January 23, 2023 SPOILER ALERT: This journal entry explores the horror aspects of The Empty Lot Next Door , exploring the elements that make it a captivating and terrifying read. 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 that you’d rather discover on your own. As a genre, horror uniquely can tap into our deepest fears and anxieties. The Empty Lot Next Door  masterfully employs various elements of horror to create a story that is as unsettling as it’s compelling. From my perspective, Ray, the story’s protagonist, the horror in the book isn’t just about ghostly apparitions or supernatural occurrences; it’s deeply rooted in the psychological and emotional landscape of the characters. At the forefront of the book’s horror element is Candle Face, a ghostly figure that haunts the empty lot next to our house. Candle Face is a ghostly figure, embodying both the traditional aspects of a ghost story and the psychological horror of facing one’s deepest fears. Her appearances are shrouded in mystery and accompanied by a sense of dread that permeates the story. How she manifests – sometimes just a fleeting shadow or a terrifyingly tangible presence – plays with the primal fear of the unknown. The empty lot itself is a character in its own right, representing a space where the boundaries between reality and the supernatural blur. It's a playground for us as children, a place of freedom and imagination. Yet, as the story unfolds, it transforms evil, breeding for fear and horror. The lot, with its unkempt grass, the mysterious hole, and the massive oak tree, morphs into a setting where the normal rules of the world don't seem to apply. This shift from a place of innocence to one of terror is a classic horror image, effectively used here to heighten the sense of dread. Another aspect of The Empty Lot Next Door  is the exploration of childhood fears. The story looks into the psychological impact of growing up in a dysfunctional family environment, a theme that many of us can relate to. The fears and anxieties that stem from our interactions are as central to the book's horror as the supernatural elements. This blend of real-life horrors with ghostly encounters adds a layer of depth to the story, making it not just terrifying but also deeply personal. The horror in The Empty Lot Next Door  is also about losing innocence. As the story unfolds, the experiences we, the children, undergo strip away the naive bliss of childhood, exposing us to the harsh realities of life. This loss is common in horror stories, symbolizing the inevitable transition from childhood safety to the adult world’s uncertainties. Furthermore, the book’s horror is amplified by its use of atmosphere. The descriptions of the empty lot, our home, and the neighborhood are laden with dread. The use of atmospheric details creates a familiar and deeply unsettling setting. This use of atmosphere is also a nod to classic horror storytelling, where the setting plays a crucial role in building tension and fear. The Empty Lot Next Door  is a horror story beyond ghostly scares. It investigates horror's psychological, emotional, and atmospheric elements to create a frightening and thought-provoking story. It stays with you long after you’ve turned the last page, a testament to its power as a piece of horror fiction. 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

January 23, 2024 It’s been two weeks since my last nocturnal visitor. I started to believe they had abandoned me, seeing as I couldn’t offer any assistance. I’ve made efforts, though. I’ve contacted numerous “experts” in the paranormal field, paranormal investigators, mediums, and psychics, even sharing the spirit’s testimonies on a podcast, but to no avail. Yet, while making a snack last night, I heard something: the sunroom door opening. Thinking it was an intruder, I braced myself, only to realize it was a ghost, a victim of Candle Face. This brought me a sense of relief. I welcomed the middle-aged spirit, drenched from the rain. As he moved closer, staying within the shadows, he began to share his story: The night was warm. I was stumbling home from a party, my steps unsteady but my mind sharp enough to find humor in the shadows. Ghost stories had been the evening’s entertainment, and I’d ridiculed them all, especially the one about a young ghost girl. Such a joke, I thought. I was too wrapped up in my own amusement to notice when the streetlights began to dim one by one. “Believe in some kid ghost?” I scoffed into the night, my voice louder than necessary. “It’s all just a bunch of BS.” She appeared then as if conjured by my disbelief. A female ghost that looked older than a typical girl stepped from the darkened corner of the northern side of Longhorn Dam in East Austin. “You do not believe,” she whispered, her voice a haunting tune that danced down my spine. The air seemed to thicken, and I tried to laugh it off. “This can’t be real,” I said, a tremor betraying my growing fear. “All is real if you believe,” she answered. Her words resonated with authority. I wanted to run but found my feet weighty, my movements sluggish as though the night held me in place. The water’s edge was close, its surface gleaming like a dark mirror under the scant light. “Why me?” I demanded a desperate shake to my voice now. She tilted her head, and I saw her eyes’ deep and endless hollows. “Because you laughed at me. You mocked what you did not understand. And for that, you will become part of my story.” Her small hand was suddenly on my arm, her grip iron. I wanted to scream, to call for help, but there was only silence as she drew me toward the water’s edge. “You will not be forgotten,” she said. The words were not comforting. Before I could comprehend the full terror of my situation, I was submerged, the water closing over my head. Her laughter, guiltless and cruel, was the last sound I heard as I was pulled down into the abyss. In those final drowning moments, I realized that belief was not a matter of choice. It was a matter of consequence. And as the water filled my lungs, I understood the truth of Candle Face, her story’s power, and my own finality. The man expressed his gratitude for my willingness to listen and slowly made his way back outside, departing through the sunroom door. An intriguing detail is that throughout our conversation, the man was frequently interrupted by a need to cough, causing a stream of water to flow from his mouth each time. This occurrence was quite distressing to witness, as he appeared to be in considerable discomfort, struggling with each word he tried to articulate, his face contorted in a grimace of pain with every cough. This peculiar aspect of the man being drenched led me to ponder - was his wetness a result of the rain, or was it somehow connected to the way Candle Face chose to end his life? The relentless flow of water from his mouth, more than what could be attributed to mere rain, hinted at a deeper, more evil connection to his demise at the hands of Candle Face. The water seemed almost symbolic, a haunting reminder of his tragic end, possibly linked to the way he was taken from this world. 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

January 24, 2024 For the past three months, I’ve received visits from spirits who were Candle Face’s victims. They’ve been seeking my assistance to locate their remains and to identify their killers. Despite my efforts, I haven’t been much help until now. A former colleague, a private investigator on missing persons cases with me, saw my interview on the January 11, 2024, episode of Beyond Believe Talk . I spoke about the spirits coming to me for help in the interview. Intrigued by my story, this experienced investigator researched and uncovered significant information about one of the spirits, Victim # 2 . I first encountered Victim # 2 on November 18, 2023. She appeared to me as a young African American girl, around four or five years old. She told me a traumatic story of being lured away from her swing by Candle Face right in front of her mother’s mobile home in Austin, TX. The young spirit wanted to communicate to her “Mama” and “Granny,” telling them she missed them and still felt their love. My former colleague's findings suggest a strong resemblance between Victim # 2 and a missing girl named Tanisha Lorraine Watkins from Austin, TX. He discovered information about her on the Charley Project website. According to their records, Tanisha Lorraine Watkins went missing on January 5, 1984, at the age of two. She was last seen playing on a swing outside her mother’s mobile home. Upon returning, her mother briefly stepped away and found that Tanisha had vanished. The similarities between the missing person's report and the testimony by the spirit are striking: Description Missing Persons Report Spirit's Testimony Race Black Black Gender Female Female Age Two years old Appeared to be 4-5 years old Missing location Austin, TX Austin, TX Time missing Winter Winter Hairstyle Braided Braided Living condition Lived in a mobile home Lived in a mobile home Relatives Lived with mother and great-grandmother Lived with "Mama" and "Granny" Last Seen While playing on a swing in front of a mobile home While playing on a swing in front of a mobile home Throughout my journey, I’ve been reaching out to paranormal investigators, mediums, and psychics for help. Still, I’ve realized that I might not need their assistance as much as I thought. Initially, I was waiting for others to research and solve these mysteries, but now I understand that I can tackle them myself. It seems that the spirits chose me, perhaps because they sensed my abilities rather than needing the broader expertise of the paranormal community. That being said, while I still value the guidance from the paranormal field, I’m ready to take on the lion’s share of the investigative work. With three decades of experience, I’m more than prepared for this task. Many in the paranormal field are busy with their podcasts and projects, which can limit their time and attention. In contrast, I can fully dedicate myself to helping these lost souls. However, there’s a significant challenge ahead. How do I approach the delicate matter of informing a mother about what happened to her daughter, Tanisha, who disappeared four decades ago? It’s not something I can simply announce at her doorstep. It requires careful additional research and consultation with professionals, possibly including social workers, to determine the most sensitive and appropriate way to proceed with such a sensitive revelation. Another strategy could be to avoid contacting the family of the deceased. This seems safer, especially if there’s uncertainty about the spirit’s true identity. There’s still much for me to learn and figure out. 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

January 29, 2024 In paranormal research, authenticity and courage are qualities one would expect from those who claim expertise. Yet, my recent experiences paint a drastically different picture, one marred by cowardice, insincerity, and a blatant disregard for the truth. This journal entry is a testament to the disillusionment and betrayal I’ve faced from the so-called paranormal “experts” in my quest to unravel the mysteries of Candle Face, a ghost haunting the Austin area that I’ve named and researched extensively.   My journey into this ghostly world began with two interviews with individuals claiming knowledge about Candle Face. After these interviews, my nights were filled with dreams of flashing lights and jarring sounds. Soon, these dreams morphed into the agonized screams of people, then morphing into coherent voices and images of Candle Face’s victims, all asking me to help them find their remains, identify their killers, and connect with their living relatives. These spirits, I believe, have chosen me as their messenger due to my past confrontation with Candle Face, detailed in my book The Empty Lot Next Door , and my ability to write about these encounters.   Since October 2023, I've been visited by 11 spirits, each recounting their tragic demise. Lacking experience in paranormal phenomena, I sought assistance from paranormal investigators, mediums, and psychics, hoping to decode these messages. Yet, despite their claims of bravery and expertise, their responses - or lack thereof - have been nothing short of infuriating.   Many of these self-proclaimed investigators boast of their fearlessness online, but their actions tell a different story. At the slightest hint of paranormal activity, they flee, contradicting their public persona. They claim they don’t do it when confronted, even though their videos show otherwise. Such duplicity undermines their credibility and insults those genuinely seeking answers in the paranormal realm.   On January 24, 2024, a significant breakthrough came when a former private investigator friend linked the story of a missing African-American girl to the testimony of one of the spirits. Read the spirit's testimony here . But as soon as I published this potential connection, these “Experts” abruptly severed ties with me. Read the journal entry that connects the missing person to the spirit's testimony here . Their sudden departure raises serious questions. Is it jealousy, seeing me achieve what they couldn’t in mere months while they have been trying for years, even decades? Or is it skepticism about my intentions, suspecting that I’m exploiting these experiences for literary and financial gain?   Moreover, another plausible reason for the sudden withdrawal of the “experts” could be rooted in fear, an element often overlooked but glaringly present in the paranormal community. As evidenced by numerous discussions and accounts on Paranormal Facebook groups, Reddit pages, and even on the darker corners of the internet like the Darknet, there’s an underlying paradox within this community: a tangible fear of confronting the very phenomena they seek. This fear isn’t just a superficial anxiety but runs deep, influencing their actions and decisions. In the case of Candle Face, a ghost with a notorious reputation and a personal history with me, it’s conceivable that this fear has played a significant role. Despite their public facade of bravery and expertise, the experts might be terrified of encountering Candle Face, especially given the intensity and directness of the experiences I’ve shared. This fear could explain their abrupt severance of ties with me – a subconscious retreat from a reality too daunting to face. It’s a reminder that in the world of ghost hunting and paranormal investigation, courage is often a mask worn loosely, easily cast aside when the shadows of the unknown become too dark to bear.   Yes, I’m a writer, and my initial research on Candle Face was intended for my blog. But as the spirits began to visit, my focus shifted to their stories. If these experts had bothered to investigate, they would have known this. Or the psychics should have known right away. Yet, they accuse me of insincerity while monetizing their own ventures. These experts run their own podcasts, some upload videos to YouTube with advertisements, and their websites feature a range of merchandise. Coffee mugs, T-shirts, handbags, and healing crystals are just a few items they peddle, alongside renting or selling paranormal equipment. Many also offer haunted tours and solicit donations. One expert is an author herself! But they draw the line with me potentially writing a book. Isn’t this the pot calling the kettle black?   I find myself abandoned by those I believe would stand with me. If these experts are indeed frauds or genuinely afraid of facing Candle Face, I understand that the paranormal community is filled with both. But their actions, or lack thereof, have left me to continue this mission alone. The irony isn’t lost on me: those who parade their expertise in the paranormal world are the first to flee from its reality. Meanwhile, I stand firm, committed to unveiling the truth behind Candle Face and giving voice to the spirits who have chosen me as their conduit. 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

January 31, 2024 I was contacted by someone who had seen my interview on January 11, 2024, on Beyond Believe Talk , a podcast hosted by Beyond Believe Paranormal Investigators . During this episode, I spoke about my childhood encounters with Candle Face and detailed interactions with the spirits of her victims. These spirits had been appearing to me at night, seeking help to locate their remains and to identify their murderers. The interview highlighted these haunting visits, despite a peculiar moment where a psychic humorously mischaracterized Candle Face as a candle with a face that is “happy.” Nonetheless, I’m thankful for the platform to share these spirits’ stories as they wished. The anonymous email I received focused on a spirit I called Victim # 11 during the podcast, presenting a deeply troubling account of her experience. Read about Victim # 11 here . She had shared with me her tragic death at the hands of her boyfriend and his accomplices, a story of drugging, assault, rape, and murder, motivated by her disbelief in the Candle Face legend. The emailer suggested a startling connection between Victim # 11’s story and the real-life case of Roxanne Paltauf, who disappeared in July 2006 under similar circumstances. The emailer provided a link to a KVUE article published on January 24, 2024, just two weeks after  the spirit’s visit and the interview. The article does seem to align closely with the spirit’s account. Could the spirit and Roxanne be the same? Or could it be just a strange coincidence? The implications are profound, yet I know my role in this matter hasn’t ended. It’s crucial to cautiously approach such revelations, acknowledging the presumed innocence principle until proven guilty. This situation underscores the importance of thorough investigation beyond the spirit world’s claims. I urge my readers to engage in research but leave the pursuit of justice to the appropriate authorities, maintaining respect for the privacy and emotions of all involved. Here are the similarities between the missing person's report and the spirit's testimony. Description Missing Persons Report Spirit's Testimony Race White White Gender Female Female Age 18 Appeared to be 18-20 Missing Location Austin, TX Austin, TX Relationship Boyfriend age 28 Boyfriend in late 20s Other Family didn't approve of boyfriend Family didn't approve of boyfriend Last Seen In a hotel room with her boyfriend In a hotel room with her boyfriend Personal Note to My Readers I want to extend my heartfelt gratitude to all of you who have supported my work, enabling me to serve as a bridge for those lost souls who yearn to share their stories from beyond the grave. Your belief in the unseen and the unheard has brought these voices to light, offering them a semblance of peace and recognition they have long been denied. However, I must emphasize the importance of caution and responsibility in interpreting the messages received from the spirit world. While the spirits’ accounts can provide us with leads and insights, they’re pieces of a much larger puzzle that requires careful and thorough investigation. We mustn’t take action based solely on the vague or incomplete information provided by the spirits. For example, if the spirit who visited me was Roxanne Paltauf, maybe she had another older boyfriend. The details shared from the other side could be inaccurate, misunderstood, or even misleading, as spirits themselves may not fully grasp their situation or may have their own agendas. Also, Candle Face may be involved, which could be another evil game of hers. I urge you to continue supporting these efforts with an open heart and a critical mind, leaving the pursuit of justice and the resolution of these cases to the professionals and authorities equipped to handle such matters. Let us honor the memories and the messages of those who have passed by advocating for truth and justice, but always within the bounds of the law and with respect for due process. Our role should be compassion, support, and advocacy, not vigilantism or recklessness. Together, we can make a difference, but let’s ensure it’s done the right way. 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

February 13, 2024 At 1:00 am, I find myself paralyzed in front of a glowing screen, cursor blinking mockingly, my hands shaking too fiercely to type, my consciousness trapped by an overwhelming fog of distress. I’m resigned to this state of limbo, waiting until clarity and sensation return to me. Earlier, I retired prematurely to my bed, the day’s yardwork a harsh reminder of my waning youth. It’s been a peaceful three weeks since the last of my nocturnal encounters—marked by significant progress. I believe I’ve unearthed the identity of Victim # 11 , and a paranormal investigative team from Texas has expressed keen interest in aiding with the investigation into Victim # 11’s story. There’s more to be discovered about Victim # 11, suggesting perhaps the spirits have granted me this break to ponder the intricacies of the case. Then, the tranquility was shattered. Drifting into sleep early this evening, I was jolted awake by the now-familiar creaking of the wooden floorboards. Looming above me stood a figure, his form drenched and dripping. His icy grip immobilized me as I attempted to rise, his frigid palms pressing down on my shoulders. With a swift blow, he struck me and then, horrifyingly, began to regurgitate water directly into my mouth, inducing a desperate gag reflex. My attempts to escape were futile; my energy sapped away with each passing moment. Just as I neared the brink of asphyxiation, he ceased his torment, delivering another wet slap across my face as a parting gesture. He demanded my attention to his story again, a stern reminder not to neglect him. Recognition dawned on me—he was the visitor from late December 2023. I had grown accustomed to such apparitions, perhaps even a bit negligent. After he vanished that night, I promised to document his testimony in the morning. But morning led to afternoon, then evening, and days turned into weeks until his story was buried beneath layers of procrastination. It wasn’t until the January 11, 2024, interview on Beyond Believe Talk that I briefly mentioned his account, yet I failed again to commit his haunting visitation to writing. He retold me his story: Under the starry Texas night, the boat rocked gently on the dark waters of the cove. My two sons slept soundly in cozy spots on the boat’s deck. My wife had opted to stay with relatives, leaving me alone with the boys for an overnight boat trip on the west side of Austin. The night was calm, the air crisp, and the distant hum of the city seemed worlds away. As I gazed at my slumbering sons, I marveled at their innocence and the profound impact our beliefs could have on them. They wanted ghost stories, their young minds craving the thrill of the unknown. But I, a staunch non-believer in all things supernatural, had scoffed at the notion and scolded them for seeking stories of ghosts and spooks. Instead, I had filled their young minds with stories of real-world politicians and historical figures, thinking it was a better education. However, one of my sons interrupted me during a particularly dry story about a long-dead statesman. “Please, Dad,” he pleaded, “tell us a ghost story. We’re in the dark, and it’s spooky. We want to hear about Candle Face.” His younger brother perked up, clutching his teddy bear with wide eyes. I hesitated, momentarily silenced by their earnest desire for something beyond the mundane. Then, with a sigh, I relented and began: “In the heart of Austin, there was a spooky legend about Candle Face, a ghost who, they said, did spooky things to folks who didn’t believe in her. But there was a boy named William who thought it was all make-believe.” My sons leaned in, their imaginations fueled by the promise of an eerie ghost story. As I spun the story, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of my own disbelief in the supernatural. My words were just that—words, void of the conviction that would have made the story truly frightening. I continued, recounting William’s brave journey into the dark creek where Candle Face was rumored to live. The wind blowing across the boat seemed to echo around us as I spoke. I described the ghostly figure, a little girl with a face resembling melted candle wax, and William’s fearless declaration, “I don’t believe in you, Candle Face!” The ghost wailed, and then it vanished. William emerged unscathed, his skepticism unshaken. My story concluded, and my sons exchanged disappointed glances. “Dad, that’s not a scary story,” said my oldest son, crossing his arms. “Ghosts aren’t real; Candle Face isn’t real,” I asserted, dismissing their concerns. “Come on, time for bed.” While my sons settled into their sleeping bags, I found myself restless. My familiarity with the water drew me, and a midnight swim beckoned. I dove into the dark waters, the coolness enveloping me. The cove was unnervingly quiet, a stark contrast to the excitement of the evening. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I noticed something amiss. The knot that had secured my boat to the dock seemed undone. Anxiety coursed through me, and I swam toward the dock, my heart pounding in my chest. Reaching the dock, I saw a pair of legs, small and delicate. My eyes traveled upward, and there, before me, stood a little girl. Her hair hung in long, tangled strands, obscuring her face. When I finally saw her features, they were marred, as if by fire, and her appearance was strikingly familiar. It was Candle Face. Before I could react, her hot, clammy hand gripped my head, and she plunged me back into the water. Panic surged as I struggled to hold my breath, but her strength was unrelenting. She lifted me just before I blacked out, coughing and gasping for air. Candle Face’s voice, voice like a phantom’s breath, filled the night. “You do not believe. But your life depends on it.” Her words hung in the air, echoing through the dark. Paralyzed by fear and confusion, I could only listen as she began to tell her story. It was a tale of tragedy, betrayal, and a restless spirit condemned to wander the world, seeking acknowledgment and belief. As Candle Face spoke, her voice carried the weight of ages, and her story resonated with a poignant sadness. She explained how belief could be a lifeline for lost souls like her and how the power of conviction could bridge the gap between the living and the dead. “Believe in me,” she implored, her ghostly hollow eye sockets burning unnervingly. “Believe, for your life depends on it.” With trembling limbs and a mind clouded by terror, I stammered, “I...I can’t.” Candle Face’s grip tightened, and again, she plunged me beneath the water’s surface. Panic and dread overwhelmed me as I struggled to hold my breath again, to hold onto consciousness. She repeated the torment, lifting my head just enough to prolong my agony. The minutes stretched into an hour, and my strength waned. The ghostly figure showed no mercy, her determination unwavering. Her story had become my nightmare and belief, a choice I couldn’t make. I had become the protagonist in the very legend I had dismissed, just like so many others in Candle Face’s lair. Finally, as my vision blurred and my body weakened, Candle Face held my head beneath the water’s surface. I felt the cold embrace of the water, its inky depths swallowing me whole. My world grew dark, and the discord of fear and doubt faded into a watery silence. In that terrifying moment, I realized the profound truth of her story—the power of belief, the potency of the unknown, and the consequences of denying the mysteries of life and death. As the water closed in around me, I understood that sometimes, disbelief could be the most difficult choice of all. And so, my story ends, a cautionary story of a man who refused to believe until it was too late. It is a lesson etched in water and darkness, serving as a reminder that, in the vast expanse of the universe, there are forces beyond our comprehension, and sometimes, the most terrifying stories are the ones that refuse to be ignored. As the spirit, still clad in garments heavy with water and streaked with green slime, offered me a final, sad farewell, his expression was one of regret for the ordeal he had subjected me to. With a grave turn, he paused to deliver an alarming warning, “Give grave attention to your nocturnal visitors, for any more falter or delay shall summon irrevocable doom. Beware, for upon your next oversight, the wrath of Candle Face shall descend upon you, her vengeance far worse than you can imagine as retribution for your hesitancy.” With these words hanging in the air, he receded into the darkness from whence he came. Personal Note to My Readers This encounter marks a terrifying first; a spirit has made physical contact with me. In a prior attempt to make contact, a female spirit retreated as I reached out to her. However, this visit was different, with the spirit delivering two forceful strikes to my face and subjecting me to a near-drowning experience with his vomit. Perhaps fortune was on my side; a previous visitor recounted a disturbing story of neglecting to update a blog post about an encounter with Candle Face, a negligence that Candle Face met with lethal retribution. In light of such a fate, enduring a slap and inhaling puke seems a lesser evil. 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

February 20, 2024 While sleeping on the living room sofa, I woke for the common middle-aged nocturnal pilgrimage: a bathroom trip. Upon my return, rounding the corner to reclaim my spot on the couch, I encountered a drenched man standing by it, clutching a beer bottle. It was clear to me he wasn’t a threat but rather a spirit in search of my assistance. Approaching him to offer a handshake, he retreated, maintaining a gap between us. Anticipating such a reaction, I seated myself, ready to listen. He, too, seemed prepared to share. And so, his story began. The relentless Texas sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows over Austin’s Sixth Street. I stood there amidst the Friday evening crowd, feeling a sense of triumph. Months of sobriety had transformed me, and I was determined to prove I could enjoy the bustling street life without succumbing to my old vice. The street was alive with music and laughter, a testament to the city’s vibrant lifestyle. Even alone, I felt a part of something larger, a community where everyone sought escape from their daily grind. I mingled, played pool, enjoying street food, and for the first time in years, I was genuinely enjoying myself without a drop of alcohol. As the night waned, a peculiar encounter unfolded. A group of young people, their eyes wild with a passion I couldn’t fathom, were handing out flyers. I tried to sidestep them, but one girl, tears streaming down her face, blocked my path. She pushed a flyer into my hand, insisting it would save my life. The flyer featured a disturbing image - a little girl with a charred face crawling out of a fire. They called her Candle Face, a deity in their bizarre faith. Skeptical, I dismissed their beliefs. The girl, her eyes a mix of anger and sorrow, warned me with words that I brushed off as the ramblings of a fanatic. Leaving the chaos of Sixth Street behind, I wandered towards Lady Bird Lake, seeking solace in its calm. The night air was cooler here, a welcome break from the heat of the day and the intensity of downtown. As I neared the water, I heard splashing and a child’s faint cry for help. Driven by instinct, I dove into the lake, swimming towards the struggling figure. It was a little girl, her arms flailing desperately. I reached her, pulling her to safety. But when she spoke, her words were unsettling. “Why did you save me? Take me back,” she said. Her response unnerved me, and her insistence on returning to the water was bizarre. Her strength was unnatural, pulling me deeper into the lake despite my resistance. Then, the horror truly began. Her face transformed, revealing the charred, skeletal look of Candle Face, the girl from the flyer. A cold dread gripped me as she spoke words that shook my soul. Weaker by the moment, I found myself unable to resist as she drew a bottle of alcohol from the water and forced it to my lips. My pleas fell on deaf ears. Her laughter echoed across the lake as she toyed with me, a cruel game of life and death. The next thing I knew, I was sinking into the dark depths, the last remnants of my strength fading. My final thoughts were of regret and disbelief, how my story would be twisted - a sober man lost to the bottle once again. Days later, my bloated body was found, and the stories began. Friends and family mourned not just my passing but the tragic return to my old ways. Little did they know, it wasn’t the drink that claimed me but the haunting curse of Candle Face, punishing a disbeliever. As for the girl with the flyers, I wonder if she regrets that night. But for me, regret is eternal. After concluding his account, he retreated a step. My gaze inadvertently fell on the bottle he held. Sensing my observation, he explained, “This bottle has become a part of me, a personal memento and a signal to everyone trapped in Candle Face’s nightmare. It labels me as a drunkard, someone who lost the battle with his desires.” He took a sip, turned around, and disappeared into the shadows. Personal Note to My Readers As the testimony unfolded, I couldn’t help but wonder about the depth of the girl with the flyers regret. Did she lie awake at night, haunted by the faces of those she believed she was saving, or in her heart, did she find a twisted satisfaction in the unfolding of Candle Face’s curse? The ambiguity of her intentions adds an alarming layer to his testimony, raising questions about the nature of belief and the consequences of our actions. The tragedy of this spirit, a sober man consumed by forces beyond his comprehension, forces me to reflect on the victims of Candle Face’s wrath. How many souls ventured into the night, never to return, their stories untold? And as our world turns, how many more will find themselves trapped by the legend, their fates sealed by a flyer clutched in trembling hands? The girl with the flyers stands as a testament to the power of belief and the sometimes catastrophic impact of our actions on the lives of others. As I close this entry, I ponder the ripple effects of our choices and the shadows they cast in the lives of those we touch, willingly or otherwise. In the end, the mystery of the girl’s true feelings about the man’s death remains unsolved, a lingering question that invites us to explore the depths of our own convictions. How many more victims lie in wait, and how many more stories of regret and redemption will be written in the wake of Candle Face’s curse? This story, though concluded, leaves a door ajar to the endless possibilities in the realm of the unknown and the unknowable. Thank you for joining me on this journey through Austin’s dimly lit streets and Lady Bird Lake’s murky depths. May the story of Candle Face and the questions it raises linger with you as we ponder the mysteries of fate, the power of belief, and the indelible marks we leave on the world and each other. With gratitude and reflection, Arthur 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

February 21, 2024 For the past two nights, I’ve been visited by the spirits of those who perished at the hands of Candle Face. The spirit was eager to unload his story upon me during our first encounter. Yet, by the second visit, the spirit’s eagerness had morphed into an anger directed at me. The episodes commenced with the jarring sounds of damp footsteps and water droplets hitting my face, abruptly rousing me from sleep. As I opened my eyes, he barked, “Wake up, we’re doing this now.” Bracing myself for what was to come, I sat up, cleared the sleep from my eyes, and tried to shake off the drowsiness. He glared at me intensely and snapped, “You ready yet?” His tone was loaded with urgency and frustration. I nodded, apprehensive, and he launched into his story, his anger seeping through every word. In the dimly lit corners of downtown Austin, I existed on the fringes, a homeless man detached from the world’s concerns. My days and nights blended into a continuous loop of survival, where laughter was scarce, and mockery was a common defense against the harshness of life. The stories of Candle Face, spoken among the homeless and superstitious, provided a source of amusement for me. I mocked those who believed in her, a ghostly child haunting the skeptics and the fearful. My refuge was a secluded spot near Town Lake, away from the prying eyes of downtown. Here, under Congress Avenue, I found solace in solitude. The story of Candle Face was often the butt of my jokes, especially when others in my homeless community spoke of her with reverence and fear. “Why waste your time on such nonsense?” I’d scoff at their superstitions. “A ghost child, really? We’ve got bigger problems than fairy tales.” But one evening, as the fog crept over Town Lake, my mockery was silenced by an unexpected visitor. She appeared from the mist, a small figure with a face horribly disfigured by burns. “Why do you mock my pain?” she asked, her voice a haunting melody of sorrow. Taken aback, I tried to laugh it off. “You’re not real. You’re just a story to scare kids.” I retorted, thinking the alcohol in my system was playing tricks on me. She stepped closer, her presence heating the air around me. “I am as real as the suffering you endure every day. Why do you ridicule those who believe in me?” I shrugged, unease creeping into my voice. “It’s easier to laugh than to believe in ghost stories.” Candle Face looked at me, her hollow eyes reflecting a deep understanding. “Yet, you know what it is to be unseen and unheard. Why deny others their belief?” Her words struck a chord, but pride kept me from acknowledging it. “Beliefs don’t fill empty stomachs or warm, cold nights,” I retorted. Night after night, she returned. Each visit reminded me of the stories I had mocked, and each mocking remark I made seemed to strengthen her presence. The others noticed my encounters with Candle Face, and their fear turned to pity. “He’s gone mad,” they’d say, “taunting the spirit that haunts him.” Then came the night when everything changed. Candle Face stood by the edge of Town Lake, her figure merging with the fog. “Your mockery ends tonight,” she declared, her voice echoing across the water. I felt a hot hand grip my heart. “What are you going to do to me?” I asked, my usual bravado faltering. “You will see the truth,” she replied, “and understand the cost of your ridicule.” Suddenly, the ground beneath me gave way, and I plunged into Town Lake’s cold depths. I struggled, trying to surface, but an unseen force pulled me deeper. Below the water, Candle Face’s face appeared, and her eye sockets seemed sorrowful. “Why?” I gasped, water filling my lungs. “Your mockery has brought you here,” she said. “In denying belief, you denied the pain of others, and now you must face your own.” I tried to scream, but only bubbles escaped my lips. The water grew darker, and Candle Face’s figure faded. My struggles ceased as I succumbed to the lake’s embrace. My body was found the following day, floating near the shore of Town Lake. The news spread quickly among the local news stations – yet another man drowned in Town Lake. Many speculated that there’s a serial killer loose in the city. But the homeless community knows the truth: the serial killer is Candle Face, and her victims are those who mock Candle Face’s believers. In my last moments, I understood the power of belief and respect for the unseen. Once a source of ridicule, Candle Face had become the harbinger of my demise, a reminder that mockery can have consequences as real as the harshness of life on the streets. And so, by Town Lake, my story ended, not as a disbeliever but as a warning to those who scorn the beliefs of others. In the world of shadows, Candle Face continued to roam, her story tangled with mine, a story of mockery turned to tragedy by the waters of Town Lake. Upon finishing his story, he gestured as though he intended to strike me with the back of his hand. My initial flinch provoked a laugh from him. Undeterred by my reaction, he made the gesture again; however, I didn’t flinch this time. Instead, I got to my feet and shoved him. Remarkably, my hands contacted him. This marked the first occasion I had physically interacted with one of my nocturnal visitors. Surprise widened his eyes and attempted to catch his breath, but all that came out was a gurgling, waterlogged scream. I stepped forward and pushed him again, driving him toward the shadow-laden entrance. Keen to avoid another shove, he retreated hastily into the shadows. Personal Note to My Readers After he left, I gravitated toward my computer, driven by a compelling urge to document his story. Settling into my chair, I was faced with the screen’s glow, pondering the weight of sharing his testimony with the world. The question loomed large in my mind: Why should I bother? Truthfully, I harbored no real concern for this particular spirit’s story, wishing instead for him to languish eternally in the torment devised by Candle Face. My feelings were a mix of apathy and outright anger towards the spirit for the disturbance he brought into my life. Pretending to strike me, I now think I should have done more than shove him. Yet, amidst my reflections and despite my profound disdain, a decision crystallized. Maybe the unshakeable sense of duty overcame me, or perhaps a deeper, more complex motive to understand the particulars of his and Candle Face’s knotted fates. Regardless of the anger within me, I recounted his ordeal. In doing so, I recognized I wasn’t merely chronicling the silenced voices of a damned soul but confronting the broader darkness that Candle Face had woven into the fabric of many lives, including my own. Through writing, I sought to navigate my rage and curiosity, ultimately deciding that the story needed to be told if only to shed light on the shadows in our midst. 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

February 23, 2024 As the one whom spirits seek to relay their final stories, I’ve become an unwitting chronicler of the dead. Recently, an alarming pattern emerged: the last three spirits who visited me were all victims of drowning, their lives claimed by Candle Face. This pattern prompts me to investigate deeper and understand the dark thread weaving through these spirits’ testimonies. In the quiet hours of the night, hunched over my desk, I begin my investigation with the glow of my computer casting long shadows. 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. For example, one spirit recounted, “Suddenly, the ground beneath me gave way, and I found myself plunging into the cold depths of Town Lake. I struggled, trying to surface, but an unseen force pulled me deeper. Below the water, Candle Face’s face appeared, and her eye sockets seemed sorrowful.” My research leads me to investigate the history of the body of water that played host to these tragedies. To the older generation of Austinites, Town Lake remains a nod to a simpler past before the city’s rapid expansion. The younger residents and newcomers refer to it as Lady Bird Lake, honoring Lady Bird Johnson’s environmental efforts. This division in naming mirrors a broader cultural shift within Austin, from its roots as a laid-back college town to its current status as a bustling metropolitan hub. The rumors of a serial killer targeting Austinites add a ghastly layer to my investigation. 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. As I piece the spirits’ testimonies together, an alarming hypothesis forms: Candle Face, whether a collective manifestation of the city’s fears or an actual vengeful ghost, is the link connecting these tragedies. Each victim had dismissed the legend, only to become a part of it—a pattern that suggests Candle Face isn’t merely a figment of imagination but a real force, exacting punishment on skeptics and naysayers. Interviews with skeptics, such as a professor from the University of Texas, who spoke to me as a condition of anonymity, offered a different viewpoint. “The human mind seeks patterns, attributing unexplained tragedies to folklore. It’s a coping mechanism, not evidence of the supernatural,” he argued. Yet, the blend of legend and reality, supernatural warnings, and tangible evidence underscores the urgency of my task. The convergence of these stories from the spirits and Austin’s collective anxiety compels me to continue my investigation with a renewed sense of purpose. By weaving together the personal tragedies of the spirits with the broader story of fear and uncertainty that envelops Austin, I aim to shed light on the darkness that looms over the city. Through my writings, I hope to bridge the gap between the seen and the unseen, to bring the warnings from those beyond to the living, even for those spirits who have attacked me. The task is daunting yet necessary. As the chosen confidant of these visitors, I find myself at the crossroads of myth and reality, tasked with unraveling the mystery of Candle Face and the serial killer rumors that haunt Austin. My goal isn’t just to tell their stories but to honor their experiences by contributing to understanding this dark chapter in the city’s history. Through this endeavor, I seek to provide answers where there are only questions, offer solace where there is fear, and perhaps help prevent further tragedies in the waters of Town Lake. 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

February 25, 2024 In the dead of night, when the world lies silent, I find no peace. I’m besieged by spirits—the victims of Candle Face. They come to me at night, sharing stories of horror and despair, imploring me to help them find rest. Once scrambled and incoherent, their stories are now evident in my mind. Tonight, however, my reality would shift from that of a reluctant medium to a captive audience to Candle Face herself. A hotness enveloped me as I drifted asleep, drawing me into darkness. For the first time in four decades, standing before me was Candle Face, not the wax figure my childhood imagination had conjured but a vision of horror that exceeded my darkest nightmares. Her name, a naive label from my youth, belied the terrifying reality of her appearance. Her face was a grotesque canvas of charred flesh, twisted and distorted like melted wax, with hollow pits for eyes that radiated a wicked glow, piercing the very fabric of my soul. Her voice, a hoarse roar that grated like sandpaper, carried the rasp of a lifelong chain smoker, each word enveloped in the heat of her dragon-like breath. The air around her crackled, her skin sizzling and popping like cooking oil over an open flame, emitting heat so intense it seemed the very air might ignite. This was no mere figment of a child’s imagination but a tangible embodiment of dread, her presence warping the air and painting a vivid picture of despair. As she guided me through the shadowed realms of her dominion, her ghastly, charred appearance, marked by blackened scars, served as a reminder of the horrors that awaited in her world, where the fear that clenched at my heart was as real as the tormented cries of the souls she ensnared. “Ray,” Candle Face began, her voice echoing around us with that terrifying rasp, “you have been chosen. Chosen to bear witness and to act. Behold the fate of those who languish here, trapped between worlds.” As we walked, the air was filled with thousands of souls, their cries of anguish melding into a symphony of despair. I saw faces twisted in eternal torment, their bodies bound by invisible chains that seemed to sear their very essence. The air tasted of ash and sorrow, a bitter reminder of the pain that permeated this place. The heat from her skin scorched the air around us, a constant assault that left me longing for the cold embrace of the night I had left behind. “Why me?” I managed to ask, my voice barely a murmur against the backdrop of suffering. “You put them here; you can end their torment, yet you task me with this impossible burden.” “Why me, you ask.” Why do all of you ask that?” Candle Face retorted her laughter, a sound of cracking embers. “But you, Ray, you’re different. You’ve faced me before and emerged victorious a rarity. Your resilience, your ability to capture the essence of horror in your words... It impressed me.” Her gaze, if it could be called that, bore into me with an intensity that felt like it could unravel my soul. “Your portrayal of me in The Empty Lot Next Door  was...flattering except for the silly name you gave me. You have a gift, Ray, a power with words that rivals my own with souls. It is why you were chosen. Because of our history, your fight, and your victory. You beat me once, which makes you uniquely qualified to undertake this task. You understand the stakes, the pain, the fear. Who better to help them than someone who can face me and win?” Though filled with a twisted admiration, her words did little to quell the dread that had taken root in my heart. The realization that my past encounters with her and my ability to survive and even defy her led to this moment was both a curse and a peculiar source of pride. I had been chosen not just as a witness but as a warrior in a battle I had never sought to fight. The path ahead was filled with danger, but it was clear that my journey with Candle Face was far from over. It was a frightening thought, yet in the deepest recesses of my mind, a spark of defiance began to glow. Perhaps there was a way to use my words, my only weapon, to change the fate of those lost souls and, in doing so, alter my own. Candle Face’s laughter was a sound of pure malice, a reminder of the darkness within her. “Ray, my dear, you misunderstand the depth of this game. Yes, you beat me once, a feat few can claim, but don’t indulge in the folly that history might repeat itself. Their torment, their ceaseless despair, is the wellspring of my power. And you, unwittingly, have become a most precious pawn in this grand chessboard—a bridge between the living and the dead. Your brave efforts, however noble they may seem, only serve to stir the pot, heightening the agony of their existence. It’s a delicious irony. Your struggle to save them only deepens their despair. And should you abandon this quest, consider the despair you would cast upon yourself and them: a double-edged sword, Ray, and one you cannot wield to victory again. You see, the game has changed, and with it, the rules. Beating me once was your miracle; believing you can do so again is your folly. The board is set, and the pieces are moving. You are in my world now, playing by my rules. And here, I am unbeatable.” Her words were a web of cunning and deceit, designed to trap and dishearten. Yet, within her taunt lay a truth I could not ignore: I had indeed beaten her once. It was a victory that had cost me dearly, a battle of wits and will that I had barely survived. But here she was, acknowledging my triumph while casting doubt on my ability to repeat it. It was a clever tactic, one meant to undermine my confidence and resolve. However, the mere acknowledgment of my past success ignited a rebellion. If I had bested her once, underestimating me could be her undoing. Her words were meant to trap me in despair, but instead, they fueled my determination. The path ahead was difficult, but surrender wasn’t an option. Her words were a knife to my heart. The realization of my role in this twisted game was overwhelming. Candle Face wasn’t merely a tormentor of souls; she was a manipulator of fate, using my desire to help deepen the suffering of those she had claimed. As our tour of torment continued, Candle Face’s threat became terrifyingly clear. “Help them, Ray, or join them. And know this: your punishment will be a masterpiece of agony, so exquisite that it will make these torments seem like minor discomfort.” Awakening from this nightmare, I was drenched in sweat, my heart racing as if I had run a marathon. The vividness of the dream, the intensity of the emotions, and the wickedness of Candle Face’s presence lingered, a tangible weight upon my soul. I stumbled to my computer, intending to document this latest horror, but as my fingers hovered over the keys, a profound sense of despair washed over me. What had I become? A vessel for the dead, tormented by spirits and now threatened by the very essence of evil itself. My mission to aid “The Lost Souls” had become my curse, binding me to a path that seemed to lead only to madness and sorrow. Abandoning my quest brought me no relief, only a more profound despair. Candle Face’s threats echoed in my mind, a constant reminder of the stakes at play. In the depths of my misery, I questioned everything—my sanity, my purpose, even the very essence of my being. The room around me felt oppressive, and the shadows lurking in the corners seemed to mock my plight. I contemplated the unthinkable—a way to end my torment, to escape the clutches of Candle Face and the endless demands of the lost souls. But a flicker of defiance ignited in that moment of darkest contemplation. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let Candle Face win. The souls who had come to me and shared their stories of woe deserved more than to be pawns in her cruel game. I owed it to them and myself to fight back, to find a way to break the cycle of suffering. With trembling hands, I began to write, pouring my fears, my resolve, and my desperate plea for help into the words. This journal entry will be a beacon, a call to arms for anyone who would listen and dare to stand against the darkness. Hovering over my keyboard, a storm of emotions swirling within me, I hesitated. The act of committing my thoughts to words, of documenting my encounter with Candle Face, felt like both a declaration of war and an admission of vulnerability. The shadows in my home office seemed to lean closer as if eager to read over my shoulder, whispering doubts and fears with every click of the keys. Yet, with each word typed, a strange resolve began to crystallize within me. It wasn’t peace, not precisely, but rather a kind of grim determination, a recognition of the path I had chosen—or perhaps the path that had chosen me. I understood the twisted intent behind Candle Face’s actions in the clarity of my latest revelation. She had unveiled the full scope of her wickedness, not to cow me into submission but to orchestrate her perverse form of revelation. She craved not the shadows but the spotlight; she yearned not for concealment but for recognition. Candle Face desired for her story and those of her victims—the lost souls—to be spread far and wide by me. She sought exposure, a conduit through which the world would learn of her existence and the depths of her power. It dawned on me that she wanted me to serve as the savior of the lost souls and herald of her own dark gospel. Was this her grand scheme? To use me, to use her victims, as pawns in a game that expanded her infamy? The notion kindled a fire within me. If Candle Face believed that using me to spread her story would only enhance her reign of terror, then perhaps there was a way to turn this ploy against her. My resolve to help the lost souls now carried a dual purpose. Yes, I aimed to offer them solace, to fight for their peace against the odds. But I also recognized an opportunity to reshape the story. If Candle Face wanted her story told, I would see to it—but on my terms. I would expose her power and cruelty and the resilience of those who stood against her, the strength of spirits unbroken even in the face of her torment. I would spread the word of her existence, yes, but woven with the stories of defiance and hope that she unwittingly fostered. This understanding fortified my determination. Helping the lost souls was no longer just a mission of mercy but an act of rebellion. By sharing their stories, and by extension, Candle Face’s, I wasn’t merely amplifying her legend but challenging it. Every soul I aided and every story I told became a testament to the power of hope and the enduring light of humanity in the face of darkness. Candle Face had underestimated the impact of her demand. She saw me as a mere tool for her glorification, but in her pride, she provided me with the means to undermine her. She sought to make me a harbinger of despair, but I would become a beacon of hope. I found my true calling in this complex dance of shadows and light, where Candle Face sought to use me as a pawn in her grand design, not just as a medium between the living and the dead but as a warrior in the battle against darkness. For the lost souls, for those who suffered under Candle Face’s reign, and for the very essence of what it meant to resist evil, I would continue to help. I would tell their stories and hers, but I would ensure that the account spoke of hope, resilience, and the possibility of redemption in the face of utter despair. Candle Face may have wanted exposure, but I would give her more than she bargained for. I would expose the cracks in her armor of terror—the stories of those who fought back and those who, even in their darkest moments, never gave up hope. This was the story I would tell, the mission I would embrace. In the end, the power of a story well-told lies not in the fear it instills but in the hope it inspires. As I continued to write, I felt less alone. The thought of those who might read my words, who might find in them the courage to join the fight, offered a semblance of comfort. I knew the journey ahead would be dangerous, with Candle Face and her minions arrayed against us. But the resolve that had started as a flicker grew stronger, fueled by the prospect of solidarity, of a community forged in the fires of shared struggle and purpose. In that moment of clarity, I realized that the battle against Candle Face wasn’t just about saving “The Lost Souls” from their torment but about reclaiming our light, our strength in the face of overwhelming darkness. It was a fight not just for survival but for meaning—for the right to define our own stories in the face of an enemy who would have us believe we are powerless. Though the path ahead remains uncertain, one truth stands unwavering: I am not alone. We form a nexus of hope and defiance, a collective will to confront the darkness and emerge victorious. The stakes are high, not only for the souls Candle Face has claimed but for our essence, our own stories yet to be told. And so, with a heavy and hopeful heart, I resolve to continue this fight. For the lost, the living, and myself, I will wield my words like a beacon in the night, a signal that we are here, we are united, and we’ll not yield. As long as I draw breath and hope flickers within me, I’ll stand against Candle Face and all she represents. I’ll fight—not just for salvation, but for the very soul of our world. As I stand at the cliff of this daunting journey, my resolve is bolstered by the revelation of Candle Face’s craving for exposure. She seeks to spread her tale of terror through me, but in her arrogance, she has handed me the very tool that could lead to her undoing. I’ll indeed tell her story and the stories of the lost souls, but not with the voice of fear she anticipates. Instead, I’ll wield my words as weapons of truth, illuminating her darkness and revealing the strength and resilience of those who refuse to succumb to her shadow. “Who’s with me?” I type these words, a rallying cry that leaps from the screen, transcending the digital confines to reach out to the hearts and minds of those who stand against evil in all its forms. This isn’t just my fight; it’s ours. Together, we can challenge the story of despair that Candle Face seeks to weave, replacing it with one of hope and defiance. I commit to writing more frequently about Candle Face and her evil deeds, about the plague of the lost souls and their unyielding spirit. My words will serve as beacons, guiding those trapped in darkness toward the light of resistance. I will take to TV, radio, and podcasts, sharing these testimonies with anyone willing to listen, updating my website with the truths we uncover together, and even taking to the streets with flyers if need be. Whatever it takes to spread the word about Candle Face’s evilness and rally a force capable of standing against her. This isn’t a path I walk alone. As I push forward, making every effort to expose Candle Face’s malice, I invite you and all who find themselves reading these words. Will you join me in this fight? Will you stand with me against the darkness, armed with nothing but our collective will and the power of our shared stories? The battle ahead is uncertain, but one thing remains clear: we’re stronger together. Candle Face seeks to divide and conquer, to isolate us in fear. But in unity, strength can turn the tide against her. So, I ask again, “Who’s with me?” Let us band together, a united front against the darkness, each of us a beacon of hope in the night. We’ll fight for the lost, the living, and the very soul of our world. And in our unity, we will find our salvation. 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