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  • Writer's pictureArthur Mills

Candle Face Victim #4: Limping through the Night of Austin, TX

Candle Face Victim #4: Limping through the Night of Austin, TX

Candle Face Victim # 4

November 30, 2023


As I settled into bed, twilight enveloping my room, I wasn’t surprised when a spirit materialized in the corner, adopting the same entrance as its predecessors. Unlike the others, this ghost moved towards me with a pronounced limp, yet its steps had an unmistakable purpose. A sense of calm anticipation filled me; I had grown accustomed to these nocturnal visits. As it drew nearer, the air around me seemed to thrum with an untold story. This is his story:

Every time I limped down the streets of downtown Austin, things got quiet. The suit-and-tie crowd and folks in fancy clothes would clam up as I got close, their chit-chat cutting off like they hit a mute button. They’d start yapping again after I’d limp by, leaving them behind. My limping was like a steady drum, showing life’s hard knocks didn’t knock me down. I didn’t mind that people didn’t look me in the eye. It’s better that way. Trusting people? That’s not for me.
Candle Face had been a constant topic in the homeless community, a story I clung to in search of something to combat the demons that danced in my mind. She was supposed to be a savior for the lost, a beacon for the broken. But she never answered my calls for help, and in that silence, my belief withered like neglected flowers.
It wasn’t in a caring manner or a guiding light when she finally appeared. It was a scream that cut through the monotony of my days and nights, demanding that I serve her and spread her legend. Her demands became another voice in my mind that was already too loud and too crowded. I lashed out in anger, and my faith in her faded and turned to acrid bitterness.
That was my mistake.
One evening, as I sat alone on a bench waiting for the bus, the streetlights flickered and dimmed, casting long shadows where none should have been. And from these shadows, she emerged — Candle Face, her eyes hollow, her mouth a gaping maw of darkness.
“You do not believe,” she hissed her voice a twisting whisper that coiled around my heart. “Your faith is the light that feeds me, and your doubt... your punishment.”
Before I could respond, her hot, sizzling hands gripped my shoulders, and the world fell away. I was pulled into the shadow of the bus stop into a place where the city’s heartbeat was a distant echo, and a void replaced the heat of the Texas sun.
The darkness was absolute, a blanket of night without stars. Candle Face’s voice became clear here — they were the lamentations of the forgotten, the regrets of the lost. She wasn't the ally I had imagined but a collector of forsaken souls, feeding on the disbelief of those who dared to question.
Here in the shadows, she showed me her truth. Candle Face was a guardian of a place that was neither life nor death, a world where spirits lingered, trapped by their own skepticism. It was her hell, and I had become its newest resident.
I had become one of her tales to be told on the edges of reality, a warning to those who let their faith slip away. My punishment wasn’t just in the haunting but in becoming part of it, a fate I would never have chosen but one I had earned with my anger and disbelief.
Candle Face retreated into the darkness, leaving me to my new existence—a shadow within shadows, a story waiting to be told. Perhaps, in time, I would become just another part of the legend of Candle Face, a cautionary tale told on the streets of Austin.

Gratefully, the spirit nodded in thanks, then slowly turned and hobbled back to the corner from where it had appeared, eventually fading into nothingness. Eager to preserve the details of his testimony before they slipped from memory, I hurried downstairs to document his story.


Personal Note to My Readers


The victim is probably a homeless individual who often spends time downtown. The fact that he’s waiting for a bus at night suggests that he doesn’t reside downtown but in a different location. A key aspect of identifying him is his distinct limp. This raises the question: Has there been any report of a missing homeless man known for having a limp who spent time downtown?

 

Key To Understanding

To ensure readers grasp the full context and significance of this article, 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 book provides essential background information, and without it, the nuances and depth of this article might not be fully appreciated. Therefore, reading The Empty Lot Next Door is highly recommended for a more enriched and coherent understanding of this article’s content and implications.


To purchase The Empty Lot Next Door, please visit Amazon


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