Candle Face Victim #45: The Friend Who Didn’t Answer
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Time to read 5 min
Lupe came in through the sunroom door, not the crystal ball, with a bullet hole through her forehead. She was 21 in 1993, a young mother, shot in a drive-by she says wasn't meant for the men on the curb. It was meant for her, because she'd once laughed at a friend's belief in Candle Face. She thinks that friend set her up. Whether it was really Candle Face or just another act of violence, she wanted someone to know the truth.
November 21, 2024
I was sitting in the living room watching TV when the kitchen lights began to flicker. By now, I knew what that meant. The sunroom door creaked open, and a young Hispanic woman in her early twenties walked in. Her expression was somber, her eyes hollow, and a wide, jagged hole had been torn through her translucent forehead. Violence had marked her death. There was no doubt about that.
“My name is Lupe,” she began, quiet but firm. “I need you to hear what happened to me. I need someone to know the truth.”
I gestured for her to sit, but she stayed standing and went straight into her story.
“I was 21 when they killed me,” she said. “That night, in 1993, I left my little girl with my parents to visit a friend. I parked in front of her house, but she didn’t answer when I knocked. She was expecting me, so I didn’t understand why she wasn’t home. Confused and upset, I decided to leave.”
Her voice grew louder, anger twisting her expression as she turned away from me. “I never made it to my car.”
She turned back to face me. “Some men were standing outside my friend’s house. I didn’t know them, but I smiled as I passed. That’s when I saw it. A dark truck creeping down the street.”
She clenched her hands, her fingers trembling slightly. “I didn’t even have time to react. The window rolled down, and I saw the barrel of a rifle pointing out. There was a loud crack. One of the guys by the curb grabbed his leg and fell, screaming. And then...”
She paused, reaching up to touch the hole in her head. “And then the second shot came. It hit me here.” Her voice softened. “I didn’t even feel it at first. I just collapsed. I could still see them, the men in the truck. One of them smiled at me. He was wearing a hat. And then they drove off, like it was nothing.”
Her voice faltered, and for a moment, she was silent. I waited, then asked gently, “Were you the target? It sounds like the men were the targets.”
“No,” she replied firmly, bitterness in her tone. “I was the target. Those men, they killed me for her.”
“Who?” I asked, though the answer was already forming in my mind.
“Really, you have to ask?” Her voice sharpened. “You know who I mean. She’s the one they worship, the one they kill for. I didn’t know it then. I saw her later. After I died.”
Lupe’s form flickered as she continued, her words coming faster now, as though she feared time was slipping away. “I woke up in a place I can barely describe,” she said, her voice trembling. “It was dark in a way that didn’t feel like night. The shadows themselves were alive. There were others there, trapped, silent, their faces blurred like smudged glass. I screamed, but no sound came out. That’s when I saw her.”
“She stood in front of me, her face burned, melted, twisted into something no one should ever have to see. She didn’t speak. I felt her watching me, studying me. And then she smiled, like she was pleased. Pleased that I was there.”
But something didn’t sit right. “Why you?” I asked. “Why were you targeted?”
Lupe hesitated, looking toward the floor. “It was random.” Her voice wavered.
“Was it really random? Or was there more to it?”
Her eyes welled with tears, and she finally looked back at me. “There was a time I laughed at my friend. She believed in this ghost, a ghost that helps people but kills those who don’t believe. I thought it was ridiculous. I told her so. She got angry, but I didn’t think it mattered.”
“Do you think your friend had something to do with this? Did she know you’d be attacked? Is that why she asked you to come over and didn’t answer the door?”
Lupe’s form shook, her tears falling silently. “Maybe. Maybe that’s why she called me over but didn’t answer the door. Maybe she knew.”
Her voice broke, and she began to sob. “She was my friend. I trusted her.”
She wiped at her face, though the tears left no trace. “I didn’t understand then, but I do now. Her followers, they’re everywhere. They watch, they listen, and they choose. My death was a warning. A punishment. I laughed at the wrong story, and for that, they killed me.”
The lights stopped flickering, and the room went still and quiet. Lupe turned and walked slowly back through the sunroom door without another word.
Personal Note to My Readers
Before anything else, I need to correct my own thinking. When the girl from Bryan told me she was the last, I took it to mean the visits were ending. Lupe walking through my sunroom door proves that reading wrong. But look at how each of them arrived. The girl from Bryan came to me through the crystal ball. Since her, the ball has given me visions, but no soul has stepped out of it. Lupe used the door. Maybe the girl was not the last soul who would come to me. Maybe she was the last one Candle Face would let through the glass.
Lupe said Candle Face’s followers are everywhere. What does that mean? Are they confined to Central Texas, where most of the victims are, or do they stretch beyond to other parts of the state, the country, or even the world?
Then there’s the question of truth. Was Lupe truly killed for Candle Face, or was her death just another act of violence? She wanted me to know the truth, so why did she say it was random? Was she protecting her friend, even though she may have been involved in her death?
Truth and belief are tangled together here.
So I have to ask: What do you believe?
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.