Candle Face Victim #31: Crystal

May 24, 2024

Main Subjects: Candle Face

• Victim #31

I made a big mistake. I tried to sleep on the bed upstairs. This usually doesn’t end well for me because sleeping flat, either on my stomach or back, brings on a major vertigo attack that plagues me for days. That’s what happened last night. The room started to spin, but the shadows stayed still. A woman stepped out of the portal and stood motionless while the rest of the room spun around her. She began as I tried to concentrate, knowing the vertigo would make me miss pieces of her testimony. Here’s what I caught:

I worked the corners of North Austin and, at times, downtown. I was a good prostitute. People would ask for me by my street name, Crystal. I was also known to be rough and tough, and I wouldn’t take crap from any man. Try to rip me off, and I’d punch, scratch, and kick until the son-of-a-bitch paid up.

One day, a man drove up and told me to get in. After a few minutes of haggling, I agreed, and we went to a secluded spot to seal the deal. He became a regular, maybe once every week, sometimes more often. He was quiet at first, but as we got more comfortable with each other, we would talk about life in general. He started talking about saving me and making me his wife. He wasn’t the first person to say this. I knew where that kind of talk leads. I didn’t want him to think I belonged to him, and I definitely didn’t need a savior. But I needed the money, so I played along.

Then came the day he didn’t want to pay me, because he said I was his girl. When I told him that if he wanted to get laid, I needed to get paid, he hit me across the face. This wasn’t the first time I got hit. I knew what to do. I bit him on his right cheek and punched him, and I got away. A few days later, he drove by and apologized, saying it was the drugs in his system that made him do it.

He looked at me with those puppy eyes, so I got into his truck. He drove me to our spot off the highway. I did my job, and he paid me. We continued this weekly for about two months. One afternoon, after doing the deed, we sat in his truck talking like we used to. He brought up the story of Candle Face, the demon you named. He said he’s a disciple of hers, responsible for spreading her word and bringing her anyone who doesn’t believe in her. I asked what happens to those who don’t believe. He said she’ll deal with them individually. I just laughed, and eventually, we changed the subject. As the weeks passed, he wouldn’t let it go. He kept asking me to help him spread the word and tell my friends about her. I would refuse, saying I just don’t believe in ghosts.

The last time, he asked me again if I believed in Candle Face, and I went off on him. I was so tired of hearing it that I yelled no. I went for the door, but he gripped my left arm and held me inside. I punched him with my right hand, but it barely landed. His punch to my face did land. He climbed on top of me and started to choke me, his thumbs pressed into my neck. I knew this was going to be different from the other beatings I’d taken from my johns. I tried to scratch him, but couldn’t reach his face. I tried to grab his hands and pry them off my neck, but it was no use. He was just too strong. Right before I passed out, he stopped and laughed. He asked, “What’s wrong? All the other girls like it.” He then punched my face a few times and went back to choking me. He went back and forth like that until I just couldn’t fight or care anymore. He asked me, “Are you ready to believe?” I couldn’t answer. My answer was still no. He went for my neck one final time, and death overtook me.

The second my life drained from my body, I appeared in a place filled with other souls. Shadows surrounded me, taller and skinnier than humans, gliding a foot or two above the ground. They grabbed me and told me my job in death would be the same as in life. I was there to entertain. I fell to my knees, and they stuck to the ground. A shadow pushed me forward. My forearms hit and stuck too. One of the shadows said, “Now that’s the position you’ll remain in for eternity.” Other shadows formed two lines, one in front of me and the other behind me.

“Ray, I, um, I mean, we need your help. Please save us from this hell. You’re the only one who can help us. You’re paying too much attention to the wrong things.”

I asked, “What can I do differently?” before realizing I had broken Candle Face’s rule of not asking questions. My heart sank, but she answered.

“Read and reread our testimonies. There are more clues in them. You must find them. You were chosen for a reason. All you have to do is…” she said in a rush, but a huge shadow figure appeared out of the portal. It had elongated limbs, and its eyes glowed a sickly red. The figure grabbed her by the neck with clawed hands, lifting her off the ground. She struggled, her form flickering and distorting.

The shadow looked at me and said in a voice that was both a whisper and a roar, “You were warned.” Its breath was hot and foul, burning my skin and lungs. It then yanked her back through the portal with a force that made the air ripple and crack. As she was pulled through, her screams echoed around me, mingling with the cries of other tormented souls. I was alone in the still-spinning room, my mind racing with the message she had gotten out.

Personal Note to My Readers

As I suspected, the Lost Souls are giving names now. This is the second testimony in a row to carry one, and this time it was her own street name, “Crystal.” Her instruction was plain. The clues are already in the testimonies, and I need to reread every one of them, searching for whatever her victims left behind. This puzzle could be my path to freeing the tormented Lost Souls, including my own.

The investigation continues in the three most recent entries below. Each adds to the record on Candle Face (Isabel), the Lost Souls, and the Fugitives. You’ll find every entry to date in The Journal.