June 30, 2024
It’s been three weeks since the last lost soul visited me. This isn’t the first time there’s been a long pause, so I knew they’d eventually return. Last night, they did. I was preparing the couch as my makeshift bed when the lights began to flicker, and the shadows in the corner of the living room materialized into a familiar portal.
Out stepped a man who walked straight towards me like he owned the place. During a podcast two days ago with Stacey Tallitsch, the renowned remote viewer, he suggested I pay close attention to the details of the spirits who visit me. Although I had attempted this with minimal success before, I had better luck this time. I looked him over, hoping to gather details about his appearance. He was a white male in his mid-twenties with long, unkempt, dirty blond hair, wearing a dark T-shirt with a single word above an indistinct image. Despite my attempts, I couldn’t make out what it said, and I felt awkward staring at his T-shirt, much like trying to read a woman’s T-shirt without looking like a creep. He sat beside me, his body facing the portal, but his head turned towards me. I nodded, and he began his testimony.
Ray, my name is Dave, and I’m here to tell you my story. In October 2000, I went to a concert where I met a few friends. They were metalheads like me, into bands like Metallica, Slayer, and Pantera. We started hanging out and dreaming of starting our own heavy metal band.
One day, our drummer mentioned writing a song that would brainwash fans into becoming fiercely loyal, even to the point of carrying out Candle Face’s wishes. He explained how we could embed subliminal messages within the aggressive beats, using layered vocals and reversed audio tracks. These messages would influence listeners to buy our CDs and follow Candle Face’s orders. The focus of our lyrics would be on Candle Face, enticing others who shared our musical taste to become her instruments.
The drummer was deeply involved in the occult and believed in Candle Face, the ghost that haunts and kills those who don’t believe in her. He saw our music as a conduit for her influence, convincing followers to spread her power. Each song would contain hidden messages, encouraging loyalty and promoting her evil agenda. It wasn’t just about the music; it was a twisted form of worship designed to enthrall our listeners and spread her influence.
At first, I was all in. We wrote our first song about an evil spirit demanding loyalty from its followers. The first few lines went something like this: “In darkness, we kneel, our goddess reigns, heed her call, forsake your chains!” We created a second song that was even more disturbing, demanding our fans to destroy and kill in her name. Both songs were to have reversed tracks that would list out names of followers to kill, and the drummer would provide the names.
As we perfected our new songs, I started to hear voices in my head. These voices demanded my genuine participation, claiming the subliminal messages would be hidden in my guitar playing. I participated, but my heart wasn’t in it. The voices grew louder and more intense, accusing me of being a traitor to Candle Face and my bandmates. Desperate to repel the voices, I branded a cross on my left arm, thinking it would protect me. I initially considered branding it on my forehead, but that would draw too much attention.
One day, my bandmates came to my house with the CD of our two songs. The drummer suggested we go to the woods to play undisturbed music from his loud car stereo. We all jumped into his car and drove south on 183 way outside Austin. We came to a mostly dirt road and parked. We all exited the car, and the drummer turned on the first song at full blast. We all sang along and air-played our instruments as if we were in a major rock concert at the Frank Erwin Center.
When the songs were over, the drummer asked me what I thought. I told him they were our best yet. Then he played the second song in reverse, and the hidden message said: “In the name of Candle Face, spill the blood. Nonbelievers must now fall, heed her call, one and all.” He played more of the second song in reverse, revealing a list of names for their followers to kill. On the list was the name “Dave.”
As the reversed track played, revealing my name, I laughed nervously, hoping it was just a sick joke. But my bandmates turned on me, showing they knew I wasn’t a true believer in Candle Face’s power. They beat me, leaving me barely conscious. They took me to a nearby abandoned house where Candle Face awaited. Confused and desperate, I asked why this was happening to me—I was a band member. Furious, Candle Face explained that true dedication was required, and I failed by not genuinely believing in the music’s power.
In a final twist, Candle Face mocked me for believing a cross on my arm could repel her. She said, “You think that cross could protect you? I’ll place you under the floorboards with others who thought they could beat me.” Beneath the floorboards lay the souls of those who had also faltered in their loyalty, their screams echoing through the house: “Half-hearted devotion leads to eternal derision.
When he was done, he stood up and said, “Ray, it’s better to believe, just in case.” He briskly walked back to the portal and stepped in. This is the second time I have heard this phrase.
Personal Note to My Readers
I believe the house mentioned by the lost soul, Dave, may be the same one referenced by Victims # 24 and # 27. In all three cases, Candle Face places her victims under the floorboards. Could this be the same house in Luling, TX? Dave mentioned that he and his bandmates drove south on 183 and stopped on a mostly dirt road, likely Salt Flat Road. Could this be the same road and house?
As I write this, I feel a strong pull toward the house, like I’m hypnotized. It’s as if invisible forces are compelling me to go, the urge becoming almost irresistible. Deafening screams fill my head, echoing with urgency and commanding me to get there now. The compulsion is so intense that it drowns out all rational thought. It’s 3:30 in the morning, and I can make it to Luling in about two hours. The idea of confronting whatever lies there both terrifies and fascinates me. I headed out the door and began my journey.
Update
About an hour from Luling, I called my friend Michael, "Mark" in my memoir The Empty Lot Next Door. He’s a night owl like me, so I knew he would be awake. I thought that if he left now, we could both reach the house at the same time. However, Michael frantically begged me not to go, warning me about the dangers of confronting whatever presence might be there. He reminded me of the threatening stories surrounding Candle Face and that house, insisting that going alone—or even with him—is dangerous. He urged me to turn around and go back home. I heeded Michael's words and turned around. After talking to him, the eagerness dissipated.
I can't help but wonder if this was a trap. Was it Candle Face's way of luring me in, finally ending my investigation and my life once and for all? Am I digging too deep into Candle Face? What would have happened if I had actually reached the house? Would I have been under the floorboards, just another victim added to her collection? What if I had arrived alone, or worse, taken Michael with me? The danger we might have faced is unimaginable. It leaves me questioning how far I'm willing to go in this pursuit and whether some mysteries are better left unsolved.
Where do I go from here? Is it really up to me? These questions linger in my mind, pulling me in different directions. Should I continue to investigate Candle Face, or is it wiser to walk away while I still can? The choices weigh heavily, each path fraught with uncertainty and potential danger. But I must still help the lost souls. Then again, why would Candle Face insist that I help them and lay a trap for me at the same time? I just don't get it. What games is she playing?
Key To Understanding
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