March 1, 2024
I used to go to bed early every night, hoping a lost soul might show up. But lately, they’ve been getting more aggressive—some have even attacked me. The rush I used to feel has faded, replaced by a sense of responsibility. I know I have to help them, no matter the risks.
Tonight, as I was working in my garage, the door suddenly lifted on its own. First, I saw a pair of legs come into view, then a bluish mini skirt, and finally a white T-shirt hugging a slim figure, topped by long blonde hair. This spirit wasn’t going to wait until I fell asleep—she wanted my attention right then. After she stepped in, the garage door shut behind her on its own.
She started speaking, but I cut in, asking, “Can I ask you something?” She looked shocked, and so was I—this was the first time I’d tried speaking directly to one of the nocturnal visitors. I’ve tried touching them before, but they always pulled away. She answered in a shaky voice, “I can’t answer questions.” Realizing how much pain she’d face when she went back to the portal, I didn’t push. “Okay,” I said, and she went on with her story, walking back and forth in the garage as she spoke.
Working as a waitress on Sixth Street in Austin was always a whirlwind—late nights, loud crowds, and plenty of stories to go around. Among all the chatter, one legend always seemed to come up: Candle Face. They said she was a ghostly child who went after people who didn’t believe in her. I’d heard it all before—locals swapping stories, tourists trying to spook each other—but I never thought much of it. It was just a story.
At least, that’s what I thought.
The night it all changed started like any other shift. I was busy pouring drinks, clearing tables, and catching bits and pieces of conversations. People were talking about Candle Face again. Some regulars said she was this vengeful spirit with a burned face, out to punish anyone who doubted her. I laughed along, joking with one of the guys at the bar, “If Candle Face is real, I guess I’m next!”
I didn’t think twice about it as I walked home later that night. The streets were quiet. Then, out of nowhere, the air around me got warm—unnaturally warm. That’s when I saw her.
She stepped out of the shadows, a small figure barely taller than a child, her face horribly disfigured. Her voice cut through the silence. “You mock what you do not understand.”
I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. “W-w-who are y-y-you?” I stammered, even though I already knew the answer.
“I am the truth,” she said. “The belief you scorn.”
The air around her seemed to shimmer, and for the first time, I got a clear look at her face—charred and grotesque, like something out of a nightmare. I wanted to believe this wasn’t happening, that it was some kind of hallucination, but deep down, I knew. It was her.
“You... you’re not real,” I yelled, my voice trembling.
She stepped closer. “Your disbelief gives me strength,” she hissed. “Your mockery invites your end.”
Panic set in, and I tried to run, but I couldn’t move. It felt like invisible hands were holding me in place. Her laughter filled the streets. “You wanted proof? Now, you will be part of my story.”
And that was it.
The next week, the bar was buzzing with rumors about me. I’d disappeared without a trace. My coworkers were confused, and the last person to see me—the regular I’d joked with—couldn’t stop talking about how I’d laughed off the Candle Face story just hours before.
Now, my voice is part of hers, another warning discussed through Sixth Street. I became the punchline to my own joke, a reminder to anyone who thinks they’re safe: Candle Face doesn’t care if you believe or not. She’ll make you believe.
If I could tell you one thing, Ray, it’s this: don’t laugh at her. Don’t doubt her. Believe, even if it’s just to keep yourself safe.
She thanked me for listening, and I managed a soft, “You’re welcome.” She looked stunned as if still surprised that we had spoken out loud. The garage door opened again, and she slipped out. Feeling an urgent need to record her story, I sprinted to my computer to write down every detail before it faded from memory.
Key To Understanding
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