Candle Face Victim #14: Sobriety's Test on Sixth Street

February 20, 2024

Main subjects:

• Victim #14

• Candle Face

Last night, I got up for my usual middle-of-the-night trip to the bathroom. When I came back, a dripping-wet man was standing by the couch. He had a beer bottle in his hand, and I knew right away another spirit had come to tell me what happened to him.

I walked toward him and offered my hand, but he pulled back and kept his distance. I expected that, so I sat down and made myself comfortable, ready to listen. He looked ready to talk. Then he began.

The Texas sun was just starting to go down, throwing long shadows across Sixth Street. I stood there taking it in, feeling like I had finally done something I used to think was beyond me. I had gone months without a drink. I wanted to prove to myself that I could be around all of it, the bars, the music, the noise, the people drinking, and still not fall back into old habits.

The street was alive that night. Music poured out of doorways. People laughed. Even though I was there alone, I felt like I belonged. I played a few games of pool, got some street food, and for the first time in a long time, I was having a good time without alcohol.

Then things shifted. A group of kids came up handing out flyers like it was life or death. They had this look in their eyes, like they had seen something nobody else understood. I tried to avoid them, but one girl stepped in front of me. Tears were running down her face as she shoved a flyer into my hand and told me it would save my life.

I looked at it. There was a picture of a pretty little girl on it, and they said she was their mother. I didn’t buy any of it. It looked like some strange cult thing to me. But the girl handing me the flyer looked desperate. She said something about punishment if I didn’t believe. I shook my head and walked away, telling myself she was just having a bad night.

I needed to get away from the noise, so I headed toward Lady Bird Lake. It was quieter there, and the air felt cooler. It seemed like the right place to clear my head.

Then I heard it, a splash, followed by a child crying for help. I didn’t stop to think. I ran to the water, kicked off my shoes, and went in. There was a little girl in the lake, struggling to keep her head up. I swam out to her, grabbed hold of her, and started pulling her toward shore.

Then she spoke, and everything in me went cold.

“Why did you save me? Take me back.”

Her voice was wrong. It didn’t fit her body, and there was something deeply wrong in the way she said it. I tried to calm her down, but she started pulling at me, dragging me back into the lake. She was far too strong, stronger than any child should have been.

Then her face changed, and I saw a girl with a burned face. My heart froze.

I tried to fight her off, but she wouldn’t let go. She pulled a bottle from the water, it just appeared in her hand, and forced it against my lips. I begged her to stop, but she laughed. She tipped the bottle, and I couldn’t stop her. I swallowed and choked on the burn of it while she kept laughing.

I don’t know how long it went on, but I could feel myself going under. I was weak, and she was stronger than I could understand. As I went under, all I could think about was what people would believe. After everything I had done to stay sober, they would think I went back to drinking. They would think I lost.

Days later, they found my body. The papers said it was alcohol poisoning and that I must have fallen into the lake drunk. My friends and family mourned the man they thought I was. They never knew the truth. That little girl killed me, not the drink.

And that girl with the flyers, I still wonder about her. Does she think about me? Does she regret what happened that night? Or is she proud of it? It doesn’t matter now. The regret belongs to me, and it’s not leaving.

After he finished, he stepped back. He realized I was staring at the beer bottle in his hand. When he noticed, he explained, “This bottle’s become part of me. It’s a sign to everyone trapped in Candle Face’s lair. It brands me as a drunk, a man who lost to his cravings.” Then he took a sip, turned, and disappeared into the portal.

Personal Note to My Readers

While I listened to his testimony, I kept thinking about the girl handing out the flyers. Does she lie awake thinking about the people she believed she was helping? Or has she convinced herself their deaths were justified?

What happened to this spirit, a sober man whose death was made to look like a relapse, also made me think about everyone else who has crossed Candle Face’s path. How many people left home one night and never came back, with no one ever knowing what really happened to them? And how many more may still end up in her hands, pulled in by a flyer and a warning they laughed off?