November 21, 2024
There I sat, watching TV in the living room, when the kitchen lights began to flicker. Of course, I know—we all know what that means. The sunroom door creaked open, and a young Hispanic woman in her early twenties walked in. Her expression was somber, her eyes hollow, and a wide, jagged hole pierced through her translucent forehead. Violence had marked her death, leaving no room for doubt.
“My name is Lupe,” she began, quiet but firm. “I need you to hear what happened to me. I need someone to know the truth.”
I gestured for her to sit, but she remained standing as she dove straight into her story.
“I was 21 when they killed me,” she said. “That night, in 1993, I left my little girl with my parents to visit a friend. I parked in front of her house, but she didn’t answer when I knocked. She was expecting me, so I didn’t understand why she wasn’t home. Confused and upset, I decided to leave.”
Her voice grew louder, anger twisting her expression as she turned away from me. “I never made it to my car.”
She turned back to face me. “Some men were standing outside my friend’s house. I didn’t know them, but I smiled as I passed. That’s when I saw it—a dark truck creeping down the street.”
She clenched her hands, her translucent fingers trembling slightly. “I didn’t even have time to react. The window rolled down, and I saw the barrel of a rifle pointing out. There was a loud crack. One of the guys by the curb grabbed his leg and fell, screaming. And then…”
She paused, reaching up to touch the hole in her head. “And then the second shot came. It hit me here.” Her voice softened. “I didn’t even feel it at first. I just collapsed. I could still see them—the men in the truck. One of them smiled at me. He was wearing a hat. And then they drove off, like it was nothing.”
Her voice faltered, and for a moment, she was silent. I waited, then asked gently, “Were you the target? It sounds like the men were the targets.”
“No,” she replied firmly, a flicker of bitterness in her tone. “I was the target. Those men, they killed me for her.”
“Who?” I asked, though the answer was already forming in my mind.
“Really, you have to ask?” Her voice sharpened. “You know who I mean. She’s the one they worship, the one they kill for. I didn’t know it then, but I saw her later. After I died.”
Lupe’s form flickered as she continued, her words spilling out faster now, as though she feared time was slipping away.
“I woke up in a place I can barely describe,” she said, her voice trembling. “It was dark, but not like the night. The shadows themselves were alive. There were others there, trapped, silent, their faces blurred like smudged glass. I screamed, but no sound came out. That’s when I saw her.”
“She stood in front of me, her face burned, melted, twisted into something no one should ever have to see. She didn’t speak, but I felt her watching me, studying me. And then she smiled, like she was pleased. Pleased that I was there.”
But something didn’t sit right. “Why you?” I asked. “Why were you targeted?”
Lupe hesitated, looking towards the floor. “It was random,” she said, but her voice wavered.
“Was it really random? Or was there more to it?”
Her eyes welled with tears, and she finally looked back at me. “There was a time I laughed at my friend. She believed in this ghost—a ghost that helps people but kills those who don’t believe. I thought it was ridiculous. I told her so. She got angry, but I didn’t think it mattered.”
“Do you think your friend had something to do with this? Did she know you’d be attacked? Is that why she asked you to come over and didn’t answer the door?”
Lupe’s form shook, her tears falling silently. “Maybe. Maybe that’s why she called me over but didn’t answer the door. Maybe she knew.”
Her voice broke, and she began to sob. “She was my friend. I trusted her.”
She wiped at her face, though the tears left no trace. “I didn’t understand then, but I do now. Candle Face’s followers, they’re everywhere. They watch, they listen, and they choose. My death wasn’t random. It was a warning, a punishment. I laughed at the wrong story, and for that, they killed me.”
The lights stopped flickering, leaving the room still and quiet. Lupe’s death wasn’t a random act of violence but a calculated act of devotion to Candle Face. A twisted reminder of how far her followers will go.
Lupe, I’ll not forget.
The lights stopped flickering, leaving the room still and quiet. Lupe’s death wasn’t a random act of violence but a calculated act of devotion to Candle Face. A twisted reminder of how far her followers will go.
Lupe, I will not forget.
Personal Note to My Readers
Lupe said Candle Face’s followers are everywhere. What does that even mean? Are they confined to Central Texas, where most of the victims are, or do they stretch beyond to other parts of the state, the country, or even the world?
And then there’s the question of truth itself. Was Lupe truly killed for Candle Face, or was her death just another act of violence? She wanted me to know the truth, but why did she say it was random? Was she protecting her friend, even though she may have been involved in her death?
Maybe the truth isn’t just about what we know—it’s about what we’re willing to believe. That belief, whether it’s in Candle Face, in justice, or in hope, shapes our reality.
So, I leave you with this: What do you believe?
Key To Understanding
Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One]
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What do I think? I think your're full of shit!