June 10, 2024 https://www.youtube.com/live/pMNZCEaApB0 Join us on an interactive journey with Candle Face Chronicles , a two-part series that investigates the supernatural heart of Candle Face. This compelling anthology, featuring The Lost Souls  and Genesis , invites you to collaborate with Arthur Mills, a seasoned retired intelligence analyst and private investigator with over thirty years of experience. Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls  isn’t just a collection of ghost stories but an investigation into real-life encounters with spirits—victims of Candle Face. As skeptics turned victims share their testimonies, you’re enlisted in a mission to bring peace to these lost souls. Your involvement is critical in locating spirits’ remains and identifying their killers. This endeavor encompasses piecing together testimonies, analyzing cryptic messages, and researching historical records while deciphering the complex visions these spirits communicate. Both parts of the Chronicles employ cutting-edge technology alongside traditional and unconventional investigative techniques, offering a multidimensional experience where participants can share findings and theories through an interactive website and a podcast. In Candle Face Chronicles: Genesis , the quest deepens as it attempts to understand the essence of Candle Face herself. This groundbreaking exploration leads you through haunted sites, consulting with paranormal research, theology, and demonology experts to challenge your understanding of the supernatural. Who’s Candle Face? A fallen angel, a demon of chaos, or an entirely unknown type of entity? The Candle Face Chronicles  transcends the typical anthology format, emphasizing collaborative investigation and reader interaction to solve cold cases. Participants are encouraged to share their analysis, contributing to a collective knowledge base. Whether analyzing spirit testimonies, exploring cryptic sites, or engaging in theological debate, every piece of the puzzle brings us closer to understanding Candle Face’s true nature. Whether you’re here to read or participate actively, you become an essential team member dedicated to delivering justice and liberation to the spirits haunted by Candle Face. Join us in this meaningful quest across Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls  and Genesis . Whether she’s a ghost, a fallen angel, a demon, or an entirely new category of undead entity, this investigation will forever change how we perceive the supernatural world. Be part of the legend that is the Candle Face Chronicles , where every discovery, every piece of evidence, and every shared story brings us a step closer to solving the ultimate mystery. 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

CBS Austin June 9, 2024 On June 4, 2024, a commenter responded to the April 17, 2024, Candle Face Victim # 25 and # 26: Ghostly Correspondence journal entry. The commenter believes that one of the victims described in the journal entry is her friend, Sonya Wallace, who was killed in February 1999. Here’s her comment: A friend of mine sent me this article of yours. She said it sounded a lot like our friend Sonya Wallace. Sonya was last seen leaving a post office in Rockdale on February 19, 1999. She said she had to drop off a letter at the post office. No one knows who she was mailing a letter to. The news said her head was smashed in. Maybe this is farfetched, but if it was Sonya who visited you, please help her. Please find a way to help her escape Candle Face. If you have any questions, please email me (I sent you my email address to your email address). Could the spirit who visited me on April 17, 2024, have been Sonya Wallace? After researching her name, I found dozens of news reports about her disappearance and the subsequent discovery of her remains. These stories span over two and a half decades since her disappearance. According to a CBS Austin article , Sonya Wallace was a 15-year-old from Rockdale, Texas, about 60 miles east of Austin. She disappeared on February 19, 1999, while walking from the post office, and her body was found three weeks later in a creek bed in east Williamson County. At the time, she was a student at Rockdale High School and had connections in Rockdale, Taylor, Elgin, and Austin.   The spirit’s April 17, 2024 testimony describes her encounter with Candle Face. She also mentions a series of exchanges with her pen pal from San Francisco, which turns dark when her pen pal becomes obsessed with the legend of Candle Face. The lost soul mentions how her pen pal’s letters grew more frantic and fear-laden. The pen pal, consumed by fear and the supernatural, disappears, and the lost soul herself encounters Candle Face, leading to her death caused by a large rock to her head. Here are some similarities between the spirit’s testimony and news reports about Sonya Wallace.   Disappearance and Discovery: Sonya Wallace disappeared while walking from the post office, and her body was found weeks later. The spirit’s testimony also mentions walking from the post office and disappearing afterward. Geographical Connection: Sonya Wallace had connections in Rockdale, Taylor, Elgin, and north Austin, aligning with the lost soul’s description of moving through these areas and their connection to the legend of Candle Face, which is centered in the Austin area. Paranormal Elements: The involvement of Candle Face in the spirit’s testimony aligns with the unexplained nature of Sonya Wallace’s disappearance and death, suggesting a paranormal cause. Cause of Death: Both Sonya Wallace and the lost soul were killed by having their heads bludgeoned. Sonya Wallace’s head was bludgeoned, according to news reports, while the lost soul’s testimony describes a large rock being used to kill her.   Possible Contrasts:   Pen Pal’s Location: The lost soul’s testimony mentions a pen pal from San Francisco, which differs geographically from Sonya Wallace’s known connections in Texas. Wrong Ages: Sonya Wallace was a 15-year-old high school student at the time of her disappearance. The spirit who visited me was much older than 15, likely in her twenties. Timeline and Additional Missing Persons: The spirit’s testimony doesn’t specify a timeline for the pen pal’s disappearance. Further investigation is needed to determine if a girl from San Francisco was missing from late January to mid-February 1999, which could provide additional context. Communication Methods: The spirit’s testimony mentions not using Facebook or other social media platforms to communicate with her pen pal from San Francisco, relying instead on letters. This is interesting because Facebook went live for the general public in September 2006, six and a half years after  Sonya Wallace went missing. This discrepancy raises the possibility that the spirit could be someone else who died similarly after Facebook started.   Based on the similarities in background, geographical connection, and the circumstances of the disappearance, it’s plausible to suggest that Sonya Wallace could be the lost soul from Candle Face Victim # 25 and # 26: Ghostly Correspondence. However, the significant age differences and the mention of Facebook and social media in the spirit’s testimony raise the possibility that this might be someone who died similarly after 2006.   Recommendations:   Further investigation into the connections between the real-life case of Sonya Wallace and the spirit’s testimony is recommended. This could involve:   Investigating whether there was a missing girl from San Francisco from late January to mid-February 1999. This could provide further context and potential connections. Investigating other potential victims in Central Texas who disappeared similarly after 2006 when Facebook became widely used. 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

June 7, 2024 I slept early last night. Just as I hit the pillow, the shadows in the living room corner began to flicker, along with the kitchen lights I left on to help cast a shadow in that corner. I sat up and saw two figures exit the portal and walk towards me. As they neared, I saw that one was a white man around 60. He was rather short, standing around 5’8” or so. The other lost soul was a much younger female, maybe 25 or younger. She appeared black or light-skinned Hispanic, but I couldn’t tell for sure. The male spirit spoke first. “Hello, Ray. Moana and I need your help.” Moana looked puzzled. “What did you say?” Standing to her left, the male spirit switched sides with Moana and nearly yelled in her right ear, “I told Ray we need his help.” “Oh yes, Ray, we need your help,” she repeated. We just looked at each other, waiting for the other to respond. I wanted to ask them how to help, but I knew better than to ask. After looking around confused, Moana spoke. “Ray, we drowned in Lake Travis around 20 years ago. We both had dreams of Candle Face the night before. Even though we weren’t together the night before, we had the same dream from our own perspectives.” The male spirit nodded. “I always believed in Candle Face, but I didn’t want to follow her directions, like bringing non-believers to her. I drew the line at participating in killings.” “Me too, I didn’t want any part of that,” Moana added. “In my dream, Candle Face said if I didn’t listen to her, I’d be her next victim,” the male spirit continued. “Moana had the same dream.” The male spirit paused, then added, “Candle Face chooses her followers carefully. She targets those who already believe in her legend but are weak enough to manipulate. She preys on our fears and desires, making promises and threats in our dreams. We were chosen because we both had a history of dabbling in the paranormal and were curious about the other side. She exploited our curiosity and fear.” Moana nodded in agreement. “She promised us power and knowledge beyond the grave if we brought non-believers to her. At first, it seemed harmless—just convincing people to believe in Candle Face’s power. But soon, she demanded more. She wanted us to lead people to their deaths, to feed her power.” “We couldn’t do it,” the male spirit said, his voice shaking. “We refused to become murderers. But defying her came with a price.” “Soon after we got in the middle of the lake that day, the boat nearly tipped over, and we both fell overboard. Moana didn’t know how to swim, so she went underwater. I dived down after her. Once I was underwater, I could see about a dozen skeletal figures grabbing her legs and pulling her down toward the bottom. I tried to pull her back up.” Moana continued, “But the monsters were just too strong. They kept pulling me down to the bottom. I was almost out of air by then, but I saw a few more monsters on the bottom, holding up a large rock. I was placed at the bottom, and the rock was placed on top of me, finishing the job.” The male spirit said, “I was almost out of air, too, but I continued to swim down after her. When the rock was in place, the group came after me. They, too, put me under a large rock. Our bodies are still under those rocks, near the marina where we launched the boat.” “Ray, help free us from the rocks,” Moana pleaded. “If you can find our bodies, our souls will also be free from Candle Face. Please help us.” The two spirits thanked me and walked back towards the portal. The male whispered something in Moana’s right ear, but I couldn’t hear it. They both stepped in and disappeared. Personal Note to My Readers During my high school years, I visited this general area often. I would jump off the cliffs at Pale Face and relax in the water at The Flats. I really enjoyed my time there hanging out with my friends. But many people have drowned in those waters, and many of their bodies were never recovered. It’s possible some of those who never resurfaced could be the “monsters” pulling down Moana and her male companion. In December 2023, a Candle Face victim visited me to tell me his testimony. I kept putting off writing his story in my online journal. On February 13, 2024, he revisited me, hit me a few times, and even vomited in my mouth. He warned me not to ignore any more spirits. This spirit also drowned in Lake Travis while he was on an overnight boat trip with his two young sons. Recently, an alarming pattern emerged: three spirits in a row who visited me were all victims of drowning, their lives claimed by Candle Face. This pattern prompts me to investigate deeper and understand the thread weaving through these spirits’ testimonies. I think there have been four drowning victims so far, and there are likely many more. There have been a lot of bodies found in Town Lake or what the new generation of Austinites call Lady Bird Lake. Many believe there’s a serial killer on the loose. A few months ago, hunched over my desk in the quiet night hours, I began my investigation. The stories of these lost souls, each ending in the cold embrace of water, point to a horrifying possibility: Candle Face is the serial killer responsible for the drowning deaths in Austin and nearby Lake Travis. Despite the police’s best efforts, the cases remain unsolved, the only link being the victims’ supposed interactions with Candle Face. One of my visiting spirits thought he was helping a drowning child only to be pulled under the surface by Candle Face. Water appears to play a significant role in Candle Face’s evil activities. Several of her killings are associated with bodies of water, and she often appears near lakes, rivers, and the creek near my childhood home. There are several eerie hypotheses about why water is so central to her actions: Elemental Connection: Candle Face may have an elemental connection to water, using it as a conduit for her power. Water might amplify her abilities, allowing her to easily manipulate and kill her victims. Portal to the Underworld: In some cultures, like the Mayans, bodies of water serve as portals to the underworld. Through these portals, she can drag her victims into a realm of eternal torment, beyond the reach of the living. Manifestation of Fear: Water may manifest the deepest fears of her victims. Many people have a primal fear of drowning, and Candle Face exploits this fear to exert control and terror over her targets. To understand Candle Face, on 30 October 2023, I interviewed an 82-year-old gentleman who claimed to have seen her. Around 1990, while walking his dog near the creek at the intersection of Wilson and El Paso Streets in Austin, TX, he saw a young girl with long dark hair seemingly bathing in the water. They locked eyes, and he thought he heard a voice asking, “Do you believe?” He whispered, “Yes.” He never saw her again, but he knew it was Candle Face. Mr. Doe’s story, along with the spirits’ testimonies and the serial killer rumors, paints a disturbing picture of Candle Face as a vengeful ghost or a collective manifestation of the city’s fears. As the chosen confidant of these visitors, I find myself tasked with solving the case of the serial killer rumors that haunt Austin. The task is daunting yet necessary. By weaving together the personal tragedies of the spirits with the broader story of fear and uncertainty that envelops Austin, I want to shed light that looms over the city and perhaps help prevent further tragedies in the waters of Town Lake, Lake Travis, and everywhere else Candle Face’s presence lingers. 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

June 5, 2024 The lights started to flicker shortly after midnight, more so than they had in the last few days. I thought nothing of it, so I continued my nightly scrolling through YouTube videos. When one of the flickers was long enough to disconnect the internet, I looked up to see a female with what appeared to be a broken jaw, blood covering her face and dripping down between her legs. I put down my phone. This time, I didn’t motion for her to sit next to me. I just sat there waiting for her to begin. I smiled, and she returned the smile, but a few teeth fell out, which she quickly picked up and put back in her mouth. She began her story, speaking slowly, knowing it would be hard for me to understand. Here’s her story: Hi Ray, my name is Cayman. I both loved and hated my husband. It seemed mutual because our relationship was lovey-dovey one minute and conflict the next. Our arguments were mostly about money and his wandering eye, especially his obsession with young girls. He had a thing for young girls, and I tried to look younger by shaving down there. He liked it initially, but he soon wanted the real thing. On the day I died, we fought over something trivial, though I can’t recall exactly what, as we were both drunk and looking for a fight. I got right up in his face and spat at him. Enraged, he punched me in the face, and I hit the edge of the end table. He climbed on top of me and started hitting me in the mouth, warning me that if I ever spat on him again, he’d kill me. When he finally stopped, my mouth and my left cheekbone felt like mush. He seemed to realize he had gone too far and panicked. I was barely conscious as he yelled, “Look what you made me do!” All I could see were his feet pacing back and forth. He lifted me into a sitting position against the couch. My eyes were barely open as he looked at me and said, “I’m sorry.” I spat in his face again, blood and snot mixing in the spit that landed mostly in his mouth. Furious, he threw me back to the floor and stomped on my head and neck until I was no more. All the while, I was laughing at the futility of it all. When I died, I stared at the most wicked figure I had ever seen. It had the form of a woman with long hair, but her eyes were empty and seemed to pierce into my soul. She welcomed me to her lair, saying I’d find my place there, though I had arrived early. She explained that my husband had killed me too soon; I was meant to be sacrificed later due to my disbelief. I tried to speak, but my mouth was full of broken teeth and blood. She then pronounced my eternal punishment: for the rest of eternity, a razor would ensure I’m cleanly shaven for the shadows to enjoy. She gave me a half-smile while holding her hands just below her mouth, perhaps to catch her teeth if they fell out again. She turned around and walked slowly toward the shadowy portal. One step before the portal, she hesitated and began to cry. A loud and thunderous voice rang out, “Come.” She stepped into the portal and disappeared. A Personal Note to My Readers Finally! A lost soul provided me with a name – Cayman, or Caymen. It could also be Clayman or Claymen, as it was difficult to understand her through the gargling and broken teeth. Her voice was distorted and echoed unnaturally, forcing me to miss every third or fourth word. I did a Google search for any missing persons with that first, middle, or last name who might have gone missing in Central Texas. I haven’t found any leads yet, but I’ll continue looking. 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

May 12, 2024 As I settled into the couch, the weight of the day’s worries began to lift, if only slightly. Something made me open my eyes, and when I did, I noticed shadows flickering against the far wall, like the dim light had suddenly become shy. That’s when I saw him—my next lost soul. He appeared near the window, his form vague and shimmering. He stood there silently, watching me, like he was trying to figure out how I’d react. He clearly had something to share, some unfinished business that had brought him to my living room. I sat up, and he walked over and sat beside me. My gaze locked on his was all the cue he needed to begin. I first heard the stories of Candle Face on the corner of Congress Avenue and Sixth Street in Austin, TX. A group of fellow homeless folks were gathered around a light post and bench, their eyes haunted as they spoke about a ghostly girl who hunted down anyone who dared to laugh at her existence. I didn’t buy it for a second, so I pushed for more. The group was led by a woman with piercing blue eyes who talked about Candle Face like she was both something to fear and something to revere. She said the ghost was once a young girl who died in a horrible fire, her face left disfigured. Now, she roamed Austin’s streets, punishing skeptics who didn’t take her story seriously. I couldn’t help myself. I laughed and called it nonsense. “A ghost that attacks non-believers?” I mocked. “Come on.” Her expression turned cold. “Mock her, and you’ll see for yourself,” she warned. “But you’ll regret it. She’ll show you, but the cost will be more than you can imagine.” That night, under Interstate 35, I lay in my tent trying to shake off her words. But the air inside grew heavy, and a strange unease crept over me. Then I heard it—a faint, childlike voice calling my name. My heart started pounding. I sat up, and that’s when I saw her. Candle Face. She was horrifying—her face charred and twisted, her eyes hollow and lifeless. She just stood there, staring at me. In her hand, she rolled a needle between her burnt fingers, like she was deciding what to do with it. “Come with me,” she said in a sad tone. Suddenly, the world around me shifted. Austin was gone, replaced by some nightmarish version of itself—a city twisted by fire. As I followed her, she started talking, her tone shifting between innocent and commanding. “I do not just want believers,” she said. “I want people who will embrace my story, spread it, make it part of their lives.” She went on to explain how she wasn’t just a figure of terror. To those who believed, she appeared as a guardian, offering comfort to people drowning in their pain. “For those who have faith in me,” she said, her voice softening, “I am their light, their hope. A way out of their daily suffering.” But her tone turned icy when she talked about skeptics. “For those who deny me, I am the thing they fear most,” she said flatly. “Mock me, and you will see what happens.” She revealed how her existence fed on belief and fear. Every story, every ounce of doubt, every mocking laugh—it all made her stronger. “I am born of both reverence and disdain,” she explained. “Every skeptic who denies me only adds to my power.” She made it clear why she’d chosen me. I was supposed to be her messenger, her voice in the world of the living. She alternated between threatening me and pleading for my help, her manipulative nature impossible to ignore. “Tell my story,” she said. “Make them remember me, and I’ll offer you a warning—and maybe salvation.” I begged her to let me go, swearing I’d believe, that I’d tell people about her. She laughed—a sound so loud it made my ears hurt—and suddenly, I was back in my tent, drenched in sweat. But her laughter still echoed in my ears. The next day, I felt different. All my usual pains—the constant headaches, the aches from years of drinking and drug use, the mental fog—they were gone. I felt lighter, healthier, like years of torment had just vanished. It was enough to make me seek out that group I’d mocked the day before. They welcomed me back, no questions asked. They could see the change in me. And as I listened to their stories, I realized they’d all had their own encounters with Candle Face. Each one was disturbing in its own way, but they had all chosen to believe. They’d become her disciples, spreading her story to keep others from facing her wrath. I joined them. Night after night, we roamed the streets, sharing her story with anyone who’d listen. We thought we were doing the right thing, that maybe we could save others by spreading her message. But even as I told her story, I couldn’t stop questioning it. Was Candle Face real? Or was she just a reflection of our fears? Something we’d created ourselves? That doubt was my undoing. That night, she came to me again. In my dream, her face was even more grotesque than before. She leaned in close and hissed, “You lost faith.” Before I could speak, her hands were on me. Her charred fingers clamped down on my mouth and nose, cutting off my breath. Her skin was rough, like burnt wood, and the smell of scorched flesh filled the air. I tried to fight, to scream, but her grip was unrelenting. Her hollow eyes stared into mine, full of cruel satisfaction. Around us, shadows pulsed and shouted in a language I couldn’t understand. The edges of my vision started to fade, and my heart slowed. I realized too late that Candle Face wasn’t just a story. She was real—relentless and unforgiving. My last thoughts were full of regret, knowing I’d made the ultimate mistake: doubting her. When everything went dark, I felt the cold sting of a needle in my arm. A grim reminder of the life I’d tried so hard to leave behind. The lost soul stood up and walked toward the portal in the far corner of the room. His movements were slow, almost hesitant. As he neared it, his shadow stretched out behind him, and I noticed the needle still sticking out of his arm—a haunting reminder of his past. He paused at the portal’s edge and looked back at me one last time. There was sadness in his eyes, but also a kind of acceptance. Then, without a word, he stepped through. The portal vanished, and the room was silent again, lit only by the soft glow from the kitchen light. 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

April 30, 2024   Retirement life offers its share of surprises. Some days, I find myself occupied with household chores; other days, I’m lost in endless scrolling on Facebook and YouTube. Today was one of the latter. I must have spent 12 hours lounging on my couch in my boxers, watching video after video. Around 4:00 a.m., I heard footsteps descending the stairs. Assuming it was my son, I didn’t look up at first. Then, the sound of a woman clearing her throat made me pause—it seemed she wanted to be noticed. Glancing up, I saw a woman in her early thirties, a man’s tie knotted tightly around her neck. Her eyes, filled with desperation and determination, instantly grabbed my attention. I wondered if this spirit would attempt to attack me, as others have in the past. Recognizing the signs of a story waiting to be told, I sat up and pulled out my notebook filled with paranormal investigation forms, ready to document her testimony. She took this as her signal to begin and spoke in a scratchy, high-pitched voice. Our conversations had become so repetitive, I could predict every word before it was said. Each day felt like a rerun of the last—same phrases, same lifeless kisses that barely even registered. We were stuck in this endless loop, going through the motions of a marriage that had long since lost its spark. “Planning for Christmas shopping?” my husband asked as we sat in a dimly lit restaurant, the clatter of dishes and murmurs of nearby conversations forming a familiar backdrop. His voice lacked genuine interest, as though the question was merely a line in an overused script. I dipped my fingers into my purse, retrieving my lipstick with a practiced motion. Without making eye contact, I replied, “Trying to beat the holiday rush.” We rose from our seats in synchronized movements. “Love you,” he said, a phrase that once carried the weight of devotion but now felt as empty as the restaurant on a Tuesday night. With a heavy heart, I replied, “Love you too,” and we exited the restaurant, his hand slipping into mine out of habit. I drove him back to work, our conversation drifting into silence, broken only by the sound of traffic. Once he closed the car door behind him, I sped away, driven by an urgency only I could understand. My destination? A small, plain apartment in North Austin. It wasn’t much, but it had become my escape. My boyfriend was everything my husband wasn’t—thoughtful, passionate, and alive in a way I hadn’t felt in years. He made me laugh. He challenged me. He reminded me I could feel something other than numb. When I walked in, the familiar smell of his cologne hit me first—musky, with just a hint of the old books he loved to read. “Finally,” he said, pulling me into a hug. His voice had this way of grounding me, like nothing else mattered when I was with him. But something felt off that night. He was holding me, but his grip felt… different. When I pulled back to look at him, his eyes were glossy, like he was about to cry. “You shouldn’t have ridiculed her,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Who?” I asked, confused. Then everything changed. A cold breeze swept through the room, and the shadows on the walls started moving, almost like they had minds of their own. And in the middle of it all, I saw her—a figure standing there, her grin twisted and her eyes empty. I froze. My boyfriend started chanting in some language I didn’t recognize, his voice shaking as the shadows seemed to respond to him. “Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice breaking. His face crumpled. “She requires devotion, and you don’t have it. I don’t have a choice.” The air in the room grew so hot I felt like I couldn’t breathe. And then, I heard it—the laughter. Low at first, then louder, surrounding me, mocking me. I tried to scream, but my voice got caught in my throat. I knew then there was no way out. Weeks passed, and my absence remained unexplained. Rumors about my disappearance swirled. My husband and boyfriend eventually found themselves face-to-face in a secluded bar on the outskirts of Austin. Taking a gulp from his drink, my boyfriend broke the silence. “I didn’t wish for this,” he admitted. My husband’s response was chilling, devoid of remorse. “It was either her or us.” “Faith holds strength,” my boyfriend mused, staring at the swirling patterns in his glass. “But doubt can be fatal.” The woman tugged at the tie around her neck, grimacing as it tightened. Her eyes met mine, and there was something raw in her expression—pain, but also understanding. “Don’t let this discourage you,” she said, her voice softer now. “Most of us aren’t like that. If you’re a jerk in life, you’re a jerk in death too. That doesn’t change. But the good ones? The ones who were kind and gave a damn? They stay like that too.” She paused, maybe trying to put into words what she wanted me to understand. “Look, death doesn’t rewrite who we are. It just amplifies it. People who spread kindness and love when they were alive? They keep doing it after. They become the kind of spirits who want to guide, to help. But the ones who were selfish, angry, or cruel? Well, they don’t magically turn into saints just because they’re dead.” She gestured to the faint shimmer of the portal in the corner of the room. “You’ll meet all kinds. Some of us bring misery, sure. But others? We just want to share whatever joy we can. Every soul has a story, and it’s shaped by the life they lived. So when you meet one of us, don’t just see what’s in front of you. Try to see who we were.” 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

April 25, 2024   It’s been six days since I’ve had a nocturnal visitor. These late-night encounters have taken me on an emotional roller coaster—swinging from dread to tense curiosity and back again to a more familiar fear. At least I got a short breather. But that respite ended abruptly this morning. I was settling onto the couch, ready to drift off, when I noticed a shadow in the far corner of the living room grow larger. My heart pounded in my ears as I thought to myself, “Here we go again.” I took a calming breath, bracing myself for the spirit who was about to appear. Sure enough, a young man in his early to mid-twenties, draped in a sheet, stepped forward and looked at me. I met his gaze in silence, a quiet agreement that I was listening, that he should begin. And so, he told me his story: I left my apartment in San Marcos, heading to my parents’ place near Houston. After entering their address into my GPS, I set off late in the evening, hoping to avoid the Christmas season traffic. My journey took me along Highway 80. Near the small town of Stairtown, I noticed a man in a construction vest and hard hat on the side of the road. He held a large white sign above his head, which read, “CONTINUE STRAIGHT,” accompanied by a black arrow pointing forward. He waved as I drove past, seeming like a construction worker directing traffic despite no apparent construction. A few minutes later, I encountered a woman wearing a construction vest and hard hat, displaying a sign that read, “KEEP GOING, YOU’RE ALMOST THERE.” She waved, and I honked my horn in response. By then, my GPS signal had dropped, forcing me to rely on my memory, which was shaky since it was only my third time driving this route. Where Highway 80 and Highway 183 intersect, another woman held a sign with an arrow pointing straight ahead. I hesitated, thinking I needed to turn right, but she pointed directly at me and instructed me to continue straight. As I complied, she shouted, “I love you!” prompting me to laugh and honk in return. At an intersection, a group stood, each holding a sign. One sign caught my attention; it read, “BEYOND THIS PATH LIES THE UNKNOWN. TRUST YOUR HEART TO LEAD YOU HOME.” It felt like a prank by my college friends, who knew I’d be passing through. Feeling more relaxed and entertained by the apparent joke, I sped up. Moments later, I spotted three friends from school by the roadside, waving signs that read, “YOU MADE IT,” “WELCOME HOME,” and “I LOVE YOU.” As they suddenly jumped in front of my car, I swerved to avoid hitting them, skidding to a halt on the dirt road. I leaped out, greeted by the glare of my car’s headlights. “What are ya’ll doing here?” Laughter was my only response from my friends. They rushed to me, grabbed my arms, and began directing me to step across some barbed wire fencing. “Where’re we going?” “We’re going to a party, and you’re the guest of honor,” they replied, their voices now hollow. Feeling uneasy, I hesitated. “Wait, I need to know where we’re going before I go any further,” I said, trembling slightly. “Don’t be a baby; we love you,” they chuckled. At that moment, my instincts screamed that something was wrong. I took a step back towards the barbed wire fence. “I think I should head back to my car,” I said, trying to look calm. In an instant, the familiar features of my three college friends contorted, their bodies stretching and twisting. Their once recognizable forms dissipated into tall, dark, swirling shadows that hovered just above the ground. The air around us grew hot, pressing against my skin. One of the shadows moved closer, its form becoming more defined yet no less terrifying. It appeared almost human but elongated and distorted, like a reflection in a funhouse mirror. The voice that emerged from it was unexpectedly smooth, chillingly serene against its ghastly appearance. “This isn’t a request,” it said. Slowly, it tilted its head towards an old structure hidden deep in the thick brush, barely visible. The shadows stripped me of my clothes and dragged me to this house. The house seemed to sag under the weight of countless years, its windows dark and vacant. “Come,” the shadow urged. “She is waiting for you.” The shadows pushed me forward against my will. “No, I... I need to go,” I responded, but the shadows didn’t heed my protests. They, instead, ushered me through the door. Once inside, the old wood under my feet creaked like bones cracking with every step. The air was hot; each breath I took felt hotter than the last, filled with the smell of decay and old earth. The shadows were now silhouetted against dozens of candles along the room’s perimeter and center. The flames guided me to the center of an old, dusty room. Suddenly, the space around me began to glitter, and from the shadows, Candle Face emerged. She wasn’t a pretty young girl from the stories I have heard, but a tall and slender woman, her wax-like face illuminated softly by the candlelight. The hollow eye sockets, dark and deep, seemed to look right into my soul. Candle Face said to me with a wrinkled brow, “I am irate,” she began, her voice echoing around the room, “that you refuse to believe in me. Despite my many attempts and all I have done for you, your doubt has worn my patience thin.” The air grew hotter with each word, the shadows around us growing more intense. I tried to speak, apologize, and plead, but fear tightened around my throat, squeezing the words back down. “You will not ignore me any longer,” Candle Face declared. With a wave of her hand, the floorboards beneath me gave way and landed softly but firmly just below the house. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed I wasn’t alone. Dozens of others lay under the floorboards, their eyes hollow yet seemingly looking right at me. In a haunting chorus, they sang, “I love you,” over and over again. As I lay there, trapped beneath the house’s floorboards, Candle Face had more to say. She wasn’t done with me yet, she said in a faint yet unmistakable voice, “One day, someone will come looking for you, someone who loves you,” Candle Face said, her voice fading, laughing as her voice faded. The silence that followed was deafening and thick with the scent of old earth. I felt the presence of the other spirits around me, each trapped in their own nightmare, their stories untold and forgotten, their fates sealed like mine. “It is not merely to torment you that I bind you here,” Candle Face’s voice emerged again. “There is a way out, a puzzle that, if solved, will break the chains that tether you to this place.” A flicker of light appeared above me as if the mere mention of escape gave me hope. “Listen well,” she continued, “for this riddle is your only key to salvation. The only one who truly understands the depths of this house’s power can unravel its meaning and grant you release.” The air grew even hotter, and I braced myself as she delivered the riddle. The silence returned but now charged with the faintest chance of possibility—that someone could come, solve the riddle, and free me from Candle Face’s hell. Who’s this person who will come looking for me? The answer remained trapped within the walls of the haunted house, just as I remained trapped under its creaking boards. He lingered just at the edge of that dark portal, tossing me a tired grin before turning to leave. “Wait!” I blurted—louder than I intended. The sudden force of my own voice startled us both. He spun around, eyes wide with surprise… and maybe fear. Right then, I knew I’d slipped up. Candle Face had specifically warned me not to speak to the lost souls, yet here I was, crossing that line again. But since I’d already stepped over it, I decided to press on. “What’s the riddle? What did Candle Face tell you? If you want my help, you need to help me. Give me the riddle,” I demanded, ignoring the knot in my stomach. He shot a nervous glance back into the portal, then looked at me, as if thinking he had nothing left to lose. “She posed this riddle: ‘Across the cemetery’s silent stones, I love you pierces through the bones. Who hears this declaration low, where none but departed souls may go?’” With that, he turned back toward the portal. For a moment, he looked torn, until a calm but commanding voice drifted out of the portal: “Come.” He gave a small nod and vanished into the gloom. Personal Note to My Readers I quickly scribbled the riddle down on paper and rushed to my computer to capture the rest of his story. What could it mean?   "Across the cemetery’s silent stones, ‘I love you’ pierces through the bones. Who hears this declaration low, where none but departed souls may go?"   There’s this odd thread of “I love you” that keeps surfacing—from road signs and “construction workers” to the floorboards hiding spirits, and now in this riddle. How does “I love you” tie in with his fate? I tried searching online for clues but came up empty. I thought about reaching out to the paranormal community, but most people I’ve seen there seem more concerned with dust specks on camera lenses than dealing with real hauntings. I might need to go check things out for myself. It’s less than two hours away, after all. With thirty years of intelligence and investigative work under my belt, I should trust my own methods to dig up the truth. I’ll let you know what I discover. 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

April 17, 2024   I arrived in Sugar Land, Texas, for a conference late in the evening, getting there much earlier than I’d expected—traffic wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d feared. With time to spare, I decided to grab a quick meal at Schlotzsky’s. After finishing, I still had an hour or more to kill, so I settled back in my car, planning to watch some cute puppy videos on YouTube to pass the time. That’s when it happened. While I was scrolling through my feed, the locked passenger door abruptly swung open. A young woman in her twenties got into my car without hesitation. My first jolt was fear—thinking it might be a robbery—until I noticed she was missing half of her head. In an instant, I realized what this was. No robber, no stranger in need; this was another visitor  with a story to share. She didn’t look frightened or aggressive. She just looked at me with those weary eyes—eyes that had seen something I could barely fathom. Once again, I found myself at the intersection of two worlds: mine and hers. She began to speak, and I sat quietly, bracing myself for whatever haunting account she was about to reveal. Here’s her story: Living in Austin, a town full of myths and legends, I had always been a skeptic. Out of all of them, the story of Candle Face amused me the most. I considered it nothing more than a bedtime story for the gullible; a story spun to keep children from misbehaving. However, little did I know that my skepticism would soon be tested. It all began with my secret pen pal from San Francisco. We didn’t use Facebook or any other social media site to communicate; we preferred the more personal use of pen and paper. We had been exchanging letters for years, sharing stories about our lives, dreams, and occasional fears. But lately, something had shifted in her letters. They took on an unnerving tone, filled with references to ghosts, vampires, and the alike. One day, she wrote to me about the ritual to summon Bloody Mary, a story I had heard a hundred times in my youth. I shrugged it off, humored her, and even tried the ritual myself in front of my bathroom mirror. Naturally, nothing happened, and I chuckled at the superstitious nonsense. However, as the months passed, my pen pal’s letters dug deeper into the supernatural. She began recounting stories of sightings and experiences that she claimed were real. Her words painted a picture of a world where myths and legends held sway over reality, and she seemed to be spiraling out of control. One evening, as I sat by my desk, I received a letter from my pen pal. Her handwriting, usually neat and precise, now appeared hurried and trembling. She implored me to find information about Candle Face, the legendary ghost of Austin, and mail it to her. It was as if she believed that understanding the legend would provide answers to the mysteries that haunted her. Instead of immersing myself in the folklore, I decided to concoct my own stories of Candle Face, intending to send her a letter filled with fabricated details and spooky stories. It was all in good fun, I thought, a harmless attempt to ease her troubled mind. I penned my letter, full of myths and legends around Candle Face, each more frightening than the last. I embellished the details, painting her as a vengeful spirit with a thirst for the souls of skeptics. With my fabricated information, I placed the letter in the mailbox at the local post office. Two weeks had passed since I had received a letter from my pen pal. I began to worry that my letter was a mistake, that I may have gone too far. I walked to the post office to drop off another letter to my pen pal, confessing the stories about Candle Face were false. On my way home from the post office, my mind was preoccupied with thoughts of my pen pal and her descent into the paranormal world. As I wandered through the streets of my neighborhood, lost in my thoughts, I had a chance encounter with a boy from my old high school. We struck up a conversation that flowed effortlessly as if our souls had known each other for lifetimes, and hours passed in the blink of an eye as we talked about our dreams and fears. As the evening sun descended below the horizon, he offered to walk me home. It was a kind gesture, but my heart longed for a moment of solitude, a chance to reconnect with the familiar comfort of the woods that bordered my neighborhood. I assured him I would be fine and went to the open spot of the woods that had always been my sanctuary. Sitting on a familiar log, I let my thoughts drift to my pen pal. I intended to share the beautiful encounter I had just experienced, hoping it would distract her from the gloomy stories that seemed to consume her. I wanted to draw her attention back to the world around her, to remind her that there was beauty and wonder beyond myths and legends. Yet, on that evening, the woods felt different. They seemed alive, anticipating something. I couldn’t comprehend. Faint voices floated through the air, words that raised the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. “Believe. Accept.” Their meaning eluding my understanding. Was it my imagination running wild? Suddenly, a warm gust of wind swept through the trees, and I turned around, my heart pounding in my chest. What I saw made my blood run cold. Standing before me was the legend I had ridiculed for so long – Candle Face. Her appearance was nightmarish, her face melting away like wax dripping from a candle. The stories had never done her justice. Fear gripped me, and I realized that she was here because of me because I had dismissed her existence as nothing more than a figment of my imagination. “Are you going to kill me?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Yes, of course,” Candle Face answered with a booming laugh. “Why?” I managed to ask despite my fear. Candle Face’s lips curled into a cruel smile, her voice rasping like dry leaves skittering over stone. “Because, little girl, you mocked me. You denied my existence; you used me for your jest and wrote lies to your pen pal. Your fabrications have summoned me here.” “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I thought it was harmless,” I said, panic rising in my voice. “Sorry? Your sorry means nothing. There are plenty of true horrors about me, yet you chose to invent stories. There is no need to fabricate. Each false story seeds disbelief and mockery, undermining the fear I feed upon.” Candle Face leaned closer, her face distorting as if the wax melted faster with her fury. “Your pen pal, oh, how she feared and respected me. Her fear was delicious, and so was her body. But you, with your letters, made fun of me. Now, her soul is mine, twisted by the true stories I yelled at her at night, stories not diluted by your foolish jests.” My eyes widened with horror. “What did you do with her?” I managed to yell. “I told her the truth to combat your lies. Now, she entertains my shadows. She is bound to me forever – because of you.” “And you,” Candle Face hissed, her face now looming over me, “will join her soon enough. The two of you will scream in unison as the shadows have their way with you. Your secretions will moisten the soil of my underworld, a scent that will bring more shadows your way.” Candle Face moved even closer, her mouth touching my right ear, and whispered, “And your screams, oh, there will be many. The shadows will enjoy every one of them, feeding their appetite.” Tears streamed down my face as I realized the depth of my mistake and the end of times was upon me. Candle Face pushed me off the log until I was lying on my back and legs up in the air, unable to resist her strength. With a slow and deliberate motion, Candle Face reached for a large rock nearby. She held it high above my head; laughter filled the air. The rock fell, and death descended. But not before feeling the shadows spreading my legs. They couldn’t wait for their turn. She spoke so softly at the end of her testimony, asking if she could linger a bit longer. She confessed that, when she was with me, the shadows couldn’t harm her. I didn’t speak—knowing all too well that any response might make her a target for Candle Face’s wrath. I can only hope she understood my silence. She opened the car door, her steps heavy with regret, and walked toward the dark silhouettes by the restaurant’s dumpsters and vanishing. I could hear the shadows shriek with twisted glee as she disappeared. Personal Note to My Readers I’m reaching out for your help. So far, we’ve only managed to assist four of the twenty-six lost souls who’ve reached out to me. Like this young woman—and her “pen pal,” as she called her—many are stuck in a nightmare far beyond my power to untie alone. I’m asking if our community of readers and paranormal enthusiasts can unite to bring peace to these souls. Through shared analysis, focused thought, or even direct action into these lost souls, perhaps we can help guide them away from Candle Face’s lair and into the rest they so desperately need. One final note: this mention of a “pen pal” appears to mark the first time Candle Face has targeted someone outside Central Texas, at least from what I’ve gathered. But the timeline remains uncertain—the spirits don’t come to me in the same order Candle Face encounters them. The idea that Candle Face might be expanding her territory unnerves me more than anything. Stay vigilant, and please share any knowledge or experiences that might help us stand against Candle Face. 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

April 15, 2024 After spending far too long scrolling through Facebook and YouTube videos on my phone, I finally put it down and prepared to sleep on the couch as usual. I walked over to turn out the light; when the room went dark, the brief flicker of the switch revealed a shadowy figure standing there. I froze, locking eyes on that vague silhouette, sensing it was waiting for me to react. Perhaps noticing my hesitation, the figure moved in closer and leaned against my bar. I couldn’t make out many details in the dimness, but I saw two knives piercing his body—one through his chest and another at his neck. He looked in my direction and spoke in a wet, gurgling voice, thick with blood: “Looks like I’ve overstayed my welcome in the living world, don’t you think?” I didn’t respond, aware that any words might draw him further into Candle Face’s lair. Unperturbed, he stayed where he was, resting against the bar, those knives catching the faint light. Then, in that muted space between us, he began to tell me how he died. I used to think I had a decent sense of who I could trust, but that morning proved how wrong I was. It started before sunrise when my cousin and his friend pitched me a plan: drive to Houston, pick up a load of weapons, and sell them back in Austin. “Easy money,” my cousin said, like it was nothing. We left Austin that afternoon, taking Highway 183. When we got to Luling, my cousin told me we had to make a stop to grab a “box of gats.” We veered off onto Salt Road, driving for a few minutes until we pulled up to a nondescript house. Something about the place felt wrong. As soon as we stepped inside, I knew I shouldn’t have come. The betrayal came quick. I didn’t even see it coming. My cousin was the first to strike, driving a knife into my ribs and then into my chest. His friend followed with a blade to my neck. In those final moments, I saw their faces—grim, determined, and completely devoid of regret. They buried me beneath that cursed house. From beneath the floorboards, I watched them carry out the rest of their plan. They drove to Houston, loaded up the weapons, and made a stop north on Interstate 45 at some apartment to grab more. Then they headed to San Antonio along I-10, tossing my belongings somewhere to throw off any investigation. Finally, they came back to Austin, acting like nothing had happened. But the house—where they killed me—had its own secrets. It wasn’t long before Candle Face summoned them back. I watched as they returned, standing in the haunted gloom above my body. She was waiting for them. Her voice, low and mocking, filled the house. “So, you thought you could decide his fate without consulting me?” she said, her laughter ringing through the creepy house. My cousin, trying to act tough, replied, “We did what we thought was necessary. He wouldn’t have believed in you anyway.” Candle Face’s laughter deepened. “Belief,” she mused, “such a fragile thing, yet it holds so much power. And you,” she turned her attention to me, though I was already dead, “you doubted my existence.” I found my voice then. “I never believed in the paranormal,” I said. “I believed in what I could see and touch.” Her smile twisted. “And yet, here you are,” she said, “touched by the very entity you denied.” With a hint of respect in her tone, she explained that the town and the house were ancient sites of power, chosen for their connection to the space between worlds. The betrayal, orchestrated on such sacred ground, had inadvertently fulfilled a summoning ritual. She turned back to my cousin and his friend. “You share a name I know all too well,” she said. “It’s no coincidence. It’s a marker, a sign of potential I seek in my servants.” The two exchanged nervous glances, realizing they were in far deeper than they’d thought. Candle Face’s tone softened, dangerously. “You’ve done well, bringing him to me,” she said. “For that, you will be rewarded. Go forth and find more like him—those who doubt, those who deny. Bring them to me, and you will remain in my favor.” They nodded, fear and ambition sealing their silent agreement. Then she turned back to me. “As for you,” she said, “Your journey ends here, but theirs is just beginning.” Pain unlike anything I’d ever felt tore through me. I was no longer just a ghost—I was bound to the house, one of many souls trapped beneath its cursed floorboards. And my cousin and his friend? They left with a new purpose, tasked with feeding others to Candle Face. They thought they were in control, but they’d become pawns in her game. Now, the house above me stands as a tomb—a reminder of what happens when disbelief meets something far beyond comprehension. My cousin and his friend might think they’ve escaped, but I can’t shake the feeling that their time will come. Candle Face doesn’t let anyone walk away unscathed. He gave me a sly grin, pushed off from the bar, and stepped back into the corner. The knife handles in his chest and neck bouncing with each step. Just before vanishing completely, he shot me that same sneering smile and said, “Good luck, Ray.” P ersonal Note to My Readers The accounts I’ve been hearing lately are unlike anything I’ve documented before. This visitor’s story was unusually precise about where he traveled—Austin to Luling, then Houston and San Antonio—specifically citing Highway 183 and Interstates 10 and 45. Curiously, he mentioned a “Salt Road” in Luling. Based on a quick search, there’s no such road, though a “Salt Flat Road” does exist. Perhaps it’s a matter of fading memories in the afterlife or a deliberate effort to distort the truth. What’s most disturbing is the notion that Candle Face apparently declared the town and house an “ancient site of power” and that this house contains multiple victims beneath its floorboards. If true, it raises serious questions, which, of course I couldn’t ask the lost soul:   What is the nature of this so-called “sacred ground”? Is there a string of unsolved deaths linked to this location? How exactly does Candle Face fit into this brutal legacy?   The killers—a cousin and a friend—supposedly share the same name, a detail Candle Face appears to find appealing. Whether that’s just a coincidence or some deeper pattern remains to be seen. This testimony forces us to confront the murky intersections of memory, history, geography, and the supernatural. It hints at secret networks of tragedy—some known, some obscured, and some erased by time. As these clues emerge, let’s stay focused on our search for answers. Every revelation, no matter how perplexing, could help us solve this case and locate this house on “Salt Flat Road.” 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

April 14, 2024   My encounters with the spirit world show no signs of abating. Today, I received intriguing feedback regarding “ Candle Face Victim # 13: Beneath the Surface: The Drowning Ghost’s Story .” A commenter suggested that my nocturnal visitor from late December 2023—and again on February 13, 2024—could be William Crumpacker from Lake Travis, TX. This tip prompted me to search online for “missing person Lake Travis late 1990s.” I came upon a KXAN article titled “ Unsolved: The Mysteries Lurking in Lake Travis ,” which detailed several drownings, including that of William Crumpacker, who disappeared in 1998.   He was a Dell marketing manager who went missing under murky circumstances after going for a late-night swim from his boat in Little Devil’s Cove while his children slept onboard. His body was never recovered.   Read more about William Clark Crumpacker here .   The name William matches the one the spirit used in a ghost story he recounted during a boating trip—the same night he supposedly encountered Candle Face, leading to his tragic drowning. Could the spirit that visited me really be William Crumpacker? In late December 2023, I received a visit from a spirit whose appearance and account matched these details. Unfortunately, I initially failed to document his testimony. During the spirit’s second visit in February 2024, he angrily chastised my negligence—striking me twice and forcing vomit into my mouth—forcing me to finally record his story. I also recounted fragments of his initial visit on January 11, 2024, during an interview on Beyond Believe Talk .   Now, as the nights continue to bring new and old visitors, I’m left pondering: Is this determined spirit truly William Crumpacker? And if so, how should I proceed? With direct communication hindered by Candle Face’s warnings—and my own reluctance to risk further harm—I don’t know what to do next. So I turn to all of you, my readers, for guidance. Have you encountered Candle Face or experienced spirits demanding acknowledgment? If so, what happened? Any shared stories or information could be the key to helping me navigate whatever awaits in the shadowed corners of my home. 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