November 18, 2023
Last night, I had yet another visitor. A vague, dark shape appeared near my bed just as I was about to fall asleep. Gradually, its form became clearer, and I realized it wasn’t Candle Face—this was different. Standing only a few feet away was a young black girl who looked about four or five years old. She seemed more afraid of me than I was of her, tears rolling down her cheeks as she pleaded for my help.
She had a story to share:
I remember the day I last saw my Mama. I was playing outside our mobile home, and it was really, really cold! The wind was like, “Whoosh!” on my cheeks. But the sky was all blue, and the sun was low.
I sat there all wrapped up in my cozy winter coat, playing with my teddy bear that my Granny made for me. My teddy was dirty and fuzzy, but I loved it so much!
Then, I saw some big kids playing near our mobile home. They were in a circle, and one of them, a big boy with nappy hair, was telling a spooky story. He said there was a girl ghost around here who died in a fire, and now she’s a ghost who scares kids who don’t believe in her. The other kids were listening, all wide-eyed and excited, even the tough ones!
But my Mama didn’t like those stories. She came out of our home all fast and waved her hands like she was mad. “Stop scaring my baby girl with those stories!” she yelled. One of the ladies with the kids said maybe we should believe just in case, but Mama was like, “Nope, my baby girl won’t believe in silly stuff like that.”
After Mama helped me brush my teeth that night, she tucked me into bed with my teddy. I felt safe and warm under the covers. Mama leaned in close and said, “Those ghost stories aren’t real, sweetie. Grown-ups sometimes make them up to make kids behave.”
I believed her because Mama knew everything and could protect me from anything. But that night, something weird happened.
I felt hot and heard a sizzling sound like bacon in a frying pan. My heart went boom, boom, really fast. Something hot picked me up, and it smelled bad, like burnt cookies. I wanted to scream for Mama, but I couldn’t. I was so scared!
Then, Mama appeared. She was strong and loving, and she held me tight. She said it was just a bad dream and not real. I cried and told her about the ghost girl, but Mama said those stories can’t hurt good girls who don’t believe in them.
Her words were like a cozy song, and I fell asleep without any more bad dreams.
The next day, I heard a little cry while swinging on our swing in front of our mobile home. Mama was inside, next to the window, keeping an eye on me. I heard some noise coming from some bushes. My heart raced with curiosity and worry.
When Mama moved away from the window, I went to check. I found not a hurt puppy like I had hoped, but a girl. Her skin was all burned, and her clothes were torn. She looked really sad. I wanted to scream and run to Mama, but I couldn’t. I was too scared.
I don’t remember much after that. But I’m not with Mama and Granny anymore. I’m in a strange place with other kids and adults who had tough times, too. I’m really scared here; I don’t like it.
I wish I could hug Mama and Granny one more time and feel their love and protection. Maybe you can find them one day and let them know I miss them. Let them know that I still carry their love with me, even in this terrible place.
The little girl gave me a grateful smile, though I could see such deep sorrow in her eyes. As she backed away toward the wall, her features began to fade, becoming just a shadow that eventually dissolved into the portal.
A sudden adrenaline rush flooded my body—I leaped out of bed, hurrying downstairs as if something urgent was driving me on. Once at my computer, I typed as fast as I could, capturing every word she’d shared before it slipped from my memory.
What used to feel like random nocturnal encounters has now become painfully clear. Each one of these nighttime visitors, once a mystery to me, has revealed the same plea: they’re trapped by the spirit known as Candle Face and need my help. Although I never asked for this responsibility, it seems I can’t escape it. My task is to document these encounters and witness their stories. I don’t know where this road will lead; everything is uncertain, leaving me to wonder what comes next.
Personal Note to My Readers
This visitor left behind more clues than I first realized. She appeared to be around four or five years old, African American, with short braids—possibly black and white, though it might’ve just been the way the light played on her hair. Her voice was gentle, but she spoke in rushed bursts, constantly glancing over her shoulder as if someone or something was lurking nearby.
While she didn’t name her hometown, the mention of Candle Face suggests Austin, Texas, during winter. She said she lived in a mobile home with her mother and grandmother, referring to them as “Mama” and “Granny.” Outside their home was a swing set, and I suspect her last moment with her mother involved playing on that swing.
These details might be key to discovering who she is and what happened to her.
If you feel compelled to help solve this and give this little girl the peace she deserves, please put on your detective hat and join the investigation. You can share your findings and thoughts on our interactive site at www.candleface.com.
Key To Understanding
Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One]
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