February 23, 2025 I can hardly believe it, but I’ve finally pieced together “Isabel.” For weeks, nearly 18 hours a day, I sifted through Mr. Smoe’s boxes, aligning his crude numbering system with my own. I stitched scattered scraps into one complete manuscript: eleven “Books,” each eight pages long, each page containing eight lines, yet each line can shift into eight possible forms. If my math is correct (my son holds a Ph.D. in math, not me), that’s 16,777,216 ways to read a single book, and there are eleven of them. Taken all together, that yields about 3.4 × 10^79 possible variations to read the entire book. At three minutes per reading, it would take 1.94 × 10^74 years, far outlasting our universe. It’s no exaggeration to say no human could ever finish the entire book. Yet “Isabel” is only eighty-eight physical pages, a seemingly brief work. The gap between something so compact and so infinitely long feels magical, as though each line is its own entire 300-page novel. I’m convinced the secrets needed to contain—or even end—Candle Face lie here, woven through the story of La Llorona’s forgotten daughter. If Isabel was indeed murdered by her mother, that alone makes her a victim. Being overshadowed by two brothers who rose to godhood only deepens that wound, fueling centuries of anger. In light of all this, I’ve decided to publish the manuscript with Mr. Smoe credited as the main author, since these notes began with him. I’ll list myself as co-author, the one who cracked the code and assembled the puzzle. That feels right. I couldn’t have done it without him, and he couldn’t have shared it without me. Together, we’ve produced something that might be the key to halting Candle Face’s threat. Or, as Aaron from GenX Paranormal Investigations warns, it could be a trap, a master plan in which Candle Face uses us to spread her name and power worldwide. What if these scraps were left for me, knowing I’d solve them, turning this book into her vessel? Maybe so. But a double-edged sword can cut both ways, and while her legend grows, our understanding of her grows as well. Knowledge is power. The more we learn, the better our odds of shattering her power and freeing every soul she has trapped. Time will tell which side prevails. For now, “Isabel” stands as a vast puzzle, each line ready to shift and reshape everything we think we know about Candle Face. If we’re careful, if we remain vigilant, we just might free our world from her hold for centuries to come. Every shift in text could be one step nearer to dismantling her story—or granting her the strength to endure. It’s up to us. 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 Audiobook: https://amzn.to/40RIHH1 Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls Book One - Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4dz3m7d Book One - eBook: https://amzn.to/4bsM6ib Book Two - Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4jAhbVS Book Two - eBook: https://amzn.to/40Avzoh 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

February 8, 2025 I almost didn’t notice them. The boxes from Mr. Smoe were filled with the usual things: old papers, sketches, faded maps, and other odds and ends. Amid these scattered things lay hundreds of small notes on scraps—some on gum wrappers, some on napkins, others on crumpled receipts. At first, I thought they were just random jottings. One line, then a blank space. Another, then more space. Disjointed. Meaningless. But the moment I started reading, I felt something else, a pull, as though a hidden structure waited to be opened. I studied the scraps one by one, noting that Mr. Smoe had scrawled a basic code or numbering system on them. It wasn’t easy to follow, but patience revealed these pieces might be part of a massive puzzle. More than that, they seemed to change whenever I tried to pin them down. I’d rearrange a line, and the meaning of the entire page shifted. I’d flip another, and the text changed again. It reminded me of a Choose Your Own Adventure  book, except I wasn’t choosing the path; the path was choosing me. Each line rearranged itself in ways that defied all sense, like stepping into a living manuscript where any small movement altered the story’s course. No matter how many times I turned these lines, the storyline never repeated. I tried to go back to the start, but the beginning vanished, replaced by another version of the same scene. I tried to find a final page, but there was none. It was a clown car of words. Scraps of paper this small shouldn’t hold millions of outcomes. But they did. These lines no longer felt like plain ink on paper. They felt alive. The more I read, the stronger my sense that this was more than a scattered diary or stray musings. It was something beyond a simple story or record. I wasn’t merely reading; I was stepping through hidden doors. It reminded me of how Harry Potter must have felt upon opening Tom Riddle’s diary, drawn into a world woven behind simple words on a page, unaware of how deep the enchantment ran. And the strangest part? Once I pieced the scraps together, each page contained only eight short lines, yet they flooded my mind with entire landscapes and entire lives. It was as though these sentences formed portals to other worlds. I’m still reeling from that thought. If I keep turning these lines, how much more will I discover? What have I Discovered? After weeks of deciphering Mr. Smoe’s code and organizing every scrap, I discovered an amazing story that breaks down into eleven “books,” each holding eight pages, each page offering eight sentences. By my math, that should be sixty-four sentences per book, seven hundred four in total across all eleven. It's a rather short story. Yet I can’t finish it. The story keeps growing, almost magically. In just a handful of lines from the first section, I read about a mother striving to bring new life into the world under a midnight moon, her breath caught between relief and dread. A father hovered nearby, his worry tinged with hope, while neighbors stood at the threshold, unsure whether to come inside. It was only a few lines, but the moment felt entirely real. Each attempt to reread those sentences reshuffled them into something new, as though the text refused to present the same version twice. It was a remarkable feat; so few words conjuring multiple worlds, never in the same arrangement twice. I plan to look deeper into these scraps, tracing every possible path of this ever-shifting manuscript. For now, I can only say I’m both transfixed and uneasy. I don’t know how such limited words can branch into so many directions, or how these short lines can hold me so firmly. All I know is that this isn’t some trivial curiosity. These scraps and the code behind them are truly extraordinary. I may never view words on a page the same way again. Oh, by the way, on the very first scrap I managed to decode, there was just one word: Isabel. 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 Audiobook: https://amzn.to/40RIHH1 Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls Book One - Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4dz3m7d Book One - eBook: https://amzn.to/4bsM6ib Book Two - Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4jAhbVS Book Two - eBook: https://amzn.to/40Avzoh 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

February 12, 2025 I never expected to hear from Mr. Smoe’s brother again. The last time we spoke, he had asked if I wanted to claim Mr. Smoe’s body since none of his family wanted it. I had said no, suspecting it was just a way to push the cost of burial onto me. That was supposed to be the end of it. But then, early this morning, he called again. He said he had finished clearing out his brother’s house but found additional “cult” boxes in the attic. He didn’t want to deal with them, didn’t care what was inside. He just wanted them gone. He asked if I wanted them, but I had to pick them up in a day or two. At first, I wasn’t sure if it was worth the drive to Austin from Houston. The last boxes had been full of frantic notes, old maps, and the strange white and yellow notepads—pieces of a puzzle I was still struggling to put together. I agreed to come. I jumped in my car and started my two-and-a-half-hour drive. When I arrived at the house around noon, it felt different. The first time I had been here, after Mr. Smoe’s death, the air had felt stagnant and abandoned. As I stepped inside, it felt full of energy, even though the house was now empty of his belongings, except for the boxes in the attic. His brother led me to the attic door and pulled the cord. The ladder creaked as it unfolded. "They’re up there," he said. He didn’t offer to go up with me. He just turned and walked away. Being a fan of late-night 80s horror movies, I knew what going into the attic meant, so I ensured the .45 on my right hip was secure. I climbed into the attic, the dim light of my camera light cutting through the dust. The boxes sat in the far corner, stacked neatly, as if someone had placed them there deliberately. When I opened the first box, I didn’t find maps or loose scraps of paper. I found scrolls. Hundreds of them. Each one was wrapped in yarn. I ran my fingers over the parchment. The paper felt too thick, too smooth, too unnatural. It wasn’t like any paper I had handled before. It felt like skin. I unrolled one carefully, and as soon as my eyes fell on the inked characters, a voice—clear, human, real—spoke in my mind. As I read the scroll, it was like a narrator was reading it for me. I rolled it back and secured it with the yarn. I read another one, then another. The voices didn’t belong to anyone I recognized. That's when it hit me. The words on the scroll weren’t just records. They weren’t stories. They were spirits. Spirits who were killed and forgotten. Mr. Smoe had been housing these scrolls. But why? Had he known what they were? Or had he just been collecting them without realizing their purpose? I opened another box. More scrolls. Each rolled and sealed. Each containing a spirit, a voice that hadn’t been heard in years, decades, maybe centuries. Mr. Smoe wasn’t just an obsessive collector of strange notes. He was something else. Was he a registrar of the dead? But why? The attic felt suffocating now. The presence of hundreds of forgotten voices filled the silent space. The air was thick with dust, and it was way past time to get out of here. I had no interest in staying up here any longer than necessary. This was not the place to go through them. Not alone. Not in the dark. My light beam felt weak, barely illuminating the boxes stacked around me, each one filled with names, stories, and questions I wasn’t ready to answer. I exhaled and started packing. Thirteen boxes in all. They felt heavier than they should have, as if I were carrying more than just parchment. With one last glance around the attic, I shut the boxes, carried them down, and loaded them into my vehicle. I’d go through them later, at home, in the light, where I could see what I had brought with me. I wasn’t sure what I had discovered yet, but I knew this was bigger than anything I had found before. These weren’t just stories. They were lives, sealed in ink, waiting for someone to remember them. 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 Audiobook: https://amzn.to/40RIHH1 Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls Book One - Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4dz3m7d Book One - eBook: https://amzn.to/4bsM6ib Book Two - Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4jAhbVS Book Two - eBook: https://amzn.to/40Avzoh 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

February 12, 2025 I left Austin in a hurry. I couldn’t wait to get home to read more scrolls. I first stopped by Michael's house to pick up the lost souls stored in the glass bottles and drove straight to Houston, except for a stop at Buc-ee's for some coffee and fuel. Once home, I put all thirteen boxes in my garage, placing them exactly as they had been in the attic. It felt right, like I was recreating something. Like I needed to preserve them as they were. There they sat, waiting to be read. I stacked them neatly, their weight still heavier than it should have been. Thirteen boxes, each filled with names, each containing voices waiting to be heard. I told myself I would just open a few, maybe skim through them before getting some rest. But the moment I started thumbing through the scrolls, I was too far gone to stop. I had to know what Mr. Smoe had been hiding. I unrolled one scroll, then another. The parchment still felt too thick, too smooth, too unnatural beneath my fingers. The ink seemed fresh, and the parchment felt new, as if they had just been made. As I read, the same sensation as before hit me—the voice of a stranger, clear and human, reading the words aloud inside my mind. I rolled the scroll back up, picking up another, then another. More names, more voices, more afterlives sealed in ink. The stories varied, but the end result was always the same. Forgotten. Unheard. Lost. I don’t know how long I was at it before I noticed one scroll that looked different. The parchment was older, darker, almost brittle in places, but something about it felt more... intact, as if time had touched it differently. The ink was thicker, the strokes heavier. I hesitated before unrolling it. I don’t know why. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the feeling that I was about to read something I wasn’t meant to. But I did it anyway. The handwritten text inside was different from the others. It wasn’t a record of a person’s life. It wasn’t a plea for remembrance. It was instructions. The more I read, the more I understood. What I found, I won’t share. Some knowledge should remain hidden. Some things should never be passed on to hands that might use them for the wrong reasons. But what I will say is that it confirmed what I had already begun to suspect: spirits could be preserved in scrolls. Their presence could be bound to ink and parchment: their voices, names, and stories. This was no accident. Someone had written this as a deliberate practice, a way to hold spirits in place without letting them fade. It was methodical, intentional. And whoever had written it knew exactly what they were doing. But it wasn’t Mr. Smoe. I had assumed at first that he had written the instructions, that this had been his discovery. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that he must have found these instructions somewhere and followed them. He didn’t create this practice—he used it. He must have spent years on this project, gathering spirits, sealing them in the scrolls, ensuring their voices didn’t disappear. The scrolls weren’t handwritten; the text was printed in computer ink. That meant he had transcribed each story, each name, carefully formatting them before printing them onto parchment. Mr. Smoe must have spent a great deal of time doing this. But why? At first, I thought these scrolls might have been a collection of Candle Face’s victims, but that didn’t seem right. These weren’t the souls of those taken by her. They were something else entirely. If he hadn’t been collecting Candle Face’s victims, then whose voices were sealed inside these scrolls? Then, it hit me. Maybe Mr. Smoe had been visited by spirits too. Not victims of Candle Face, but unrelated spirits: wanderers, forgotten voices looking for someone to listen. Maybe, just like the lost souls that came to me, spirits had come to him, and instead of leading them to peace, he preserved them in scrolls. But these spirits wanted to be heard, why would Mr. Smoe just keep them in his attic where no one is listening? If he had been capturing spirits in scrolls, why didn’t he send them out into the world? Why store them away, hidden from everyone, including himself? Was this just an obsession, or was he keeping them for a purpose? I closed the scroll and exhaled, realizing that my hands were shaking. I got it. This is how I would protect the fugitives. The bottles had been a temporary solution. They were fragile and weak. The wax could fail. The energy could leak. But this was permanent until I could figure out how to free the spirits to the other side once and for all. I thought about what I had been doing all along. Listening. Writing. Recording voices that would have otherwise been lost. This method, this ancient practice of capturing spirits in written text, fits me perfectly. I'm a former missing persons investigator. I'm a writer. I uncover stories and give voices to those who can no longer speak for themselves. This wasn’t just a method. This was my calling. Hundreds of scrolls waiting to be acknowledged. An ancient method waiting to be used. Whatever Mr. Smoe was doing with them, it doesn’t matter right now. Right now, I must transfer the 31 spirits from the fragile bottles into scrolls. The fugitives will no longer hide in bottles. They’ll live in scrolls, and their stories will be read and re-read, their voices radiating in the minds of all those who read them. These fugitives will be free. And so will the spirits already in Mr. Smoe’s scrolls. They’ll no longer be stored in a dark attic away from human interaction. I'll send these scrolls all across the country, maybe even the world, so they can be read over and over again. No one will ever forget them. If Mr. Smoe was a register of the dead, a keeper of forgotten souls, then I’m their archivist. I don’t just record their names. I give them voices. But first, I have to transfer the fugitives from their bottles into their new and improved homes. The parchment will become their bodies, and the ink will become their voice. 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 Audiobook: https://amzn.to/40RIHH1 Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls Book One - Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4dz3m7d Book One - eBook: https://amzn.to/4bsM6ib Book Two - Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4jAhbVS Book Two - eBook: https://amzn.to/40Avzoh 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

Could this be Candle Face before her tragic transformation? January 20, 2025 Earlier this month, on January 12 , I got a call from Mr. Smoe’s brother. He told me his brother had died, that no one claimed the body, and that there were three boxes of things he thought I’d want to see. My name was in Mr. Smoe’s phone, listed as “Ray (The Conduit),” which is why he contacted me. The same day, I met with Houston's GenX Paranormal Investigations   team. Their concerns about the fugitives—that I might be spreading evil, not escaped lost souls—have haunted me ever since. But here’s what I didn’t share before because I was saving it for a podcast that never happened, and now with Mr. Smoe’s death, it never will: Mr. Smoe and I had a history. For months, he pushed for a podcast interview with Robert and Sara from the Get Haunted Network . He wanted to expose me as a fraud, to debate me about Candle Face. He wanted to identify who Candle Face really was. But Rob and Sara, and other podcasts in the Get Haunted Network, were uninterested due to their focus on paranormal entertainment, not paranormal investigations. The interview never happened, but it wasn’t for lack of trying on his part—or mine. I wasn’t angry with Mr. Smoe; I wanted the debate too. Not to argue, but to question him, to learn everything he knew about Candle Face and her supposed compassion. And now, I might have my answers. During the GenX meeting on January 12, I asked about Isabel and the Children of Isabel. None of them knew, but one member found a Facebook page . Its single post, dated September 20, 2024, showed an image of a young girl and this message: Welcome to The Children of Isabel. We’re here to share the real story of Isabel, the third child of La Llorona. A lot of people call her Candle Face and think she’s some evil spirit, but that’s just not true. We want to show people who she really is. Isabel’s brothers became gods, but she got erased from history. She’s actually a compassionate spirit, and the stories about her being mean or haunting people are all wrong. We’re here to prove that Isabel isn’t the monster people think. In this group, we talk about the truth of who Isabel really is. We don’t agree with people like Arthur who lie about her being dangerous. Join us and help spread her real story so people can see her for who she really is! Who wrote this? Mr. Smoe? It has to be him. He used an email address, childrenofisabel@gmail.com ,  to contact me. If this is his work, it proves what I’ve suspected: he believed Isabel wasn’t evil, and he created this page to rewrite her story. I’m certain of it because of the spelling quirks I’ve seen from him before. In his emails, he always spelled Sara’s name as “Sarrah” and “you’re” as “your’re.” Those same errors appeared in anonymous comments he left on my online journal. His patterns gave him away then, and they do now. The post mentions La Llorona, the weeping woman who drowned her two sons to punish their father. Everyone in Texas knows this story—it’s part of our culture. But this page claims Isabel was a third child, likely older than the boys, erased from history while her brothers became gods. If that’s true, it’s as if Isabel wasn’t just erased—she was deliberately buried by history, her story lost while her brothers were exalted. Her anger makes sense. She’s not just forgotten; she’s overshadowed by her brothers and her mother’s infamy. This would explain why she demands acknowledgment and belief. And then there’s the line: “We don’t agree with people like Arthur who lie about her being dangerous.”  Seeing my name in their post felt both like a threat and a challenge. They want to rewrite Isabel’s story—and they think I’m in the way. This changes everything. Isabel might be Candle Face, but now there’s a chance she’s something more—a vengeful spirit and a forgotten victim. The clues from Mr. Smoe’s boxes, especially the one labeled “Isabel,” feel more critical than ever. If Isabel is Candle Face, then every piece of her story I uncover could also strengthen her power—and that’s a risk I’ll have to take. The real work begins now. I have 31 fugitives to protect, a treasure trove of intelligence to sort through, and Candle Face’s true identity within reach. Isabel’s story is waiting to be pieced together, and I’ll be the one to do it. Personal Note to My Readers Is the Facebook image Isabel? How closely does it resemble her? Her clothing is a critical clue to her cultural heritage, resembling traditional Aztec-style garments. The intricate geometric patterns on her outfit, rich in earthy tones, suggest a design inspired by ancient Mesoamerican artistry. These details, combined with her appearance, suggest a strong connection to Aztec or indigenous roots, rather than a purely Hispanic identity. Her attire hints at an Aztec lineage, where clothing often reflected social status, cultural beliefs, and regional identity. Her Aztec-like appearance, with her radiant skin tone, distinct facial features, and traditional attire, suggests that Isabel’s story is deeply intertwined with an ancient past that extends beyond Mexican folklore. While her name and cultural significance might place her within the broader Hispanic context, her clothing puts her firmly in an Aztec or Mesoamerican lineage. Or, perhaps this is merely an artist's best guess, a creative interpretation shaped by stories and imagination, and it bears little resemblance to the real Isabel. After all, how could anyone truly capture the face of a figure so deeply rooted in history? It’s possible that Isabel’s true appearance has been lost to time, altered by the countless retellings of her story. This image might reflect more of what we believe her to be—a connection to an ancient world—than who she actually is. 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

February 5, 2025 The Underground Railroad wasn’t a railroad at all. It was a network of people, homes, and safe havens, stretching across the country, dedicated to protecting those who sought freedom. The conductors, the stationmasters, the abolitionists, and the countless others who risked their own safety were bound by a simple but powerful belief: freedom should belong to everyone. The enslaved people who fled in the dead of night—leaving behind everything they knew, risking their lives with no guarantee of safety—weren’t just running from something. They were running toward something. A future where they could exist without fear. I can’t help but see the parallel now. The fugitives in my care escaped Candle Face’s lair just as those before them escaped plantations. They fled a place of torment and suffering, relying on the bravery of others to guide them toward safety. And just like before, their journey isn’t over yet. The Master Shadow is still hunting them. Candle Face may not know they’re gone, or maybe she does. But if they are found, they’ll be dragged back with no chance of escape this time. This is where the caretakers come in. Caretakers are the stationmasters of this new underground railroad. The bottles are not just glass and wax; they are sanctuaries for those who can’t protect themselves. When you become a caretaker, you are hiding them in plain sight, just as those before us hid escaping slaves in cellars, barns, and secret compartments. But like before, this requires discretion. These bottles cannot be opened. They cannot be moved unnecessarily. They must remain safe, dry, and undisturbed. A good caretaker understands that they are not meant to investigate the fugitive inside but to protect them. Reaching Out to Potential Caretakers I'll soon start contacting potential caretakers, people I believe have the responsibility, patience, and discretion to handle this task. If I reach out to you, I’ll point you to this journal entry so you fully understand what you’re being asked to do. I don’t want just anyone. The paranormal community is filled with thrill-seekers who chase views, likes, and entertainment. That’s not what this is. This isn’t a game. This isn’t an investigation for social media. This is real, and it’s a commitment to protecting those who cannot protect themselves. If you believe that helping spirits should be about more than just content creation, then maybe this is something for you. But if you're here for the spotlight, this isn’t for you. What Comes Next? I don’t expect everyone to understand this responsibility. Some will see these bottles and dismiss them as nothing more than a curiosity. Others may believe that this isn’t their burden to carry. But history has shown that freedom is never won alone. Someone always steps forward to help, to shield, to protect. The original Underground Railroad was built on trust and courage. It wasn’t about recognition, glory, or personal gain. It was about doing what was right, even when no one was watching. This is no different. If you take in a fugitive, you become part of something bigger than yourself. You become the reason they remain free. And when the time is right, when the final escape plan is in place, they’ll be free once and for all. Final Thoughts In the coming days, I’ll be reaching out. If you get a message from me, it means I see potential in you. Read this entry carefully, because once you commit to being a caretaker, there’s no turning back. This is no longer just an investigation. This is a fight for survival. 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 Audiobook: https://amzn.to/40RIHH1 Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls Book One - Paperback:   https://amzn.to/4dz3m7d Book One - eBook: https://amzn.to/4bsM6ib Book Two - Paperback: https://amzn.to/4jAhbVS Book Two - eBook: https://amzn.to/40Avzoh 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

January 28, 2025 It’s official. The Empty Lot Next Door: Second Edition  is now available as an audiobook! This is where the Candle Face Chronicles   truly begins. Long before the investigations, before the lost souls and the search for answers, there was this story, the one that has haunted my thoughts since childhood. Now, it can reach an even wider audience in a whole new way. If you’ve ever wanted to experience The Empty Lot Next Door  without reading the book, you can now listen to it here: Amazon . Bringing this audiobook to life wasn’t just about making it accessible to more people. It was about capturing the tension, fear, and raw emotion that shaped my childhood. That’s why I’m grateful to have Adharsh McCabe   as the narrator. From the moment I heard his audition, I knew he was the right voice for this story. His ability to build suspense while keeping the personal moments intimate and real makes this an entirely new experience, even for those who have read the book before. Adharsh isn’t just a seasoned narrator. He has worked on over 20,000 projects and brings an incredible range of talent to everything he does. His skills and dedication ensure that The Empty Lot Next Door isn’t just read aloud. It’s performed in a way that truly honors the experience. But this is just the beginning. Soon Adharsh will start work on Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One]   and [Book Two] . That means listeners will be able to engage with the search for the lost souls wherever they are, whether they’re driving, at home, or simply taking a walk or jog. This format opens the door for more people to join the effort, turning listeners into investigators. For those who have been following the Candle Face Chronicles , The Empty Lot Next Door  sets the stage. Reading the book, or in this case, listening to the audiobook, will help you get a better understanding of who Candle Face is. This isn’t just about retelling a story. It’s about expanding the reach of the investigation into Candle Face herself. The more people who listen, the more minds we have working to help the lost souls and ultimately stop Candle Face. If belief has power, then every new listener strengthens the fight. The investigation continues, and now, more people can be part of it than ever before. Let’s keep pushing forward. 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

January 27, 2025 In October 2023 , I started researching who or what Candle Face really is, who she was before she became Candle Face. I thought I was beginning an intellectual investigation, something grounded in history and folklore. But just days after I started, the dreams began . At first, it was only faint screams, distant and shapeless. Then, the voices took form. Soon, the lost souls came to me, their words filled with desperation. They claimed to be victims of Candle Face and her followers, pleading with me to find their bodies and name their killers. For over a year, I focused on their voices. I did what I could to help them, to follow their guidance, to solve their cold cases. But now, the voices have gone silent. This should bring me peace. Instead, I’m worried I didn’t help them, that I caused them more harm than good. But like I mentioned before, maybe it was never about helping them. Maybe it was about distracting the Master Shadow so some of the lost souls could escape. So I guess my mission transitions into protecting the thirty-one fugitives who escaped. But that original question, the one I asked at the very beginning, still stands. Who is Candle Face? With the lost souls gone, I have been going through Mr. Smoe’s old boxes . What I have found so far is disturbing. Names, locations, sketches, and notes scribbled in a handwriting that seems almost frantic. Some pages are covered in symbols I don’t recognize. Others list locations pinpointed on an old map of Austin. Some of this information I shouldn’t have. I may need to consult an attorney before I go any further. But one thing is clear. I think I know Candle Face’s true identity. No, I’m sure of it. The name is right in front of me. It’s in the notes, over and over, written in Mr. Smoe’s own hand. But there's something else, something even more disturbing. He calls her Mother . And she calls her followers Children . What does this mean? Is Isabel Mother  to her followers and Candle Face  to her victims, a name I coined back in the seventies? And the most disturbing part. Is Isabel really the forgotten third child of La Llorona? This will require a lot of research, but a lot of what I have found in those boxes points to it. I don’t have the full answer yet, but it’s enough to change everything. Candle Face Chronicles  has always had two parts. The Lost Souls  and Genesis . The Lost Souls  led me to the fugitives, to those who escaped Candle Face’s lair. But Genesis  was always meant to be the deeper investigation, the search for what Candle Face truly is. Now, it’s clear that Genesis  was never the right name. That phase of the investigation is no longer about a nameless entity. It’s about her. I’m renaming it Isabel. For those who have followed Candle Face Chronicles , this is a major shift in the investigation. The question is no longer what Candle Face is. It’s who Isabel was and how she became what she is now: Candle Face. I’ll update my website with the new name and the new focus soon. I don’t know where this investigation will lead. But I know one thing. The lost souls may be gone, but Isabel is still here. And she knows I’m looking for her. 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

September 22, 2024 Yesterday, September 21, 2024, I attended the 7th Annual Paranormal Fest  at the Black Swan Inn  in San Antonio. It was my first time at a paranormal festival, and to my surprise, I genuinely enjoyed the experience. The event was filled with speakers and booths, showcasing a wide-ranging mix of authors, paranormal investigators, psychics, and mediums offering their services. One of the highlights was meeting a group of paranormal investigators from Paranormal Journal . They seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say about Candle Face. I explained that most paranormal investigators, psychics, and mediums I’ve met online haven’t been interested in Candle Face or helping me with the lost souls. They appeared surprised by that, given the nature of the work I’m trying to accomplish. I mentioned how many groups I’ve seen on YouTube run at the first sign of something knocking, which prompted one of the Paranormal Journal members to chuckle and respond, “We run towards the knocking!” That got a laugh from everyone. I replied, “Everyone says that,” which led to even more laughter. Despite the humor, there was a seriousness in their eyes—something I’ve only seen from the Houston-based paranormal investigation team, GenX Paranormal Investigations . They stood there listening to me, studying me, and giving off a vibe that maybe—just maybe—I’ve finally found a San Antonio/Austin-area paranormal team willing to help me with the lost souls. Feeling renewed hope, I wandered around the venue and spotted a psychic sitting at her booth. I decided to approach her and ask for a reading. She was enthusiastic until I mentioned Candle Face and the lost souls. When those words left my mouth, her expression shifted, and she quickly told me that she likely couldn’t help. I thanked her and moved on, approaching another psychic who, to my surprise, remained intrigued even after I mentioned Candle Face. She agreed to do a reading—my first reading ever. The nearly 30-minute session was insightful, yet everything she said seemed vague, almost like it could apply to anyone. Tarot readings work this way: they can be interpreted broadly, making them applicable to various situations and people. The ambiguity is what makes them feel personal and accurate. Still, hearing her say things out loud was oddly comforting, like getting a new perspective on a familiar view. Although I didn’t get her name, her CashApp information listed her as “Victoria Doane.” I’d recommend her to anyone interested in a reading, as she was kind and professional.   She gave me permission to record and post the reading:  But I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe a standard psychic reading wouldn’t provide the specificity I needed for the lost souls. I’m not dismissing the field—far from it—but if readings are meant to help us see what’s already inside ourselves, perhaps I need a different approach for the answers I’m seeking. Interestingly, several psychics, including Victoria, have said that I have latent mediumship abilities that need to be refined. I’ve heard this before. Maybe I need to stop relying on the paranormal community and develop these abilities myself. The thought of doing it all alone is intimidating, though. My interactive investigation was never about me solving everything on my own; it was about inviting others to participate, investigate, and ultimately help free the lost souls and defeat Candle Face. However, finding the right balance between doing the work myself and delegating tasks has been challenging. That’s the core dilemma: how much should I rely on others versus relying on myself? It’s been only 11 months since I started seeking help, but the paranormal community I’ve reached out to has been hesitant, scared, too busy, or not serious about the paranormal. Maybe it’s time to rethink the plan and focus on sharpening my own abilities. If I truly have mediumship potential, then perhaps I should explore that path more seriously. I’ve found an opportunity to do just that. This Saturday, September 28, 2024, a small gothic café and boutique called Trible Six Social  in San Marcos, TX, is hosting a Mediumship Bootcamp . The description reads: “Unleash your inner mystic with our Mediumship Bootcamp—a powerful day intensive designed to sharpen your psychic abilities and deepen your connection with the spirit world.” It sounds perfect for someone looking to hone their skills. But then I wonder—do I really need this? After all, the lost souls who come to me are clear as day, speaking directly to me without needing devices like ghost boxes, Ouija boards, tarot cards, or crystal balls. While others in the paranormal community rely on such tools, I seem to access these communications without any aid. Lately, I’ve been experimenting with different ways of connecting to the lost souls, relying more on direct communication without these tools. Instead of using ghost boxes or pendulums like many in the community do, I’ve focused on tuning into their energy through visualization and deep meditation. I’ve noticed that I get clearer impressions by shifting my focus this way without needing external devices. It’s not a perfect science, but it’s a start. If I can refine this approach, maybe I won’t need to rely on traditional methods at all. Maybe I should be teaching a class instead of attending one! Of course, I say this in jest, as there’s always more to learn. I don’t need these things, but continuing to learn never hurts. On top of my mediumship abilities, I’ve been dabbling in remote viewing. I connected with a professional remote viewer named Stacey Tallitsch  through the Get Haunted Network . He suggested that remote viewing might help me with the lost souls. Intrigued, I enrolled in his beginner’s class. It’s been fascinating but far more challenging than I anticipated. For example, I discovered that what I see during remote viewing is often the opposite of reality—an unexpected twist I still struggle to adapt to. Maybe I need to modify the process to suit my needs, just like I’m adjusting my mediumship abilities to fit what I’m trying to achieve. I even asked Stacey if he’d be willing to use his more advanced remote viewing skills to help with the lost souls, but I haven’t received any help from him or other experts I’ve reached out to—just as I haven’t received help from dream interpreters, psychics, and mediums. That’s why I attended the Paranormal Fest 2024 at the Black Swan Inn—to try my luck with the Texas-based paranormal community. But here I am, back at square one, relying on myself and honing my abilities instead of waiting for others to join in. I’ve said this countless times before, but I still find myself drawn to the paranormal community, seeking assistance where none has been offered. I’ll continue asking, but I must accept that help will remain elusive. Maybe I’m meant to do most of this work myself while relying on my readers to support me with research and clues. I don’t need to do it all alone, but I’m beginning to realize that I must carry the bulk of this journey myself. Candle Face is closing in, and the lost souls are counting on me—not just to hear their voices, but to ensure their stories are told. My true strength doesn’t lie in the tools I use or the people I meet. It’s in the unrelenting determination to give these lost souls the closure they deserve. But determination alone won’t bring them peace. Only results will. And so far, I don’t have many to show. 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

December 22, 2024 The attic is quiet now. Too quiet. The Fugitives—thirty fragile souls who risked everything to escape Candle Face’s lair—are no longer scattered across the beams, hiding in the insulation. They are sealed, and each one is safely contained in small glass bottles I received from Amazon yesterday. It wasn’t a decision I made lightly. Aaron, from Gen X Paranormal Investigations ,  who specializes in spirit harvesting, suggested using specialized boxes to trap their energy safely. The boxes his team makes take time—weeks, sometimes months, but they’re the best way to ensure spirits remain secure and undetectable. Unfortunately, time wasn’t on my side. I needed something fast. That’s when I decided on glass bottles. They don’t amplify energy like other materials, and they’re easy to seal. I added glitter to the bottles as an extra precaution—not just to obscure the spirits’ energy further but to make the bottles look like nothing more than decorative trinkets, harmless and unassuming. It wasn’t ideal, but it was my best solution with the resources and time available. Getting the Fugitives into the bottles was easier than I expected but emotionally grueling. I returned to the attic last evening, carrying the bottles in a padded case. Each one gleamed in the dim light, their curved surfaces reflecting faint rainbows. I placed the case on the attic floor and turned to face the leader of the Fugitives. “You need to enter these,” I said quietly, holding up a bottle. The leader studied it, the shadows of its form shifting uneasily. I could sense the doubt, the fear. “They’re safe,” I added. “Glass will shield your energy. It’s the only way to hide you from Candle Face and her Master Shadow. Once sealed, your energy won’t combine with the others, which means it won’t become strong enough for them to sense. This is only a temporary solution, though,” I continued, my voice soft but firm. “Once you’re hidden, I’ll distribute the bottles across the country. That way, your energy will stay scattered, far enough apart to keep you safe for now. Eventually, I’ll figure out how to free you permanently.” Before each Fugitive entered their bottle, they impressed upon me—the victim number I had given them when they testified.  I wrote down each number, carefully recording their identities. Some didn’t come to me, so they didn’t have a number. Later that night, I placed a scannable QR code on each bottle to ensure I could keep track of their identities. One by one, the Fugitives moved toward the bottles. As each entered, their ghostly forms condensed into faint, swirling lights camouflaged with glitter. I sealed the bottles tightly with a cork. Each seal shimmered faintly, a sign that the energy inside was stable. When the final Fugitive entered their bottle, I stood there silently, staring at the row of containers. They looked so fragile, so small, yet they held the weight of thirty spirits who used to live among us. I carried the bottles down to the garage and placed them carefully in the back of my car. For now, it seemed like the safest place. The Fugitives were hidden in plain sight. Now, I must contact trusted friends and serious members of the paranormal community if they’re interested in being caretakers of these fugitives until I can determine how to free them permanently. Just as I closed the trunk, the air in the garage grew hotter. My breath caught in my throat. I knew what this meant. The Master Shadow was here. He appeared in the doorway between the house and the garage, his form towering, dark, and shifting as though it were made of living smoke. The garage lights dimmed around him, as if his presence consumed the light itself. He stepped forward, his shadowy figure solidifying with each movement. I stepped away from the car and stood tall, hoping to look brave in front of the Master Shadow, who could tear me to shreds. “You think you’ve outsmarted me?” His voice was a low growl, vibrating through the air. I froze, every instinct screaming at me to jump into the car, put the car in reverse, and smash through the garage door, but I forced myself to stand my ground. “There’s nothing here for you,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. His shadowed face tilted as if studying me, trying to peer through my disguise. Slowly, he moved deeper into the garage, his presence radiating unbearable heat. He brushed past the shelves, his smoky hands grazing random objects, but he didn’t stop. My heart pounded as he neared the back of my car while I kept my mind clear just in case he could enter it. He circled the vehicle, his form rippling like heat waves. He paused by the trunk, his hand hovering over the button to open it. I held my breath, every muscle tense, but he didn’t open it. Instead, he turned back toward me, his shadowy face unreadable and apparently, so was mine. “There’s nothing here,” the Master Shadow said, though his tone carried a hint of doubt. “At least, not yet.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a hiss. “But you won’t win this game. You can’t save them all. And when I find them...” He leaned in, his face inches from mine. “...You think you’re clever, but you’ve only delayed the inevitable. You can’t protect them forever.” Forcing myself to meet his gaze, I said, “I’m not afraid of you, Kenneth McDuff.” The name hit him like a slap. His form wavered, the shadows rippling violently as though fighting to hold their shape. For a moment, I thought he might lash out, but instead, he let out a low, menacing laugh. “So, you’ve solved the riddle,” he said, his voice almost amused. “A name is a weapon, but it cuts both ways.” He leaned in closer, his voice a deep growl. “But don’t forget—every weapon can misfire.” “You should take your own advice,” I shot back, but not before the Master Shadow laughed one final time. With that, he vanished, leaving the garage still. I leaned against the car, my legs trembling. Somehow, he knew I had the Fugitives nearby, but he couldn’t find them. His words shot back into my mind: “You can’t save them all. And when I find them…”  Did he know they had escaped Candle Face’s lair? Or was he guessing? His doubt gave me a slim advantage, but his confidence was unmistakable. The way he said “when I find them” instead of “if I find them” was a warning. He was certain that the Fugitives couldn’t stay hidden forever. Personal Note to My Readers I wondered briefly if this mistake could cost him something. The Master Shadow was responsible for overseeing the lost souls, wasn’t he? Does Candle Face know she’s missing some of them, or is he searching on his own, without her knowing? If she doesn’t know, maybe I could inform her—after I distribute the bottles, of course. If I could exploit the division between Candle Face and the Master Shadow, pitting them against each other, it might buy me the time I need. This classic divide-and-conquer strategy, or as it’s formally known in intelligence circles, exploiting internal divisions,  was a dangerous gamble. But here, the stakes were higher than any battlefield. The thought of creating a wedge between them was tempting. If they turned against each other, maybe I’d have an advantage. But the risk was enormous. If she saw me as a threat, I’d be next in line for her wrath. But if I could make the Master Shadow her next target, it might be worth it. Aaron mentioned that McDuff is buried in Huntsville, Texas, where he was executed in 1998. Dirt from his grave might hold some kind of connection to his spirit, a remnant of who he was in life. If I could use that, perhaps I could weaken him—or even bind him. The idea was tempting, but it would require careful planning and precision. The thought stayed with me as I locked the house for the night. As I passed the hallway mirror, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. My face was pale, my eyes heavy with exhaustion, but my jaw was set. I looked drained, haunted, but I wasn’t defeated. Not yet. Kenneth McDuff wasn’t just a shadow from the past. He was something far worse, something tied to Candle Face’s lair, and he wasn’t going to stop. The Fugitives had escaped, but the Master Shadow wouldn’t rest until they were back under Candle Face’s control. 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