine, Aaron, from Gen X Paranormal Investigations in Deer Park, Texas, conducts harvesting, which involves capturing and trapping spirits in boxes. He says he has many in his garage. I need to ask for his guidance. I need to try something.

Before I left the attic, I asked the leader silently if there were any instructions they could give me. The response came as a rush of impressions. “Hurry. Be discreet. Don’t call unnecessary attention. The Master Shadow thrives on fear and detection.” If I can keep these souls calm and their energy low, maybe he won’t pinpoint their location. I wondered whether I should encourage them to spread through the attic, which is very large, or at least remain very still. But movement might stir up even more energy. They seemed to sense my struggle to form a plan and gave me one last plea. “Whatever you do, do it quickly.”

I nodded and said I would return soon. Carefully, I edged backward, making my way to the attic doors. I opened them and climbed out into the guest bedroom. I retrieved the crystal ball box from my desk and carried it to the garage. I placed it high on a shelf. If the crystal ball served as a beacon, maybe this would stop it. Out of sight. Out of mind.

With that done, I went to my home office to write this journal entry. I need to record these events and keep my thoughts organized. If I don’t write it down now, I might convince myself it was some feverish dream. But no, it happened. I saw them, and they communicated with me. They trust me now. They depend on me.

I just thought of something. Two Lost Souls have said one word to me: “Hide.” One whispered it, one screamed it. They weren’t warning me. My chest tightened as the pieces clicked into place. “Hide” wasn’t meant for me at all. It was for them. Of course.

Now it falls to me to repay their trust. I have to find a way. I’ve been around the paranormal long enough to know ignorance won’t save me, the Lost Souls, or these refugees. I’ve read about protective herbs, about sigils drawn in chalk or etched into wood. I might try burning sage. Maybe I can arrange crystals, ordinary quartz or obsidian, to absorb or deflect their spiritual signatures. I’m grasping at straws without proper training, but I have to do something.

I can’t stop thinking about the leader’s fear. The Master Shadow can sense their combined presence. Time is short. He’ll return, and when he does, he’ll bring their doom unless I can hide them. I thought about reaching out to the souls who’ve given me testimonies in the living room. If I can summon one or two of them, I might learn more tricks of the trade. But summoning them risks more energy and more flickering lights, which might attract attention. It’s a tightrope act with no net. Actually, I can’t mention the refugees to the Lost Souls at all, because I know the shadows are listening when the Lost Souls are here. More than once, a lost soul has been cut off in the middle of telling me something, choked silent or snatched away before the words could finish. So I mustn’t mention the refugees to them.

I realize how serious my promise was. I told them I’d do my best. That means I can’t sit idle. After finishing this journal entry, I’ll try something simple. Maybe I’ll place a ring of salt around the attic entrance. If folklore holds any truth, salt can create barriers or purify spaces. Even if it only calms my nerves while I think of a better plan, it may help. The key is to act fast and stay discreet. Then again, if the Master Shadow comes back and sees the salt, that would be a dead giveaway. Maybe I don’t leave any clues at all. Maybe I just need to figure out how to hide them. I don’t have time for half-measures. They need me to act. Now.

Personal Note to My Readers

A note before anything else. I wrote this entry, and the one that follows it, when the events happened, but I did not post them until the bottles had left my hands and the Fugitives were scattered beyond my reach. Candle Face has followers among the living. Some of them read what I write. I was not going to hand them a map to my attic. If you are reading this, the hiding place described here is already empty.

Please understand that the events leading up to tonight weren’t random. The 14 months of Lost Souls’ visits, the cryptic testimonies, the flickering lights, Candle Face’s appearance, and the Master Shadow’s threat were all building to this. I have around thirty escaped souls huddled in my attic, counting on me for their very existence. Failure means unimaginable torment for them, and likely for me too. The knowledge that I stood by and let it happen would stay with me forever.

All through this entry, I called them refugees. That seemed to fit as I wrote. I also tried escapees in my head. Neither felt right. These souls are being hunted. They’re hiding. They’re evading something that wants them back. The fear they carried moved through them as if the danger had followed them into the room. They ran as if what passed for their lives still depended on it. They were Fugitives.

The word fits because they’re being pursued. The danger is immediate. And now, by asking for my help, they’ve tied their fate to mine.

I hope I find a solution in time. Maybe this journal, this act of writing, will bring some clarity. Or maybe by the time I look back on these words, all will be lost. I can’t let that happen. The Fugitives trusted me enough to tell me who they are and why they came. That trust is a gift and a burden. I have to honor it.

I’ll start tonight. I’ll contact my friend Aaron, and I’ll dig deeper, maybe even find some obscure rituals online. I have to move quickly and quietly, just as they asked.

The Master Shadow will come. He said he would. When he does, I want him to find nothing out of place, no obvious beacon of escaped souls. I want him to pass us by, baffled and frustrated. If I can do that, I might buy these souls the time they need to stay free. And maybe I’ll sleep a little easier, knowing I did my part.