July 12, 2024
Tired from all the Hurricane Beryl cleanup, I decided to turn in early. Hours of wasted time browsing Facebook and YouTube videos would have to wait for tomorrow night. I turned off the living room light but kept the kitchen light on, creating a shadow in the far corner of the living room—ready for any lost soul that might want to visit me. The shadow pulsated just as I laid my head on the pillow. I wasn’t in the mood for this, not tonight, but I have a job to do. With a sigh, I sat up and prepared myself for a meeting. An old man in his late 60s wearing a cowboy hat approached me. He began his story.
I’m the typical grumpy old man. I hate everybody and everything. My “wife” [using air quotes] nags all day long. She talks about how I’m not fulfilling her dreams and how everything wrong in her life is my fault. I don this big o’ cowboy hat to shield my face from people’s probing stares when the nagging gets too strong. Then, I jump in my van and drive aimlessly. Boy, I wish I could disappear. And I did—I disappeared. But not the way I wanted to.
One day, when the nagging was unbearable, I got in my van and headed to a gas station. I planned to head south on I-35 to leave the nagging behind forever. I pumped my gas and went inside to grab some coffee and snacks. As I returned to my van, I saw several black helicopters circling it slowly. I could see people inside, wearing military-type uniforms, lowering ropes above my van.
I knew what this was about. I knew they were coming for me. I’m no stranger to the law—I’ve been in and out of jail for decades for the crimes I was caught doing.
The man paused for around 30 seconds, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. He had a satisfying smile on his face. I cleared my throat to covertly nudge him to continue. He took the hint and continued.
“I figured my run was over, and I would spend the rest of my life in prison.”
“Why? What did you do? Why would they want you?” I asked. He looked at me with wide eyes, then quickly glanced at the shadow from where he had entered my house.
The shadow in the corner of my living room grew larger, and the lights in the kitchen began to flicker.
“Quick, turn on the living room lights,” the old man said.
I hesitated. “Now,” he demanded.
Understanding he wanted to make the shadow disappear, I jumped up and turned on the light.
The living room lit up with the occasional flicker. I sat back down as the old man sat next to me. I knew what we had just done would lead to something terrible now or later, but I didn’t care—I had a mission.
“I used to kill for Candle Face. But that was back in the 70s and 80s. Of course, we didn’t call her that back then.”
“Why did you stop killing for her?” I asked.
“I lost my appetite for killing. Candle Face was so good to me when I first started killing for her in the 70s. But as time went by, she stopped praising me for my work. The favors she used to grant me dried up… I was becoming just another killer. I wanted to be special, so I killed more and more but got no response from her. Many years later, my wife told me Candle Face would likely come for me one day, but I didn’t care. So, I stopped killing. The last killing I did was in the summer of 1987.”
“Who did you kill?”
“I don’t remember her name, but she was an Asian lady. Those Asian names are hard to remember.”
“Tell me about her. What happened?”
“A fellow Candle Face follower with his own kill list asked me to go with him to take care of a disbeliever near Killeen. Having already completed my list, I decided to tag along with him. This man was a pro. He sure knew how not just to kill but to work over the disbelievers. We got in a car he stole and headed for the Killeen area. We got lucky; we saw her walking around her neighborhood, so we jumped out of the car and pulled her in. We took her past Copperas Cove, killed her, buried her, and placed large rocks over her body. She was never found.”
He paused again, with the same satisfying look from earlier. As he paused, we both looked up towards the ceiling and heard soft but noticeable footsteps upstairs as the lights flickered again.
“It’s just my son upstairs,” I assured him.
“Anyway, we headed back to Austin. Even though it was a satisfying kill, I just didn’t want to do it anymore. The act was great, but I don’t kill for free. I killed for Candle Face’s attention, and she didn’t provide it to me anymore. So, the Asian lady was my last.”
“How were you killed?” I asked, tapping his right arm to see if he had flesh. He did.
“I got so tired of my wife nagging one day that I got in my van and headed off. I got gas—”
“Oh, is this when you saw the black helicopters?”
“Yes, that’s it. When I saw the black helicopters, I called my wife to tell her that my past had finally caught up to me. The helicopters circled lower, their rotors thundering. I could barely hear my wife’s frantic voice on the phone. Suddenly, the side doors of the helicopters slid open, and men in tactical gear began rappelling down, their movements swift and precise. They hit the ground running, surrounding me in seconds. One of them threw a rope around my neck, and before I knew it, I was being hoisted off my feet, the noose tightening. I dangled there, choking, as they lifted me up and away.”
“They hung you? I don’t think the police would do that,” I said with a smirk.
“That’s how I remember it. I know now that it was Candle Face who did it.”
“So, how did you really disappear? The police didn’t do that.”
“I don’t know how it really happened. All I know is what I saw and felt. That rope sure felt real. I was hoping you could figure it out for me.”
“Why should I help you? You were a mass murderer,” I asked with a loud and robust tone.
“I wish I had an answer for you. I don’t know why. I didn’t expect you to ask me that. By the way, why are you now asking questions?”
“I figured, why not? The lost souls are already being tortured by Candle Face’s shadows whether I ask questions or not, so I might as well ask questions. Besides, it was suggested to me by a paranormal investigator to go ahead and ask questions.”
“Ray, maybe you shouldn’t help me, maybe I deserve this. But I can help you help other lost souls.”
“How can you help me help the lost souls?”
“Ray, I just did!” the old man said with a grin and a soft laugh. “Now turn off the light and let me return to my torture. It’s where I belong, I guess.”
I stood up and turned off the living room light. The old man walked towards the shadow that reappeared in the far corner. As he stepped closer, the shadow seemed to grow, pulsating as if alive. He turned around and said in a rushed voice, “Ray, the arms that are about to pull me in belong to the man who was with me when we killed that Asian woman.”
As he finished speaking, he tipped his cowboy hat, and two long, muscly arms, almost skeletal, emerged from the shadow. They were inky black and seemed to absorb any light that touched them. The arms grabbed the old man with an iron grip around his neck, their touch causing him to shudder visibly. He tried to resist, but it was futile. The arms pulled him slowly and inescapably into the darkness. His eyes widened and bulged out of their sockets as he was dragged backward, his fingers clawing at the edge of the shadow in a desperate, final attempt to stay in the light.
The shadow’s grip tightened, and the old man was pulled completely into the darkness with a final, powerful yank. His screams echoed briefly before being swallowed by the void. The lights in the room flickered one last time before stabilizing, leaving me alone in the suddenly too-quiet house.
The living room fell into a deafening silence, the only sound of my own heavy breathing. The shadow in the corner seemed to shrink back to its normal size as if it had satisfied its hunger for now. I stood there momentarily, staring at where the old man had disappeared, feeling a mix of fear, confusion, and a strange, unsettling resolve.
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