Candle Face Victim #4: The Homeless Man with the Limp

November 30, 2023

Main Subjects: Candle Face

• Victim #4

As I settled into bed tonight, I wasn’t surprised to see another spirit appear in the corner. This one limped toward me like he knew exactly where he was going. I felt an odd calm, probably because I’ve gotten used to these nightly visits. When he got close, he started talking:

Every time I limped through downtown Austin, things got quiet. The suit-and-tie types and the folks in fancy clothes would stop talking when I got close, like somebody hit a mute button. As soon as I passed, they’d start right back up, like I wasn’t even there. My limp was steady. Life had hit me hard, and I was still standing. I didn’t mind that nobody looked me in the eye. It was better that way. Trusting people was never for me.

Out on the street, we talked a lot about Candle Face. She was a story people held on to, something to take their minds off the demons in their own heads. Some called her by another name and said she was a savior for broken people. I wanted to believe that too, but no matter how many times I called for her, she never answered. After a while, the silence ate away at what little belief I had left.

When she finally did show up, she came with a scream, raw and piercing. There was nothing gentle in it. Nothing comforting. She ordered me around. She told me I had to serve her and spread her story. Her demands were one more voice in a mind that already had too many. I lashed out, angry and bitter. Whatever faith I had in her was gone by then.

That was my mistake.

One evening, I was sitting on a bench waiting for the bus when the streetlights started to dim. The shadows stretched in ways they shouldn’t have. Then she came. Candle Face. Hollow eyes. That gaping, empty mouth. I’ll never forget it.

“You do not believe,” she hissed. “Your faith is the light that feeds me, and your doubt... your punishment.”

Before I could answer, her hot, sizzling hands grabbed my shoulders, and everything went blank. The sounds of the city dropped away as she dragged me into the shadows around that bus stop.

In her Lair, she showed me the truth. Candle Face wasn’t the savior I had imagined. She ruled over a place where spirits stay trapped by their own skepticism. It was her hell, and then it became mine too.

She gathered the lost, the ones whose belief had run out. She fed on disbelief and turned it into power.

My punishment was becoming part of the haunting. I was one of her stories now.

He nodded as if to thank me, then turned and limped back toward the corner where he had first appeared and faded into nothing. Not wanting to lose any of it, I hurried downstairs and wrote out his story right away.

Personal Note to My Readers

This victim was likely a homeless man who spent a lot of time downtown, though not necessarily someone who slept there every night, since he was waiting for a bus. One strong clue is his noticeable limp.

Has anyone heard of a missing homeless man known for limping and spending time downtown? If so, that may be our lead.

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.