October 14, 2024 It’s been gnawing at me for days now—this upsetting feeling that the crystal ball in the back of my home office isn’t just a tool for me. Could Candle Face be using it to spy on me, to watch my every move and decide which lost soul she’ll send next? It sounds absurd at first, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Too many times, a lost soul has appeared just as I’ve been making a critical decision, as though Candle Face knew exactly what I was thinking and sent them at just the right moment. For example, back in December 2023, a paranormal investigative team reached out to me, saying they would like to help me with Candle Face. I was excited—finally, a team that showed bravery instead of the cowardice I had grown used to. We spoke for about an hour over a video chat, where I detailed Candle Face’s lore and shared some of the unsettling visions I’ve been having. But as the conversation progressed, I realized they weren’t exactly serious investigators. They were more of a comedy team, poking fun at the very things they claimed to want to help with. A few days later, after thinking it over, I turned down their help. The lost souls want answers, not a late-night comedy show. What’s interesting is what happened next. Just a few hours after that video chat ended, the eighth lost soul visited me—a woman who had been a paranormal investigator herself. She warned me not to pursue any kind of mockery in my investigations, especially with the paranormal team I had just spoken to. She told me Candle Face doesn’t like being mocked. Could she have been watching the video chat through the crystal ball? Or was it Candle Face, using the crystal ball to monitor everything and then sending the lost soul to deliver the warning? I’ve been wondering whether I should continue using the crystal ball at all. If it’s become a link for Candle Face to infiltrate my space, do I really want to keep it around? Maybe I should move it to a different room—out of sight, out of mind. But what if that’s not enough? What if Candle Face can still use it, no matter where I put it? Another thought crosses my mind: Should I destroy it? Smashing it could sever that connection once and for all, or would it leave me even more vulnerable? There’s a chance destroying the ball could anger her or, worse, leave me exposed without the one tool that’s helped me reach out to the lost souls in the first place. What if the ball is also a protective layer between me and whatever else is out there? Perhaps I could try something else. Could it be possible to cleanse the crystal ball somehow, purging Candle Face's influence over it? Maybe a ritual or even seeking advice from a spiritual leader could help. I don’t know what the answer is yet, but I need to make a decision soon. Each time I sit down in my office, I can’t help but feel watched. The question is—watched by whom? 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 17, 2024 I find myself wrestling with the same painful question: how can I help the lost souls if I can’t identify them? This conflict feels especially sharp after a previous encounter, when the family and friends of another lost soul   reached out, asking me to stop mentioning their loved one in my podcast. I ended the podcast out of respect for their wishes, yet the dilemma remains. And now, when a spirit like Victim # 42 reaches out, full of hope and sadness, it’s as though she believes I’m her only chance left. How can I honor both their requests—the living who need closure, and the dead who need a voice? In her testimony a few nights ago, the spirit revealed that October 10 was the anniversary of her death and that her birthday had been a few days earlier. Dates like these are invaluable clues—critical markers that can link to missing persons reports or trace back through timelines, offering insights into identities that might otherwise remain hidden. Knowing this, I began searching for any missing persons who disappeared in Central Texas on October 10 and whose birthday was shortly before she went missing. It was a long shot, but the urgency in her voice and the importance of those dates left me no choice. Google led me to a listing on TheDoeNetwork  that was unsettlingly similar—a woman who disappeared on October 10, 1992, with a birthday of October 7, 1967. The report even noted that she was last seen wearing a yellow shirt and had a scar "in the scalp area on her forehead," an uncanny match to the spirit’s description. It felt like she’d finally been waiting for someone to make the connection. But can I be certain? Even if this spirit is the woman I found in that report, how can I pursue this without betraying her family’s need for peace? The spirits want to be known, but I want to protect the families they left behind. I think of what it would be like to show up on this woman’s family’s doorstep and say, “Your loved one came to me one night, asking for help.” And then, how would I even begin to explain that she’s missing half of her skull? I’d be seen as a cruel stranger dredging up old wounds, and the family might look at me with horror, questioning my sanity. But the pain in that spirit’s eyes was unmistakable. She trusts me to be the bridge between her lost life and the peace she longs for. So, how do I honor that trust without betraying her family’s need for closure? I can’t just ignore her. I can’t turn my back on the lost souls who come to me, now that my abilities are growing. But every time I think I’m making progress, every time I feel like I’m getting somewhere, I’m dragged back into the same helplessness. How can I help her if I’m stuck here, balancing between helping the dead and protecting the living? I question if I’m really prepared for this work. Yes, my skills are improving; I’ve reached a point I once only dreamed of. But for what? To be bound by the same restrictions I had before, forever torn between protecting the families and my duty to the lost souls. I see now that I can identify them if I try hard enough. Yet, where does that leave me? Just as desperate as before, only now I know who they are, and I know that I can’t do anything with that knowledge. I don’t know what to do, but I do know one thing: if that spirit truly is who I think she might be, I won’t give up. I can’t promise that I won’t struggle or stumble along the way, but I won’t stop trying to find a way to help her and all the others who wait in line to speak to me. I may be caught between two worlds, but if there’s even the slightest chance I can free her without causing more harm, I’ll find it. But tonight, as I sit here, I feel more alone than ever. Personal Note to My Readers As I write this, I find myself struggling with a difficult decision. I believe I may have a name for this lost soul. But as you may have noticed, I haven’t shared her name. I keep circling back to the question: should I? Should I include her name, bringing her closer to the peace she seeks, or should I protect the families she left behind? I’d like to ask you: what do you think? Is helping the lost souls more important than respecting the wishes of the living? Or are the living, with their fragile balance between healing and memory, more deserving of protection? When a lost soul comes to me, I’m faced with their suffering, longing to be known, and desperation to reach someone who can listen and understand. They’re no longer part of our world, yet their connection to it remains powerful through me. The living, however, carry the grief, often silently. To honor both sides of this mission—to give peace to the dead without harming the living—feels like an impossible line to walk. If I share a name, it could reopen wounds, but if I don’t, I’m leaving a lost soul adrift, missing a piece of their story. It’s a question that I wrestle with daily, and I’m not sure I’ll ever fully answer. I appreciate any thoughts or guidance you can share on this subject. I’m grateful to have each of you beside me in this mission. 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 24, 2024 I again used the crystal ball just after midnight to conjure a lost soul. My attempt with Candle Face Victim #42  had succeeded, so why not try again? I took the crystal ball from my home office and placed it on the dining room table, just as I had before. Settling into the silence, I took a deep breath, reaching inward for my mediumship and remote viewing skills I’ve been honing. I recalled the session with Victim # 42—the clear but desperate cries as Candle Face scalped her. Would this attempt bring the same clarity, or was I about to open myself up to Candle Face’s gaze again? The crystal’s surface slowly clouded, pulling me into a scene. I recognized the location immediately: Congress Avenue in downtown Austin, overlooking Town Lake. My perspective felt detached, hovering in third person as I watched a scene unfold below. Four figures stood on the bridge. A young man, likely in his late twenties, struggled at the edge of the bridge, pleading with his attackers. His voice, thick with fear, cracked as he begged for his life. “Please, don’t do it. I’ll do anything—please!” The desperation in his words rang in my ears as if I were truly there, witnessing his final moments unfold. I studied the attackers, absorbing each detail to capture them for my journal. The first was a tall man, around six feet, muscular but lean. His hooded jacket obscured part of his face, but his strong jawline and piercing eyes stood out in the dim light. His grip on the victim’s shoulder was firm, as if he held no doubt about what was to come. Beside him stood a woman, likely in her mid-twenties, perhaps 5'5", her frame abnormally thin. Her hair was pulled back. A fitted black leather jacket hugged her form, and she watched the victim’s pleas with a disturbing calmness. The third attacker was another man, around 5'10", and heavier-set. His dark jeans and worn flannel shirt looked rough, adding to his unkempt appearance. Unlike the others, his eyes darted around, as if searching for someone or something in the shadows. Together, they moved as one, forcing the man over the bridge’s edge, his cries silenced in a final, haunting scream. I could almost feel his terror, the shock, the horrifying finality as his body plummeted, the water below breaking his fall with a distant splash. The three attackers didn’t linger. They fled up Congress Avenue, their footsteps echoing against the pavement, before turning east onto 1st Street, vanishing around the corner and melting into the night. I blinked back into the dining room as the scene faded from the crystal ball. This attempt had indeed brought the clarity I sought, but so did the question: had Candle Face been watching, too? Was she guiding me to these visions, feeding me her own chosen memories for her purposes? About ten minutes later, as I sat in my home office, typing up the vision for my Candle Face Chronicles journal, I heard a noise coming from the living room. I knew what it was. I sat there, staring at the screen, waiting for a lost soul to arrive. Thirty seconds passed, and then, slowly, a figure emerged and walked into my office. Dripping wet, the young man I had just seen in the vision walked toward me, his eyes wide and disoriented. Water pooled beneath him, his trembling figure standing still. His stare locked onto mine, and he spoke with a fearful and urgent voice. “Look into the crystal ball again,” he said frantically, his voice breaking. He paused as if struggling to get out more words but could only repeat, “Look into the crystal ball.” Hesitantly, I returned to the crystal ball on the dining table, the room silent except for the faint dripping of water from the spirit behind me. I reached out, my fingers brushing against the cold surface, and focused, peering deeply into the depths of the crystal. At first, nothing but darkness filled the crystal ball. Then, slowly, a figure took shape—a gaunt face, with charred, hollowed eyes staring back at me. Candle Face. She appeared as if deep inside the crystal’s core, her burned, twisted features pressed against the glass, as though waiting to be unleashed. Her eye sockets glowed faintly, her mouth curving into an evil smile, and though she didn’t speak, the silent hatred was unmistakable. Suddenly, the crystal ball grew unbearably hot, steam creeping along its surface. I gasped, instinctively jerking my hand away. In an instant, Candle Face’s image vanished. Turning back, I saw that the man's figure had disappeared, leaving only faint puddles where he had stood moments before. I was alone in the room again, left with the undeniable sense that Candle Face was not only watching me but was also using these visions to tighten her grip. The young man’s plea still plays in my mind: "Look into the crystal ball.” Personal Note to My Readers I only wanted to reach a lost soul, hoping to offer comfort or closure. Instead, I found myself witnessing a brutal memory, played out before me in disturbing clarity: a young man forced over the edge of a bridge, pleading for mercy. And just when I thought the encounter had ended, he appeared in my home, dripping wet. But it wasn’t just the tragic visitation. What truly rattled me was his desperate request—“Look into the crystal ball again.” When I did, I saw Candle Face, her twisted face pressed against the glass, watching, mocking, waiting. This leaves me wondering: what was the purpose of this vision? Why did the spirit urge me to look into the crystal ball, knowing it would reveal Candle Face herself? He seemed terrified, as though delivering his warning to me was as urgent as his last moments on that bridge. Was he simply seeking help, or was he warning me about the crystal ball? Did he know what Candle Face wanted to show me? These questions raise more possibilities—was he compelled by Candle Face herself to lead me to her image, to draw me closer to her influence? The crystal ball seems more than just a medium for spirit communication. It feels like a portal that Candle Face might be using to manipulate the lost souls and me. And so, I’m left considering my next steps. Should I stop using the crystal ball altogether, as I mentioned before? The image of Candle Face pressed against it, as if inside, waiting to pounce on me, tells me she is somehow tied to it. But is that reason enough to destroy it? If I do, will I lose my connection to the lost souls, or will I be closing off Candle Face’s entry into my world? Perhaps this vision, and Candle Face’s message within it, was meant to be a warning—a reminder that while I’m helping the lost souls, I may also be feeding her power. She may be taunting me, showing me she has a hold on me through the crystal ball, like a spider weaving me into her web strand by strand. Destroying the crystal ball might cut that hold, but it might also silence the voices of the lost souls who still seek me out. It’s a dilemma—if I keep it, I risk Candle Face getting me eventually. If I destroy it, I risk losing a vital tool for helping the spirits desperately seeking my aid. Or, maybe the crystal ball has nothing to do with any of this. After all, I was communicating with the lost souls before using it. For now, I’ll leave the crystal ball untouched but observe it closely. This experience has shown me that Candle Face isn’t content to stay on the sidelines. She’s reminding me that she’s watching, that each vision could be a trap as much as a revelation. And if she truly is using the crystal ball as a conduit, I may need to prepare for a future without it—to seek new ways of reaching and helping the lost souls, ways that Candle Face cannot control. In the meantime, I’ll continue to write down every encounter, every vision, every warning. And I’ll remain vigilant, watching Candle Face as closely as she watches 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. 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 27, 2024 Today, I spent some time with the crystal ball, practicing during the day. Working in daylight feels different—less intense than my usual nighttime sessions, which makes it easier to focus on technique without getting caught up in the energy around it. My goal was simple: to see what, if anything, would come through on its own, without reaching out to the lost souls. After a few minutes, shapes began to emerge in the crystal ball. At first, they were just shadows, faint and shifting, until they began to settle into a scene that felt oddly familiar. It looked like a dark, enclosed space, with sloped walls and rough wooden beams faintly visible in the background. The ceiling seemed high in some places and low in others. A layer of dust hovered in the air, catching whatever small light and reflecting it into the crystal ball. Scattered within the space were a few shadowed figures, some standing against the slanted boards, others sitting or crouched in the darker corners. They were all still, either looking down or straight ahead, as though waiting for something. I tried to focus on their faces, hoping for even a hint of a feature that might reveal more, but everything stayed blurred, their faces shifting or fading each time I thought I’d caught a glimpse of an eye or a mouth. As I continued to look, I realized that none of them were moving, not even slightly. It was as if they’d been frozen in place. I wondered why they were there or what kept them so still, but the crystal ball offered no further details, only silence. I kept my focus on the figures, letting the shapes settle and fade, hoping that something more might reveal itself with time. I felt a strange pull to keep looking, as if the scene wanted me to remember something, but the harder I focused, the hazier the details became. Eventually, the shadows dissolved back into the glass, leaving me with nothing but my own reflection staring back. I want to try again tomorrow, in the daytime, of course. Maybe, with more practice, the images will become clearer, like the gradual sharpening of my connection with the lost souls. For now, though, these shapes are just shadows in a space that feels both distant and close, waiting for me to understand. 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 29, 2024 Today, I returned to the crystal ball, hoping for another glimpse of the shadowed figures I’d seen a few days ago. There’s something about that dark, enclosed space that stays with me—its vague familiarity mixed with the stillness of those shadow figures. I wanted to see if I could draw the scene into sharper focus, even just slightly, to understand it better. It didn’t take long before the shapes started to appear again. This time, the figures were clearer, though still veiled by the same murky haze. I could make out the barest hint of facial features—eyes glinting faintly, shadows that suggested the contours of noses, and the outlines of mouths that seemed closed, unmoving. It was enough to recognize that they weren’t completely expressionless, yet whatever emotions they might have were hard to read. As I watched, I noticed something else: slight, almost imperceptible movements. An arm shifted here, a leg adjusted there, but these movements were slow, barely noticeable, like they were being played back in slow motion. It was as though they were caught in the middle of a thought, just on the edge of moving freely but held back by something. I kept my focus steady, hoping more details might emerge, but that strange, heavy stillness remained. I wonder if they’re aware of me watching, if these delicate movements mean they’re starting to respond somehow, or maybe I just didn’t notice the movements the first time. Who are they? Now I have a new quest. Maybe next time, with enough patience, I’ll see more. 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

November 2, 2024 I had been practicing with the crystal ball again, trying to refine my focus. Tonight, the glass seemed almost alive, swirling with an energy I hadn’t felt before. As I peered deeper into the mist, something began to take shape. At first, it was just a faint outline, like a smudge on the surface. But slowly, it sharpened into the unmistakable image of a young girl’s face. I blinked, hoping it wasn't Candle Face again but the vision only grew clearer. She looked right at me, her brown eyes wide and filled with desperation. The connection was so vivid and real that I lost myself in it for a moment. I could see her lips move, forming words I couldn’t hear. Instinctively, I pulled back from the crystal ball. But as I turned, she was no longer in the glass. She was standing in the corner of the dining room as if she had stepped right out of the vision. She was around 15 or 16 years old, Hispanic, and on the shorter side—about 5'3" with a small frame. Her clothes were torn and dirty, her face streaked with tears. Her neck is severely red and bruised. There was something raw and vulnerable about her. I spoke softly, not wanting to startle her. “You came through the crystal ball?” She nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. I could tell she was still gathering the courage to speak, so I waited. “How can I help you?” I asked. She took a shaky breath and began to tell me her story: She took a deep breath, her voice barely more than a whisper as she began. “I was from Bryan… Bryan, Texas,” she said. “It all started when I got mixed up with some friends who told me about—her.” She glanced nervously at the crystal ball on my desk, as though it might bring Candle Face back to listen. “They didn’t call her Candle Face,” she continued, shaking her head. “To them, she was just a girl ghost—someone who died in a fire and came back to help those who needed it. My friends said she only asked for one thing in return—faith. If you believed in her, really believed, she’d solve your problems. At least, that’s what they told me.” Her hands trembled, and she clasped them together to steady herself. “At first, I thought it was just a joke, a way to pass the time. But some of my friends started seeing things, feeling her presence. One of them swore that she appeared in her room one night, promising to protect her from bad things.” Her voice cracked on the last words, and she looked down, her eyes filling with tears. I waited, giving her the space to continue. “They invited me to one of their meetings,” she said. “I didn’t think much of it—just a bunch of us in a friend’s garage, lighting candles, talking about how she could help us if we had faith. But soon, it got serious. They started saying we had to prove our loyalty to her, that she needed our devotion. I tried to back out, but by then, it was too late.” She paused, as if reliving the moment. “One night, they took me to this old, abandoned house outside town. They said it was a test of faith. I thought it was just another game, but when I got there, there were four men I’d never seen before. They were older, rough, and they had this look in their eyes.” Her voice became hoarse, barely audible. “They said I needed to prove I truly believed in her. That’s when they grabbed me. The first man forced me down and climbed on top of me, pressing his hands around my neck, just for ten seconds. Then another took his turn. They kept going, making a game out of it. Ten seconds each, then longer. Twenty seconds. Thirty. Each time they let go, they laughed, like it was some kind of sick joke. I could barely breathe, and everything was starting to fade.” She brought her hands to her throat, as if feeling their grip all over again. “I thought it was over, that I was fixin’ to die. But something in me refused to give up. I tried to fight back. I clawed at the man on top of me, trying to pull his hands away. That’s when he saw it—the tiny cross tattoo on my right hand.” Her eyes widened, her voice quickening. “His face changed. It was like he’d seen a ghost. He let go of my neck and stumbled back, like he was struck by something. ‘Oh no, not a cross,’ he said, his voice shaking. And just like that, all four of them dropped to the ground, gasping for air.” I leaned in closer, captivated by her story. “What happened next?” I asked. She drew in a shaky breath. “I stood up, still gasping for air, and held out my hand toward them. I don’t know where the words came from, but I shouted, ‘In the name of Jesus, I demand that you leave me alone!’ They kept writhing on the ground, like they were in pain. For a second, I thought it had worked.” A bitter smile twisted her lips. “But then, they started laughing. It was this awful, hollow sound that made my skin crawl. They stood up, like nothing had happened. One of them sneered at me and said, ‘You really thought we were in pain? You thought your little cross would save you? Only in the movies, sweetheart.’” “Before I could run, they were on me again. And this time, they didn’t stop. They strangled me until everything went black.” I watched her carefully as she finished her story, her form flickering slightly as though she were fading. The room was so still, the air almost crackling with an unseen energy. “How can I help you?” I asked again, my voice softer now, almost pleading. Her eyes darted around the dining room as the lights in the kitchen flickered. She stepped closer, her voice barely more than a whisper. “You, you can’t help me,” she said, her voice breaking. “But maybe you can help the others. I was the last...” My heart sank. “The last of what?” “They, they know you’re helping us,” she said, her voice cracking. “But they don’t care. It’s all... it’s all just...” Before she could finish, her form suddenly stiffened, her eyes widening in terror. She let out a strangled gasp, as if an invisible force had tightened around her throat. I reached out instinctively, but she flickered violently and vanished, leaving only a cold, oppressive silence in her wake. I stood there, my hand still outstretched, her unfinished words swirling in my mind. Whatever she was about to reveal, it was something I wasn’t meant to know. Just as I turned to leave, a faint whisper echoed in the stillness, barely audible but clear: “Hide.” The lights flickered once, casting shadows across the room. And then, just as quickly, they returned to a dim, steady glow. I was left standing alone, wondering what it meant. Personal Note to My Readers (November 4, 2024) I’ve been reflecting on my encounter with the lost soul who appeared to me through the crystal ball. There’s a lot I’m still trying to piece together, but her words have been haunting me ever since. When she told me, “You can’t help me,”  it hit me hard. I keep asking myself what she meant by that. Was she saying it because she truly believed I was powerless to change her fate? Or was she warning me that something—or someone—was making it impossible for me to help her? Or she feels that I’m not capable of helping her since I don’t have a good record with helping the lost souls since I’ve only identified six or so of the 42 lost souls who have come to me. It felt like she was resigned to her fate, almost like she had accepted that whatever had happened to her was beyond saving. But why would Candle Face allow her to come to me at all if I couldn't do anything to help? The thought lingers: perhaps I’ve been allowed to see these souls not to save them, but to witness their torment. And then there’s her statement, “I was the last.”  That line keeps replaying in my mind. Does it mean she was the final soul to be allowed through to me? Is Candle Face closing the door on these visits? If that’s true, then why? Has something changed on the other side? Or was it simply a warning that from now on, any attempt to help would come with even greater risks? The more I think about it, the more it feels like this was meant to leave me questioning everything I’ve been trying to do. But what haunts me most is that faint whisper I heard at the end— “Hide.”  Who said it? Was it the lost soul, trying to protect me in her last moments? Or could it have been something, or someone else, reaching out through the crystal ball? And who was the warning really for? Was it directed at me, urging me to prepare for something coming my way? Or was it meant for other lost souls trying to reach me? Every encounter I’ve had so far has left me with more questions than answers, but this one felt different. The way she vanished, the flickering lights—it’s as if something or someone is trying to cut off my connection to these lost souls. Maybe the whisper was a plea, or maybe it was a command. But one thing is certain: I can’t ignore it. If any of you have thoughts, insights, or even your own experiences that might shed light on this, I’d be grateful to hear them. For now, all I can do is stay vigilant, try to understand the warnings, and continue searching for answers. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the truth—whatever it is—won’t reveal itself easily. Thank you for reading, and as always, stay safe. 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

November 7, 2024 A little over a month ago, I shared a journal entry about a visit from two lost souls—a couple who appeared in my living room one restless night when I couldn’t sleep. The man was initially hesitant, but they eventually shared their tragic story. They described how they once lived peacefully on a ranch east of Austin, Texas, only for their lives to spiral into chaos when the woman began hearing tormenting voices from Candle Face after losing faith in her. These voices were relentless, pushing her to the brink, until her husband, in a desperate attempt to end her suffering, took her life with a gunshot. Their story took an even darker turn when the husband himself was shot by their son, who acted out of anger and misunderstanding, convinced that his father was abandoning him. The couple’s remains were buried together, their story lost to time, as Candle Face held them in her cruel grip, ensuring that their torment continued. Unlike many previous visits, this couple’s story didn’t feel like a simple recounting of their suffering—it carried specific details that felt like clues. Candle Face’s influence was clear, yet something about their account suggested there was enough information to potentially identify them. I felt compelled to dig deeper, hoping to see if historical records could corroborate their story. With that in mind, I turned to research. The couple had mentioned a ranch east of Austin, the man’s Mexican heritage, and a violent end involving a firearm. To start, I used Google and tried search terms like “elderly couple disappearance Texas ranch,” “missing couple gunshot ranch Austin,” and “Texas couple killed.” At first, my search results led to dead ends, filled with unrelated cases, but then something caught my eye. An article described an unsolved case from 1976 about an elderly couple who vanished from their ranch under circumstances strikingly similar to what the lost souls had told me. Comparing the Two Stories: The Lost Souls : During our encounter, the elderly man confessed that he ended his wife's life to free her from the torment Candle Face inflicted through cruel voices. He admitted to taking drastic measures to cover up the evidence of what he had done. He specifically mentioned that the bathroom door had a bullet hole in it, which he couldn't repair, so he took it off its hinges and hid it in the barn under a pile of hay. He also revealed how he was shot by their son, who believed, in a fit of rage, that his father was abandoning him. Their son then buried their bodies together in South Texas. The Article : The article detailed an unsolved case involving an elderly couple who disappeared from their rural ranch east of Austin in 1976. Investigators found signs of violence: a bullet hole in a window, bloodstains, and most notably, a missing bedroom door that was later discovered hidden in a barn on the property. Authorities speculated on various motives, from family conflict to outside involvement, but the couple’s bodies were never found, leaving the case unresolved. Key Similarities: Location & Background : Both the couple who visited me and the couple in the article lived on a ranch east of Austin. In both accounts, the husband had roots in Mexico. Unusual Circumstances of Death : Both stories involve a missing door and evidence of gunshots. The man who visited me explicitly mentioned hiding a door with a bullet hole in the barn, while the article noted that investigators found a hidden door in the barn during their search. Family Conflict : In both stories, the son played a tragic role, acting in anger. Torment by Voices : The woman in both accounts seemed to be driven to her breaking point by cruel, incessant voices. These voices could well have been Candle Face’s way of breaking down her will, forcing her husband into a desperate act. Key Differences: Confession vs. Theories : The couple who visited me shared their story as a direct confession, filling in details that the investigators could only speculate on. The article, on the other hand, presented theories based on limited evidence, leaving the story unclear. Direct Contact : The lost souls came to me directly, seemingly to set the record straight and share their side of the story. In contrast, the article is pieced together from fragmented details and speculation from the authorities, without the personal clarity I received during the encounter. Despite the similarities, I must emphasize that I could be wrong. While the parallels between the lost souls’ story and the historical case are striking, it’s possible that I’m misinterpreting their messages or that Candle Face’s manipulations have distorted the details. For that reason, I can’t definitively say that the couple who visited me and the individuals in the article are one and the same. Out of respect for any surviving family members who may still be searching for answers, I won’t reveal their names here. But you can do your own research. My goal is to honor the spirits who reach out to me and share their stories in a way that respects their pain, without causing further harm. Whether these two stories are truly connected or not, what remains clear is that these souls are reaching out for closure. And as Candle Face continues to weave her web of torment, I'll continue to listen, to give them a voice, and to fight against the evil she spreads. 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 12, 2023 My return to Texas initiated an investigation into the origins of Candle Face, an 11-year-old ghost girl from The Empty Lot Next Door . Her haunting presence became a regular occurrence in my childhood dreams and waking hours, marked by her disfigured, melted appearance. Although I wasn't her only victim, accounts of terror stemming from Candle Face haunted Austin locals for years. Years ago, their correspondences to me were destined for research and were sidelined—until now. Back in Texas, my investigative journey commenced, though fraught with dark mysteries. Two of the three original witnesses I reconnected with have vanished without a trace, refusing to return my calls or emails. One withdrew in fear after a threatening dream warning from Candle Face herself. Despite his prior boldness towards talking to me, her menacing presence was enough to silence him. Now, their stories hang in a suspended, unnerving silence. Should they resurface, a desperate dash to Austin awaits to capture and share their stories with my readers. In the meantime, my research languishes in a haunted pause as I scour for new leads and tiptoe further into Candle Face's origins. 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

October 13, 2023 SPOILER ALERT: This journal entry contains themes and insights from The Empty Lot Next Door . If you’re trying to avoid spoilers, it’s advisable not to read further until you’ve finished the book. Reading this journal entry may reveal important plot details you’d rather discover alone. Imagine this: a terrifying scene with Candle Face, the villain from my memoir The Empty Lot Next Door , and me surrounded by a disorderly array of toys on my bed, including a fake Hot Wheels car and a GI Joe figurine. Unbeknownst to me, a little wooden doll was about to make a surprise entry! In Chapter 8, Candle Face quietly crept into my room in the dead of night, seized a fake Hot Wheels car and a GI Joe figurine from the floor, and smashed them together to create a loud crash. Candle Face symbolically reenacted a friend’s death that occurred just the day before. My illustrator, a highly skilled artist from India, presented a unique challenge – he wasn’t familiar with GI Joe figurines, which were critical to my original scene. Consequently, his first drawing featured a wooden doll, which, although adorable, wasn’t what I had described in my manuscript. This misalignment highlighted intriguing challenges and opportunities that can arise when two cultures merge in a creative endeavor. To resolve this issue, I sent photos of GI Joe figurines; thinking visuals might help my illustrator mimic them. However, understanding and reproducing a cultural icon without having a cultural context or personal memories is difficult. Despite his best attempts, the GI Joe figures in his drawings didn’t quite match what I had in mind. Interestingly, the wooden doll appeared in every new sketch, as if quietly insisting to be included. Confronted with strictly adhering to the actual scene or adapting to the developing situation, I rewrote the scene, creating a spot where the wooden doll could rightfully exist alongside Candle Face and me. An unexpectedly beautiful thing occurred: this unplanned wooden doll, initially a symbol of miscommunication and annoyance, seamlessly found its place in the frightful disarray on the bed, adding an unanticipated yet fitting twist to the story. Now, my story has gained an unexpected layer, prompting readers to recognize and value the sometimes unpredictable journey of creative projects. Candle Face, myself, and our new wooden companion are captured in a moment of creepy connection, a scene shaped by the hands of an artist from afar. In the end, even though the wooden doll wasn’t a part of my childhood memories, it has found its place in my story, imparting a valuable lesson. Sometimes, embracing unpredictability and allowing stories to unfold their own way can create a rich, complex story that is even better than the original plan. Thus, the wooden doll stayed in the second edition, serving as a reminder to all that wonderful outcomes can emerge when we allow different cultures and unforeseen events to sculpt and enrich our stories. 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

October 29, 2023 In an unexpected twist, the elderly gentleman who once eluded my interview has made a dramatic reversal. Shrouded in mystery, the stage is now set for an eagerly awaited face-to-face interview scheduled for Monday, October 29th. At 82, this mysterious figure holds secrets from a forgotten time. He professes an intimate connection to Candle Face's early days. Before I awakened her and dubbed her Candle Face, he was there, silently witnessing her story’s genesis. His initial silence to share his insights has transformed into a firm resolve. An intense tension hangs in the air as he readies himself to reveal a story long hidden in the shadows. The risks are substantial; the danger is real. He confronts the potential for life-threatening consequences with unwavering courage. What hidden knowledge does he possess? How did his path intersect with Candle Face before the inferno that scarred her features, giving her the appearance of a scorched candle? As we draw nearer to the interview, the atmosphere brims with suspense. This is more than just a revelation; it’s a descent into a story that has remained untold until this moment. Stay alert as we prepare to uncover the mystery of Candle Face through the recollections of the man who knew her before the world took notice. 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