August 9, 2024 I must announce the conclusion of the Candle Face Chronicles podcast after only six episodes. This decision hasn’t been easy, and it’s one that I’ve struggled with, but I believe it’s necessary. Candle Face Chronicles has been a deeply personal journey for me to bring peace to the lost souls Candle Face has killed or ordered her followers to kill. This mission has consumed my thoughts, driven my actions, often at the cost of my peace of mind, and drained me financially. The seriousness of this endeavor demands a platform and an audience that are deeply in tune with the seriousness of the paranormal, far beyond mere entertainment. Through the Get Haunted Network, I had the privilege of connecting with a community of incredible individuals—Rob, Sara, Courtney, Trevor, Stacey Tallitsch, Ernie and Denise Pack, Wade Kirby, Richard Breault, and many others who shared their passion and support along the way. The Get Haunted Network is a fantastic community, offering great shows that explore the paranormal with curiosity, enthusiasm, a sense of wonder, and, more often than not, a sense of humor. It’s a place for those who enjoy paranormal entertainment, and I highly recommend it. However, my work with Candle Face Chronicles has led me down a path that requires a different focus—one that investigates the lost souls’ stories and the serious nature of the paranormal. The lighthearted nature of the Get Haunted Network doesn’t seem like the right place for an entity that haunts and kills her prey. Recently, I had a profound and heartbreaking experience that made me rethink my approach. The friends and family of a victim featured on my podcast reached out, asking that I stop discussing their loved one. The sorrow in their voices was intense. Listening to their cries for understanding was gut-wrenching. I was overwhelmed with guilt as I realized the pain my words had unintentionally caused. It was as if my heart broke alongside theirs, knowing that my search for truth had reopened wounds that had barely begun to heal. I couldn’t sleep that night, haunted not by Candle Face, but by the voices of the living—those who are still here, still hurting. Their grief, their pleas for compassion, have made it clear that my approach must change. While the voices of the dead are important, the voices of the living must be heard above all. This experience has confirmed a fear I’ve had since the beginning—that the sensitive nature of Candle Face Chronicles might be too much for those who knew and loved the victims. I’ve mentioned this concern in several of my podcast episodes, but it took this heartbreaking call to truly understand its impact. As a result, I’ll no longer provide the names of those I believe to be victims of Candle Face. My focus will now shift toward locating their remains without publicly identifying them, in an effort to spare their loved ones further pain. I’m also deeply concerned about the possibility of mistakenly implicating innocent people as killers. The lost souls have been providing more detailed testimonies to me lately, including information about Candle Face’s followers who have killed in her name. However, there’s always the risk that these details could be inaccurate, leading to the wrongful identification of individuals as killers. Therefore, I’ll not publicly identify who the lost souls claim are responsible for their deaths. My focus will remain on helping the lost souls find peace without causing further harm to the living. As I move forward, I plan to shift my focus toward understanding Candle Face herself, investigating her origins and methods in greater depth. To achieve this, I’ll work closely with paranormal investigators, psychics, and mediums in the Austin area—the epicenter of Candle Face’s terror. Additionally, I intend to explore historical records, folklore, and ancient texts, searching for clues that may reveal Candle Face’s origins. Understanding where she comes from may provide us with the key to stopping her. Involving the broader community in this effort is also essential. While I plan to distance myself from the online paranormal community, which often focuses on entertainment, I’ll continue to crowdsource insights from those who have been following Candle Face Chronicles closely. Your theories, tips, and observations might offer valuable pieces to this puzzle, and together, we may be able to uncover new ways to weaken or even banish Candle Face. To broaden my perspective, I’ll also engage with religious leaders, seeking a more inclusive understanding of assisting the lost souls and ultimately stopping Candle Face. This journey will be about finding real solutions for those suffering from Candle Face. At this point in my mission, I’m filled with a mixture of regret and hope. Regret for any pain I have caused, and hope for a future where these lost souls can finally find peace. Though the podcast has come to an end, my work hasn’t. The search for answers and the mission to bring peace to the lost souls continues. I may periodically conduct live videos from the locations where the lost souls have guided me and conduct interviews, but these will focus on the journey and the process, not on identifying the victims or killers. This approach will allow me to continue the work respectfully and compassionately without causing further distress to the families of the lost souls or implicating possibly innocent people as responsible for their demise. To the Get Haunted Network and everyone who has supported me on this journey—thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your encouragement and belief in this mission have meant more than words can express. I hope you’ll continue to walk with me as I find new ways to pursue this important work, always with compassion and respect at the forefront. Key To Understanding To 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 Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4dz3m7d eBook: https://amzn.to/4bsM6ib Visit Us Online Website: https://www.candleface.com Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/candlefacechronicles Facebook Group (Dream Team Members Only): https://www.facebook.com/groups/candleface YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@CandleFace666 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

September 3, 2024 My last journal entry was on Aug 9, 2024 , when I decided to stop the Candle Face Chronicles podcast. This decision wasn't easy, but I felt it was necessary. While I truly enjoyed my time with the Get Haunted Network, I began to realize that it wasn’t serious enough for such a grave topic. Candle Face Chronicles requires a focus beyond entertainment, and I need a platform that respects the seriousness of this mission—finding the lost souls' remains and identifying their killers. But what really shook me was a heartbreaking call from one of the lost soul’s family members. They begged me to stop discussing their loved one, as they couldn’t bear the pain of knowing that Candle Face was torturing them. The guilt was overwhelming, and I began to think that Candle Face is haunting me—driving me crazy—just as she does to her victims. Many of her victims commit suicide or at least go mad because she gets into their heads. Is this her way of getting into mine? A few nights ago, after nearly a month of silence, a lost soul visited me and told me that I must continue my mission of helping the lost souls and not give up, as they're relying on me. This pep talk helped me realize that I must press on. But how? How do I continue searching for their bodies and identifying their killers without publicly naming the lost souls and their killers? To move forward without causing more pain to their living relatives and friends, I’ve thought of a new strategy: I believe the key lies in partnering with supernatural readers, who bring curiosity, persistence, and a willingness to confront Candle Face. I’ve tried collaborating with paranormal investigators, psychics, and mediums in the past, but these efforts haven’t yielded the results I was hoping for. Many in the paranormal community prefer to focus on cases that are less complex or intense than Candle Face. They tend to work within their comfort zones, and while their contributions are valuable, Candle Face requires an investigation that goes beyond typical paranormal encounters. On the other hand, supernatural readers engage with their books and continue reading even when frightened. They may pull the covers up closer or snuggle up to their partner, but they continue reading, unlike the paranormal community who tend to run at the first unknown knock or thump. These readers have a unique advantage—they're used to solving puzzles and following complex threads in the paranormal world through stories. They persist, not out of obligation to podcast subscribers but out of curiosity and commitment to the story. By bringing them into the investigation, I can leverage their insights to help investigate the clues left by the lost souls. I’ll use a private Facebook group and a public Facebook page for these serious supernatural readers. The private Facebook group  will be for those who want to engage with more sensitive and confidential aspects of the investigation. Here, I can share specific details about the lost souls—working directly with families who have given consent—without publicly revealing their identities. Readers will have access to more detailed information, and their contributions will directly impact the progress of the investigation. The public Facebook page  will allow for more general collaboration. I’ll share clues, such as locations, objects, and cryptic messages, allowing readers to help solve the mystery without revealing specific names or details unless authorized by the lost souls’ relatives. This will protect the living relatives and friends from further grief while still involving the public in a meaningful way. To balance the need for closure with protecting the families, I’ll employ several tactics: Permission from Families: Before publicly naming any lost soul, I’ll always seek permission from the family. If they’re uncomfortable with the public disclosure, I’ll keep the investigation focused on anonymous details and still work privately to bring resolution. Pseudonyms for Public Cases: If permission isn’t granted, I’ll use pseudonyms or vague descriptions to refer to the lost souls (e.g., "A woman from Austin, Texas, who went missing in 2010"). This allows readers to stay engaged with the investigation while protecting the identity of the victims. Private Updates for Families: While the public may not get all the details, families will be kept informed of progress and milestones privately. They’ll receive the closure they need without the emotional burden of a public case. Separate Public and Private Information: Public posts will focus on general clues and updates. More specific, confidential information will be shared as needed for those engaging in the private group. This way, the investigation continues without crossing sensitive lines. Milestone Updates for Readers: Readers won’t need to know the personal identities of the lost souls to contribute. However, they’ll receive updates on important milestones—such as locating remains or solving a critical piece of the puzzle—giving them a sense of accomplishment and closure, knowing they played a role in helping the lost souls find peace. Work with Trusted Mediators: In some cases, I’ll rely on mediators between me and the families, ensuring that sensitive information is handled with care and that families are comfortable with what’s shared publicly. Delayed Disclosure: For particularly sensitive cases, I may wait until a case is fully resolved before releasing any information to the public. This allows the family time to process the findings before anything is made public, helping to prevent emotional distress. By balancing these approaches, I can ensure that the families are protected while continuing the investigation with the help of supernatural readers. Besides collaborating with supernatural readers, I’ll seek the help of spiritual leaders from various faiths. By bringing in diverse perspectives from different religious traditions, I can better understand the spiritual dimensions of Candle Face and the lost souls. Spiritual leaders can offer insights into rituals, prayers, and spiritual protections that might help in the investigation. Their involvement will diversify the investigation and guide how to proceed with respect for all spiritual beliefs. For example, a Catholic priest might offer blessings or exorcisms, a Rabbi could provide insights into protective rituals from Kabbalistic teachings, an Imam could suggest prayers or guidance from Islamic traditions, and a Buddhist monk might offer meditative practices to protect against evil spirits. By involving these leaders, the investigation will be enriched with a wide range of spiritual tools and practices that could help combat Candle Face and bring peace to the lost souls. I'll also consider seeking help from historians and folklorists who can provide context to Candle Face's origins. Understanding the historical and cultural background of the areas where Candle Face operates might reveal important clues about her identity and methods. Additionally, working with experts in psychology, particularly those who specialize in trauma and the paranormal, could help decode the experiences of the lost souls and offer new ways to support them. By involving these diverse collaborators—spiritual leaders, historians, folklorists, and psychologists—the investigation can benefit from a holistic approach that addresses the physical, emotional, and spiritual aspects of Candle Face’s terror. That said, I’ll still seek help from paranormal investigators, psychics, and mediums, especially from the Central Texas paranormal community, as Candle Face’s attacks seem to be concentrated there. Their input will remain valuable, but my primary focus will be on readers and collaborators who bring persistence, curiosity, and a fearless commitment to helping the lost souls and gaining an understanding of the origins of Candle Face. Together, we can bring the lost souls the closure they deserve while ensuring we respect and protect the living. Key To Understanding To 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 Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4dz3m7d eBook: https://amzn.to/4bsM6ib Visit Us Online Website: https://www.candleface.com Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/candlefacechronicles Facebook Group (Dream Team Members Only): https://www.facebook.com/groups/candleface YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@CandleFace666 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

September 13, 2024 I picked up my extra-long white blanket, fluffing it high into the air so it could spread out fully, almost floating like a ghost before it drifted down toward the couch—my bed for over a year and a half now. I can’t even remember what a real bed feels like, and frankly, I don’t care. This couch is perfect for me. But as the blanket began to settle, something felt wrong. It didn’t land flat as it always did. At that moment, the lights in the room flickered violently, casting strange, shifting shadows across the walls. My heart skipped a beat, and the blanket, now halfway to the couch, revealed a faint outline, disturbingly human-like, pressing up against the fabric, as though the couch itself had suddenly taken on a body. My pulse quickened as I stared at the form taking shape beneath the blanket, waiting for it to move. But it stayed perfectly still. Fear crept over me for the first time in a long while, even though I knew it was just another nocturnal visitor—the first in two months, the longest drought. Slowly, I pulled the blanket back. There was nothing there, just the distinct impression of something that had been lying there moments ago. I took a few steps back, my pulse thumping in my chest, and watched as the imprint shifted—flattening and then rising slightly, as if someone had sat up. I could clearly make out the shape of what looked like a seated figure, the faint depression of where its body had been. Then I heard a voice, crackling like static through an old radio. "Hello, Ray. I need your help." "Where are you?" I asked, my voice trembling as the temperature in the room rose. “I don’t have a physical form anymore—just a voice. People all around Austin knew my voice in the ’90s, but few knew what I looked like. Candle Face took my body because…” The voice paused. “She took my body because I used it to hide my filth, my dirty deeds. She took it away to strip me bare, to punish me for the lies I told. She left my voice because that’s all I ever was—a voice, no substance. And now she’s made sure I can never have a body again.” “It’s okay,” I said, trying to steady myself. “I don’t need to see you, as long as you can tell me your story.” “I worked as a DJ in Austin in the ’90s. Everyone knew my voice, but no one knew my struggles. I was addicted to porn and enjoyed flashing people around 6th Street. Not on 6th Street itself, but in the nearby alleys where drunk girls would wander back to their cars. I’d open my trench coat and flash them, then run away. None of my listeners knew about my dirty secret, making it even more exciting.” He paused momentarily. “I loved the adrenaline rush leading up to the moment I exposed myself and watching the girls’ reactions. The idea that they probably listened to me on the radio but had no idea it was me… it made me want to explode. I lived for that thrill. But eventually, I got caught. Somehow, I managed to hide the truth from everyone—my bosses, my listeners, and even my friends and family.” He stopped for a moment, as though struggling to continue. "After a year, I started to feel the urge again. I tried to resist it, but it took a lot of meth to stop me from acting out. One day, a woman handed me a flyer on 6th Street about Candle Face. The flyer said she could free people from their pain if they only believed. I kept the flyer, folding it neatly to fit in my wallet. I read it over and over, as if it held some answer to my misery. One day, the same woman who handed out the flyers recognized me. She asked if I had given Candle Face any thought. I showed her the flyer, and she seemed so impressed that I kept it with me. She even shed a tear or two. We started talking, some light flirting, and I thought maybe I’d get lucky. But it didn’t happen that night. We met up several more times over the following weeks. She wanted to know all about me and what being a radio star was like. One day, she brought up Candle Face again. She said I could help spread her message with a weekly radio show. I had no interest in doing a show about a ghost that supposedly kills people, but I played along. I only wanted to get with her. We kept meeting, and she kept pushing for the show. I told her it would start soon, knowing I was lying just to keep her attention. Eventually, I told her the first episode would air tonight, but the truth was, I wasn’t working on it at all." His voice trembled slightly, as if recalling a memory he desperately wanted to forget. "When I arrived at her apartment, it seemed normal at first. She smiled, pulled me in for a kiss, and I thought I had won. But then, she pulled the curtains back. Outside, I saw figures standing just beyond the windows in the dark. The same people who handed out the flyers. They were watching us. Silent. Waiting." The lights flickered again as he continued. “She told me she knew I was lying about the show. They knew. They knew I was only interested in her, that I was stringing them along. They dragged me down, and she pulled out a knife. The others held me down while she cut into me, carving symbols into my skin. They said I would now serve Candle Face. She would take away my physical form—leave me as nothing more than a voice.” The static in his voice grew louder, more desperate. “She left my radio-like voice because that’s all I ever had. All I ever was—a voice with no soul, no real substance. Now, I serve her in her lair." His voice crackled with intensity, then his tone grew darker, more threatening. "There’s a woman right now, somewhere in Austin who had ridiculed Candle Face. She believes her baby died peacefully of natural causes. But every night, I tell a different story into her ear. I tell her the truth—that Candle Face took her child. I tell her how, in the dead of night, the baby was snatched from her crib, its tiny body twisted and broken in ways no mother should ever imagine. I describe the sound of its last breath. Every night, I make her hear the baby’s cries. Not the gentle cooing of a newborn, but the tortured wails of someone caught in a meat grinder. I tell her the cries are coming from the other side, louder every night, louder the longer she stays awake. She thinks if she keeps her eyes open, the cries will stop, but they never do. I make sure of that. Sometimes, she’ll claw at her ears until they bleed, desperate to drown out the sound of her baby’s torture. She’s afraid to sleep because when she does, I make the cries even more vivid. In her dreams, she sees her baby reaching for her, its tiny fingers blackened and stiff, its eyes empty, staring into darkness. She tries to hold it, but the baby crumbles in her arms, a pile of ash. And still, she hears the screams, louder and louder, until she wakes up, sobbing and gasping for air, wishing for death. The truth is, Ray, she’s already gone. She doesn’t know it, but she’s lost her mind. I’ve hollowed her out. I’ve turned her into a shell, and soon, she’ll do anything to silence the cries… even if it means joining her baby.” The kitchen lights flickered again. "And there’s a man, a doctor. People trusted him with their lives. But he mocked Candle Face. Now, I make him hear the voices of every patient he’s ever lost on the operating table—their voices twisted with pain and betrayal, as if they knew he could have saved them but didn’t. Every night, I shout their last words into his ear. The desperate gasps, the pleas for him to keep trying, even when their hearts had already stopped. He can hear the machines flatlining, the beeps echoing in his head. I remind him of every mistake, every hesitation that led to their deaths. I make him relive every incision, every cut that went too deep, every moment where he hesitated—those seconds that cost them their lives. One patient was a young girl, no older than six. She went into surgery for something routine—a procedure he’d done hundreds of times. But when she didn’t wake up, her parents never forgave him. Now, every night, I make him hear her voice, soft at first, ‘Doctor…’ she says, ‘I can’t breathe… why didn’t you save me?’ He tries to answer her, but his throat closes up. She keeps saying, ‘You let me die… why didn’t you save me?’ Another voice belongs to a man who had a heart attack on the table. His surgery was supposed to be his last chance, but the doctor’s hands slipped during the operation, severing an artery. The man bled out in minutes. Now, I make him feel the blood on his hands, warm and sticky, as the patient’s voice comes through—gurgling, choking. ‘Why did you let me die?’ the voice asks, over and over, in a wet rasp. ‘I wasn’t ready.’ It’s always the same, Ray. The voices start soft. But by midnight, they’re screaming. They scream his name, they beg for him to help them again, they accuse him of playing God. Sometimes, I make him feel their hands—cold and clammy, grabbing at his shoulders, pulling at his wrists, dragging him back to the operating table. He feels their fingers digging into his skin, trying to drag him down with them. He doesn’t sleep anymore. He can’t. Every time he closes his eyes, I make him see their faces—gray, lifeless, staring at him from the cold steel of the operating table. Their mouths gape open, but instead of silence, they scream. Sometimes, I show him their corpses, rising from the table, the gaping wounds he gave them still raw, bleeding, as they reach out to him, yelling, ‘You should have saved me.’ He thought he could hide, tried to drown himself in alcohol, pills, anything to quiet the voices, but they follow him. I follow him. Candle Face follows him. He’s already seeing shadows, thinking he’s catching glimpses of them standing at the foot of his bed. But he knows—no matter where he goes, I’ll find him. They’ll find him. They’re always waiting for him to slip up, waiting for the moment when he’ll be the one lying on the table, with no one to save him. That’s the beauty of it, Ray. He can’t save himself. No one can.” His voice grew more intense. “I’m the voice that reminds them, Ray. I’m the voice that keeps Candle Face alive in their heads. I tailor each story, spinning it just right to dig deep into their worst fears, their darkest regrets. I get into their heads, using my DJ voice, planting seeds of terror until they break.” I tried to speak, but my voice was barely audible. “Why… why are you telling me this?” “Because, Ray,” his voice crackled, “it’ll be your turn soon enough. You’re already hearing me, aren’t you? Candle Face sees you, and trust me, she’s in your head. You just don’t realize it yet.” My throat tightened, and I tried to breathe. “Soon I’ll be yelling into your ear,” the DJ continued, his voice shifting from desperate to almost gleeful. “Maybe I’ll tell you that the people you trust are turning against you. Maybe I’ll make you see Candle Face’s victims in every face you pass. Or maybe I’ll make you doubt everything—your memories, your thoughts, until you can’t tell what’s real anymore. That’s when the fun begins, Ray.” I staggered back away from the couch, trying to shut out the suffocating feeling that was closing in on me. "And you know, when I’m done with you, Ray... I’ll be promoted. Candle Face rewards those who serve her well. I’ll become one of her shadows, the ones who torment her critics when they arrive at Candle Face’s lair. But first, I get to toy with you. I’ll make you feel like you’re burning alive, your skin peeling off as you scream. And then I’ll take away everything you hold dear, one piece at a time. Your sanity? Gone. Your life? I’ll make you beg for the end, but it’ll never come." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. "Do you know what else will happen, Ray? Your stories—the characters you created in your books—they’ll haunt you. Every twisted plotline, every agony you wrote into their lives, they’ll inflict on you tenfold. All Candle Face’s victims will also come to you, they’ll all start to blame you for their agony. The woman who lost her child will come to you, every night, cradling her broken baby and asking you why you did it. No matter how much you plead that it was just fiction, she won’t care. She’ll leave that lifeless child in your arms, and the cries you made her hear. You’ll hear them too, louder and louder, until your mind shatters under the weight of her pain. Remember the doctor, Ray? He’ll come for you too. You’ll be the one lying on the operating table, feeling his botched surgeries, over and over again, each cut leaving you closer to death but never letting you die. You’ll scream for mercy, but just like in your story, there will be none." His laughter echoed in the room as the shadows seemed to thicken around me. "And Candle Face… oh, she’ll enjoy this most of all. You think you’ve been writing about her, don’t you? But she’s been writing about you, Ray. She’s already in your head, twisting every thought, and soon, you won’t be able to tell what’s real and what’s fiction. You’ll see her in every corner of your mind, hear her voice in every silence, feel her hot breath in every nightmare. And the worst part? You’ll never escape." My heart pounded in my chest, and for the first time, I realized that the stories I’d written, the horrors I’d conjured, were coming back for me. Tears welled up in my eyes as the weight of his words crushed me. "When I’m done with you, Ray, you’ll wish you had never jumped in that hole. You’ll wish you had never even heard of Candle Face. But by then, it’ll be too late. You’ll be too far gone." I stood there, trembling, as his voice faded into silence. For the first time in a long time, I felt the walls of my mind closing in, and the thought that crept into my mind terrified me more than any spirit ever had: I need to focus on my own sanity before I become one of the lost souls myself. Personal Note to My Readers To all of you following my journey, I feel it’s time to share the truth that I’ve been grappling with—truths I wish I could bury, but they won’t stay hidden. Candle Face has been in my life far longer than I ever imagined. What started as a mission to help the lost souls trapped in her twisted grip has now become something I can barely comprehend. I’ve written their stories, shared their pain, and tried to give them the peace they deserve, but now I fear that trying to save them has brought me closer to becoming one of them. Each night, the voices grow louder, the shadows grow darker, and I can’t escape the feeling that it’s no longer just about helping the souls who cry out to me. It’s about saving myself. I need to protect myself as much as I’ve tried to protect them. Candle Face is no longer content with taking her critics—she’s coming for me, using the DJ, using her victims, and soon enough, she’ll break into my mind fully. It’s a cruel irony, isn’t it? I still believe that helping these lost souls is the key. I’ve convinced myself that if I pick up the pace, if I help more of them, maybe it’ll stop. Maybe I’ll have done enough to quiet the voices, to end this nightmare before it consumes me. But then again, I don’t even know what to believe anymore. My mind plays tricks on me, twisting reality into something unrecognizable. I’m haunted by the very souls I’ve tried to save. I hear their cries now, which is something I haven't written before. They accuse me, blame me, ask why I didn’t do more. And Candle Face… she’s in my head now. She’s writing about me as much as I’ve written about her. What will she do with her story about me? What does it say? The weight of it all crushes me more with each passing day. I don’t know how much longer I can stand on this tightrope, balancing between protecting the lost and protecting myself. Maybe there’s no protection at all. Maybe it’s all part of Candle Face’s game, and I’m just another piece on her board, waiting for my time to fall. I have mentioned this before, but this time, I know I can't escape. To my readers, I want to say thank you for standing by me. But I fear that soon, I won’t be able to stand at all. The shadows are closing in, and I’m not sure if I can hold on. I need to focus on my own sanity before I become one of the lost souls myself. But even as I write these words, I know my time is running out. Candle Face is already here, and the battle for my mind is well underway. Stay safe, and pray for the lost souls. Pray for me. Ray Key To Understanding To 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 Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4dz3m7d eBook: https://amzn.to/4bsM6ib Visit Us Online Website: https://www.candleface.com Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/candlefacechronicles Facebook Group (Dream Team Members Only): https://www.facebook.com/groups/candleface YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@CandleFace666 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

September 20, 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 Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4dz3m7d eBook: https://amzn.to/4bsM6ib Visit Us Online Website: https://www.candleface.com Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/candlefacechronicles Facebook Group (Dream Team Members Only): https://www.facebook.com/groups/candleface YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@CandleFace666 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

September 21, 2024 Today should be a fun and productive day. I’m heading to San Antonio for the 7th Annual Paranormal Fest 2024 at Victoria’s Black Swan Inn . I’m excited to meet serious paranormal investigators, psychics, and mediums interested in helping me with the lost souls. I’ll also look for people with remote viewing capabilities who could lend their skills to the investigation. Until now, my interactions with the paranormal community have been exclusively online. Today, I’ll get the chance to connect with the Texas-based paranormal community in person. I’ve been practicing the remote viewing techniques I learned from Stacey Tallitsch’s class , but I think learning from multiple people is better. Each teacher brings their own perspective and expertise to the table, offering different methods and insights that could broaden my understanding. It's like Investigations 101—pulling from various sources gives you a fuller picture. Besides, remote viewing requires discipline and a range of skills, and learning different approaches might help me strengthen areas where I’m weak. Next weekend, I’ll attend a Mediumship Bootcamp at the Triple Six Social in San Marcos, Texas. Many people from the Get Haunted Network have said I have some medium abilities, but I’ve never felt confident in them. Hopefully, this bootcamp will either help me harness those skills or at least make me more comfortable with what I’m capable of. Meeting mediums willing to help me with the lost souls is also a priority. In the next few weeks, I plan to branch out and begin conversations with religious leaders to diversify my contacts. Understanding their perspectives could be key to figuring out how to help the lost souls and gain a deeper understanding of Candle Face. There’s a lot for me to do, before Candle Face comes for me. 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 Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4dz3m7d eBook: https://amzn.to/4bsM6ib Visit Us Online Website: https://www.candleface.com Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/candlefacechronicles Facebook Group (Dream Team Members Only): https://www.facebook.com/groups/candleface YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@CandleFace666 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

September 22, 2024 Yesterday, September 21, 2024, I attended the 7th Annual Paranormal Fest  at the Black Swan Inn  in San Antonio. It was my first time at a paranormal festival, and to my surprise, I genuinely enjoyed the experience. The event was filled with speakers and booths, showcasing a wide-ranging mix of authors, paranormal investigators, psychics, and mediums offering their services. One of the highlights was meeting a group of paranormal investigators from Paranormal Journal . They seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say about Candle Face. I explained that most paranormal investigators, psychics, and mediums I’ve met online haven’t been interested in Candle Face or helping me with the lost souls. They appeared surprised by that, given the nature of the work I’m trying to accomplish. I mentioned how many groups I’ve seen on YouTube run at the first sign of something knocking, which prompted one of the Paranormal Journal members to chuckle and respond, “We run towards the knocking!” That got a laugh from everyone. I replied, “Everyone says that,” which led to even more laughter. Despite the humor, there was a seriousness in their eyes—something I’ve only seen from the Houston-based paranormal investigation team, GenX Paranormal Investigation s . They stood there listening to me, studying me, and giving off a vibe that maybe—just maybe—I’ve finally found a San Antonio/Austin-area paranormal team willing to help me with the lost souls. Feeling renewed hope, I wandered around the venue and spotted a psychic sitting at her booth. I decided to approach her and ask for a reading. She was enthusiastic until I mentioned Candle Face and the lost souls. When those words left my mouth, her expression shifted, and she quickly told me that she likely couldn’t help. I thanked her and moved on, approaching another psychic who, to my surprise, remained intrigued even after I mentioned Candle Face. She agreed to do a reading—my first reading ever. The nearly 30-minute session was insightful, yet everything she said seemed vague, almost like it could apply to anyone. Tarot readings work this way: they can be interpreted broadly, making them applicable to various situations and people. The ambiguity is what makes them feel personal and accurate. Still, hearing her say things out loud was oddly comforting, like getting a new perspective on a familiar view. Although I didn’t get her name, her CashApp information listed her as “Victoria Doane.” I’d recommend her to anyone interested in a reading, as she was kind and professional. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe a standard psychic reading wouldn’t provide the specificity I needed for the lost souls. I’m not dismissing the field—far from it—but if readings are meant to help us see what’s already inside ourselves, perhaps I need a different approach for the answers I’m seeking. I received permission to record my reading and plan to publish it shortly after my upcoming podcast with Mr. Smoe, which I hope will be released soon. Interestingly, several psychics, including Victoria, have said that I have latent mediumship abilities that need to be refined. I’ve heard this before. Maybe I need to stop relying on the paranormal community and develop these abilities myself. The thought of doing it all alone is intimidating, though. My interactive investigation was never about me solving everything on my own; it was about inviting others to participate, investigate, and ultimately help free the lost souls and defeat Candle Face. However, finding the right balance between doing the work myself and delegating tasks has been challenging. That’s the core dilemma: how much should I rely on others versus relying on myself? It’s been only 11 months since I started seeking help, but the paranormal community I’ve reached out to has been hesitant, scared, too busy, or not serious about the paranormal. Maybe it’s time to rethink the plan and focus on sharpening my own abilities. If I truly have mediumship potential, then perhaps I should explore that path more seriously. I’ve found an opportunity to do just that. This Saturday, September 28, 2024, a small gothic café and boutique called Triple Six Social in San Marcos, TX, is hosting a Mediumship Bootcamp . The description reads: “Unleash your inner mystic with our Mediumship Bootcamp—a powerful day intensive designed to sharpen your psychic abilities and deepen your connection with the spirit world.” It sounds perfect for someone looking to hone their skills. But then I wonder—do I really need this? After all, the lost souls who come to me are clear as day, speaking directly to me without needing devices like ghost boxes, Ouija boards, tarot cards, or crystal balls. While others in the paranormal community rely on such tools, I seem to access these communications without any aids. Lately, I’ve been experimenting with different ways of connecting to the lost souls, relying more on direct communication without these tools. Instead of using ghost boxes or pendulums like many in the community do, I’ve focused on tuning into their energy through visualization and deep meditation. I’ve noticed that I get clearer impressions by shifting my focus this way without needing external devices. It’s not a perfect science, but it’s a start. If I can refine this approach, maybe I won’t need to rely on traditional methods at all. Maybe I should be teaching a class instead of attending one! Of course, I say this in jest, as there’s always more to learn. I don’t need these things, but continuing to learn never hurts. On top of my mediumship abilities, I’ve been dabbling in remote viewing. I connected with a professional remote viewer named Stacey Tallitsch through the Get Haunted Network . He suggested that remote viewing might help me with the lost souls. Intrigued, I enrolled in his beginner’s class. It’s been fascinating but far more challenging than I anticipated. For example, I discovered that what I see during remote viewing is often the opposite of reality—an unexpected twist I still struggle to adapt to. Maybe I need to modify the process to suit my needs, just like I’m adjusting my mediumship abilities to fit what I’m trying to achieve. I even asked Stacey if he’d be willing to use his more advanced remote viewing skills to help with the lost souls, but I haven’t received any help from him or other experts I’ve reached out to—just as I haven’t received help from dream interpreters, psychics, and mediums. That’s why I attended the Paranormal Fest 2024 at the Black Swan Inn—to try my luck with the Texas-based paranormal community. But here I am, back at square one, relying on myself and honing my abilities instead of waiting for others to join in. I’ve said this countless times before, but I still find myself drawn to the paranormal community, seeking assistance where none has been offered. I’ll continue asking, but I must accept that help will remain elusive. Maybe I’m meant to do most of this work myself while relying on my readers to support me with research and clues. I don’t need to do it all alone, but I’m beginning to realize that I must carry the bulk of this journey myself. Candle Face is closing in, and the lost souls are counting on me—not just to hear their voices, but to ensure their stories are told. My true strength doesn’t lie in the tools I use or the people I meet. It’s in the unrelenting determination to give these lost souls the closure they deserve. But determination alone won’t bring them peace. Only results will. And so far, I don’t have many to show. Key To Understanding To 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 Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4dz3m7d eBook: https://amzn.to/4bsM6ib Visit Us Online Website: https://www.candleface.com Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/candlefacechronicles Facebook Group (Dream Team Members Only): https://www.facebook.com/groups/candleface YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@CandleFace666 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

October 2, 2024 Lately, I’ve been dedicating more time to strengthening my remote viewing and mediumship abilities—both those I’ve developed on my own and the new techniques I recently learned from Stacey Tallitsch’s Remote Viewing class and Nicole Riccardo ’s Mediumship Bootcamp . It’s been an educational journey that’s reinforced my belief that I can take the reins of the paranormal side of my investigations and rely less on the paranormal community for assistance. The Mediumship Bootcamp, led by Nicole Riccardo, introduced me to a range of exercises designed to enhance the different “clairs”—clairvoyance (clear seeing), clairaudience (clear hearing), clairsentience (clear feeling), claircognizance (clear knowing), clairalience (clear smelling), and clairgustance (clear tasting). Each technique is meant to refine our intuitive senses, and I’ve blended these practices with my existing knowledge of remote viewing. For example, Nicole explains that one of the foundational exercises for developing clairvoyance involves meditating while looking into a flame or crystal ball. I have a large crystal ball that weighs over 20 pounds, which I originally bought as an office decoration back in my military intelligence days. Many Soldiers jokingly said that military intelligence personnel used crystal balls or witchcraft to predict or shape enemy operations, so it was my way of poking fun at that rumor. Now, however, I’ve found myself gazing at it while meditating. This practice is intended to train the mind’s eye to receive images and gain clarity through visions. I’ve been adapting this technique by incorporating it into my remote viewing sessions. Instead of just observing a static scene, I allow my mind to freely shift between different locations and events, pulling in visual information that might otherwise be obscured. This approach has enhanced my remote viewing by helping me connect with more details and visualize locations more deeply. While I haven’t seen anything concrete during these sessions, I do feel a new sense of calm and relaxation. It’s as if I’m settling into the practice, and I believe I’m heading in the right direction. The clarity will come with time, I hope. The exercises to enhance clairaudience—such as adjusting to subtle background noises or isolating specific instruments in a song—are helping me refine my ability to distinguish between various voices or entities that might be trying to communicate with me. By isolating these sounds during remote viewing sessions, I can better interpret any auditory messages I receive, rather than relying solely on visual cues. It’s almost as if I’m tuning a radio dial, trying to find the frequency that lets me hear the spirits more clearly. During the Mediumship Bootcamp, Nicole played some of her own music, which featured six or seven different instruments. We were tasked with tuning into one instrument only. About halfway through the song, I found I could fine-tune my ears to that specific instrument, and I began to predict how the rest of the song would unfold. It was as if I had heard the song before and knew it intimately despite never having heard it before. Another technique that has proven invaluable is clairsentience—the ability to sense emotions and physical sensations. This has always been more challenging for me, as I tend to prioritize logic and reason over emotion. However, by practicing energy-sharing exercises, where one person sends an emotion, and the other receives it, I’m becoming more aware of the emotional shifts during remote viewing sessions. I hope to eventually tap into the emotional states of the lost souls, providing deeper context to the information they share. This practice is helping me understand the lost souls' emotions and become more comfortable with my own, a significant step forward in my personal development. Integrating these techniques has been more than just an academic exercise—it’s a step toward independence. I’ve always appreciated the insights and support of psychics, mediums, and other members of the paranormal community. But, there have been times when I felt constrained by the need to rely on others. The frustration of waiting for external validations or interpretations often slowed down the progress of my investigations. With remote viewing, the ability to project my consciousness to different locations and observe events has always been central to my work. Now, combining it with these enhanced intuitive abilities, I feel that I’m uncovering deeper information that was previously inaccessible. But now, I feel like I’m taking more control. I’m trusting myself more, even when the information isn’t clear-cut. When a lost soul reaches out, or I sense Candle Face lurking nearby, I don’t need to immediately turn to someone else for validation. I have the tools and confidence to explore these encounters on my own. That’s not to say I’m closing myself off to outside help—far from it. There'll always be a place for collaboration in this investigation, and I still value the perspectives of trusted psychics, mediums, and paranormal investigators. However, by enhancing my own abilities, I’m hoping to fill in the gaps and approach my work with more self-reliance. This shift in mindset has already started paying off. The past few nights, the energy in my living room, where the spirits often manifest, feels different... Actually, I just thought of something: maybe I don’t need to wait for the lost souls to come to me now—at least until I can sharpen my new skills. Maybe I can go directly to them. What if I could visit the sites where they were murdered and try to see what happened? I could immerse myself in the location, using my remote viewing and clairvoyance to pick up on any remaining energy, visual details, or even sounds that might have been imprinted on the environment. This could provide geolocation insights, descriptions of the killers, and other key details such as terrain and weather conditions on that fateful day. Being "physically" present might help me connect more deeply, revealing information that I couldn’t perceive while simply sitting on my couch, listening to the lost souls. It’s a new approach, and I’m curious to see if it could help me uncover more clues. Of course, such a strategy isn’t without risks—physically visiting these locations could expose me to residual energy or encounters with entities still lingering at the sites, like Candle Face’s shadows or Candle Face herself. However, I’m willing to explore this option, keeping my guard up and preparing for anything. Am I starting to see things more clearly? Reflecting on these new possibilities, it feels like I’m coming full circle. I began this journey with nothing but a strong desire to help these lost souls and find answers. Now, I’m equipping myself to see it through, no matter where it leads. The classes were just the beginning. The real work is just getting started. The path forward may be challenging and unpredictable, but I feel more prepared and committed than ever to uncovering the truth and helping these souls find peace. A Personal Note to My Readers I want to take a moment to thank all of you for being part of this journey with me. Navigating the world of lost souls and confronting Candle Face hasn’t been easy, but your support and encouragement have made all the difference. Every message I receive and every shared experience from those of you who have sensed or seen things paranormal reinforces that I’m not alone in this mission. Your belief in my work has kept me moving forward. I hope that as I continue to develop my own skills, you’ll find inspiration to deepen your own understanding of life and what lies beyond. We are all explorers in this vast, uncharted territory, and I’m grateful to have you by my side. I’d love to hear from you: Have any of you felt a similar shift in energy when practicing your own intuitive abilities? If so, what have you experienced? Please feel free to share in the comments or reach out to me directly. Your stories are what make this community so special. Looking ahead, I’ll test some of these new ideas by visiting one of the sites mentioned by a lost soul. It’s a risky endeavor, but I believe it will be worth it. I hope you’ll stay tuned for the next chapter as I document what unfolds. I often wonder what keeps me going in the face of such evil. But when I think about the lost souls—the glimpses of light I see when a piece of their story comes to the surface—I know it’s worth it. I’m not just helping them; in many ways, they’re helping me too. To each of you who reads these journal entries and supports my mission, thank you for being part of this story. We’re in this together. Key To Understanding To 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 Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4dz3m7d eBook: https://amzn.to/4bsM6ib Visit Us Online Website: https://www.candleface.com Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/candlefacechronicles Facebook Group (Dream Team Members Only): https://www.facebook.com/groups/candleface YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@CandleFace666 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

October 4, 2024 Last night, I did something different. Instead of wasting countless hours watching Facebook and YouTube videos, I decided to practice the mediumship techniques I’ve recently learned and combine them with remote viewing techniques. I moved my crystal ball into the dining room and sat down to meditate and clear my mind. It was around 1:00 am, and I was the only one awake, but I still felt a little silly staring into a crystal ball. After a while, the silliness disappeared, replaced by a sense of peace and mental clarity. As I continued gazing into the crystal ball and focusing on my breathing techniques, I heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching me from behind. I didn’t turn around; I continued concentrating on the crystal ball because I somehow knew it was a lost soul. He sat down next to me and introduced himself as Mark. I finally looked up at him and saw a lost soul more clearly than ever before. The details of my dining room were much more vivid than I had ever seen. I knew I was in some kind of trance, brought on by the meditation and my newfound techniques. He greeted me again with a look of amazement. He seemed tickled that I was looking around the dining room, almost as if he couldn’t believe I could see him. “Hello,” he said again, trying to get my full attention. I finally looked directly at him, noticing that he had a much larger head than most and had Spock-like, pointed ears. He was a white man, around 200 pounds, with blue eyes and looked to be about 40 years old. He seemed to wait for me to take him in before speaking again. “Hello,” he said for the third time, laughing softly. “I walked here from Waco, nearly 175 miles, just to talk to you.” “You walked here from Waco?” I asked loudly. “Yes,” he chuckled. “I like to walk.” I knew I wasn’t supposed to ask questions during these interactions because Candle Face forbids it. But I couldn’t help myself; this felt too important. I decided to ask anyway. “Why did you come all the way from Waco, Mark?” His gaze turned a bit more serious, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the table. “Well, there’s some folks down there who, uh, asked me to help them with something. They wanted me to hand out these pamphlets around town—y’know, spread the word about Candle Face.” He said the name like it was something he’d repeated a hundred times. “Pamphlets about Candle Face?” I pressed. “Yeah, yeah… But we didn’t call her Candle Face back then. I don’t remember the name though, but it wasn’t Candle Face. But it was her, just with a different name. I didn’t believe in all that at first. Seemed like a buncha nonsense. I did it for the money. They didn’t pay much, but it was somethin’. I ain’t had much goin’ for me, so I figured, why not? But after a while, I dunno, started to make more sense to me, y’know?” He paused, glancing down at his hands. “Like, the more I talked to these folks, the more it seemed real. So, I got more excited ‘bout helpin’ ‘em.” He hesitated before continuing, “They knew I was missin’ a few marbles, though. I ain’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. They kinda took advantage of that. Had me doin’ stuff no one else wanted to do, but I didn’t care. I was just happy to be part of somethin’. They was my new family, y’know?” Mark’s expression brightened a bit as he recalled the memory. “I really liked passin’ out them pamphlets—long as I didn’t have to talk to nobody. If folks started askin’ questions, I’d just tell ‘em, ‘Read the pamphlet. It’s all in there.’ I wasn’t good with answerin’ questions, y’know?” “What kind of things were in the pamphlet?” I asked, leaning forward slightly. “Ah, just, stuff ‘bout Candle Face, or whatever her name is. How she’s out there, helping her people and helping spread her message. The pamphlet made her seem like a god or something. My new friends would warn me to not cross her or she’ll come after me too. At first, I didn’t think it was true, but after a while, well, I started wonderin’ if it really was. I started gettin’ real nervous handin’ ‘em out, like maybe she was watchin’ me.” “Did you keep handing them out?” He shook his head slowly. “Nah, started feelin’ weird ‘bout it, like somethin’ was wrong. So, when I’d get more of ‘em to pass out, instead of doin’ it, I’d just walk. I like to walk, especially when I’m feelin’ low. Walked way out in the countryside. Buried a bunch of them pamphlets in the dirt. Didn’t wanna look at ‘em no more.” He glanced up at me, almost sheepish. “But I’d tell ‘em I was still handin’ ‘em out, though. Lied right to their faces.” “Why didn’t you just quit?” I asked, even though I already sensed the answer. Mark gave a small, sad smile. “Didn’t wanna lose ‘em. They was the only folks that ever cared about me. So I kept it up, kept walkin’ ‘round with those pamphlets. But then one day, I was walkin’ along Highway 84, and a truck full of them saw me. Didn’t have no pamphlets on me, just my own sorry self.” “What happened then?” I sensed the story was about to take a dark turn, like all the other testimonies from the lost souls. “They pulled over. Said I was lettin’ everybody down. Got real angry. I tried to say I’d do better, but they didn’t listen.” Mark looked down, touching his neck. “One of them pulled out a knife and stabbed me right here, right in the neck. Didn’t even see it comin’. Then, they dragged me off the road, into the brush. Left me there, bleedin’ out. I felt my body go cold, heard the buzzards flappin’ ‘round. They picked at me ‘til there wasn’t much left.” I struggled to process what I’d just heard. “That’s why I walk,” Mark said again, his voice growing softer. “Even after all that. I walk and I walk ‘cause I ain’t got nowhere else to go. And every place I go, it’s like I’m seein’ all the death and pain she’s caused. People dead on the side of the road. Houses burned down. Folks screamin’ for help that never comes.” He paused. “It’s like I’m walkin’ through Candle Face’s own hell, a place she made just for me. My punishment for not handin’ out those pamphlets. She made me see all this death and destruction—things I coulda prevented if only I’d done what I was supposed to. If I’d just passed out more pamphlets, maybe people woulda known about her. Maybe they wouldn’t have died. Maybe, maybe they’d still be here.” He said, his voice full of regret and guilt. “That’s my punishment. To walk forever in a place full of hurtin’ people, a place I coulda stopped. She’s showin’ me what happens when folks don’t know ‘bout her. All because of me.” Mark’s eyes stared through me now, unfocused, as if he were no longer fully present in my dining room. His words tumbled out faster, almost frantic. “Every time I think I’ve walked far enough, I find myself right back where I started. I think I’m leavin’ it all behind, but then there’s more bodies, more pain. It’s like she’s watchin’ me. Like she’s laughin’ at me.” I wanted to say something—anything—to ease his suffering, but the words stuck in my throat. What could I say? He believed he was trapped in Candle Face’s punishment, forced to witness endless suffering as a consequence of his actions. “I’m so tired,” Mark cried. “I just wanna rest. But I can’t stop. I have to keep walkin’. Maybe if I walk long enough, she’ll let me go. Maybe, just maybe, one day, I’ll get outta here.” He glanced up at me, eyes full of desperate hope. “D’you think that’s true? That if I keep goin’, I’ll find my way out? Or am I just stuck here forever?” I tried to hold back the sorrow and empathy swelling up inside me. “I don’t know, Mark, but I hope you do. I hope you find peace.” “Yeah, peace,” he repeated softly, as if the word was foreign to him. “Peace would be nice.” Mark fell silent, staring off into the distance. Then, as if coming to a decision, he turned and started walking toward the door. I watched, helpless, as he moved with a slow, deliberate gait, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His form began to blur and fade as he stepped outside, but just before he disappeared completely, he glanced back over his shoulder. “Thanks for talkin’ to me,” he said, his voice faint but sincere. And then he was gone. Even though I was alone again, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still out there, walking through a world of pain and sorrow, searching for a peace that might never come. Personal Note to My Readers Mark’s story left a mark on me (no pun intended). It made me realize how essential it’s for me to refine my skills to connect with souls like Mark in a more meaningful way. Since completing Nicole Riccardo ’s Mediumship Bootcamp and Stacey Tallitsch’s remote viewing class , I’ve been diligently applying the meditation and focusing techniques they taught. While I’m far from mastering these skills, last night’s encounter with Mark was the first time I truly felt the impact of what I’ve been practicing. The structured meditation exercises are beginning to help me quiet my mind and filter out distractions more effectively. It’s slight, but I’m noticing a difference. One of the foundational exercises I’ve learned from Nicole, grounding myself by visualizing roots extending from my feet into the earth, has been particularly helpful in stabilizing my energy and maintaining focus. During my session with Mark, this grounding technique kept me centered even as I felt his emotional turbulence wash over me. I wasn’t overwhelmed like I might have been before. Instead, I could observe and feel his emotions without getting caught up in them, allowing me to better understand his state of mind. Another exercise I’ve incorporated is “target acquisition” from Stacey’s remote viewing course. Although I’m still getting the hang of it, I tried it with Mark. Instead of passively waiting for him to come through, I focused on his voice, letting my mind’s eye follow its resonance. This seemed to strengthen our connection, making his presence feel more solid. For a brief moment, I felt like I was on the edge of something—like a veil was lifting, giving me a clearer view into his world. I know it’s just a start, but these techniques are already making it easier to pick up on details that might have slipped past me before. It’s almost as if I’m tuning in to a new frequency, one where the voices and sensations of the lost souls are coming through more clearly. Mark’s voice wasn’t just a faint voice; it had texture and depth. I could hear how it wavered when he spoke about his past and how it steadied when he asked me if I thought he could find peace. These are slight shifts, but they feel significant. I’m not claiming to have perfected these techniques overnight. In fact, I’m still working on finding the right balance between using them and maintaining the spontaneity of these encounters. But last night’s experience with Mark gave me a glimpse of what’s possible. If I can refine these skills further, who knows what I might be able to uncover? For now, it’s enough to know that I’m making progress and that these new techniques are helping me bridge the gap between my world and theirs in a way I’ve never been able to before. This is just the beginning. I have a feeling that these new techniques will lead me to even more profound encounters. I’m eager to see where this path takes me next, and I’m grateful to have you all along for the journey. Key To Understanding To 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 Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4dz3m7d eBook: https://amzn.to/4bsM6ib Visit Us Online Website: https://www.candleface.com Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/candlefacechronicles Facebook Group (Dream Team Members Only): https://www.facebook.com/groups/candleface YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@CandleFace666 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

October 6, 2024 The late-night Dallas Cowboys and Pittsburgh Steelers game had me all wound up, so I couldn’t go to sleep. I laid down, but nothing. I tried counting sheep, reading a terms and conditions agreement word-for-word, and even watching a video on different types of rocks, but still nothing. Not even a hint of drowsiness. So, I decided to sit up and do some breathing exercises to clear my mind. I figured since I couldn’t sleep, I might as well try to call on a lost soul—even though I had never attempted to call one forward before. They come when they want to, not when summoned. I had learned some basic mediumship techniques online, piecing together a method that seemed promising. After making a few adjustments to suit my style, I prepared myself for the session. First, I visualized a white light enveloping the room—a common protective measure recommended for these kinds of spiritual encounters. Next, I focused on deepening my breathing, counting to five on each inhale and exhale. With my eyes closed, I mentally projected an invitation, almost like throwing a lasso of energy into the void, and then waited, imagining that energy spreading out and pulling in anyone willing to communicate. I’d read that summoning spirits could be dangerous, but I felt an odd sense of calm. Maybe it was because I didn’t think it would actually work. Or maybe it was because, deep down, I wanted to see if I could do it. After about ten minutes, a change occurred. The shadows in the living room began to darken, thickening like smoke, and the lights in the kitchen started flickering. The air grew heavy, and then, almost as if crossing an invisible threshold, an old man stepped into my living room. He took a few cautious steps toward me, then stopped. He turned back to the shadow and made a beckoning motion, as if inviting someone to follow him. An elderly woman then stepped out of the shadow and joined him. They both walked toward me, stopping when I scooted over to make space for them to sit. “We’re fine right here,” the old man said in a slight Spanish accent, his voice steady but soft. “How can I help y’all?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle. “Ray, I want you to listen to our story. And only listen, take no action.” “OK,” I responded. I wanted to ask why they would not want me to take action, but I figured I’d figure it out while they spoke. “We used to live in a small town east of Austin nearly 50 years ago. I’m originally from Mexico but moved to Texas when I was a young man, around 20 years old. I made my money as a ranch hand until I saved enough to buy my own ranch and hire my own ranch hands. I remember living in Mexico and hearing stories of a once-beautiful little girl who was killed in a fire and now roams the earth looking to be remembered because people have forgotten her. My friends and I used to tell stories about her, likely mostly made up, in an attempt to ‘one-up’ each other. But in time, we didn’t know what was real and what was made up. Ultimately, we all believed, and that’s what counts.” “Is the little girl you’re talking about Candle Face?” I asked. “Yes,” he answered in a matter-of-fact tone, as if I didn’t even need to ask. “Is Candle Face from Mexico?” “You tell me, Mr. Investigator,” he responded with a nasty tone, while the lady nudged him. “Be nice,” she said. “We’re here to tell you about the circumstances of our deaths.” “OK, tell me whatever you want to tell me.” “I met my wife about 20 years after I settled in Texas from Mexico. She wasn’t my first wife, and I have children from previous marriages. I talked a lot about my time in Mexico to my wife, notably stories about who you call ‘Candle Face.’ At first, my wife didn’t believe, but she came around. For the next few decades, things went well. We kept our faith in her, and she made sure our health was strong. We even talked to people in town about her loving ways, but most would just laugh. We were the crazies down the dirt road. Anyway, my wife started to lose her way and stopped talking about her; she didn’t even want to listen to my stories anymore. Eventually, my wife started to hear noises in her head, which turned into voices. These voices…” I interrupted him and asked her to continue with the story. She looked at me and smiled. “Thank you, Ray. At least someone lets me talk.” “These voices were incoherent; I never was able to understand them.” I saw this as a chance to use some remote viewing to “listen in” to these voices in her head at that time. I didn’t think it would work, but I closed my eyes and focused on the memory of her hearing those voices. I imagined my consciousness slipping back in time, attaching itself to her presence as if I were standing beside her when it happened. As I looked deeper, I felt a faint ringing in my ears, like the low hum of static interference. Slowly, fragmented words began to filter through—a rambling chorus of overlapping screams, echoing through my mind. “... why did you do it … why did you leave her … she’s coming … you can’t run … you’re too weak … she remembers … it’s your fault … her eyes are burning … you’re the reason … why didn’t you stop her … her face … you’re the reason she’s like this …” The voices melded into a horrifying symphony, each word echoing through my mind. I strained to make sense of them, feeling the intensity build, like a coiled snake ready to strike. It was as if dozens of voices were yelling directly into my brain, each one struggling to be heard over the other. “You can’t hide … she’s watching … she’ll make you see … you’ll see her face again … forever … it’s all your fault …” I pulled myself back abruptly, gasping for air. The couple watched me, unblinking. “She was trying to torment you,” I said, my voice barely steady. “The voices were blaming you. They wanted you to suffer. They mentioned a knife... Did something happen in your home? Something involving a knife?” The old man’s eyes darkened, and he nodded slowly. His gaze fell to the floor. His wife remained silent, a look of sorrow etched into her face. “I killed her,” he confessed softly, almost as if admitting it to himself for the first time. “Candle Face was tormenting her, and I couldn’t stand to see my wife suffer anymore. The voices wouldn’t leave her alone, they kept saying things, terrible things. They were breaking her down, piece by piece.” “She begged me to help her,” he continued, his voice trembling. “So I took my gun and shot her in our bedroom while she was standing next to the bathroom entrance. She didn’t even scream, just looked at me with those haunted eyes, like she knew it was coming. She fell to the floor, and I barely had time to realize what I’d done before there was just a small pool of blood beneath her. I moved her body to my truck, cleaned the floor as best as I could, but the bathroom door had a hole in it I couldn’t fix. That type of door isn’t manufactured anymore. So I took it off its hinges and hid it in the barn under a pile of old hay. My plan was to burn her body, then bury the bones somewhere in South Texas and move to Mexico. But before I could…” The old woman’s hand tightened on his arm, as if bracing him for what came next. “My son showed up,” the old man said. “It was an unannounced visit—came out of nowhere. He didn’t know what I’d done to his stepmother, didn’t even suspect it. He saw me outside, standing by my truck, and he must have seen something in my face, or maybe it was just bad timing. It was like he was being pulled there by something else, something I couldn’t see.” His voice dropped lower, trembling as he continued. “He got real angry, like something snapped in him. He accused me of trying to sell off the ranch or leave him behind. I tried to calm him down, but he wouldn’t listen. One moment he was yelling, and the next, he pulled out a gun. He shot me, right there beside the truck. Cold, like it didn’t mean a thing. I remember falling, staring up at the sky, wondering if this was how it all ended. He didn’t even check if I was dead. Just grabbed my body and tossed it into the back of the truck in a hurry.” His wife’s expression darkened, her eyes fixed on the floor. “He was in such a rush, he didn’t notice her,” the old man continued, his gaze shifting to his wife. “My wife’s bones were already in the truck bed, wrapped up in an old tarp. He didn’t even know she was there—didn’t know I’d killed her to end her suffering. He just threw me in with her remains and drove off, leaving the blood in the dirt outside the house. Drove all the way to South Texas and buried us deep in the desert, like we were nothing. Then he just left. I guess he carried out my plan for me.” His voice trembled. “He buried his own father and stepmother without even knowing it. All because of a misunderstanding, because of a moment of anger. And now he thinks I was going to abandon him, that I was going to run away.” The old woman’s hand tightened around her husband’s arm. “He doesn’t know the truth,” she said, her voice strained. “And we can never tell him. You can never tell him. He did what he thought he had to do. We don’t want him to get in trouble. He’s already paid enough.” The old man nodded slowly. “We don’t blame him, Ray. He didn’t know. And now we’re stuck here, trapped in this cycle, because Candle Face won’t let us go. She wants us to relive it all—the regret, the pain—over and over again.” He looked up suddenly, a flicker of memory in his eyes. “Just before he shot me, I swear I heard Candle Face yell in my ear, ‘This is your reward,’ like she was smiling at what was about to happen.” A son, unwittingly burying his parents in a fit of rage, believing he was left behind. A husband who took his wife’s life to spare her agony, only to find himself punished for it in death. They looked at me, eyes hollow but pleading. “Just don’t let anyone come after him,” the old man pleaded. “He’s been through enough already. Please.” The shadows began to close in as the couple’s forms dissolved, their outlines blurring and fading. I stared at the empty space where they had stood, feeling the chill of their presence seep into my soul. I knew there was no way to ease their pain or undo Candle Face’s torment. But something else was gnawing at me, a deeper, darker suspicion as the seconds ticked by. This wasn’t just a random encounter. Candle Face had allowed them to come to me. She had made sure I heard every detail of their story. But why? I replayed their words, the fear and anguish etched into every syllable. Candle Face didn’t just want me to bear witness—she wanted me to remember. She was orchestrating this, pulling strings I couldn’t even see, ensuring that I became a part of whatever twisted game she was playing. My heart hammered against my ribs as I stood up, my legs trembling beneath me. The room felt darker now, the shadows lengthening and stretching, twisting at the corners of my vision. Candle Face wasn’t just a vengeful spirit, tormenting these lost souls. She was something else entirely—something that thrived on control and manipulation. She was toying with me, too. She wanted me to feel it too. The powerlessness. The helplessness. The way she forces her victims to watch, unable to stop her relentless cruelty. It didn’t matter how many spirits came to me, how many stories I listened to—there was no changing their fate. I was powerless. And that’s exactly how she wanted me to feel. The shadows seemed to breathe, shifting and swirling as if she were still there, watching, waiting. A sharp sizzling sensation hit me in the chest, and I knew without a doubt: Candle Face had made her intentions clear. This wasn’t just about the souls she tortured—this was about me. Every word they spoke was a piece of the puzzle she wanted me to assemble. Every glimpse into their suffering was another brick in the wall she was building around me. The more I knew, the deeper I’d be in her web. Whatever game she was playing, she had just made me a central player. My hands shook as I clenched them into fists. I was her captive audience. I had a sinking feeling that more stories like this one were on their way. More souls, more pain, and with each one, Candle Face would be waiting in the shadows, watching me unravel piece by piece, savoring every moment. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. And as I glanced around my living room, I felt her presence curling around me like smoke, a faint, mocking laughter echoing in the silence. I knew Candle Face was smiling, her grin wide and spiteful. Because she knew she had me exactly where she wanted me. Personal Note to My Readers (Updated on Oct 8, 2024) I’ve been doing a lot of thinking after this last encounter. Every time a lost soul reaches out to me, sharing their pain and tragedy, I’m left wondering if I’m really helping them or just playing into Candle Face’s hands. The more I look at it, the more I see her using these souls to mess with me—to make me feel the weight of their suffering, the frustration of not being able to do anything to change their fate, and that crushing sense of powerlessness. But you know what? Just because Candle Face thinks she’s pulling the strings doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying to help. I’ve learned that simply acknowledging the pain these souls have gone through is an act of defiance. I’m giving them a voice, even if Candle Face wants me to think it’s pointless. And that’s probably why she’s so determined to keep twisting things around. She wants me to believe that I’m just a helpless observer, that no matter what I do, it won’t matter. That’s her game. Make me doubt myself, make me think I’m as trapped as these souls. But I’m not falling for it. Every time I listen to these stories and share them, I’m pushing back against her control, even if it’s just a little. I know she’s using this confusion and these stories to weaken my resolve, but I’m not giving in. Take, for example, the voices the old woman heard during our encounter. They weren’t just random words—they were Candle Face’s twisted way of breaking her spirit. The voices kept harping on things that made no sense, feeding on her guilt, confusion, and fear. That’s the thing—none of it is meant to make sense. It’s meant to drive her mad and leave her questioning everything. And if the voices didn’t make sense to you either, that’s because it’s not supposed to. That’s Candle Face’s tactic: keep it chaotic, keep it disturbing, and keep it personal. Let me break it down for you line by line: “... why did you do it …” It’s like Candle Face was trying to make the woman doubt herself, planting the idea that she did something wrong even if she didn’t. That vague accusation lingers, making it impossible for her to feel peace. “... why did you leave her …” Who’s “her”? Candle Face? Someone else? It’s designed to poke at the woman’s guilt, make her think she abandoned or betrayed someone. When you start doubting yourself, it’s easy to spiral into regret. “... she’s coming … you can’t run …” This one’s a classic scare tactic. It’s the equivalent of someone hiding around a corner and whispering “I’m coming to get you.” It’s meant to heighten her anxiety and fear, making her feel trapped and powerless. “... you’re too weak …” Candle Face is straight-up attacking her self-worth here, breaking down any confidence she had left. She wants her to feel like she’s completely powerless against whatever’s happening to her. “... she remembers … it’s your fault …” This is Candle Face planting a false narrative, making the woman believe that something she did or didn’t do is the reason why all this is happening. It doesn’t have to be true—just convincing enough to sow more doubt and guilt. “... her eyes are burning …” A reference to Candle Face’s appearance. It’s designed to remind the woman of that terrifying face, forcing her to relive the fear and trauma over and over again. “... you’re the reason … why didn’t you stop her …” Candle Face is making her feel responsible for something she never had any control over. She’s twisting the truth, turning it into a lie that feeds on the woman’s sense of regret. “... her face … you’re the reason she’s like this …” It’s a direct accusation, making it personal. Candle Face wants the woman to think she’s to blame for everything Candle Face has become. Whether it’s true or not doesn’t matter—it’s meant to hurt. But the part that really threw me off was when the voices started mentioning a knife. I know the husband killed his wife with a gun, so why bring up a knife? It doesn’t add up. And I’ve been chewing on that for a while now. I think Candle Face throws in false details like that to further confuse and disorient her victims. Maybe she wants them to think they’re forgetting something, or worse, remembering something that never happened. It’s a way to make them question their own sanity, to make them feel like they’re losing touch with reality. And in a way, it’s even more terrifying because you start to think, “What if I’ve forgotten something terrible?” or “What if I’m not remembering things correctly?” That knife didn’t exist, but in the old woman’s mind, it’s now part of her story, another burden she has to carry. See, that’s how Candle Face works—by turning truth into lies, mixing up memories, and making you feel responsible for things you never did. It’s not about the weapon she mentions; it’s about the damage she inflicts on the mind and soul. Candle Face doesn’t want her victims to have clarity or peace. She wants them confused, torn apart by doubt, and constantly questioning their own reality. The voices are there to blur the line between truth and fiction, making the woman feel guilty for things that never even happened. It’s psychological warfare at its finest. But here’s where I stand: I see through her games now. The more I encounter these lost souls, and the more I perfect my mediumship and remote viewing abilities, the more I understand Candle Face’s tactics. She might be trying to break me down, but I’m learning to piece things together, to find the logic in her chaos. I know she wants me to feel trapped, just like she did with that couple. She wants me to believe I’m just a helpless pawn in her sick game. But I’m not backing down. I’m going to keep listening to these lost souls, keep sharing their stories, and keep pushing back against whatever twisted game she’s playing. It’s not over—not by a long shot. Candle Face wants me to feel stuck, but I refuse to be just another pawn on her board. I’ll keep fighting for these souls, no matter how hard she makes me doubt myself. She might think she’s winning, but I’ve got news for her: I’m not going anywhere. Key To Understanding To 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 Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4dz3m7d eBook: https://amzn.to/4bsM6ib Visit Us Online Website: https://www.candleface.com Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/candlefacechronicles Facebook Group (Dream Team Members Only): https://www.facebook.com/groups/candleface YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@CandleFace666 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

October 10, 2024 I’ve had some success with my newfound mediumship and remote viewing skills lately. Just a few days ago, I was able to “hear” voices in the spirit of an elderly woman’s head from over 50 years ago. It may not be perfect, but it’s a start. For example, I heard the voices mention a knife, but a gun killed her. Did I not hear it correctly, or was I just interpreting it wrong? For now, I believe I heard the word “knife,” but I wonder if the voices were lying to me, or at least trying to manipulate me. I don’t know yet. Hopefully, I can figure it all out. I sure wish I had some brave and trustworthy psychics and mediums out there who could help me. I feel all alone in this investigation. I hope I can enlist readers to help, but competing for their attention is hard work. Millions of books and websites are out there, all trying to grab their share of the audience. I’m just one person, but I’m on an important mission to find the right readers—readers who can help solve these cases and aid the lost souls. Sorry, I digressed. The lights flickered as I sat at the dining room table, pondering these thoughts while staring deep into the crystal ball around 2:00 a.m. Flickering lights seem to be the norm these days—a sign that lost souls are about to visit. I was right. I felt a couple of pokes on the back of my right shoulder. I jumped a little, despite knowing what was happening. I turned to my right, but nothing was there. Then I turned to my left, and before I could truly see anything, two hands grabbed my shoulders and shook me hard. I heard a loud “Boo!” I turned further around and saw a young black woman, probably around 25 years old, standing slightly behind me, laughing. “I always wanted to do that,” she said, still chuckling. “That’s what ghosts are supposed to do, right?” “I guess,” I said, half-laughing, trying to hide the fact that I was actually startled. She pulled out the chair next to me and sat down. She seemed so comfortable, as if she’d done this before, or at least like she was comfortable with me. She had a nice smile and bright teeth, but her skin looked as though it had been sapped of all color, with a faint bluish tint. Her eyes, though, filled with laughter. But what stood out the most was that she had been completely scalped. Not a single hair or skin on her head—just exposed skull, with blood still flowing down her face. Her yellow shirt was almost completely soaked in blood. “What do you think of my hairstyle?” she asked, pretending to comb through non-existent hair. “I like it,” I said, trying to remain calm. She laughed, clearly understanding my discomfort. “I’m here to ask you to help me find my body and figure out how I was killed. I was too high on drugs the day it happened, so I don’t remember much. The word in Candle Face’s hell is that you can see the past.” She stressed the words “The word in Candle Face’s hell,” almost mockingly. Before she could say anything else, I interrupted. “No, I can’t do that. I’ve been practicing, but I can’t do it for real yet.” “But Ray, you must try. Look into your crystal ball and do your thing.” Reluctantly, I looked down into the crystal ball. I felt like I was being put on the spot, asked to try something I wasn’t even sure I could do. Her large smile had faded into a sad frown. I think I saw tears mixed with the blood running down her face. Now, I had to try. “As a matter of fact,” she added, “today is the anniversary of my death. That’s why I’m here. My birthday was just a few days ago, and now this.” “I’m so sorry. Celebrating a birthday, then dying a few days later. Happy birthday,” I responded. “Thank you,” she responded, but her focus was on my crystal ball. She watched me intently as I sat there with the crystal ball. My hands hovered over the ball, feeling a faint warmth, though I knew it was just my nerves. I put my hands down, thinking I must look ridiculous, like I was in some movie, acting out a scene. I stared deep into the crystal ball, focusing on the energy around me, trying to connect with whatever traces of her past still lingered. I followed standard remote viewing practices: grounding myself, clearing my mind, and letting the sensations and images come naturally. In mediumship, you open yourself up to the spirit’s energy, allowing them to guide you to the memories or traces they leave behind. The key is to trust that what you see—no matter how fragmented—holds the truth. The flickering of the lights in the kitchen slowed, and for a moment, the dining room fell into a creepy calm. I began to see flashes, not in the crystal ball, but in my mind—disorderly images, unclear but connected to her story. A park bench, the flash of metal, muffled voices. Nothing was clear, but one thing was certain: this was more than just a simple death. Her end was brutal, and those involved didn’t want her to be found. “I see something,” I began. “It’s not clear, but it feels like you were in a public place, maybe a park.” She nodded slightly, “That sounds right. But who? Why?” “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll keep trying,” I said. “This isn’t easy to piece together, but I’ll do what I can.” Her expression softened, and for a moment, I could see that behind the blood and pain, there was hope in me. Before I could say another word, the room grew hot—so hot it felt like the sun’s surface, right in my dining room. I turned, and there she was—Candle Face. Her charred features looked darker than usual, and her hollow eye sockets glowed faintly as if the fire within her still burned. The lost soul beside me looked terrified, her hands trembling. Candle Face’s eyes locked onto the woman’s forehead. “What happened to you?” Candle Face asked in a low, mocking voice. “Looks like you have been scalped.” She circled the dining room table slowly, like a predator toying with its prey. The woman didn’t answer, frozen. Without warning, Candle Face pulled a knife from her cloak, its blade gleaming in the dim light. She leaned in, tracing an old scar just below her exposed skull with the tip of the blade. The woman whimpered, her eyes wide with terror, unable to move. “You know what is funny?” Candle Face asked. “You came here to ask Ray what happened to you? I can tell you. I was the one who scalped you. But it was not enough, was it?” She moved swiftly, and in one horrifying motion, she scalped the woman again, this time taking the top of her skull off, exposing the brain. Blood gushed as Candle Face held the bloody top of the skull in her hands, inspecting it as if it were a trophy. The woman screamed in pain as her brain was exposed. “She thought she could betray me,” Candle Face scoffed while facing me. “She dared to speak my name, to reveal my secret, thinking she could escape. But no one escapes me.” I watched in disbelief as Candle Face took the woman’s skull and placed it atop her own head like a grisly crown, the woman’s blood now dripping down Candle Face’s face but boiling away within seconds. “This,” she said with a twisted smile, “is what happens when you speak my name to non-believers.” And that’s when it hit me—this woman was killed because she had learned the truth about Candle Face. She had tried to warn others, but Candle Face got to her first. Her death wasn’t just another random murder; it was a message, a reminder that Candle Face’s secrets weren’t to be exposed. The female lost soul disappeared, and Candle Face remained with her new crown. She returned her gaze to me, her hollow eye sockets narrowing. “So,” she scoffed, “you think you are getting better at this little ‘mediumship’ act of yours? How adorable.” She paced around the dining room. “You think you can peek into my past? You think you are the first to try?” She paused, leaning in so close I could feel the heat radiating from her charred skin. “That woman thought the same thing,” she said, gesturing to where the lost soul had sat moments before. “She thought she could use her ‘abilities’ to fight me too, to dig into secrets that do not belong to her. And look what it got her—scalped, mutilated, and now a crown for me.” Candle Face ran her fingers on top of her new crown, smirking as she adjusted it on her head. “You see, Ray, my past is not for the likes of you. It is for my children. Non-believers, well, you saw what happened to them. My children know what to tell and what not to tell.” “You could end up just like her,” she yelled, her voice hotter. “Scalped, gutted, and left for dead. You are playing with fire, Ray. Look into my past, and I promise you will burn.” I clenched my fists under the table, forcing myself to stay calm. “I’ve heard these empty threats from you before,” I said, my voice steady. “But here I am, still here.” Her smile faded, replaced by a look of fury. “You think you are safe, don’t you? You think you are untouchable. But you are wrong, Ray. So very wrong. I have not killed you yet because you are my ultimate prize. Do you have any idea how long I have waited for this? How long I have wanted to rip you apart, piece by piece, until there is no memory of your existence?” She circled the table again, slower this time, her footsteps echoing in the quiet room. “But I am patient,” she continued. “Oh, I am so patient. And when the time comes, when you finally slip, I will be there. I will be the last thing you see, Ray. And I will enjoy every second of it.” For a moment, neither of us spoke. The tension between us thickened. “You want to know why no one from the paranormal community wants to help you?” she asked, breaking the silence. “It’s because of me. They know what I can do. They have seen it. That is why they stay away. They know my power, and they are smart enough to keep their distance.” She leaned in again, her face inches from mine. “You should be wary of your little ‘abilities,’ Ray. Keep looking into my past, and you may not like what you find. It is not just the lost souls you are dealing. You are in my world, and in my world, the rules are different.” I stared back at her, unflinching. “Is that all you’ve got?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “More threats? More warnings? You’ve tried to scare me before, and guess what? I’m still here. I’ve fought bigger demons than you.” Her hollow eye sockets flashed with anger. “Bigger demons?” she spat. “You have no idea what I am, Ray. But you will. Soon enough, you will.” For a moment, I thought she might attack—her body tensed, her hand gripping the knife tightly—but then, something changed. She straightened up, a strange smile creeping across her face. “You know,” she said, her tone almost casual, “you are not as far along in your mediumship as you think you are. You are tapping into something much darker, much deeper than you realize. And that little crystal ball of yours? It is a window. But it is not just a window for you to look through, Ray. It is a window for me, too.” I blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” She laughed again, that same mocking sound. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough. Keep using your abilities. Keep pushing yourself. The more you try to see into my past, the closer you bring me to you. Every time you look, every time you connect with one of my victims, you open the door a little wider. And one day, I will step through for the last time and take you with me.” She took a step back, her eyes gleaming with twisted delight. “So keep practicing, Ray. Keep looking. Just remember—whatever you are staring at is staring back at you.” With that, she turned and walked toward the shadowy corner of the room. Just before disappearing, she paused and looked over her shoulder. “I will be seeing you soon.” And then she was gone. As terrifying as Candle Face is, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not alone in this fight. Yes, she’s powerful, but I believe there’s strength in numbers, in collaboration. The paranormal community has faced evil before, and together, along with my readers, we might just stand a chance against her. If there are brave souls out there who still believe in fighting for what’s right, I welcome your help. This battle isn’t just mine—it belongs to all of us. Personal Note to My Readers I sat there for a moment, my mind racing. What had she meant? A window for her, too? Was it possible that my mediumship and remote viewing were somehow connected to her, that I was giving her more power by using my abilities? This would explain why I can’t seem to see beyond her victims. Could Candle Face, the shadows, and even the lost souls be watching me through the crystal ball? Is that how they know my every move? Once again, I felt like I had failed. I wanted to help, but instead, I hurt another lost soul. Her trust in me was misplaced, and I worry that my attempts are doing more harm than good. How can I protect these lost souls when I can’t even find their remains? To date, I’ve only identified 6 or 42 lost souls. Maybe I need to focus on how to protect them more than trying to identify them. I must find a way to shield them from Candle Face, even if I can’t yet give them the peace they seek. And here I am again—stuck between hope and despair. Every time I feel like I’m making progress, Candle Face rips it away from me. She shatters every small victory, every flicker of hope, leaving me feeling more helpless than before. It’s exhausting. One minute, I think I’m getting somewhere, and the next, she drags me back into a great depression. I can’t keep up with the emotional whiplash anymore. I’ve been here before, in these moments of despair. I’ve wondered if I’m making a difference or just playing into her hands. Am I really helping these souls, or am I just another pawn in her twisted game? Am I in her hell, just like her victims, being tortured slowly, methodically, before she takes me too? But then, something snapped in me tonight. I surprised myself. My fists were clenched under the table, not trembling like they used to when Candle Face visited me as a child. Back then, I was frozen in fear, unable to move, barely able to breathe when she came near. But tonight, I stood up to her—or at least I tried to. I can’t believe I told Candle Face that I’ve fought bigger demons than her. Of course, that’s not true. I’ve never faced anything like her in my life. Maybe I said it out of fear, trying to sound tough. Maybe I said it because, deep down, I needed to convince myself that I can beat her. I don’t know. But I said it, and I still can’t believe those words came out of my mouth. Kind of funny, though. I don’t know if I can win this battle. Every day feels like a war—hope against despair, good against evil. But I can’t give up on these lost souls, no matter how many times Candle Face tries to break me. I have to keep fighting, for them, for the truth, for something bigger than my own survival. I might be in her hell, being tortured just like her victims before she takes them, but I’m not ready to give in. Not yet. Candle Face can threaten me all she wants, but I’ve seen what she does, and I’m still here. There must be a reason why I’m still here. I know Candle Face wants me to feel isolated, to think I’m in this alone. But I don’t believe that. I’ve always trusted in the power of collaboration. She’s strong, but I know there are others out there in the paranormal community and my readers just as strong, who aren’t afraid to face her, even though I know I must carry the bulk of the work. I welcome any help and insights. Together, I believe we can free these lost souls—no matter how powerful Candle Face thinks she is. I have to keep going. No matter what Candle Face has planned for me. Key To Understanding To 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. 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