Candle Face Victim #3: Sixth Street to the Gravel Pit

November 23, 2023

Main subjects:

• Victim #3

• Candle Face

November 23, 2023

Just before I fell asleep last night, I sensed another presence. This time there were two, a man and a woman, standing in the shadowed corner of my room with their faces half-hidden by the low light.

The man spoke first and asked for my help. They wanted me to be their voice, to tell how their lives ended and who killed them. As they spoke, their memories came together into one account of what happened to them. This is what they said:

I traveled to Austin with my girlfriend to visit a childhood friend. As soon as we got to his house, we decided to go out and take in the nightlife on Sixth Street. The bars, the music, the energy, it was everything you would expect. We moved from bar to bar, drinking, laughing, and taking it all in.

By the time we got back to my friend’s house, we weren’t ready to end the night. We ended up in his kitchen, opening more beers, and my friend passed around some weed. We were buzzed and in a good mood, at least until he started talking about a “presence” that haunted his house.“

She comes with rattling chains,” he said.

My girlfriend and I looked at each other, barely holding back our laughter. “Rattling chains? Seriously?” she chuckled. “That’s straight out of a bad horror movie.”

“Exactly,” I said, grinning. “Ghosts are just a product of imagination.”

But my friend wasn’t laughing. He got serious, and that only made us laugh harder.“

I might have exaggerated,” he said, his voice turning somber, “but she visits me in my dreams. She asks for help. She asks me to find people who believe in her.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, believe?”

He hesitated, then described the dreams, a disfigured little girl trying to communicate with him. At first, he couldn’t understand her, but over time, her words became clearer.“

I’m out,” my girlfriend said, standing up. “This is too much.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you scared?”

“No,” she replied, her voice shaking. “I don’t believe in ghosts, but this story gives me goosebumps.”

He leaned in closer. “Believe it or not, Candle Face rewards those who listen to her.”

“Candle Face?” My girlfriend and I burst out laughing.

“She hears you,” he snapped. “She’s everywhere. Always listening.”

I couldn’t resist another joke. “Does she have a list? Checks it twice?”

Our laughter filled the room, but my friend didn’t say another word. He stood up, walked out the door, and disappeared into the night.

“Where’s he going?” my girlfriend asked, and I could hear the nerves in her voice.

“I don’t know,” I said, trying to brush it off. “He gets carried away sometimes. He’ll be back. Besides, he lives here.”

Fifteen minutes later, he returned, but he wasn’t alone. Three men came in with him.

The moment they walked inside, I felt it. One of them carried a machete. Another had a large tarp. Every instinct I had told me to run, and I bolted for the back door. But the rug slipped under my feet, and before I could get back up, they were on me.

“He left you behind,” one of them said.

The man with the tarp spread it across the kitchen floor. “Get on the tarp,” he said, almost casually. “Makes cleanup easier.”

“Do something!” my girlfriend screamed.

I tried to hold my ground. “I’m not getting on that tarp,” I said, my voice shaking.

But my friend stepped forward with a cattle prod. He didn’t hesitate. He drove it into me, and my body locked up. I hit the floor hard. They dragged me onto the tarp.

The man with the machete didn’t waste time. He swung it and cut off my hands one after the other. Another man shoved a gag into my mouth, muffling my screams as they cut me apart. The pain was beyond anything I had known. They kept going until only my torso and head were left whole. I was alive, but barely.

My girlfriend stood frozen, forced to watch while they did it. Then they turned on her and put her through the same thing. They didn’t kill her then. Instead, they wrapped both of us in the tarp, loaded us into the trunk of my own car, and drove off.

I remember the ride, every bump, every turn. Our blood pooled under us, soaking into the tarp. We must have driven for about an hour before the car finally stopped.

They dragged us out and dumped us into a dark gravel pit. My body was broken, and my breathing was shallow. My girlfriend lay beside me, barely alive, too.

Some of my blood had spilled onto the floor of the house, but it went unnoticed, hidden from the detectives who questioned my friend soon after the murders. It was as though the evil around that house had swallowed even the evidence.

The last thing I heard was my friend’s voice. He sounded detached as he said, “All you had to do was believe.”

Now we’re trapped in a nightmare. This place is nothing like you could imagine. Shadows move on their own and whisper things you don’t want to hear. The air is full of the cries of souls like us, tortured, broken, lost. There’s no escape here. No peace.

After the pair vanished as suddenly as they had appeared, I went downstairs to write down their account. This was my third encounter, and by then I had begun to feel a real sense of purpose. I understand now why they’re coming to me. I’m here to tell their stories and help free them from Candle Face.

Personal Note to My Readers

These two visitors left behind a violent story. I’m asking for your help in identifying them, finding where their bodies were left, and determining who killed them.

Pay close attention to what they shared. Their final night ended at a childhood friend’s house, which became the place where they were attacked. We also know they were driven about an hour in the victim’s car, which may help narrow down where their bodies were dumped. Are there gravel pits within an hour of that suspect’s home?

Who are these two victims, and where were they taken? We know detectives had already questioned the killer in his own house, but who was he? Any connection, theory, or detail may help this case. Let’s work through it together and see where it leads.