Candle Face Chronicles: The Voices Grow Stronger
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Time to read 3 min
The voices are no longer a blur. They come through as separate people now, children, the bitter, the grieving, all calling me by my childhood name and pushing pieces of their stories at me. Mr. Doe says they chose me, then tells me to leave him alone.
November 8, 2023
Main Subject: Candle Face
It’s been just over a week since the first strange, vivid dream, and I still feel trapped. What started as a blur of screams and shouts has grown into distinct voices, each one clearer and more insistent than before. They sound like people from every age and every kind of background, and they all seem to want the same thing. They’re trying to speak to me.
I’ve read far too much about hypnagogic hallucinations, the term that first seemed to explain what was happening to me. But as the voices have sharpened and grown more demanding, I can’t convince myself that stress alone is behind it.
At first, all I saw were swirling patterns when I closed my eyes. Then the voices started coming through, as though those shifting shapes had opened a door. Now the sounds never stop, a jumble of chatter, cries, and sobs. Some voices speak in languages I don’t understand. Others are painfully clear.
Night after night, I struggle through it, only to wake up drenched in sweat, heart racing. I keep asking myself whether this connects to my research into Candle Face. By digging into her story, did I open some kind of portal? Is that what brought on this flood of voices?
I called Mr. Doe again to see whether he had any advice. What he said was worse than I expected. “You’d better listen. They chose you for a reason.” Then he told me to leave him alone and hung up.
That line, “They chose you,” haunts me. Why me? I don’t know. But I don’t think I’m dealing with this by myself. Something else is tied up in it, and it isn’t letting go.
As the nights drag on, I’ve started to separate individual voices from the chaos. Some sound like frightened children. Others carry bitterness and regret. The older voices sound sad in a way I can feel. They call me by my childhood name, Ray, and feed me pieces of their stories. They seem to believe I’m their chance to be heard.
The thought of becoming their messenger scares me. I want these voices gone so I can sleep. But each night they get louder, pushing me toward a choice I’m not ready to make. Leaving a light on no longer helps. Whatever this is, it’s getting stronger.
I want to understand what’s happening, but I’m afraid of what I’ll find if I open myself up to them. For now, I’m taking it one night at a time and writing everything down in the hope that it’ll make sense later. Something in all of this points back to Candle Face, even if I can’t yet explain how. Until I figure it out, I’m doing my best to hold on to my sanity.
Personal Note to My Readers
I never asked for these visits. My first instinct has been to shut out the details when I wake up, leaving behind only flashes of dread and confusion. Maybe it’s a defense against what scares us most. But forgetting isn’t an option this time. Whether I like it or not, I’m in it now.
Arthur Mills
Arthur Mills served for more than two decades as an Army Intelligence Warrant Officer, specializing in piecing together what others missed: patterns, threats, enemy intent, and clandestine activity. He trained intelligence professionals, built threat models, and briefed commanders and world leaders on global threats and battlefield strategy. After retiring from the military, he moved into private investigation, focusing on missing persons, human trafficking, opposition research, and domestic terrorism. He holds a degree in Counter Terrorism Studies.
He has been writing books since 2006 and is an award-winning author. He publishes under his own name, though much of what he has written has appeared under pseudonyms. Readers may already know those titles without knowing they are his. The separation is intentional. His books invite readers to interpret what is hidden, and so does the way he publishes them.