Candle Face Victim #7: She Believed, But Would Not Obey

December 15, 2023

Main subjects:

• Victim #7

• Candle Face

I stayed up later than usual tonight, figuring there wouldn’t be a visit since these encounters usually happen every five to eight days. My wife had gone to bed earlier, so I was by myself, scrolling through Facebook and watching YouTube videos.

That’s when it happened. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye coming from the sunroom, which was completely dark by midnight.

She was there, hovering as if she were waiting for me to notice her. I opened the double doors and stepped into the room. I must have gotten too close because she backed away a few steps. She looked tired. She looked worn down, but I could also see how badly she needed to tell me something.

Once she started speaking, she had to keep stopping, her words breaking under deep sobs. Even so, she kept trying to steady herself and tell me what happened:

It started in the fall of 2011. That was when everything changed for me. At first, it seemed simple enough. I’d be in my bedroom, late at night, with the room cold and quiet. Then I’d see something moving in the corner. It was Candle Face.

She would come to the foot of my bed and kneel there in front of me. She wouldn’t move for a while. She wouldn’t say anything. She would just stay there and look at me. Then, when she finally spoke, her voice was low. “Do you believe?

I did believe. I always had, even when people around me laughed it off or treated it like some local story. So I told her yes. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. I was terrified. Even so, I felt drawn in.

She said, “Thank you.”

Then it would end, and I would wake up gasping in the early morning light, trying to tell myself it was only a dream.

But after a while, it stopped feeling like a dream. She started taking me to places I can’t describe, wide empty places where she showed me what she did to people who didn’t believe in her. I could hear them screaming. Every time, she would look at me and say, “Bring more to me.” Then I would wake up soaked in sweat.

Then one night, I was lying in bed watching TV when the room changed. The shadows stretched across the walls, and she came out of the corner again. This time, she looked more solid. More real.

“Find them,” she said angrily. “Bring me the disbelievers, and I’ll reward you.”

I was shaking, but I answered her. I said, “I believe in you. I still won’t do this. I won’t bring them to you.”

She came closer.

“Belief is only the beginning,” she said. “Your soul is the prize.

Then she said it again. “Bring me the disbelievers, and I’ll reward you.”

It kept happening after that. Over and over. I could still hear her voice during the day, even when she wasn’t there. But I wouldn’t do what she wanted. I wouldn’t help her.

Then one night, she came back angrier than ever. I knew right away something was different. I couldn’t move. She started at my feet and began taking me piece by piece. I don’t know how else to say it. The pain was worse than anything I had ever felt. It burned through me until there was nothing left.

Now I’m not fully myself anymore. Part of me is with her. I see what she sees. I watch her move through the night. I watch her go after people who deny her. I’m still there, but I can’t stop any of it. I can’t get away.

She retreated into the corner where she had appeared. Before disappearing completely, she said, “Help me, Ray. Please find my body somewhere in the Barton Creek Greenbelt...”

Before she could say anything else, two smoking arms burst from the portal behind her. With such force that her legs lifted off the ground, she was yanked back into it. The scream that came with it was filled with agony and fear, and it seemed to echo through the whole house.

I hurried downstairs, needing to write down every detail she had shared. My hands were shaking, and I felt sick with guilt over what had just happened to her, maybe because she had told me too much. In the rush, I lost some of the finer details of her story, and I’m sorry for that.

Personal Note to My Readers

This is the second time I’ve seen a spirit suffer for either reaching out to me or saying too much. I’ve been doing my best to help these Lost Souls, and now I’m starting to worry that I haven’t held up my end of this. As I keep sharing their stories, it’s getting harder to ignore the possibility that I may be making things worse.

The doubts are getting stronger. I keep asking myself whether I’m the right person for this. So far, I haven’t been able to help them in any real way.

I don’t think I can keep doing this alone. If any paranormal investigators, mediums, or psychics are willing to get involved, I could use your help.