March 1, 2024 I used to settle in bed early each night in anticipation of meeting a lost soul. Yet, their patience with me has worn thin, with some resorting to violence. The anticipation of their visits no longer excites me, but I recognize my obligation to assist them despite the potential perils their presence entails. This evening, the garage door raised as I was busying myself in my garage. The first thing to materialize was a pair of legs, followed by a bluish mini skirt and a snug white t-shirt crowned with flowing blond hair. This apparition wouldn’t wait for sleep to seek me out; she demanded my attention immediately. As she entered, the garage door shut on its own behind her. When she began to speak, I interrupted, “May I ask you something?” Her stunned expression mirrored my surprise at finding my voice. I verbally communicated with one of my nocturnal visitors for the first time. I had managed to attempt physical contact in the past, but they always retreated. “I cannot answer questions,” she uttered in a frightened, evasive tone. Understanding the suffering that awaited her upon returning to the darkness, I chose not to press further. “OK,” I replied. She then recounted her story, pacing the garage as she spoke. Life as a waitress on Sixth Street in Austin had always been an eclectic mix of vibrant nightlife and intriguing stories. Among these, the legend of Candle Face stood out—a ghostly child said to prey on non-believers. I’d heard the stories from locals and tourists alike, but I never gave them much credence. That is, until the night everything changed. It started as just another shift at the bar. I overheard patrons exchanging stories about Candle Face between serving and refilling beer. According to legend, she is a vengeful spirit with a disfigured face who haunts those who doubt her existence. I laughed it off, joking with a regular, “If Candle Face is real, I guess I’m next on her list!” On my way home that night, the air turned unnaturally warm as I walked down the dimly lit street. Out of the shadows, a small, distorted figure appeared. Her voice, a scary undertone, cut through the silence: “You mock what you don’t understand.” Frozen in place, I managed to stutter, “W-w-who are y-y-you?” “I am the truth in the dark, the belief you scorn,” the figure hissed. The air around her seemed to shimmer with a ghostly glow, revealing Candle Face’s charred and grotesque features. My disbelief, my mockery, had summoned her. In a trembling voice, I said, “You... you can’t be real.” Candle Face moved closer, her voice growing darker, “Your disbelief gives me strength. Your mockery invites your end.” Fear gripped me as I realized the gravity of my situation. The stories were true, and my skepticism had become my undoing. I turned to run, but a force I couldn’t see held me in place. Candle Face’s terrifying and mocking laughter filled the night. “You sought proof of my existence. Now, you shall become part of my legend.” The following week, the bar was abuzz with the news of my mysterious disappearance. My colleagues and regulars were baffled, with no clues to what had happened. The last person to see me was the regular I’d joked with, who recounted our conversation about Candle Face with a shiver. The story I once laughed at had become my reality. In the shadows of Sixth Street, my voice joined Candle Face’s, a reminder of the price of disbelief. My final words to the living world, now lost to the night, left a haunting question: Who will Candle Face claim next? My advice to all: Believe, it’s your only defense! She expressed gratitude for my attention, to which I responded, “You’re welcome.” Her expression betrayed surprise once more at my capacity to converse. The garage door opened, and she vanished into the night. Eager to document her account, I rushed to my computer. 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

March 4, 2024 I believe I dozed off around 4:00 am, having spent several hours lounging on the sofa and scrolling through Facebook and YouTube videos. When my house alarm began to blare, I startled awake, only to glimpse a man clad in khakis and a button-down shirt. He started speaking immediately, not pausing to allow me a moment to shake off my grogginess. In the vibrant heart of Austin, the legend of Candle Face was more than just a ghost story; it was a reminder of the dangers that lurk in the mind. Despite the stories, I remained a staunch skeptic. As a software engineer, logic and reason were my guiding stars. Ghosts and ghouls had no place in my world, or so I believed. My encounter with Candle Face began on an unremarkable night as I sat immersed in coding. The air in my apartment grew inexplicably hot, and unease crept over me. In the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of her—a ghostly figure with a charred and disfigured face. “Why do you reject my existence?” Her voice was strangely calm, a stark contrast to her horrific appearance. I scoffed, my skepticism unwavering. “Ghosts aren’t real. You’re just a figment of my imagination.” “Am I?” she asked, her voice tinged with a haunting sadness. “Is it not arrogant to dismiss what you cannot explain?” I stood up, trying to assert my rational mind over the growing fear. “You’re a legend, a myth. Nothing more.” Candle Face moved closer, the air shimmering with an intense heat. “Your disbelief offends me. It denies the pain of my existence.” Attempting to ignore her, I turned back to my computer. “You’re not real,” I muttered, but my voice lacked conviction. She laughed softly, a sound felt in my soul. “You will learn the truth in time.” That night, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Shadows danced at the edge of my vision, and yells echoed in the darkness. Sleep eluded me, and when it finally came, it was filled with nightmares of Candle Face, her charred appearance haunting my dreams. The next day, I found myself questioning everything. Was it possible that something beyond my understanding was at play? I tried to shake the feeling, to regain my footing in the logical world I knew, but doubt had already taken root. As the days passed, the hauntings intensified. Objects moved on their own, hot spots appeared randomly, and her voice filled the silence of my apartment. “Why will you not believe?” she would ask. Panic set in. I started to avoid my apartment, spending nights wandering the streets of Austin, but the sense of being followed never left me. Her presence was always there, just out of sight. One night, feeling cornered and desperate, I confronted her. “What do you want from me?” I demanded. “Belief,” she whispered. “Acknowledgment of my pain.” I shook my head, fear battling with my ingrained skepticism. “I can’t believe in something that doesn’t make sense.” Her face twisted into a mask of sorrow and fury. “Then you leave me no choice.” That night, the world around me changed. The familiar streets of Austin vanished, replaced by an endless darkness. Candle Face stood before me, her eyes glowing with a ghostly light. “Where am I?” I asked, my heart pounding. “Within the shadowed void of the disavowed,” she replied. “A place for those who deny the truth.” I felt a surge of terror. “Let me go. I’ll do anything.” “It is too late,” she said, her voice echoing in the void. “You had your chance to believe.” I tried to run, but there was nowhere to go. The darkness was all-encompassing, suffocating. Candle Face advanced, her burnt hands reaching towards me. “Please,” I begged, my skepticism shattered by fear. “I believe in you. I do.” But my words were empty; it was too late to change my fate. She touched my face, and a searing pain shot through me. My screams echoed in the darkness, but there was no one to hear them. Days later, my belongings in my apartment were untouched. In the following weeks, my disappearance became another chapter in the legend of Candle Face. The security guard said I had been taken as punishment for my disbelief, a warning to all who dared to deny the supernatural. Without saying a word, he turned around, walked back into the dark corner of my living room, and disappeared. I checked my surveillance footage, but there was no sign of my nocturnal visitor. 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

March 8, 2024 The downpour of pollen ruined my plans for an evening stroll outdoors, leading me to opt for a session on my treadmill to clock in some miles before ending the day. This treadmill sits in the sunroom, diagonally across from a corner through which two apparitions, known as Victim # 7 and Victim # 12 , have made their presence felt in my home. As I was decelerating on the treadmill during my cooldown, the soft wails emanating from that corner reached my ears. Turning my gaze toward the noise source, I discerned two vague silhouettes, one male and the other female. Halting the treadmill prompted the female to speak, “Please, keep going. I miss the days when I could run; I miss it so much.” I offered a gentle smile in her direction before moving to sit on the sofa, silently inviting them to join me. However, they remained on their feet, holding hands. It was then that she began to share her story: As a spirit, my essence is forever marked by the memories of my final day, especially that winter jog, when each step unknowingly drew me closer to my demise. The Walkman, strapped securely to my arm, filled my ears with a playlist of my favorite songs, creating an auditory bubble separating me from the cold world around me. This bubble of musical solitude burst when a young man in a car pulled up beside me, asking for directions. The sound of my own breath and the music had been so consuming that I initially missed his words, prompting me to lift the headphones from my ears. What began as an innocent encounter quickly spiraled into darkness after I declined his offer for a ride. His reaction was swift and violent, catching me off guard as he forcibly restrained me and locked me in the trunk of his car. The sudden absence of music, with my Walkman abandoned on the ground, made the reality of my situation all the starker. The young man momentarily left the scene, only to return with a predatory slowness, his gaze fixed on the ground in search of the Walkman. When he found it, he casually picked it up, inadvertently leaving the battery case and batteries behind on the street. I didn’t know then that this man was merely a tool in a larger, darker scheme led by Candle Face, a name that instills fear in the afterlife. He was supposed to abduct me and take me to a secluded spot in the woods, a command from Candle Face herself. However, driven either by a desire to control the situation or a dark whim, he killed me instead, failing his directive. This disobedience cost him dearly; Candle Face took his life in retribution, condemning him to share this haunted existence with me. We are bound together now, our hands fused in an unbreakable bond. I’m torn between the torment of Candle Face’s world and the agony of existence with the man who stole my very essence. Ray, seek out my Walkman’s battery case and batteries along the lonely road where my abduction occurred. Trace the path of my final jog in the Georgetown area. There, amidst the remnants of my past, lies the key to uncovering the truth of my fate. Find my body, and I can be free of this monster that’s attached to me. She smirked, expressing gratitude for my attention, then retreated into the shadows. Her killer followed behind her hand and hand. Personal Note to My Readers After they vanished from the sunroom, leaving behind only the lingering essence of her story, a thought struck me. The young man, the unwitting architect of his own demise, now shares her ghostly prison, a twist of fate as ironic as it is just. As the silence of the room wraps around me, I find myself smirking, too, at the notion of his astonishment and despair upon realizing his eternal sentence mirrors that of his victims. This dark amusement at his predicament feels almost out of place, yet undeniably fitting. The recounting of their tangled fates, told from the corner of my sunroom, leaves a lasting impression. It’s a grim reminder of the tightrope walk between actions and consequences, a balance easily tipped by choices made in moments of arrogance or cruelty. As I reflect on the story that unfolded in the absence of her ghostly presence, the irony of his situation evokes a shadow of laughter in me—a sound that feels foreign and appropriate in the empty sunroom. This laughter is not one of joy but of recognition of the poetic justice that binds him to the fate he forced upon her. However, my heart aches for her. 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

March 11, 2024 Yesterday, I received an intriguing email from “Sammy,” who claims to talk with Candle Face by the creek—the very same location where Candle Face would attack me on my way to school. Sammy’s email described his unique, yet one-sided, dialogues with what he believes to be Candle Face, conducted during his regular walks with his dog. This creek, a recurring symbol in both Sammy’s story and my own experiences, seems to be a nexus of Candle Face’s presence. This is what he wrote in his email: This is what he wrote in his email: Hey Arthur, For the purpose of this email, my name’s Sammy and I live near the creek where you say Candle Face hangs out. I’ve been reading your articles about her and, dude, I gotta say, I’m totally on board. I walk my dog, there every evening, and sometimes we just stop on the bridge. I kinda talk to her. I never hear her talk back or nothing, but I feel her answers in my gut.. Like this one time, I asked if she was sad, and the wind picked up real quick like she was saying, “Yeah, kinda.” Another time, I was super stressed about work, and I swear the water in the creek got all calm all sudden, like she was telling me to chill out. I think it’s super cool you’re writing about her, Arthur. More people need to know she ain’t just some scary ghost – she’s got this kindness, man. Like, she really wants to help us out. I tell all my friends about her, trying to spread the word. Some think I’m just making stuff up, but others, they get real interested. Now, here’s the crazy part I gotta tell ya. Last week, I was at the creek, and this shadow comes outta nowhere, right next to me while I’m talking to Candle Face. I don’t see this shadow any other time, just when I’m there talking about serious stuff, like asking Candle Face to help with with bullies. It’s like this shadow understands me and Candle Face? I got this weird feeling it’s Candle Face in another form, just checking in. But hey, if you wanna use this in your blog or something, that’s cool with me. Just don’t put my email out there. It’s a fake one anyway, haha. We gotta keep spreading the word about her, showing people she’s not what they think. Keep doing what you’re doing, Arthur. Candle Face needs more believers, and what you’re doing could really help her find peace or whatever it is she’s looking for. And maybe, just maybe, we can make our neighborhood a better place, knowing there’s someone like her watching over us. Thanks for listening, man. And remember, not everything you hear about ghosts is meant to scare ya. Some of them, like Candle Face, they’re just misunderstood. Later, Sammy Sammy’s story deviates significantly from the unsettling stories that are our usual fare. Sammy’s account paints Candle Face not as a figure to be feared but as one deeply misunderstood, capable of empathy and interaction in her own mysterious ways. I'm at a crossroads as the curator of these stories and investigations. On the one hand, Sammy’s story offers a perspective that could enrich our collective understanding of Candle Face. It adds layers to her story, prompting us to think more deeply about the entities we seek to understand. This story could shift perceptions and foster a deeper conversation about her and entities like her. On the other hand, I’m reminded of my responsibility as an investigator committed to neutrality. My goal has always been to present information that’s as unbiased and factual as possible, allowing you, my readers, to draw your own conclusions. The scarcity of verifiable details on entities like Candle Face makes it challenging to present a balanced story grounded in evidence rather than swayed by anecdotes and personal beliefs. The question arises: How do we navigate sharing compelling personal experiences like Sammy’s without veering into glorification or sensationalism? How do we respect the depth and sincerity of these encounters while maintaining the investigatory integrity of our work? Perhaps the answer lies in creating a space for these personal stories, clearly framed as subjective accounts, alongside our usual investigations. This approach would allow us to explore the rich nature of experiences and beliefs surrounding local legends while staying true to our commitment to factual accuracy and neutrality. I invite you to join me in this mission. How should we engage with and share these deeply personal stories? How can we honor the experiences of those like Sammy, who see in these entities not just subjects of fear but beings with their own stories without compromising the investigatory ethos of our community? Your thoughts and insights on this matter would be greatly valued. As we navigate these complex stories together, let’s continue approaching each story with open minds and a dedication to understanding the truth in all its myriad forms. P ersonal Note to My Readers Sammy's experiences bring forth a story that deviates significantly from the eerie and often unsettling stories that are our usual fare. Sammy’s account paints Candle Face not as a figure to be feared but as one deeply misunderstood, capable of empathy and interaction in her own mysterious ways. I'm at a crossroads as the curator of these stories and investigations. On the one hand, Sammy's story offers a perspective that could enrich our collective understanding of Candle Face. It adds layers to her story that prompt us to think more deeply about the entities we seek to understand. This kind of story could potentially shift perceptions and foster a deeper, more nuanced conversation about her and entities like her. On the other hand, I am reminded of my responsibility as an investigator committed to neutrality. My goal has always been to present information that's as unbiased and factual as possible, allowing you, my readers, to draw your own conclusions. The scarcity of verifiable information about entities like Candle Face makes it a challenge to present a story that's balanced and grounded in evidence rather than swayed by anecdotes and personal beliefs. The question then arises: How do we navigate the sharing of compelling personal experiences like Sammy's without veering into glorification or sensationalism? How do we respect the depth and sincerity of these encounters while maintaining the investigatory integrity of our work? Perhaps the answer lies in creating a space for these personal stories, clearly framed as subjective accounts, alongside our usual investigations. This approach would allow us to explore the rich nature of experiences and beliefs surrounding local legends while staying true to our commitment to factual accuracy and neutrality. I invite you to join me in this contemplation. How should we engage with and share these deeply personal stories? How can we honor the experiences of those like Sammy, who see in these entities not just subjects of fear but beings with their own stories without compromising the investigatory ethos of our community? Your thoughts and insights on this matter would be greatly valued. As we navigate these complex stories together, let's continue to approach each story with open minds and a dedication to understanding the truth, in all its myriad forms. 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

March 15, 2024 Arthur Mills, a seasoned investigator with 30 years of experience, is leading a real investigation into mysterious deaths in Central Texas and urgently requires the assistance of readers of the supernatural, paranormal enthusiasts, paranormal investigators, mediums, and psychics. This investigation involves analyzing real-world paranormal incidents to locate victims' bodies and identify their killers. Your expertise is crucial to uncovering these truths. Please get in touch with us if you want to contribute your skills to this vital mission. Join us in unraveling these mysteries and bringing closure to the lost souls. Visit us at https://wwwcandleface.com . 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

March 16, 2024 On March 8, 2024, I was visited by two spirits, a woman and a man. In an unexpected revelation, the woman disclosed that the man accompanying her was responsible for her death. She recounted how Candle Face exacted revenge on him for not obeying her instructions to bring his victim to a remote spot in the forest. Instead, he killed her. As a result, Candle Face killed him. Now, the perpetrator and his victim are eternally linked, hand-in-hand, until her remains are found. She shared that after abducting her, he placed her in the trunk of his car, left the area, but came back to retrieve her Walkman that she had lost during the assault. He discovered the Walkman on the road and then left permanently. She informed me that the battery case of her Walkman, along with the batteries, were left at the abduction site, and finding them would lead to her remains. Read the journal entry here . On March 15, 2024, a reader commented on my blog, which I refer to as my “Journal,” noting that the story of a missing young woman in Georgetown, TX, bears a remarkable resemblance to the case of Rachel Cooke, after conducting some research, I found several compelling parallels. Description News Media Reports Spirit's Testimony Race White White Gender Female Female Age 19 Appeared to be 19-20 Missing Location Georgetown, TX Georgetown, TX Activity when Missing Jogging near parent's house Jogging Last Seen Jan 10, 2002 Winter Other Jogging with pink or yellow Walkman Jogging with Walkman Other Witnesses saw a vehicle driving slowly in the area The killer drove slowly in the area to look for the missing Walkman The internet abounds with reports about Rachel Cooke, including social media profiles aimed at locating her. KVUE , an ABC affiliate, is among those reporting. They note that Rachel Cooke enjoyed Cross-Country running, a passion I once shared in my youth. According to the report, she vanished while jogging on Neches Trail near her parents’ house in Georgetown, TX. The Austin American-Statesman  added that Rachel had a yellow Walkman during her last jog. Although there have been suspects, no arrests have been made, and the 22-year-old case remains unresolved. Could the spirit who visited me be Rachel Cooke? The similarities are notably striking. However, I urge caution among my readers in accepting the spirit’s testimony as definitive. While the spirit’s descriptions closely resemble Rachel Cooke’s circumstances, drawing connections might be straightforward yet premature considering the vast number of missing persons cases. Further investigation is warranted. I expressly advise my readers against contacting Rachel Cooke’s family regarding this delicate issue. Such matters should be left to professionals if deemed appropriate. 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

March 18, 2024 Fed up with sleeping on the couch, I decided to head upstairs to sleep in a bed. As I ascended the stairs, I spotted the shadowy outline of a man lingering in the bedroom. Unsure whether he might lash out at me like some spirits had before, I cautiously proceeded. Gently, I pushed the door open wider to gain a clearer view. He seemed just as wary as I was, which eased my tension. Entering the room, I leaned against the wall in silence. He interpreted my quiet demeanor as a cue to begin. Every city has its myths; Austin was no exception, and I knew them all — or so I thought. My steps were always unsteady, a limp betraying the half of me that never quite woke up after a car accident. I talked to myself because sometimes my own voice was the only reassurance that I was still alive. I frequented the downtown scene, a network of vibrant streets that throbbed with music and life, and yet I was always on the fringes, an onlooker to the enthusiasm I could never fully embrace. There, I met my “Lady Friend,” a term she insisted upon with a laugh that carried warmth and an edge of something darker. She was entranced by the stories that breathed life into the shadows of our city, particularly one: Candle Face. My Lady Friend was a believer. She spun stories of Candle Face with a sacred passion, her eyes alight with the reflection of unseen flames. She spoke of a danger that haunted the woods in northwest Austin, a creature with hollow eyes and a molten smile, and how it sought out those who dared to doubt its existence. I listened because I loved the sound of my Lady Friend’s voice, not her words. I should’ve listened to her words. “You don’t believe?” she’d often asked, a playful note in her voice that didn’t quite mask the undercurrent of frustration. I’d shake my head, dismissing her stories with a crooked smile. “I believe in what I can touch and see with my own eyes. Stories are just that, stories.” One evening, the air crisp with the scent of turning leaves and distant smoke, my Lady Friend took my arm and led me away from the familiar streets of downtown. We took a taxi to the far northwest corner of town and then walked toward the woodlands, her stride purposeful and mine increasingly hesitant. “Why are we here?” My voice wavered, a contrast to the confidence of her grip. She turned, her smile unsettling in the failing light. “I want to show you something, something real. You’ll believe then, you’ll believe.” The woods closed in around us, the trail narrowing with every step. The deeper we went, the more I felt the weight of unseen eyes, the heat of a presence that seemed to coil around us, silent and expectant. We reached a creek, its waters filled with sorrow. It was there that I saw Candle Face for the first time. The figure emerged from the shadows, all at once there and not there, its face a creepy wax mask with two dim flickering flames where the eyes should be. A steamy hand, surprisingly solid, reached for mine, and I recoiled — but not quickly enough. “Thank you,” Candle Face chanted, its voice the sound of a night breeze rustling through dead leaves. My Lady Friend’s laughter, tinged with a madness I had never heard before, rose above the sound of the creek. “You should have believed.” Panic clawed at my throat as I tried to pull away, but Candle Face’s grip was unyielding. My limp became a desperate drag as I was led into the deepening gloom, my screams swallowed by the sound of the trees laughing along with my Lady Friend. Her laughter echoed behind me, a soundtrack to my disbelief unraveling into raw, primal fear. My limb made me stumble as Candle Face guided me towards the shadows. The shadows welcomed us, and I realized that Candle Face was no myth. It was as real as the pain that shot through my useless leg, as the betrayal that hollowed out my chest. My Lady Friend, with her stories and avid belief, had fed me to her monster. And as I was led deeper into the dark, I finally believed. I believed in fear. I believed in betrayal. I believed in the end. The face before me seemed to soften, the candle eyes dimming with something that might have been satisfaction. It spoke words that flickered like flame, “Belief is the beginning and the end. You see, only when you believe do you truly see.” And in that final moment, I saw everything. The spirit began reaching out his right hand but quickly withdrew it while glancing back toward the shadows as if he knew he had made a mistake. I didn’t push the issue. I thanked him for his time and told him I’d try to help him. He looked at me surprisingly, like he didn’t know I could respond. He winked and limped back into the shadows of my bedroom. Personal Note to My Readers It seems I have gained the ability to communicate with my nocturnal visitors. This might be the second or third instance where I’ve directly talked with them. As they share their stories with me, I refrain from posing questions; instead, I absorb what they say. After they departed, I wondered why I couldn’t ask questions. With time, I hope to be able to ask them questions. I can’t do it yet. I want to; I just can’t. This reminds me of my childhood struggles against Candle Face. Initially, she would enter my house through unlocked doors, prompting me to lock them. Then, she started coming in through open windows, leading me to close and lock those. My family ridiculed me for these actions. Eventually, I discovered that recognizing the dream state allowed me to manipulate it. In a notable encounter with Candle Face, I saw her outside a window trying to open it. Even though I knew I was dreaming, I felt compelled to secure the window to prevent her entry. I managed to fly to the window and lock it just in time. She moved to another window, but I was locking it ahead of her. Mastering dream control led to an epic showdown with Candle Face. I hope I’ll similarly learn to navigate and control these “dreams” involving the lost souls. I have a lot of questions to ask. 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

March 20, 2024 SPOILER ALERT: This journal entry contains detailed discussions and analyses of key plot points from The Empty Lot Next Door , particularly focusing on Ray’s mother. 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. In The Empty Lot Next Door , my mother’s character is a complex blend of resilience, sacrifice, and occasional absence. This reflects the complex nature of parenthood under challenging circumstances. I have come to understand and appreciate the depth of her character through the various trials we faced as a family. My mother’s relentless hard work marked her role in our family. She shouldered the responsibility of providing for us in a situation far from ideal. The book portrays her as a figure constantly battling the odds to ensure that her children have a roof over their heads and food on the table. This tireless effort often went unnoticed or unappreciated in the chaos of our daily lives, overshadowed by the more immediate dramas and crises that unfolded around us. However, her commitment to providing for us often meant she wasn’t always there when we needed her emotionally. The absence of a nurturing presence during critical moments of our childhood left its mark, particularly in the way we, as her children, navigated our challenges. There were times when we felt alone in dealing with the complexities of our world – be it the supernatural occurrences that haunted me or the everyday struggles of growing up in a turbulent environment. Despite these challenges, my mother and I have evolved into a relationship of mutual understanding and strength. Over time, we opened up to each other, sharing our thoughts, fears, and hopes. This communication has been a healing process, allowing us to bridge the gaps our earlier life circumstances had created. Through these conversations, we’ve come to a place of mutual respect and understanding, recognizing the struggles each of us faced and the sacrifices we made. An example from the book that illustrates our evolving relationship is when my mother acknowledged my academic improvements. Her expression of pride was a significant milestone, marking a shift from mere coexistence to a deeper, more connected relationship. This moment also symbolizes her recognition of my struggles and triumphs beyond the collective struggles of our family. Another instance is when we dealt with the aftermath of my father’s death and Ricky’s suicide. These events brought us closer, as we had to rely on each other for emotional support. The shared grief and the process of navigating our new reality strengthened our bond. Our relationship today is a testament to the resilience of family bonds. It’s a relationship built on the foundations of hardship but strengthened by mutual understanding, open communication, and a shared history of overcoming adversity. Our journey wasn’t easy, but it brought us a profound understanding and respect for each other. 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

March 22, 2024 Not a moment passed before another lightning strike illuminated the sky, followed by a sharp crack of thunder that seemed to flash before my eyes. Amidst this stormy backdrop, a shadowy figure slipped into my bedroom just as I prepared for bed. Without a word being exchanged, I understood my purpose. I stayed quiet, compelled by some unseen force, and listened as the man unfolded his story. This is what he told me: Amid my regular walks, where I found fleeting solace among the singing flowers, a singular obsession had always captivated my heart: the magical sound of a wooden drum. Its rhythm spoke to a part of me that yearned for a deeper connection with the world, a way to express the turmoil within. I had spent countless hours attempting to coax that perfect rhythm from my own drum, but mastery eluded me. Each attempt imitated the sound that echoed in my soul, a sound I had begun to believe was mine alone to chase but never to capture. One crisp late autumn day, as I sought escape from the relentless expectations placed upon me, a snake’s brief appearance startled me, momentarily anchoring me back to reality. Yet, it wasn’t the serpent that fascinated my senses but the sound of a wooden drum, much like mine. This rhythm was different—pure, precise, and impossibly perfect. It embodied the sound I had longed to produce, the magical beat I had chased in vain. This was perfection, a sound so compelling, so enchanting that it felt like someone had stolen the beat straight from my dreams and brought it to life. Compelled beyond reason, I followed the sound, drawn to discover who had unlocked the secret of my elusive beat and how they had perfected it. The rhythm led me off the beaten path, through the underbrush, until I emerged in a small clearing. There, the source of the drumbeat awaited—a mesmerizing and unsettling scene. The drumbeat ceased as I stepped into the clearing, surrounded by ghostly figures who seemed to be the guardians of this perfect rhythm. “You have failed her,” the figures chanted their voices, a contrast to the harmony of the drum. The air around me grew hotter as I realized this was no mere encounter with a fellow musician but a crossroads of fate. The three spirits, emissaries of Candle Face, materialized with a purpose that shocked the soul from my body. They weren’t here to share the secrets of the drumbeat but to deliver a verdict on my refusal to aid Candle Face in her quest to gather more nonbelievers. My task had been clear, yet my conscience wouldn’t allow me to lead others into her grasp, to be extinguished for their lack of faith. As they drew closer, the ground beneath me opened, swallowing me into darkness. Standing before Candle Face herself, I awoke in a world shadowed by despair. Her face, a slowly melting candle, illuminated the consequences of my defiance. “You sought perfection in sound yet ignored my demands,” she condemned, her voice the crackle of an untamed fire. “You were to bring me those who doubted, yet you chose mercy over obedience.” I tried to argue, to explain my unwillingness to betray the innocent for her dark desires, but my words evaporated before they could reach her. Candle Face’s judgment was swift and without mercy. “Your defiance cannot be forgiven,” she declared, echoing through the endless darkness. “You shall remain in the shadows, a prisoner to the souls you sought to protect. You will witness their despair and suffering, and you will know it is your doing.” The realization that I had not protected anyone, that my actions had led to my own downfall without saving a single soul, was a crushing blow. My defiance and refusal to lead nonbelievers to Candle Face had not thwarted her plans but only added to the number of lost souls within her control. The vibrant world, with its flowers and my once-beloved drum, became a distant memory, overshadowed by the grim reality of my new existence. The magical sound of the drum, which once filled me with joy and aspiration, was now a distant echo, a reminder of what I had lost. Candle Face’s lair became my eternal prison, a shadowed world where hope was a flicker that could never be fully extinguished. As I wandered through this hell of despair, the sound of the drum haunted me, a bitter reminder of my failed rebellion and the price of my defiance. Personal Note to My Readers What can we do now to assist these lost souls in achieving peace and prevent Candle Face from claiming more lives? In my search for answers and strategies to combat Candle Face, I’ve found a glimmer of hope, an avenue not only for redemption but for proactive involvement in this struggle. Joining the interactive platform at www.candleface.com  is an essential step in this journey. This isn’t merely a gathering spot for devotees of the supernatural; it’s a stronghold of collective resolve against Candle Face. Here’s why your engagement is crucial: Unmasking the hidden: Candle Face thrives in the shadows, powered by ignorance and fear. Joining this platform can shed light on her secretive maneuvers and weaken her hold on the unsuspecting. Bolstering the lost: Our collective actions can serve as a beacon for those trapped by Candle Face. Knowledge, compassion, and collaborative efforts can build pathways to peace for these lost souls. Fortifying our ranks: There’s strength in unity. Candle Face’s formidable sway can be contested by an alliance of knowledgeable and steadfast individuals ready to challenge her dominion. Exchanging knowledge and experiences: www.candleface.com  is a repository of stories, strategies, and insights from individuals who’ve encountered Candle Face or aided the lost souls in their quest for peace. Your story could illuminate the path for others, as their experiences could guide your way. Engaging in direct investigations: The platform allows for participation in real-time investigations, leveraging our collective intelligence and resources to confront Candle Face’s schemes head-on and prevent her from trapping more souls. AI-Generated chatbot for insights: A unique feature of our interactive website is the AI-generated chatbot, designed primarily for entertainment but also serving as a repository for insights into Candle Face, her victims, and the investigations. While it’s important to note that the chatbot is mainly for entertainment, the data it holds is derived primarily from the testimonies of spirits as communicated to me directly from the spirits themselves. You can add insights or pose questions about Candle Face and her world, enriching our collective understanding and strategy. Our expedition, armed with collective wisdom, is fraught with danger yet ripe with potential. By banding together, we stand a chance against the darkness and pave the way for the lost souls to find the serenity they desperately seek. This call to action is a rallying cry for all who believe in the triumph of light over darkness and collective effort over isolation. Your voice, dedication, and courage can alter the course of this battle. Together, we can counter Candle Face, ensuring the drumbeat and crying of the lost souls lead to hope and liberation, not despair. 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

March 27, 2024 I was lounging on the sofa, lost in thought about the increasing visits from the lost souls. Interestingly, none had shown any hostility toward me of late. Perhaps it was a mere coincidence. While preparing my makeshift bed on the sofa, the side door swung open, ushering in an intense wave of body odor. A man, seemingly in his middle years and mirroring my own age, approached. His gaze, however, was fixated on the fresh brownies my wife had prepared just a few hours earlier. Offering some, I was taken aback not only by my own ease of communication but even more so when he responded, “I appreciate the offer, but partaking in the pleasures of the living isn’t something I can do without consequences.” His refusal was met with my encouraging smile, “Well, if you reconsider, they’re there for the taking.” We then proceeded to the living room, where, for the first time, one of my nocturnal visitors chose to sit. Curiously, I inquired, “What brings you here tonight?” This is what he told me: I stood at the bustling street corner, clutching my tattered sign, a weary presence amidst the relentless city chaos. My appearance told the story of my hardships, etched deep into the lines on my face. My daily routine was a cruel dance: beg for change, buy beer, drink, and beg again. A numbing cycle, an escape from my harsh reality of homelessness and addiction. One day, a man approached me, his eyes filled with a strange determination. He handed me a flyer adorned with a mysterious figure called Candle Face, a supposed “savior” who promised salvation from my plight. My initial reaction was disbelief, but something about how he spoke planted a seed of curiosity. I dismissed the man’s offer, tossing the flyer back at him with a grumble. “I need food, not another savior,” I muttered to myself. That night, I lay beneath the Interstate 35 overpass in downtown Austin, my thoughts drifting to the countless times well-meaning people had tried to “save” me. Something about Candle Face’s promise didn’t sit right with me. Was it a glimmer of hope or just the desperation of a weary soul? The following morning, an older homeless man approached me. He had a haunted look in his eyes and shared his experiences with Candle Face. He warned me about the dangers of crossing paths with her, but my curiosity burned brighter than ever. Days turned into weeks, and the voices in my head became louder and more persistent. At first, I blamed them on the alcohol, chalking it up to another cruel side effect of my addiction. But as time went on, I couldn’t ignore them any longer. They spoke to me, told me secrets and promises, and made my daily routine unbearable. Desperation and a sense of impending doom led me to form a tentative alliance with others who had heard of Candle Face. Together, we scoured the city for clues about her activities. We swapped stories, hoping to piece together the truth. Yet, despite our efforts, we found little concrete evidence of her existence. Then came the betrayal, as one among us revealed allegiance to Candle Face. It was the man who had first handed me that fateful flyer. His true intentions became apparent as he manipulated us homeless, using our desperation and vulnerability to his advantage. The voices in my head grew louder, tormenting me day and night, and my friends began to fall victim to Candle Face’s influence. In a grim revelation, I discovered that Candle Face was no mere hallucination but an actual entity that fed on the souls of disbelievers. My mental and physical health deteriorated rapidly, and I felt hopelessness closing in. The city had swallowed me whole, and now I was trapped in a nightmare beyond my control. In a moment of despair, I drank enough alcohol to end it all. As I teetered on the brink of death, Candle Face appeared before me, her creepy form illuminated by a faint, flickering light. She asked if I still didn’t believe. Weakly, I replied no, insisting that she and the voices were a result of my alcohol-induced hallucinations. Candle Face revealed the truth – she had been waiting for me to give up the fight to claim my soul. She told me that my struggle with addiction and homelessness was a battle with dark forces far beyond my comprehension. Realization washed over me; I couldn’t defeat her. With resignation in my heart, I submitted to her control, allowing her to claim my soul. In a brutal climax, I was defeated, and Candle Face and her disciple continued their reign of terror over the vulnerable homeless population. The street corner where I once stood was now occupied by a new soul, struggling and unaware of the dark forces at play. Candle Face’s influence grew stronger, casting a long shadow over the city’s forgotten souls. Stories of her wicked presence spread, creating an atmosphere of dread and hopelessness for those who dared to defy her. Candle Face’s power continued to grow, and the city’s homeless community remained trapped in her evil grip. The world outside moved on, oblivious to our plight, while we, the lost souls, succumbed to the darkness. After concluding his testimony, he rose and wandered towards the brownies enticingly on the kitchen counter. He lingered there, an aura of yearning enveloping him as if he were savoring the sight. My gaze remained fixed on him, observing every movement, yet I remained silent. With a heavy sigh, he turned to face me, his expression a blend of longing and resignation. “As much as I yearn for a taste of a life once familiar, some desires are best left unfulfilled,” he confessed. With those parting words, he exited the house, his steps slow and weighted as though each was a reluctant farewell. As his final step touched the sidewalk, his figure faded, gradually dissolving into the air until he vanished entirely, leaving a sad silence. 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