A sunlit dirt road winding through dense green woods in daylight, dappled with shadow, a vehicle barely visible far in the distance.

Candle Face Victim #18 and #19: The Walkman Left in the Road

Written by: Arthur Mills

|

Published on

|

Time to read 4 min

Two figures in the sunroom corner, holding hands: a murdered runner and the man who killed her. He was sent by Candle Face to take her to the woods, but he killed her on the spot instead, disobeyed, and she took him too. Now their hands are fused in the lair. Her plea: find the Walkman battery case still scattered on that Georgetown road, and you find her body.

March 8, 2024

Main subjects:

  • Victim #18
  • Victim #19
  • Candle Face

My plans for an evening walk got wrecked by a sudden wave of pollen, so I got on the treadmill instead. It’s in the sunroom, angled near the same corner where Victim #7 and Victim #12 once appeared. As I started slowing down for my cooldown, I heard soft sobbing coming from that corner. When I looked over, I saw two faint figures, a man and a woman.


I stepped off the treadmill, but before I could speak, the woman said, “Please, keep going. I miss the days when I could run. I miss it so much.” I gave her a small smile, then walked over to the sofa and sat down, quietly motioning for them to come closer. They stayed where they were, standing side by side and holding hands. Then she began her story:

My last day alive is burned into me, every step of that winter run, every moment that led to the end. I had my Walkman strapped to my arm, and my favorite songs were drowning out the cold and everything around me. Music made me feel safe. It made me feel like I was sealed off from the world.

That ended when a car slowed down next to me. A young guy leaned out and asked for directions. I was so caught up in the music and the rhythm of my run that I didn’t hear him at first. I had to pull off my headphones to understand what he was saying.

At first, it felt normal. Then he asked whether I wanted a ride. I said no. Before I could react, he grabbed me. It was fast, violent, and sudden. One second, I was running along the side of the road. The next, he was shoving me into the trunk of his car. My Walkman hit the ground, and the music cut off. The silence that followed made everything feel even more real.

He drove off, but a few minutes later, he came back. I could hear him outside, moving slowly, like he was in no hurry at all. He was looking for the Walkman. I guess he noticed it when I dropped it. He picked it up, but he left the battery case and the batteries behind, scattered on the road like they meant nothing.

I didn’t know it then, but Candle Face had sent him. He was supposed to take me somewhere secluded in the woods as part of whatever plan she had. But he didn’t follow through with that part. He killed me right there instead. Maybe he wanted control. Maybe he just couldn’t stop himself. Whatever the reason, he disobeyed her, and that sealed his fate.

Candle Face doesn’t forgive disobedience. She came for him too, and now he’s trapped here with me. She bound us together, literally. Our hands are fused. I feel him every moment, and it’s unbearable. I hate him, and I’m trapped with him with no escape. Not yet.

Ray, if you want to help, you need to find the battery case for my Walkman. The battery case and the batteries are still out there somewhere along that lonely road where he grabbed me. Trace the path of my last run in the Georgetown area. Somewhere along that stretch of road, my body is still waiting to be found. If you find it, maybe I can finally be free of him. Free of Candle Face.

Thank you for listening.

She gave me a knowing smirk, thanked me for listening, and then stepped back into the portal, her killer following close behind, their hands still joined.


Personal Note to My Readers


The young man, who helped bring about his own end without realizing it, is now trapped with her in Candle Face’s lair. There’s a hard kind of justice in that. The room went quiet, and I caught myself giving a faint, dark smile at the thought of his shock when he learned he would be bound to the same punishment he forced onto his victim.


That reaction felt honest, even if it was cold. As I keep replaying the encounter, I can still feel that hollow, dark laugh sitting in my chest. It feels closer to accepting the twisted justice of what happened to him.


But my heart still aches for her.

 
Cartoon portrait of Arthur Mills with gray hair, wearing a tan polo shirt.

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.