Candle Face Victim #2: Mama's Last Embrace

November 18, 2023

Main subjects:

• Victim #2

• Candle Face

Last night, I had another visitor. A dark shape appeared near my bed just as I was drifting off to sleep. Little by little, it came into focus, and I realized someone else had come through. Standing only a few feet away was a young Black girl who looked about four or five years old. She seemed more frightened of me than I was of her. Tears ran down her cheeks as she pleaded for my help. She had a story to tell:

I remember the day I last saw my Mama. I was playing outside our mobile home, and it was really, really cold. The wind went whoosh against my cheeks. But the sky was blue, and the sun was low.

I sat there all bundled up in my winter coat, playing with my teddy bear that my Granny made for me. My teddy was dirty and fuzzy, but I loved it so much.

Then I saw some big kids playing near our mobile home. They were standing in a circle, and one of them, a big boy with nappy hair, was telling a scary story. He said there was a girl ghost around here who died in a fire, and now she scares kids who don’t believe in her. The other kids listened with big eyes, all excited, even the tough ones.

But my Mama didn’t like those stories. She came out of our home fast and waved her hands like she was mad. “Stop scaring my baby girl with those stories!” she yelled. One of the ladies with the kids said maybe we should believe just in case, but Mama was like, “Nope, my baby girl won’t believe in silly stuff like that.”

After Mama helped me brush my teeth that night, she tucked me into bed with my teddy. I felt safe and warm under the covers. Mama leaned in close and said, “Those ghost stories aren’t real, sweetie. Grown-ups sometimes make them up to make kids behave.”

I believed her because Mama knew everything and could protect me from anything. But that night, something strange happened.

I felt hot and heard a sizzling sound like bacon in a frying pan. My heart went boom boom really fast. Something hot picked me up, and it smelled bad, like burned cookies. I wanted to scream for Mama, but I couldn’t. I was so scared.

Then Mama appeared. She was strong and loving, and she held me tight. She said it was just a bad dream and not real. I cried and told her about the ghost girl, but Mama said those stories couldn’t hurt good girls who didn’t believe in them.

Her words felt warm, and I fell asleep without any more bad dreams.

The next day, I heard a little cry while I was swinging on our swing in front of our mobile home. Mama was inside by the window, watching me. I heard something in the bushes. My heart started beating fast because I wanted to know what it was, but I was scared too.

When Mama moved away from the window, I went to look. I had hoped to find a hurt puppy, but instead I found a girl. Her skin was burned, and her clothes were torn. She looked so sad. I wanted to scream and run to Mama, but I couldn’t. I was too scared.

I don’t remember much after that. But I’m not with Mama and Granny anymore. I’m in a strange place with other kids and grown-ups who went through bad things too. I’m scared here. I don’t like it.

I wish I could hug Mama and Granny one more time and feel their love and protection. Maybe you can find them one day and let them know I miss them.

The little girl gave me a grateful smile, though the sorrow in her eyes was hard to miss. As she backed toward the wall, her features began to fade until she was only a shadow, and then she was gone into the portal.

A rush of adrenaline hit me. I got out of bed and hurried downstairs as if something was pushing me forward. When I reached my computer, I typed as fast as I could, trying to capture every word she had shared before any of it slipped away.

These nighttime encounters make more sense now. Each visitor has carried the same plea. They’re trapped by the spirit known as Candle Face, and they need my help. I never asked for this responsibility, but I don’t seem to have a way around it. My job now is to document these encounters and bear witness to their stories. I don’t know where any of this leads. At this point, almost everything is still uncertain.

Personal Note to My Readers

This visitor left more clues than I first realized. She appeared to be around four or five years old, African American, with short braids, possibly black and white, though that may have been the way the light caught her hair. Her voice was gentle, but she spoke in rushed bursts and kept glancing over her shoulder as if danger was close.

She didn’t name her hometown, but the mention of Candle Face points to Austin, Texas, in winter. She said she lived in a mobile home with her mother and grandmother and called them “Mama” and “Granny.” There was a swing set outside their home, and I suspect her last moment with her mother happened while she was playing on that swing.

These details may help identify her and explain what happened.

If you want to help solve this and give this little girl the peace she deserves, join the investigation. You can share your findings and thoughts here: www.candleface.com.