Candle Face Victim #39: Mark’s Endless Journey
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Time to read 8 min
The crystal ball worked. Sitting with it at 1 a.m., I saw a Lost Soul clearer than ever, a man named Mark who told me he'd walked 175 miles from Waco just to talk. In life he handed out Candle Face's pamphlets, lonely enough to do anything to belong, until fear made him stop. For that, the people he called family stabbed him and left him for the buzzards. Now she makes him walk forever through a hell of everything he thinks he could have prevented.
October 4, 2024
Last night, I did something different. I put aside Facebook and YouTube and decided to practice the mediumship techniques I’ve recently learned and combine them with remote viewing. I moved my crystal ball into the dining room and sat down to meditate and clear my mind. It was around 1:00 a.m., and I was the only one awake, but I still felt a little silly staring into it. After a while, that feeling faded into peace and mental clarity.
As I gazed into the ball and focused on my breathing, I heard faint footsteps behind me. I didn’t turn around. I kept my eyes on the crystal, because I somehow knew it was a Lost Soul. He sat down next to me and introduced himself as Mark. When I finally looked up, I saw a Lost Soul more clearly than ever before. The details of my dining room looked sharper too. I was in some kind of trance, brought on by the meditation and the new techniques.
He greeted me again with a look of amazement. He seemed amused that I was looking around the dining room, almost as if he couldn’t believe I could see him. “Hello,” he said again, trying to get my full attention. I looked directly at him and noticed he had a much larger head than most and Spock-like, pointed ears. He was a white man, around 200 pounds, with blue eyes, and looked to be about 40 years old. He waited for me to take him in before speaking again.
“Hello,” he said for the third time, laughing softly. “I walked here from Waco, nearly 175 miles, just to talk to you.”
“You walked here from Waco?” I blurted.
“Yes,” he chuckled. “I like to walk.”
I knew I wasn’t supposed to ask questions during these interactions. Candle Face forbids it. But this felt too important, so I asked anyway.
“Why did you come all the way from Waco, Mark?”
His gaze turned more serious, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the table. “Well, there’s some folks down there who, uh, asked me to help them with something. They wanted me to hand out these pamphlets around town, y’know, spread the word about her.”
“Pamphlets about Candle Face?” I asked.
“Yeah, yeah... We didn’t call her Candle Face back then. I don’t remember the name, though. The name had changed. The presence was Candle Face. I didn’t believe in all that at first. Seemed like a buncha nonsense. I did it for the money. They didn’t pay much, but it was somethin’. I ain’t had much goin’ for me, so I figured, why not? After a while, I dunno, it started to make more sense to me, y’know?” He paused, glancing down at his hands. “I kept talking to those folks, and it started feelin’ real. So I got more excited ‘bout helpin’ ‘em.”
He hesitated before continuing. “They knew I was missin’ a few marbles, though. I ain’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. They kinda took advantage of that. Had me doin’ stuff no one else wanted to do, and I didn’t care. I was just happy to be part of somethin’. They was my new family.”
Mark’s expression brightened a little as he recalled the memory. “I really liked passin’ out them pamphlets, long as I didn’t have to talk to nobody. If folks started askin’ questions, I’d just tell ‘em, ‘Read the pamphlet. It’s all in there.’ I wasn’t good with answerin’ questions, y’know?”
“What kind of things were in the pamphlet?” I asked, leaning forward slightly.
“Ah, just stuff ‘bout Candle Face, or whatever her name is. How she’s out there, helping her people and helping spread her message. The pamphlet made her seem like a god or something. My new friends would warn me not to cross her or she’d come after me too. I didn’t think it was true at first. After a while, I started wonderin’ if it was. I started gettin’ real nervous handin’ ‘em out, like maybe she was watchin’ me.”
“Did you keep handing them out?”
He shook his head slowly. “Nah, I started feelin’ weird ‘bout it, like somethin’ was wrong. So when I’d get more of ‘em to pass out, I’d just walk. I like to walk, especially when I’m feelin’ low. Walked way out in the countryside. Buried a bunch of them pamphlets in the dirt. Didn’t wanna look at ‘em no more.” He glanced up at me, almost sheepish. “I’d still tell ‘em I was handin’ ‘em out, though. Lied right to their faces.”
“Why didn’t you just quit?” I asked, even though I already sensed the answer.
Mark gave a small, sad smile. “Didn’t wanna lose ‘em. They was the only folks that ever cared about me. So I kept it up, kept walkin’ ‘round with those pamphlets. Then one day, I was walkin’ along Highway 84, and a truck full of them saw me. Didn’t have no pamphlets on me, just my own sorry self.”
“What happened then?” I asked.
“They pulled over. Said I was lettin’ everybody down. Got real angry. I tried to say I’d do better, but they didn’t listen.” Mark looked down, touching his neck. “One of them pulled out a knife and stabbed me right here, right in the neck. Didn’t even see it comin’. Then they dragged me off the road, into the brush. Left me there, bleedin’ out. I felt my body go cold, heard the buzzards flappin’ ‘round. They picked at me ‘til there wasn’t much left.”
I sat there with nothing to say.
“That’s why I walk,” Mark said again, his voice growing softer. “Even after all that. I walk and I walk ‘cause I ain’t got nowhere else to go. And every place I go, it’s like I’m seein’ all the death and pain she’s caused. People dead on the side of the road. Houses burned down. Folks screamin’ for help that never comes.”
He paused. “It’s like I’m walkin’ through Candle Face’s own hell, a place she made just for me. My punishment for not handin’ out those pamphlets. She made me see all this death and destruction. Things I coulda prevented if I’d done what I was supposed to. If I’d just passed out more pamphlets, maybe people woulda known about her. Maybe they wouldn’t have died. Maybe they’d still be here.”
“That’s my punishment. To walk forever in a place full of hurtin’ people, a place I coulda stopped. She’s showin’ me what happens when folks don’t know ‘bout her. All because of me.”
Mark’s eyes stared through me, unfocused, as if he were no longer fully present in my dining room. His words tumbled out faster, almost frantic. “Every time I think I’ve walked far enough, I find myself right back where I started. I think I’m leavin’ it all behind, and then there’s more bodies, more pain. It’s like she’s watchin’ me. Like she’s laughin’ at me.”
I wanted to say something to ease his suffering, but I didn’t know what.
“I’m so tired,” Mark cried. “I just wanna rest. But I can’t stop. I have to keep walkin’. Maybe if I walk long enough, she’ll let me go. Maybe, just maybe, one day, I’ll get outta here.”
He glanced up at me, eyes full of desperate hope. “D’you think that’s true? That if I keep goin’, I’ll find my way out? Or am I just stuck here forever?”
I tried not to show how much it got to me. “I don’t know, Mark. I hope you do. I hope you find peace.”
“Yeah, peace,” he repeated softly, as if the word was foreign to him. “Peace would be nice.”
Mark fell silent, staring off into the distance. Then, as if coming to a decision, he turned and started walking toward the door. I watched, helpless, as he moved with a slow, deliberate gait, like a man with miles left to walk. His form began to blur and fade as he stepped outside, but just before he disappeared completely, he glanced back over his shoulder.
“Thanks for talkin’ to me,” he said, his voice faint but sincere.
And then he was gone.
Personal Note to My Readers
Mark’s visit showed me why refining these skills matters. Since the Mediumship Bootcamp and the remote viewing class, I’ve been applying what Nicole and Stacey taught. I’m far from mastering it, but last night was the first time I felt what this practice might lead to. The meditation is quieting my mind and filtering out distractions. The difference is small, but it’s there.
One exercise from Nicole is grounding, visualizing roots running from my feet into the earth. During the visit, it kept me centered while Mark’s grief washed over me. I could feel what he was carrying and still stay steady.
Another is “target acquisition” from Stacey’s course. I’m still getting the hang of it, but I tried it with Mark, focusing on his voice and letting my mind’s eye follow it. His presence grew more solid, and for a moment I could see into his world.
The details come easier now. Mark’s voice had texture and depth. I could hear it waver when he spoke about his past and steady itself when he asked whether I thought he could find peace. They’re small shifts, and they tell me more than the words alone.
I’m still finding the balance between using these methods and letting the encounters happen naturally. For now, it’s enough to know I’m making progress.
This feels like the start of something. I’m grateful to have you all along for the mission.
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.