November 18, 2023
Last night, another nocturnal visitor paid me a visit. A vague, dark form materialized near my bed as I was on the cusp of sleep. Gradually, its details became clearer. This wasn’t my childhood visitor, Candle Face; this was something different. The figure, now just a short distance from where I lay, revealed itself as a young black girl, appearing to be around four or five years old. A palpable sense of fear emanated from her, seemingly more frightened of me than I was of her. Tears were streaming down her face as she implored me for help. She had a story to share:
I remember the day I last saw my Mama. I was playing outside our mobile home, and it was really, really cold! The wind was like, “Whoosh!” on my cheeks. But the sky was all blue, and the sun was low.
I sat there all wrapped up in my cozy winter coat, playing with my teddy bear that my Granny made for me. My teddy was dirty and fuzzy, but I loved it so much!
Then, I saw some big kids playing near our mobile home. They were in a circle, and one of them, a big boy with nappy hair, was telling a spooky story. He said there was a girl ghost around here who died in a fire, and now she’s a ghost who scares kids who don’t believe in her. The other kids were listening, all wide-eyed and excited, even the tough ones!
But my Mama didn’t like those stories. She came out of our home all fast and waved her hands like she was mad. “Stop scaring my baby girl with those stories!” she yelled. One of the ladies with the kids said maybe we should believe just in case, but Mama was like, “Nope, my baby girl won’t believe in silly stuff like that.”
After Mama helped me brush my teeth at night, she tucked me into bed with my teddy. I felt safe and warm under the covers. Mama leaned in close and said, “Those ghost stories aren’t real, sweetie. Grown-ups sometimes make them up to make kids behave.”
I believed her because Mama knew everything and could protect me from anything. But that night, something weird happened.
I felt hot and heard a sizzling sound like bacon in a frying pan. My heart went boom, boom, really fast. Something hot picked me up, and it smelled bad, like burnt cookies. I wanted to scream for Mama, but I couldn’t. I was so scared!
Then, Mama appeared. She was strong and loving, and she held me tight. She said it was just a bad dream and not real. I cried and told her about the ghost girl, but Mama said those stories can’t hurt good girls who don’t believe in them.
Her words were like a cozy song, and I fell asleep without any more bad dreams.
The next day, I heard a little cry while swinging on our swing in front of our mobile home. Mama was inside, next to the window, to keep an eye on me. I heard some noise coming from some bushes. My heart raced with curiosity and worry.
When Mama moved away from the window, I went to check. I found not a hurt puppy like I had hoped, but a girl. Her skin was all burned, and her clothes were torn. She looked really sad. I wanted to scream and run to Mama, but I couldn’t. I was too scared.
I don’t remember much after that. But I’m not with Mama and Granny anymore. I’m in a strange place with other kids and adults who had tough times, too. I’m really scared here; I don’t like it.
I wish I could hug Mama and Granny one more time and feel their love and protection. Maybe you can find them one day and let them know I miss them. Let them know that I still carry their love with me, even in this terrible place.
The young girl expressed her gratitude with a smile, yet her eyes were pools of agony and despair. She rose and began to retreat towards the wall, her form gradually losing its solidity, transforming into a shadow that dissolved into the darkness. An alarming sensation of liberation surged through me, prompting me to bolt out of bed and stumble downstairs, moving with the urgency of someone besieged by intense discomfort. At my computer, I frantically typed, capturing her words before they faded into the air.
These visits, once mysterious, have now revealed their truth. Each ghostly encounter, initially beyond my understanding, has become vividly clear. These nocturnal visitors, trapped by the wicked ghost known as Candle Face, plead for my aid. I never chose this haunting responsibility; it was thrust upon me, a demand I can't refuse. My role is to document these exchanges and witness their stories. The path forward is uncertain, shrouded in mystery and trepidation, leaving me to wonder what fate awaits.
Personal Note to My Readers
This nocturnal visitor left behind intriguing clues to her identity. I estimate she’s about four to five years old. She’s African American, with her hair styled in short braids, which seemed black and white, though this could be a trick of the shadows. Her voice was gentle, yet her speech would hasten, and she frequently glanced behind as if someone, or something, lurked unseen in the darkness. The location of her home is unclear, but she mentioned Candle Face, suggesting Austin, Texas, during winter as a probable setting.
She shared that she lived in a mobile home with her mother and grandmother, whom she affectionately called “Mama” and “Granny,” respectively. A notable feature outside her home is a swing. I assess that her mother’s last memory of her is likely of her playing on this swing. These details are crucial in unraveling the mystery surrounding her.
For those drawn to solving this case and aiding this little girl in finding tranquility, it’s time to don your detective cap and join the investigation. Share your discoveries and insights in the comments to contribute to this collective effort to piece her story together.
Key To Understanding
Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One]
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