December 27, 2023
I started spending my nights in the living room again, leaving the kitchen light on. The faint light created the perfect silhouette for guests to make their appearance. As expected, drowsiness enveloped me just when the shadows in the dark corner began to dance, signaling the arrival of a nocturnal visitor. Emerging from the darkness was a young woman, seemingly in her high school years. Her expression was a mix of anger and surprise. I propped myself up and, for the first time, decided to engage. I invited her to join me, gesturing towards the space beside me. Hesitantly, she glanced towards the shadowy corner, her head moving in a silent, indecisive nod. She stayed where she was and began to share her story. Her voice was full of anger and rushed. I was afraid her voice would wake the house and the neighborhood. This is her story:
High school graduation loomed, signaling the end of an era, and we gathered at my best friend’s old, creaky home, surrounded by dust-covered memories of years long passed. We commenced our last slumber party, creating a capsule where the fear of future uncertainties was momentarily locked away. Engulfed in girlish chatter about crushes, ambitions, and teenage fancies, a long pause occurred when my best friend spoke of the ghost believed to haunt so many in our community of South Austin.
“Do you believe in Candle Face?” she inquired, her voice soft, while the other girls looked on.
My laughter sliced through the tension, a firm declaration of skepticism, “Of course not.”
My rebellion against the ghostly mythology was met with apprehensive gasps from the others. My best friend’s eyes, shadowed with an unspoken knowledge, silently gazed into mine as the other two girls said in unison with solemn earnestness, “You must believe. Disbelievers become her prey.”
I waded through their superstitious beliefs with a certainty that only the naïve can afford. “I just don’t believe,” I declared, with a finality that shut the coffin on any negotiations with the supernatural.
“I have an idea,” my best friend whispered, her demeanor betraying an unexpected calmness, “Let’s summon Candle Face. Let her witness the truth and, perhaps, be spared,” as she pointed at me.
And so, enveloped by the darkest of nights, my friends, those cherished soul-sisters, conjured ancient words and rhythmic dances around a solitary flickering candle. Their eyes gleamed with a foreknowledge that sent shivers cascading down my spine, but I remained defiant, smiling mockingly through their ritualistic chant that seemed oddly rehearsed.
When no ghostly apparition materialized, my laughter echoed through the room, a haunting melody that would soon echo through the imminent void in my existence. “Where’s your Candle Face now?” I taunted. I was relentless.
Days later, my absence painted strokes of concern across our tight-knit community. Search parties led by my best friends roamed, calling my name into the abyss while my body lay submerged, eyes forever gazing into the murky depths.
With my dying breaths, Candle Face’s appearance melted and contorted from the flames that birthed her legend, revealing the bitter truth. My friends had knowingly sacrificed me, an offering to this fiery wraith, in a desperate attempt to secure their own futures.
“In the shadows of those you trusted, treachery took root,” Candle Face said, her voice dripping with malice and the anguish of a thousand tormented souls. “As the same fate once damned me, grant them your final, haunting curse.”
And so, I wished. Not for their deaths but for a life eclipsed by an eternal storm of guilt and misfortune. A life where every breath is a struggle against the chains of their betrayal.
Candle Face responded, “I like the way you think.”
Years unfolded, their lives becoming a theater of my cursed wish. Faces, once youthful and vibrant, were now etched with the merciless passage of guilt-ridden years. And they gathered once more, where it all ended and began, desperately attempting to sever the constraints of their torment by summoning my spirit.
They pleaded forgiveness from beyond the living, their voices frail and breaking. But silence met their cries. Candle Face materialized instead, a cruel smile dancing on her molten lips.
“Your betrayal of your friend was a feast, and for that, I thank you,” she said, her words dripping with wickedness, “But the one you betrayed has imprisoned you in her dying wish. You shall linger in your suffering until death kindly extinguishes your flame decades from now.”
“Why, Candle Face, we believe in you?” my former best friend cried.
“Yes, but you betrayed me as well. You sacrificed your best friend for your benefit, not mine,” Candle Face answered angrily.
And there, they were left, amidst the echoes of their treachery, trapped in a timeless agony, their pleas for death an unanswered prayer in the dark abyss of everlasting despair.
She concluded her testimony without a glance or word of gratitude towards me and then silently retreated into the shadows. Beside me was my laptop, which I quickly opened to document her story.
Personal Note to My Readers
During her visit, the spirit displayed a remarkable lack of fear. Her demeanor showed a relentless determination and a solid drive to share her story. She radiated anger and resentment, clearly fixated on unleashing terror upon those she once called “friends.” Her story suggested that Candle Face found a certain admiration in her final wish to inflict suffering upon her “friends.” It’s just an intuition, but this spirit has developed a profound connection with Candle Face, seemingly more in harmony with the ghostly realm than the world she once inhabited.
Key To Understanding
Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One]
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