November 27, 2024 Exciting news to share with you all! My memoir The Empty Lot Next Door: More Than A Ghost Story - Second Edition  is officially becoming an audiobook. If everything goes as planned, it should be available by late January 2025. This marks a huge step forward, and I couldn’t be more thrilled to have my story reach a new audience. Even more exciting is the person bringing my story to life—Adharsh McCabe. After hearing his audition, I knew his voice was perfect for narrating this deeply personal story. His ability to convey both emotion and tension left me confident that he’ll honor the essence of the story while delivering a wonderful listening experience. Adharsh isn’t just an exceptional narrator; he’s produced over 20,000 projects from around the world. His expertise speaks for itself, but there’s more to him than his impressive résumé. He also juggles, practices knife-throwing, and does yoga. Hopefully, not all simultaneously, but it’s clear he’s a man of many talents. Once The Empty Lot Next Door  is complete, Adharsh will begin work on Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] . This interactive investigation will take on a whole new life in audio format, allowing a broader audience to connect with the story. Audiobooks provide a unique opportunity to reach people who might not have time to sit down and read but can listen at home, while driving, traveling, or wherever life takes them. For those in the Candle Face Chronicles  community, this format means you can engage in the investigations no matter where you are. It’s an incredible way to expand this interactive paranormal effort: to help the lost souls and join the mission to defeat Candle Face. Every new listener is a potential investigator, another mind working toward freeing the lost souls and destroying Candle Face’s influence. This expanded reach could mean more voices, more collaboration, and, ultimately, greater progress in our mission. It’s a collective effort, and I’m so grateful to everyone who has joined this mission. With the audiobooks, we’ll bring even more people into the fight. Together, we can make a difference. If you’d like to learn more about Adharsh and his incredible work, visit his website at https://adharshmccabe.com . The investigation continues, and I’m excited to bring you along every step of the way. Let’s keep listening, investigating, and pushing forward!

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. Something about it felt wrong.” 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, the kind with a feather on the side. 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, suffocating. 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. She seemed uncertain, so I pressed her gently. “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.” I leaned forward. “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 that night, but then didn’t answer the door. Maybe she… 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.” As her figure began to fade, she said, “Please. Don’t let them forget me. Don’t let them forget what they’ve done.” 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 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 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

November 17, 2024 Now, I know the name of the lost soul who reached out to me in March and whose final moments I relived just a few nights ago. His name is Jacob, but that discovery only led to more questions. Determined to find out who he was, I turned to the internet, searching for every clue I could find. I began with the testimony he gave me back in March and the name “Jacob” that Candle Face revealed during the vision a few days ago. I started by Googling his name paired with “Missing Central Texas,” but nothing actionable came up. So, I refined the search, swapping “Central Texas” with specific towns and cities: Austin, Round Rock, and Georgetown. Still, nothing. It wasn’t until I tried “San Marcos” that something clicked. Suddenly, multiple hits appeared about a man named Jacob Newhouse from San Marcos, a college town south of Austin. Jacob Newhouse, according to several local news reports , was 45 years old when he disappeared last year. He was last seen on November 28, 2023, and tragically, he was found dead on December 9, 2023. The reports state that foul play wasn’t suspected, but they did mention concerns about his mental health. Some sources suggested he might have had intentions to harm himself. After finding his name, I turned to Facebook, hoping to learn more about this man who may have visited me as a lost soul. I found an account belonging to a Jacob Newhouse from San Marcos. The most recent posts were emotional—two desperate pleas for help on November 29, 2023, asking if anyone had seen him. But the strange thing? These posts were made after Jacob went missing. According to a comment thread, someone had found Jacob’s phone and used it to send out those distress posts. Scrolling through his older posts, I came across one from October 23, 2023. It showed a dirt path sloping down into a dense wooded area. The scene was similar to the one I saw in my vision. Could this be the exact place where Jacob ran, fleeing from shadows in my vision? But the most terrifying revelation came when I stumbled upon a video post from October 5, 2023. In the video, Jacob was playing on what looked like a leather-bound instrument—perhaps a makeshift drum, or even a suitcase. As I hit play, my heart skipped a beat. The rhythm—it was the exact drumbeat I heard during my vision. The same beat that synchronized with my heartbeat and the flickering lights in my kitchen. The caption under the video simply read: “Help me… sound is… incomplete!!!” I played the video over and over, trying to make sense of it. The beat was relentless yet mesmerizing, a hypnotic rhythm that Jacob seemed both proud of and frustrated with. At the end of the clip, he abruptly stops, shaking his head and waving his arms in frustration. That’s when I realized what he meant by “…incomplete.” Jacob was searching for the perfect ending, an elusive conclusion to his music. And in both his March testimony and my vision, Candle Face taunted him, mocking his obsessive quest for musical perfection. The connection is too strong to ignore. Candle Face called me Jacob in the vision, and I found a “Jacob” who lived in San Marcos, played the same drumbeat, and went missing shortly before being found dead. What are the odds? Personal Note to My Readers I know some of you may notice something different in this entry—I included his name this time, despite my previous resolve not to reveal the names of the lost souls, out of respect for their living relatives. The truth is, I’m struggling with this decision every single day. How can I truly help these lost souls if I can’t reveal who I think they are? After all, the souls come to me to be identified. They want their stories told, their names spoken. If I don’t name them, what good is the information I discover? Intelligence, after all, must be actionable. But is this the right action? By revealing names, am I helping them find peace, or am I dragging their families into a nightmare they never asked for? Am I opening wounds that should stay closed? What if I got the identities wrong? I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’m walking a razor’s edge between helping these souls and violating the privacy of their loved ones. If I reach out to Jacob’s family, will they see it as an act of compassion, or will they call me a freak, another lunatic obsessed with ghosts? I fear the latter, yet the pull to do something is almost unbearable. I’m asking you, my readers, for your guidance. Should I continue to name these lost souls, even if it risks causing pain to their families? Should I reach out directly to their loved ones, knowing I might be branded as some sort of monster? Or do I keep their names hidden, knowing that this might mean leaving their stories unfinished, their souls still bound to Candle Face? I don’t have the answers. I’m just trying to find a way to do right by these souls who reach out to me, and by their families who may or may not want to know the truth. Please, if you have any advice or insight, let me know. I’m haunted by Jacob’s drumbeat, by the plea in his music. Is it a cry for help, a message he’s desperate for me to decipher? Or is it simply the beat of a lost soul who can’t find his way home? The lost souls are counting on us, and so am I. While the name “Jacob” was revealed to me in a vision, I want to clarify that any connection to real individuals, including Jacob Newhouse from San Marcos, is based on publicly available information and should not be taken as definitive proof. My intention is not to cause distress to any living relatives, but rather to seek understanding and provide help to those who reach out to me. 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 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

November 14, 2024 Two nights ago , I experienced something that I still can’t shake off. Even now, as I sit at my desk, the drumbeat remains in my mind. It follows me wherever I go, relentless and haunting, as if it’s trying to tell me something that I just can’t grasp. Or perhaps Candle Face has implanted the sound in my head to drive me insane as she does with so many of her victims. I now know that the lost soul's name is Jacob. But who was he, really? The name alone doesn’t reveal much. I’m convinced he was the creator of that drumbeat—the one that resonated through my chest and synced with the kitchen lights. But I need to know more. Who was he? What drove him to that encounter with Candle Face and her shadows? Comparing the two encounters, one from March 22 and the other from November 12, 2024 , I notice how they both align and diverge. The first time Jacob came to me, back in March, he was desperate, speaking of shadows pursuing him relentlessly. It was a terrifying account, but back then, I could only hear his words. I knew nothing about remote viewing at the time. I felt his fear, but there was a distance between us—a separation that’s no longer there. This time, everything was different. The connection was deeper, more real. I wasn’t just listening to his testimony; I was living it. I felt what he felt, saw what he saw. And when Candle Face referred to me as “Jacob,” I was initially confused. At first, I thought she had mistaken me for him, or perhaps she was trying to manipulate me. But as the vision progressed, it became clear: I wasn’t myself in that moment—I was him. I had become Jacob. The realization hit. I was witnessing Jacob’s final moments—the day he was taken by Candle Face and her shadows. The vision revealed glimpses of his terror, the frantic drumbeat that was both a creation of his own hands and a signal of his demise. But why did Candle Face target him specifically? What was it about Jacob that caught her attention? According to his March testimony, she killed him because he didn’t follow her orders. But what were those orders? In other cases, the lost souls have shared that they were supposed to kill nonbelievers but refused. Was that Jacob's fate too? Did his defiance seal his doom? As I try to piece together more details, I’ve scoured my journal entries and the scattered clues he left behind. Jacob spoke of shadows in the woods, of a perfect rhythm that called to him—a sound he could never quite replicate. This obsession drew him into the forest, where he ultimately met his end. Now, I feel an urgent need to know more. Was he from Central Texas, like so many of the other lost souls who have reached out to me? Was he a local musician, perhaps, whose drumbeat was a signature sound that somehow led him to Candle Face? I believe that uncovering Jacob’s identity is crucial—not just for Jacob and my own understanding, but for the other lost souls who continue to reach out, desperate for help. I’m turning to the internet, hoping to figure out who Jacob was and where he came from. If you, my readers, have any information or can help me piece together Jacob’s story, please reach out. Together, we can solve this case, find out where he lived, and perhaps discover what ultimately led him into the woods. In the meantime, I’ll keep listening to that drumbeat—not that I have much of a choice. Maybe, just maybe, it will reveal the answers we need. 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 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

November 9, 2024 The lost souls’ testimonies are becoming more vivid with each visit, bringing clearer images and sharper details. I’ve been documenting every word, every glimpse of their final moments, hoping to piece together the facts behind their deaths. But even with the increased clarity, some crucial details remain stubbornly out of reach. It’s like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, always feeling so close yet never quite there. I’ve tried everything—late nights, revisiting old notes, even seeking new techniques—but despite my efforts, I’ve hit a wall. For a year now, I’ve reached out to the paranormal community—investigators, psychics, mediums—anyone who might lend their expertise to uncover the identities of these lost souls and the stories behind their deaths. Every time, it’s the same response: they’re too busy, too wrapped up in their own pursuits. The disappointment is overwhelming. What happened to the sense of unity within the paranormal field? What happened to the willingness to help others? Finding readers has been just as difficult. I’m competing against millions of other authors. Everyone’s chasing the next viral story, the sensational headline that will get clicks, likes, and sales. Meanwhile, I’m here, trying to solve real cases—trying to bring peace to these souls who haunt me every night—and it feels like no one’s listening. It’s relentless, this frustration. I’m practically begging for readers to get involved and share their insights, but it often feels like I’m screaming while no one is listening. Every now and then, I question if all of this is worth it. The exhaustion of trying to engage a disinterested audience is wearing me down. But then, late at night, when the lost souls return, desperate and pleading, I know I can’t turn away. I can’t simply abandon them. I keep hoping that they might offer fresh perspectives if I can just get a few dedicated readers to notice. It’s not just wishful thinking—more eyes, more minds can sometimes see what I miss, especially when the memories are broken. But here I am, yet again, finding that I’m mostly on my own. It’s a lonely journey, but it’s the one I chose. I’ve said it before—I know I have to do the heavy lifting. Yet, despite that realization, there’s always a part of me that hopes someone, somewhere, will step forward to help. Tonight, though, something changed. I decided to stop waiting for help. I decided to push my abilities to their absolute limits. Instead of waiting for another lost soul to appear with a half-ass testimony, I took matters into my own hands. The idea came to me in a moment of frustration: what if I could see through the eyes of the killers? What if I could use remote reviewing and the crystal ball not just to listen but to become the one who took their lives? I dimmed the lights in my dining room until the darkness surrounded me. I could feel the tension in the air, as if the very shadows were watching, waiting to see what I would do. I placed my hands on the crystal ball, the cold surface familiar yet different this time, almost as if it were resisting me. My fingers trembled slightly. The mist inside the ball began to swirl, faster and faster, as if something within it was waking up. I could feel it pulling at me, a strange, almost magnetic force. For a moment, I hesitated. Was this really the path I wanted to take? Was I prepared for what I might see? But it was too late to turn back. I closed my eyes, letting go of everything—my identity, my thoughts, my fears. I let the crystal ball consume me, pulling me in. And then, suddenly, everything shifted. I was no longer myself. I was him—the killer. The Vision I’m pacing the room. My breath comes in hot, ragged bursts, each exhale mixed with the acrid scent of alcohol. There’s a heat building in my chest, a heavy pressure like a storm ready to break. The walls feel like they’re closing in, the air thick with tension. I can feel my fingers twitching, aching to lash out, to make her shut up. But she just won’t stop talking, her voice slamming into my skull like a relentless hammer. It’s always something with her, always a complaint, always a problem. “Why can’t you just be quiet for once?” I yelled, gritting my teeth so hard they feel like they’re going to crack. But she doesn’t listen. She never listens. She keeps going on about the bills, the drinking, the way I’m around people. It’s always my fault, isn’t it? The anger is boiling now, rising up in my throat like bile. My hands are shaking, my knuckles still raw from the last time I slammed them into the wall just to make her stop. I can feel the remnants of whiskey coating my tongue, the bitter taste mixing with the metallic tang of blood where I bit the inside of my cheek. My fists clench tighter, nails digging into my palms until it hurts. But that pain is nothing compared to the fire burning in my chest. She’s still standing there, looking at me with that damned expression—like she’s better than me. Like I’m the one who’s failing. Then it happens. She spits at me, and the world turns red. Hot, wet spit mixed with blood hits my cheek, and everything inside me snaps. I don’t even remember moving, but suddenly my fist is slamming into her face. The sound—a wet, crunching impact like hitting a wet sponge. There’s a sick satisfaction in it, like finally scratching an itch that’s been burning for too long. I lean in close, the sharp, metallic tang of her blood mingling with the salt of her sweat, filling my nostrils. Her eyes are wide, unblinking. “I’m sorry,” I said softly, though the words feel empty, slipping past my lips out of habit, not remorse. She spits at me again, her saliva hot against my cheek, mingling with the blood already drying on my skin. It’s her final act of defiance, a taunt even as she lies broken beneath me. Something inside me snaps again, the last thread of control done. “You don’t get to look at me like that!” My voice is a hoarse tone, almost drowned by the roar in my ears. I stand, my vision narrowing, tunnel-like, until all I can see is her face, that look of defiance burned into my mind. Without thinking, I lift my boot and bring it down hard on her skull. The impact vibrates through my leg, a dull, sickening crunch that fills the room. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough. I stomp again, and again, each blow sending splatters of blood across the floor and walls. Her face—what’s left of it—turns into a mess of bone and flesh, unrecognizable, and yet I can’t stop. Finally, I stop, panting, staring down at what’s left of her. The rage is gone, but in its place is an emptiness, a hollow echo in my chest. “Carmen, you should’ve just listened,” I whisper in what’s left of her right ear. But as I look at what I’ve done, a disturbing thought came to me. She wasn’t supposed to die tonight. She was meant for something else. “She’s going to be furious,” I said to the empty room. “You weren’t supposed to die yet. I was supposed to wait, to sacrifice you later.” What have I done? Personal Note to My Readers After that vision, I couldn’t shake the name I heard him say— Carmen . The experience was so vivid, so visceral, that even after coming back to myself, I could still feel the lingering echoes of his rage, the weight of his hands around her throat, the twisted satisfaction that came with each brutal strike by his boot. I went back through my old journal entries, combing through them for anything that might connect. And then it hit me. On June 5, 2024, a spirit had come to me, identifying herself as Cayman . She spoke of a violent death at the hands of her husband, but at the time, I wasn’t certain if that was her real name or simply a distorted echo from her final moments. But now, after living through this vision tonight, I’m starting to believe that I wasn’t just witnessing a killer’s memories—I was the killer . The realization is almost too much to bear: I believe I became the husband, the one who killed Candle Face Victim # 32 , whom I had previously documented as Clean Shaven . Everything aligns—the rage, the twisted justifications, the spitting, the panic when he realized he had killed her too soon, and the name Carmen  spoken in that final, haunting moment. Writing about this experience was more difficult than anything I’ve done before. For the first time, I wasn’t just listening passively to a lost soul’s testimony or observing from a distance—I was living it. I became the killer, feeling his anger, his intoxicated thrill, his overwhelming need to silence her. It was no longer about bearing witness; it was about being fully immersed in his reality, carrying out his violent actions as if they were my own. Remote viewing and the crystal ball didn’t just show me his memories; it pulled me into his mind. I could see, feel, and think everything he did. In a strange twist, I’ve become interactive with the lost souls’ killers instead of my readers being interactive with me. This new ability is something I never anticipated. It’s both powerful and terrifying. For a year now, I’ve documented the lost souls’ accounts from afar, maintaining some emotional distance. But now, I’ve crossed a line I never imagined I would. I’m no longer just listening to their stories—I’m becoming a part of them, embodying the very people who ended their lives. It’s hard to describe the fear that comes with this realization. If I can so easily slip into the mind of a killer, what does that mean for me? Am I losing myself in the process? Will I be able to control it, or is this just the beginning of something more evil to come? Remote viewing and the crystal ball have unlocked something within me, something I’m not sure I can control—or even want to. The question that haunts me now is: How far will this ability take me? Will it truly help solve these cases, or will it consume me entirely? For now, I must continue piecing together the pieces of these lost souls’ lives, hoping to find answers and closure. I’m left wondering—who am I becoming? And will there come a time when I can no longer distinguish between myself and the memories I’m inhabiting? I can’t stop now. I owe it to these lost souls to keep going, no matter the cost. But every time I reach for that crystal ball, I wonder if this might be the moment I lose myself for good. 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 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

June 21, 2024 Yesterday marked a significant milestone for me as I launched the first episode of my podcast, "Candle Face Chronicles," on June 20, 2024. This journey into the world of podcasting was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. Still, it wouldn’t have been possible without the support of Robert Stachowicz and Sara Jane Kamyszek Villani from Get Haunted . My initial attempt at podcasting was almost a disaster. I hadn't lined up any guests until the night before the show, a planning oversight that left me scrambling. Thankfully, Rob and Sara stepped up, saving the day and ensuring that the show went on. Despite my late arrival to my own show and technical glitches caused by Gremlins that caused my image to freeze repeatedly, they kept the conversation lively and the audience engaged while I tried to figure out how to get on my own show. After the technical difficulties, I finally managed to join the podcast using my smartphone. I might not have made the best first impression, but I was eager to dive into the heart of the matter. We discussed Candle Face, her victims known as The Lost Souls, and the haunting origins tied to The Empty Lot Next Door . The podcast isn’t just about storytelling; it's about collaboration and investigation. Each episode is a collective effort, with the goal of helping these lost souls find peace by uncovering the truth behind their disappearances. This mission is supported by the “Dream Team,” composed of volunteers from various backgrounds, including paranormal investigators, psychics, mediums, remote viewers, dream interpreters, and even those with minimal paranormal experience. Their diverse perspectives bring richness to our discussions, allowing us to approach each case from multiple angles. As the two-hour debut episode wrapped up, the audience feedback was overwhelmingly positive. It was clear that while I have a lot of room for improvement, the podcast has the potential to be both entertaining and impactful, offering hope to those affected by Candle Face. Looking ahead, I'm excited to continue this journey with the "Dream Team." Together, we'll work on helping the lost souls find their bodies and identify their killers. Each week, the Dream Team members and I will investigate specific cases, present evidence, share insights, and invite viewers to contribute. The first episode of "Candle Face Chronicles" may not have been perfect, but it was a learning experience and a stepping stone toward a greater purpose. I'm deeply grateful for your support and look forward to your continued engagement as I explore Candle Face and the lost souls, guided by a shared commitment to uncovering the secrets and resolving the lost souls' stories. 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 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

June 27, 2024 On Nov 23, 2023, I was visited by two lost souls, a man and a woman. They pleaded for my help, sharing the story of their brutal death at the hands of a once-trusted friend, and entrusted me with revealing the truth and uncovering their murderers. 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 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

June 30, 2024 It’s been three weeks since the last lost soul visited me. This isn’t the first time there’s been a long pause, so I knew they’d eventually return. Last night, they did. I was preparing the couch as my makeshift bed when the lights began to flicker, and the shadows in the corner of the living room materialized into a familiar portal.   Out stepped a man who walked straight towards me like he owned the place. During a podcast two days ago with Stacey Tallitsch , the renowned remote viewer, he suggested I pay close attention to the details of the spirits who visit me. Although I had attempted this with minimal success before, I had better luck this time. I looked him over, hoping to gather details about his appearance. He was a white male in his mid-twenties with long, unkempt, dirty blond hair, wearing a dark T-shirt with a single word above an indistinct image. Despite my attempts, I couldn’t make out what it said, and I felt awkward staring at his T-shirt, much like trying to read a woman’s T-shirt without looking like a creep. He sat beside me, his body facing the portal, but his head turned towards me. I nodded, and he began his testimony. Ray, my name is Dave, and I’m here to tell you my story. In October 2000, I went to a concert where I met a few friends. They were metalheads like me, into bands like Metallica, Slayer, and Pantera. We started hanging out and dreaming of starting our own heavy metal band. One day, our drummer mentioned writing a song that would brainwash fans into becoming fiercely loyal, even to the point of carrying out Candle Face’s wishes. He explained how we could embed subliminal messages within the aggressive beats, using layered vocals and reversed audio tracks. These messages would influence listeners to buy our CDs and follow Candle Face’s orders. The focus of our lyrics would be on Candle Face, enticing others who shared our musical taste to become her instruments. The drummer was deeply involved in the occult and believed in Candle Face, the ghost that haunts and kills those who don’t believe in her. He saw our music as a conduit for her influence, convincing followers to spread her power. Each song would contain hidden messages, encouraging loyalty and promoting her evil agenda. It wasn’t just about the music; it was a twisted form of worship designed to enthrall our listeners and spread her influence. At first, I was all in. We wrote our first song about an evil spirit demanding loyalty from its followers. The first few lines went something like this: “In darkness, we kneel, our goddess reigns, heed her call, forsake your chains!” We created a second song that was even more disturbing, demanding our fans to destroy and kill in her name. Both songs were to have reversed tracks that would list out names of followers to kill, and the drummer would provide the names. As we perfected our new songs, I started to hear voices in my head. These voices demanded my genuine participation, claiming the subliminal messages would be hidden in my guitar playing. I participated, but my heart wasn’t in it. The voices grew louder and more intense, accusing me of being a traitor to Candle Face and my bandmates. Desperate to repel the voices, I branded a cross on my left arm, thinking it would protect me. I initially considered branding it on my forehead, but that would draw too much attention. One day, my bandmates came to my house with the CD of our two songs. The drummer suggested we go to the woods to play undisturbed music from his loud car stereo. We all jumped into his car and drove south on 183 way outside Austin. We came to a mostly dirt road and parked. We all exited the car, and the drummer turned on the first song at full blast. We all sang along and air-played our instruments as if we were in a major rock concert at the Frank Erwin Center. When the songs were over, the drummer asked me what I thought. I told him they were our best yet. Then he played the second song in reverse, and the hidden message said: “In the name of Candle Face, spill the blood. Nonbelievers must now fall, heed her call, one and all.” He played more of the second song in reverse, revealing a list of names for their followers to kill. On the list was the name “Dave.” As the reversed track played, revealing my name, I laughed nervously, hoping it was just a sick joke. But my bandmates turned on me, showing they knew I wasn’t a true believer in Candle Face’s power. They beat me, leaving me barely conscious. They took me to a nearby abandoned house where Candle Face awaited. Confused and desperate, I asked why this was happening to me—I was a band member. Furious, Candle Face explained that true dedication was required, and I failed by not genuinely believing in the music’s power. In a final twist, Candle Face mocked me for believing a cross on my arm could repel her. She said, “You think that cross could protect you? I’ll place you under the floorboards with others who thought they could beat me.” Beneath the floorboards lay the souls of those who had also faltered in their loyalty, their screams echoing through the house: “Half-hearted devotion leads to eternal derision. When he was done, he stood up and said, “Ray, it’s better to believe, just in case.” He briskly walked back to the portal and stepped in. This is the second time I have heard this phrase. Personal Note to My Readers I believe the house mentioned by the lost soul, Dave, may be the same one referenced by Victims # 24 and # 27 . In all three cases, Candle Face places her victims under the floorboards. Could this be the same house in Luling, TX? Dave mentioned that he and his bandmates drove south on 183 and stopped on a mostly dirt road, likely Salt Flat Road. Could this be the same road and house? As I write this, I feel a strong pull toward the house, like I’m hypnotized. It’s as if invisible forces are compelling me to go, the urge becoming almost irresistible. Deafening screams fill my head, echoing with urgency and commanding me to get there now. The compulsion is so intense that it drowns out all rational thought. It’s 3:30 in the morning, and I can make it to Luling in about two hours. The idea of confronting whatever lies there both terrifies and fascinates me. I headed out the door and began my journey. Update   About an hour from Luling, I called my friend Michael, "Mark" in my memoir The Empty Lot Next Door . He’s a night owl like me, so I knew he would be awake. I thought that if he left now, we could both reach the house at the same time. However, Michael frantically begged me not to go, warning me about the dangers of confronting whatever presence might be there. He reminded me of the threatening stories surrounding Candle Face and that house, insisting that going alone—or even with him—is dangerous. He urged me to turn around and go back home. I heeded Michael's words and turned around. After talking to him, the eagerness dissipated. I can't help but wonder if this was a trap. Was it Candle Face's way of luring me in, finally ending my investigation and my life once and for all? Am I digging too deep into Candle Face? What would have happened if I had actually reached the house? Would I have been under the floorboards, just another victim added to her collection? What if I had arrived alone, or worse, taken Michael with me? The danger we might have faced is unimaginable. It leaves me questioning how far I'm willing to go in this pursuit and whether some mysteries are better left unsolved. Where do I go from here? Is it really up to me? These questions linger in my mind, pulling me in different directions. Should I continue to investigate Candle Face, or is it wiser to walk away while I still can? The choices weigh heavily, each path fraught with uncertainty and potential danger. But I must still help the lost souls. Then again, why would Candle Face insist that I help them and lay a trap for me at the same time? I just don't get it. What games is she playing? 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 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

June 30, 2024   Last night was the worst experience of my life. Another spirit visited me, claiming he was killed by Candle Face's followers. He hinted that he was buried in the same house as two other spirits. One of them, I believe, is the well-known case of Jason Landry, a name familiar to everyone in Central Texas. After sharing his story, he left, and I rushed to my computer to document his testimony. As I finished, a bizarre, overwhelming urge gripped me—I had to get to that house in Luling, TX, two hours away. I don't know why, but I felt compelled. By 3:30 in the morning, I was driving over 100 miles per hour to get there. I called a friend, asking him to meet me, but he begged me to stop and turn around. Minutes later, the trance-like feeling lifted, and I returned home. It was the strangest thing I’ve ever experienced, and it terrifies me to think about what was drawing me there and what might have happened if I had arrived. Now I wonder what to do next. 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 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills

July 3, 2024 Join Arthur Mills, a spiritual conduit, and Stacey Tallitsch, a remote viewer, as they discuss the true story of a missing young girl whose spirit seeks closure and justice. Could the spirit who visited Arthur on November 18, 2023, be Tanisha, the young girl who vanished from her swing set in front of her mobile home? 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 Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/artmills