December 2, 2024
Tonight, I tried something I’ve done before with success. Sitting before the crystal ball, I focused harder than ever, pushing myself to connect with a lost soul. I wanted to slip into their world, to see what they saw at the moment they were killed—by Candle Face or her followers. Maybe I could find better clues as to who they were and identify their killers.
The kitchen lights flickered, faint at first and then violently, snapping me out of my trance. I turned, and there she was—a young woman no older than her mid-twenties, with an oddly warm presence despite her ghostly form. Her face bore a sad but gentle expression, her voice soft as she greeted me with a simple, “Hello.”
Honestly, I was hoping to avoid a nocturnal visitor tonight—just me and the crystal ball. Low-key séance vibes. But there she was, standing in my dining room like she owned the place.
As she began to speak, the crystal ball between us changed. The soft light inside turned dark, swirling violently. An extreme heat settled over me, and she stopped speaking mid-sentence, her eyes darting toward the ball. Her form flickered, unstable, as she turned to me and then toward the ceiling.
“Hide!” she screamed, her voice breaking. Her ghostly outline shimmered, and for a moment, it felt like the entire room was about to collapse under her panic.
It happened quickly. A shadow poured from the crystal ball, expanding and solidifying into a humanoid form with an aura of evil that I’d only felt when Candle Face visited me. Its edges flickered like smoke, curling toward me, but its core pulsed with a deep reddish light. It spoke in a low and throaty voice, each word vibrating through my chest.
“I am the shadow of Candle Face,” it said, its form towering over me. “For months, something has been amiss here. Energy out of place. I’ve come to see why.”
I sat frozen, unable to speak. The lost soul who had been with me moments before was gone, vanished as if she had never been there.
The shadow’s massive hand clamped around my neck, lifting me off the ground. Its touch was scorching, so hot it felt like its hand and my neck fused together. My feet dangled uselessly as I gasped for air, my vision darkening at the edges.
It carried me through the house, its presence sucking the cool early December air from the rooms. It lingered in every corner, even stopping in my bedroom, where my wife slept peacefully, oblivious to the nightmare unfolding.
When we reached the upstairs bedroom, the shadow paused, tilting its head as if listening, sniffing the air. My heart thundered in my chest, each beat screaming for it to move on. After a long moment, it did.
Back downstairs, it threw me to the ground with a force that left me gasping.
“You think you’re clever,” it said, stepping closer. Its eyes—or what passed for them—flicked downward, focusing on the crystal ball. “But shadows see everything.”
Its gaze lingered on the crystal ball, a red glow swirling faintly in the glass. It felt like the crystal ball itself was alive, it's surface complicit in my pain.
I managed to blurt out, “Who are you?”
Then, with an almost playful manner, it leaned closer and whispered a riddle:
I was freed to kill but bound again.
My name is yelled, though I bring silence.
Look where the broom sweeps, and you’ll find my mark.
The shadow began to dissipate, retreating back into the crystal ball. Before it disappeared completely, it turned to me one last time.
“I’ll be back,” it said. “And next time, I won’t just be looking.”
The room was silent again, but the weight of its presence lingered. I sat there, staring at the crystal ball. Freed to kill, bound again. The broom. The mark.
I didn’t need to solve it to know one thing: Something terrible had been set into motion.
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