20 Sep 2024
Things have been hectic lately. Yesterday, Mr. Smoe called me a liar. He wants to appear on a podcast with me again to expose what he claims are lies and reveal Candle Face’s "real" identity. It’s hard not to let his words get under my skin. After everything I’ve been through—after all the lost souls who have come to me—he thinks it’s all some elaborate lie?
What exactly does Mr. Smoe think he knows? What’s he planning to say on the podcast? And worse yet—what if people believe him? He’s convinced he has the truth about Candle Face, claiming he’ll reveal her "real" identity. But here’s the thing: I’ve decided it’s better to let him say his piece without my interference. I won’t refute or challenge his claims right now. For now, I’ll hold back what I know.
Hopefully, we can do this podcast soon. The longer these accusations hang in the air, the more they fester. And I can’t afford to let them distract me from my work—not when so much is at stake.
Sitting on my couch and makeshift bed, I pondered what Mr. Smoe said. As the hours dragged on, the lights began to flicker, and the shadows in the corner of my living room thickened—signs that a lost soul had arrived. Out of the shadows stepped a woman in her mid-thirties, wearing a wide smile framed by dark red lipstick. She sat beside me on the couch, bouncing a little as if trying to get comfortable. Her eyes scanned me, still smiling.
"I'm a fellow veteran," she said. "So, I hope you’ll give me special attention and help me find my killers."
"How can I help you?" I asked, without thinking at the time she just told me.
Her smile faltered, her voice softening. "I guess I should start with my name. It’s Katty."
At least, I thought she said "Katty," but something about the way she mumbled it, or maybe it was just the flickering lights distracting me made me unsure. Later, I could’ve sworn I heard her refer to herself as Matty. Was it Katty or Matty? I couldn’t tell.
She continued, oblivious to my confusion. "I had a good life once. You know, I was happy. I served my country. But it all went downhill when I started hanging with some Soldiers in my unit at Fort Hood."
"They were using drugs," she went on, "and I wasn’t planning to get back into that scene after fighting so hard to stay clean. But you know how it goes—old habits die hard." She paused, her eyes dropping as she seemed to relive the struggle. "They had these civilian friends off base, and that’s where I started getting cheaper stuff. We’d all hang out there, staying up all night, high as a kite, talking about everything. Politics, life, the future. When you're high, you think you’re solving all the world’s problems. It was all so stupid. But when you're in that state, you believe you’re invincible. Like nothing can touch you."
Her eyes shifted up to meet mine again. "That’s when Candle Face came up."
I leaned in slightly, curious about where this was going. She caught my movement and continued. "They were always talking about her—this spirit who would come for people who doubted her. I didn’t believe it, though. I mean, how could I? I thought it was just some dumb story to scare each other, you know? But I played along. You kinda have to when you’re in with a group like that. You don’t want to be the odd one out."
She stopped for a moment. "And I needed them," she said softly. "I needed the drugs."
"What happened next?" I asked.
"I screwed up," she said. "One night, we were sitting around, high as usual, talking about Candle Face like always. But this time, I wasn’t really paying attention, and I let it slip—I said, ‘I don’t really believe in this Candle Face stuff. It’s all stupid, isn’t it?’" She paused, as if reliving that moment. "That’s when everything changed. They all went quiet. I’ll never forget the look in their eyes. It wasn’t just shock; it was like they were angry—like I had broken some sacred rule. But they didn’t say anything right then. They just stared."
She took a deep breath. "I didn’t think much of it at first," she said, her voice trembling. "I thought maybe they were just messing with me. But after that night, things started to feel off. They weren’t laughing anymore, not around me. And they weren’t as friendly. Like they were keeping their distance."
Her eyes filled with fear as she continued. "Every time we got together after that, they wouldn’t joke around with me like before. No more late-night conversations, no more small talk. I’d catch them glancing at each other when I’d speak, like I didn’t belong anymore. Like I was an outsider.”
She swallowed hard. "Then, one night, they invited me to hang out again. But this time, it wasn’t at the usual spot. They came to my house near Killeen." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I should’ve known something was wrong."
She wiped her palms against her jeans. "When they showed up, the vibe was different. They weren’t there to get high or talk about life. They had this look like they were there on a mission."
She hesitated, her voice breaking. "They told me it was Candle Face’s will—that she demanded punishment for what I’d said. For lying. For pretending to believe when I didn’t."
Her eyes filled with tears. "They held me down," she said as she began to cry. "They said they weren’t doing it, that Candle Face was making them, that she was controlling their hands. But I know they believed it. They thought they had to do it. And they killed me, right there, in my own house."
She shook her head slowly, tears falling down her cheeks. "Because I didn’t believe."
The room fell into silence. I could feel her pain, the betrayal, and the fear that had consumed her in those final moments. And then, as if she couldn’t hold it in any longer, she said, "I don’t know if Candle Face is real, but they believed. And that’s all that mattered."
I nodded slowly. "I’ll help you," I didn’t know how, but I would find a way. I owed her that much. Deep down, I knew this would be far from simple. I haven’t helped many lost souls in the nearly year I have been forced into this role. But I must try.
She stood up and walked to the shadow, turning to give me another glance. "Bye Ray, please help me and as many of us as possible." She stood at attention and gave me a sharp salute.
My chest tightened as I stood up and returned the salute. She stepped back into the shadow and disappeared.
Key To Understanding
o ensure readers grasp the full context and significance of this journal entry, it’s crucial to be familiar with Arthur Mills’ award-winning memoir The Empty Lot Next Door, inspired by actual ghostly events in Austin, TX. The memoir provides essential background information, and without it, the nuances and depth of this journal entry might not be fully appreciated. Therefore, reading The Empty Lot Next Door is highly recommended for a more enriched and coherent understanding of this journal entry's content and implications.
To purchase The Empty Lot Next Door, please visit Amazon
Paperback: https://amzn.to/46lCovb
eBook for Kindle: https://amzn.to/44YFww4
To Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One], please visit Amazon
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eBook: https://amzn.to/4bsM6ib
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