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  • Candle Face Victim #37: DJ of the Dammed

    September 13, 2024 I picked up my extra-long white blanket, fluffing it high into the air so it could spread out fully, almost floating like a ghost before it drifted down toward the couch—my bed for over a year and a half now. I can’t even remember what a real bed feels like, and frankly, I don’t care. This couch is perfect for me. But as the blanket began to settle, something felt wrong. It didn’t land flat as it always did. At that moment, the lights in the room flickered violently, casting strange, shifting shadows across the walls. My heart skipped a beat, and the blanket, now halfway to the couch, revealed a faint outline, disturbingly human-like, pressing up against the fabric, as though the couch itself had suddenly taken on a body. My pulse quickened as I stared at the form taking shape beneath the blanket, waiting for it to move. But it stayed perfectly still. Fear crept over me for the first time in a long while, even though I knew it was just another nocturnal visitor—the first in two months, the longest drought. Slowly, I pulled the blanket back. There was nothing there, just the distinct impression of something that had been lying there moments ago. I took a few steps back, my pulse thumping in my chest, and watched as the imprint shifted—flattening and then rising slightly, as if someone had sat up. I could clearly make out the shape of what looked like a seated figure, the faint depression of where its body had been. Then I heard a voice, crackling like static through an old radio. "Hello, Ray. I need your help." "Where are you?" I asked, my voice trembling as the temperature in the room rose. “I don’t have a physical form anymore—just a voice. People all around Austin knew my voice in the ’90s, but few knew what I looked like. Candle Face took my body because…” The voice paused. “She took my body because I used it to hide my filth, my dirty deeds. She took it away to strip me bare, to punish me for the lies I told. She left my voice because that’s all I ever was—a voice, no substance. And now she’s made sure I can never have a body again.” “It’s okay,” I said, trying to steady myself. “I don’t need to see you, as long as you can tell me your story.” “I worked as a DJ in Austin in the ’90s. Everyone knew my voice, but no one knew my struggles. I was addicted to porn and enjoyed flashing people around 6th Street. Not on 6th Street itself, but in the nearby alleys where drunk girls would wander back to their cars. I’d open my trench coat and flash them, then run away. None of my listeners knew about my dirty secret, making it even more exciting.” He paused momentarily. “I loved the adrenaline rush leading up to the moment I exposed myself and watching the girls’ reactions. The idea that they probably listened to me on the radio but had no idea it was me… it made me want to explode. I lived for that thrill. But eventually, I got caught. Somehow, I managed to hide the truth from everyone—my bosses, my listeners, and even my friends and family.” He stopped for a moment, as though struggling to continue. "After a year, I started to feel the urge again. I tried to resist it, but it took a lot of meth to stop me from acting out. One day, a woman handed me a flyer on 6th Street about Candle Face. The flyer said she could free people from their pain if they only believed. I kept the flyer, folding it neatly to fit in my wallet. I read it over and over, as if it held some answer to my misery. One day, the same woman who handed out the flyers recognized me. She asked if I had given Candle Face any thought. I showed her the flyer, and she seemed so impressed that I kept it with me. She even shed a tear or two. We started talking, some light flirting, and I thought maybe I’d get lucky. But it didn’t happen that night. We met up several more times over the following weeks. She wanted to know all about me and what being a radio star was like. One day, she brought up Candle Face again. She said I could help spread her message with a weekly radio show. I had no interest in doing a show about a ghost that supposedly kills people, but I played along. I only wanted to get with her. We kept meeting, and she kept pushing for the show. I told her it would start soon, knowing I was lying just to keep her attention. Eventually, I told her the first episode would air tonight, but the truth was, I wasn’t working on it at all." His voice trembled slightly, as if recalling a memory he desperately wanted to forget. "When I arrived at her apartment, it seemed normal at first. She smiled, pulled me in for a kiss, and I thought I had won. But then, she pulled the curtains back. Outside, I saw figures standing just beyond the windows in the dark. The same people who handed out the flyers. They were watching us. Silent. Waiting." The lights flickered again as he continued. “She told me she knew I was lying about the show. They knew. They knew I was only interested in her, that I was stringing them along. They dragged me down, and she pulled out a knife. The others held me down while she cut into me, carving symbols into my skin. They said I would now serve Candle Face. She would take away my physical form—leave me as nothing more than a voice.” The static in his voice grew louder, more desperate. “She left my radio-like voice because that’s all I ever had. All I ever was—a voice with no soul, no real substance. Now, I serve her in her lair." His voice crackled with intensity, then his tone grew darker, more threatening. "There’s a woman right now, somewhere in Austin who had ridiculed Candle Face. She believes her baby died peacefully of natural causes. But every night, I tell a different story into her ear. I tell her the truth—that Candle Face took her child. I tell her how, in the dead of night, the baby was snatched from her crib, its tiny body twisted and broken in ways no mother should ever imagine. I describe the sound of its last breath. Every night, I make her hear the baby’s cries. Not the gentle cooing of a newborn, but the tortured wails of someone caught in a meat grinder. I tell her the cries are coming from the other side, louder every night, louder the longer she stays awake. She thinks if she keeps her eyes open, the cries will stop, but they never do. I make sure of that. Sometimes, she’ll claw at her ears until they bleed, desperate to drown out the sound of her baby’s torture. She’s afraid to sleep because when she does, I make the cries even more vivid. In her dreams, she sees her baby reaching for her, its tiny fingers blackened and stiff, its eyes empty, staring into darkness. She tries to hold it, but the baby crumbles in her arms, a pile of ash. And still, she hears the screams, louder and louder, until she wakes up, sobbing and gasping for air, wishing for death. The truth is, Ray, she’s already gone. She doesn’t know it, but she’s lost her mind. I’ve hollowed her out. I’ve turned her into a shell, and soon, she’ll do anything to silence the cries… even if it means joining her baby.” The kitchen lights flickered again. "And there’s a man, a doctor. People trusted him with their lives. But he mocked Candle Face. Now, I make him hear the voices of every patient he’s ever lost on the operating table—their voices twisted with pain and betrayal, as if they knew he could have saved them but didn’t. Every night, I shout their last words into his ear. The desperate gasps, the pleas for him to keep trying, even when their hearts had already stopped. He can hear the machines flatlining, the beeps echoing in his head. I remind him of every mistake, every hesitation that led to their deaths. I make him relive every incision, every cut that went too deep, every moment where he hesitated—those seconds that cost them their lives. One patient was a young girl, no older than six. She went into surgery for something routine—a procedure he’d done hundreds of times. But when she didn’t wake up, her parents never forgave him. Now, every night, I make him hear her voice, soft at first, ‘Doctor…’ she says, ‘I can’t breathe… why didn’t you save me?’ He tries to answer her, but his throat closes up. She keeps saying, ‘You let me die… why didn’t you save me?’ Another voice belongs to a man who had a heart attack on the table. His surgery was supposed to be his last chance, but the doctor’s hands slipped during the operation, severing an artery. The man bled out in minutes. Now, I make him feel the blood on his hands, warm and sticky, as the patient’s voice comes through—gurgling, choking. ‘Why did you let me die?’ the voice asks, over and over, in a wet rasp. ‘I wasn’t ready.’ It’s always the same, Ray. The voices start soft. But by midnight, they’re screaming. They scream his name, they beg for him to help them again, they accuse him of playing God. Sometimes, I make him feel their hands—cold and clammy, grabbing at his shoulders, pulling at his wrists, dragging him back to the operating table. He feels their fingers digging into his skin, trying to drag him down with them. He doesn’t sleep anymore. He can’t. Every time he closes his eyes, I make him see their faces—gray, lifeless, staring at him from the cold steel of the operating table. Their mouths gape open, but instead of silence, they scream. Sometimes, I show him their corpses, rising from the table, the gaping wounds he gave them still raw, bleeding, as they reach out to him, yelling, ‘You should have saved me.’ He thought he could hide, tried to drown himself in alcohol, pills, anything to quiet the voices, but they follow him. I follow him. Candle Face follows him. He’s already seeing shadows, thinking he’s catching glimpses of them standing at the foot of his bed. But he knows—no matter where he goes, I’ll find him. They’ll find him. They’re always waiting for him to slip up, waiting for the moment when he’ll be the one lying on the table, with no one to save him. That’s the beauty of it, Ray. He can’t save himself. No one can.” His voice grew more intense. “I’m the voice that reminds them, Ray. I’m the voice that keeps Candle Face alive in their heads. I tailor each story, spinning it just right to dig deep into their worst fears, their darkest regrets. I get into their heads, using my DJ voice, planting seeds of terror until they break.” I tried to speak, but my voice was barely audible. “Why… why are you telling me this?” “Because, Ray,” his voice crackled, “it’ll be your turn soon enough. You’re already hearing me, aren’t you? Candle Face sees you, and trust me, she’s in your head. You just don’t realize it yet.” My throat tightened, and I tried to breathe. “Soon I’ll be yelling into your ear,” the DJ continued, his voice shifting from desperate to almost gleeful. “Maybe I’ll tell you that the people you trust are turning against you. Maybe I’ll make you see Candle Face’s victims in every face you pass. Or maybe I’ll make you doubt everything—your memories, your thoughts, until you can’t tell what’s real anymore. That’s when the fun begins, Ray.” I staggered back away from the couch, trying to shut out the suffocating feeling that was closing in on me. "And you know, when I’m done with you, Ray... I’ll be promoted. Candle Face rewards those who serve her well. I’ll become one of her shadows, the ones who torment her critics when they arrive at Candle Face’s lair. But first, I get to toy with you. I’ll make you feel like you’re burning alive, your skin peeling off as you scream. And then I’ll take away everything you hold dear, one piece at a time. Your sanity? Gone. Your life? I’ll make you beg for the end, but it’ll never come." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. "Do you know what else will happen, Ray? Your stories—the characters you created in your books—they’ll haunt you. Every twisted plotline, every agony you wrote into their lives, they’ll inflict on you tenfold. All Candle Face’s victims will also come to you, they’ll all start to blame you for their agony. The woman who lost her child will come to you, every night, cradling her broken baby and asking you why you did it. No matter how much you plead that it was just fiction, she won’t care. She’ll leave that lifeless child in your arms, and the cries you made her hear. You’ll hear them too, louder and louder, until your mind shatters under the weight of her pain. Remember the doctor, Ray? He’ll come for you too. You’ll be the one lying on the operating table, feeling his botched surgeries, over and over again, each cut leaving you closer to death but never letting you die. You’ll scream for mercy, but just like in your story, there will be none." His laughter echoed in the room as the shadows seemed to thicken around me. "And Candle Face… oh, she’ll enjoy this most of all. You think you’ve been writing about her, don’t you? But she’s been writing about you, Ray. She’s already in your head, twisting every thought, and soon, you won’t be able to tell what’s real and what’s fiction. You’ll see her in every corner of your mind, hear her voice in every silence, feel her hot breath in every nightmare. And the worst part? You’ll never escape." My heart pounded in my chest, and for the first time, I realized that the stories I’d written, the horrors I’d conjured, were coming back for me. Tears welled up in my eyes as the weight of his words crushed me. "When I’m done with you, Ray, you’ll wish you had never jumped in that hole. You’ll wish you had never even heard of Candle Face. But by then, it’ll be too late. You’ll be too far gone." I stood there, trembling, as his voice faded into silence. For the first time in a long time, I felt the walls of my mind closing in, and the thought that crept into my mind terrified me more than any spirit ever had: I need to focus on my own sanity before I become one of the lost souls myself. Personal Note to My Readers To all of you following my journey, I feel it’s time to share the truth that I’ve been grappling with—truths I wish I could bury, but they won’t stay hidden. Candle Face has been in my life far longer than I ever imagined. What started as a mission to help the lost souls trapped in her twisted grip has now become something I can barely comprehend. I’ve written their stories, shared their pain, and tried to give them the peace they deserve, but now I fear that trying to save them has brought me closer to becoming one of them. Each night, the voices grow louder, the shadows grow darker, and I can’t escape the feeling that it’s no longer just about helping the souls who cry out to me. It’s about saving myself. I need to protect myself as much as I’ve tried to protect them. Candle Face is no longer content with taking her critics—she’s coming for me, using the DJ, using her victims, and soon enough, she’ll break into my mind fully. It’s a cruel irony, isn’t it? I still believe that helping these lost souls is the key. I’ve convinced myself that if I pick up the pace, if I help more of them, maybe it’ll stop. Maybe I’ll have done enough to quiet the voices, to end this nightmare before it consumes me. But then again, I don’t even know what to believe anymore. My mind plays tricks on me, twisting reality into something unrecognizable. I’m haunted by the very souls I’ve tried to save. I hear their cries now, which is something I haven't written before. They accuse me, blame me, ask why I didn’t do more. And Candle Face… she’s in my head now. She’s writing about me as much as I’ve written about her. What will she do with her story about me? What does it say? The weight of it all crushes me more with each passing day. I don’t know how much longer I can stand on this tightrope, balancing between protecting the lost and protecting myself. Maybe there’s no protection at all. Maybe it’s all part of Candle Face’s game, and I’m just another piece on her board, waiting for my time to fall. I have mentioned this before, but this time, I know I can't escape. To my readers, I want to say thank you for standing by me. But I fear that soon, I won’t be able to stand at all. The shadows are closing in, and I’m not sure if I can hold on. I need to focus on my own sanity before I become one of the lost souls myself. But even as I write these words, I know my time is running out. Candle Face is already here, and the battle for my mind is well underway. Stay safe, and pray for the lost souls. Pray for me. Ray 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 To Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] , please visit Amazon 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

  • Racing Against Time: Preparing for Candle Face’s Return

    September 21, 2024 Today should be a fun and productive day. I’m heading to San Antonio for the 7th Annual Paranormal Fest 2024 at Victoria’s Black Swan Inn . I’m excited to meet serious paranormal investigators, psychics, and mediums interested in helping me with the lost souls. I’ll also look for people with remote viewing capabilities who could lend their skills to the investigation. Until now, my interactions with the paranormal community have been exclusively online. Today, I’ll get the chance to connect with the Texas-based paranormal community in person. I’ve been practicing the remote viewing techniques I learned from Stacey Tallitsch’s class , but I think learning from multiple people is better. Each teacher brings their own perspective and expertise to the table, offering different methods and insights that could broaden my understanding. It's like Investigations 101—pulling from various sources gives you a fuller picture. Besides, remote viewing requires discipline and a range of skills, and learning different approaches might help me strengthen areas where I’m weak. Next weekend, I’ll attend a Mediumship Bootcamp at the Triple Six Social in San Marcos, Texas. Many people from the Get Haunted Network have said I have some medium abilities, but I’ve never felt confident in them. Hopefully, this bootcamp will either help me harness those skills or at least make me more comfortable with what I’m capable of. Meeting mediums willing to help me with the lost souls is also a priority. In the next few weeks, I plan to branch out and begin conversations with religious leaders to diversify my contacts. Understanding their perspectives could be key to figuring out how to help the lost souls and gain a deeper understanding of Candle Face. There’s a lot for me to do, before Candle Face comes for me. Key To Understanding o 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 To Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] , please visit Amazon 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

  • The Challenge of Seeking Support for Candle Face's Victims

    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 Investigation s . 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. 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. I received permission to record my reading and plan to publish it shortly after my upcoming podcast with Mr. Smoe, which I hope will be released soon. 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 Triple 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 aids. 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 To Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] , please visit Amazon 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

  • Strengthening My Abilities to Confront Candle Face

    October 2, 2024 Lately, I’ve been dedicating more time to strengthening my remote viewing and mediumship abilities—both those I’ve developed on my own and the new techniques I recently learned from Stacey Tallitsch’s Remote Viewing class and Nicole Riccardo ’s Mediumship Bootcamp . It’s been an educational journey that’s reinforced my belief that I can take the reins of the paranormal side of my investigations and rely less on the paranormal community for assistance. The Mediumship Bootcamp, led by Nicole Riccardo, introduced me to a range of exercises designed to enhance the different “clairs”—clairvoyance (clear seeing), clairaudience (clear hearing), clairsentience (clear feeling), claircognizance (clear knowing), clairalience (clear smelling), and clairgustance (clear tasting). Each technique is meant to refine our intuitive senses, and I’ve blended these practices with my existing knowledge of remote viewing. For example, Nicole explains that one of the foundational exercises for developing clairvoyance involves meditating while looking into a flame or crystal ball. I have a large crystal ball that weighs over 20 pounds, which I originally bought as an office decoration back in my military intelligence days. Many Soldiers jokingly said that military intelligence personnel used crystal balls or witchcraft to predict or shape enemy operations, so it was my way of poking fun at that rumor. Now, however, I’ve found myself gazing at it while meditating. This practice is intended to train the mind’s eye to receive images and gain clarity through visions. I’ve been adapting this technique by incorporating it into my remote viewing sessions. Instead of just observing a static scene, I allow my mind to freely shift between different locations and events, pulling in visual information that might otherwise be obscured. This approach has enhanced my remote viewing by helping me connect with more details and visualize locations more deeply. While I haven’t seen anything concrete during these sessions, I do feel a new sense of calm and relaxation. It’s as if I’m settling into the practice, and I believe I’m heading in the right direction. The clarity will come with time, I hope. The exercises to enhance clairaudience—such as adjusting to subtle background noises or isolating specific instruments in a song—are helping me refine my ability to distinguish between various voices or entities that might be trying to communicate with me. By isolating these sounds during remote viewing sessions, I can better interpret any auditory messages I receive, rather than relying solely on visual cues. It’s almost as if I’m tuning a radio dial, trying to find the frequency that lets me hear the spirits more clearly. During the Mediumship Bootcamp, Nicole played some of her own music, which featured six or seven different instruments. We were tasked with tuning into one instrument only. About halfway through the song, I found I could fine-tune my ears to that specific instrument, and I began to predict how the rest of the song would unfold. It was as if I had heard the song before and knew it intimately despite never having heard it before. Another technique that has proven invaluable is clairsentience—the ability to sense emotions and physical sensations. This has always been more challenging for me, as I tend to prioritize logic and reason over emotion. However, by practicing energy-sharing exercises, where one person sends an emotion, and the other receives it, I’m becoming more aware of the emotional shifts during remote viewing sessions. I hope to eventually tap into the emotional states of the lost souls, providing deeper context to the information they share. This practice is helping me understand the lost souls' emotions and become more comfortable with my own, a significant step forward in my personal development. Integrating these techniques has been more than just an academic exercise—it’s a step toward independence. I’ve always appreciated the insights and support of psychics, mediums, and other members of the paranormal community. But, there have been times when I felt constrained by the need to rely on others. The frustration of waiting for external validations or interpretations often slowed down the progress of my investigations. With remote viewing, the ability to project my consciousness to different locations and observe events has always been central to my work. Now, combining it with these enhanced intuitive abilities, I feel that I’m uncovering deeper information that was previously inaccessible. But now, I feel like I’m taking more control. I’m trusting myself more, even when the information isn’t clear-cut. When a lost soul reaches out, or I sense Candle Face lurking nearby, I don’t need to immediately turn to someone else for validation. I have the tools and confidence to explore these encounters on my own. That’s not to say I’m closing myself off to outside help—far from it. There'll always be a place for collaboration in this investigation, and I still value the perspectives of trusted psychics, mediums, and paranormal investigators. However, by enhancing my own abilities, I’m hoping to fill in the gaps and approach my work with more self-reliance. This shift in mindset has already started paying off. The past few nights, the energy in my living room, where the spirits often manifest, feels different... Actually, I just thought of something: maybe I don’t need to wait for the lost souls to come to me now—at least until I can sharpen my new skills. Maybe I can go directly to them. What if I could visit the sites where they were murdered and try to see what happened? I could immerse myself in the location, using my remote viewing and clairvoyance to pick up on any remaining energy, visual details, or even sounds that might have been imprinted on the environment. This could provide geolocation insights, descriptions of the killers, and other key details such as terrain and weather conditions on that fateful day. Being "physically" present might help me connect more deeply, revealing information that I couldn’t perceive while simply sitting on my couch, listening to the lost souls. It’s a new approach, and I’m curious to see if it could help me uncover more clues. Of course, such a strategy isn’t without risks—physically visiting these locations could expose me to residual energy or encounters with entities still lingering at the sites, like Candle Face’s shadows or Candle Face herself. However, I’m willing to explore this option, keeping my guard up and preparing for anything. Am I starting to see things more clearly? Reflecting on these new possibilities, it feels like I’m coming full circle. I began this journey with nothing but a strong desire to help these lost souls and find answers. Now, I’m equipping myself to see it through, no matter where it leads. The classes were just the beginning. The real work is just getting started. The path forward may be challenging and unpredictable, but I feel more prepared and committed than ever to uncovering the truth and helping these souls find peace. A Personal Note to My Readers I want to take a moment to thank all of you for being part of this journey with me. Navigating the world of lost souls and confronting Candle Face hasn’t been easy, but your support and encouragement have made all the difference. Every message I receive and every shared experience from those of you who have sensed or seen things paranormal reinforces that I’m not alone in this mission. Your belief in my work has kept me moving forward. I hope that as I continue to develop my own skills, you’ll find inspiration to deepen your own understanding of life and what lies beyond. We are all explorers in this vast, uncharted territory, and I’m grateful to have you by my side. I’d love to hear from you: Have any of you felt a similar shift in energy when practicing your own intuitive abilities? If so, what have you experienced? Please feel free to share in the comments or reach out to me directly. Your stories are what make this community so special. Looking ahead, I’ll test some of these new ideas by visiting one of the sites mentioned by a lost soul. It’s a risky endeavor, but I believe it will be worth it. I hope you’ll stay tuned for the next chapter as I document what unfolds. I often wonder what keeps me going in the face of such evil. But when I think about the lost souls—the glimpses of light I see when a piece of their story comes to the surface—I know it’s worth it. I’m not just helping them; in many ways, they’re helping me too. To each of you who reads these journal entries and supports my mission, thank you for being part of this story. We’re in this together. 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 To Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] , please visit Amazon 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

  • Candle Face Victims #40 and #41: Haunted by Voices, Bound by Guilt

    October 6, 2024 The late-night Dallas Cowboys and Pittsburgh Steelers game had me all wound up, so I couldn’t go to sleep. I laid down, but nothing. I tried counting sheep, reading a terms and conditions agreement word-for-word, and even watching a video on different types of rocks, but still nothing. Not even a hint of drowsiness. So, I decided to sit up and do some breathing exercises to clear my mind. I figured since I couldn’t sleep, I might as well try to call on a lost soul—even though I had never attempted to call one forward before. They come when they want to, not when summoned. I had learned some basic mediumship techniques online, piecing together a method that seemed promising. After making a few adjustments to suit my style, I prepared myself for the session. First, I visualized a white light enveloping the room—a common protective measure recommended for these kinds of spiritual encounters. Next, I focused on deepening my breathing, counting to five on each inhale and exhale. With my eyes closed, I mentally projected an invitation, almost like throwing a lasso of energy into the void, and then waited, imagining that energy spreading out and pulling in anyone willing to communicate. I’d read that summoning spirits could be dangerous, but I felt an odd sense of calm. Maybe it was because I didn’t think it would actually work. Or maybe it was because, deep down, I wanted to see if I could do it. After about ten minutes, a change occurred. The shadows in the living room began to darken, thickening like smoke, and the lights in the kitchen started flickering. The air grew heavy, and then, almost as if crossing an invisible threshold, an old man stepped into my living room. He took a few cautious steps toward me, then stopped. He turned back to the shadow and made a beckoning motion, as if inviting someone to follow him. An elderly woman then stepped out of the shadow and joined him. They both walked toward me, stopping when I scooted over to make space for them to sit. “We’re fine right here,” the old man said in a slight Spanish accent, his voice steady but soft. “How can I help y’all?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle. “Ray, I want you to listen to our story. And only listen, take no action.” “OK,” I responded. I wanted to ask why they would not want me to take action, but I figured I’d figure it out while they spoke. “We used to live in a small town east of Austin nearly 50 years ago. I’m originally from Mexico but moved to Texas when I was a young man, around 20 years old. I made my money as a ranch hand until I saved enough to buy my own ranch and hire my own ranch hands. I remember living in Mexico and hearing stories of a once-beautiful little girl who was killed in a fire and now roams the earth looking to be remembered because people have forgotten her. My friends and I used to tell stories about her, likely mostly made up, in an attempt to ‘one-up’ each other. But in time, we didn’t know what was real and what was made up. Ultimately, we all believed, and that’s what counts.” “Is the little girl you’re talking about Candle Face?” I asked. “Yes,” he answered in a matter-of-fact tone, as if I didn’t even need to ask. “Is Candle Face from Mexico?” “You tell me, Mr. Investigator,” he responded with a nasty tone, while the lady nudged him. “Be nice,” she said. “We’re here to tell you about the circumstances of our deaths.” “OK, tell me whatever you want to tell me.” “I met my wife about 20 years after I settled in Texas from Mexico. She wasn’t my first wife, and I have children from previous marriages. I talked a lot about my time in Mexico to my wife, notably stories about who you call ‘Candle Face.’ At first, my wife didn’t believe, but she came around. For the next few decades, things went well. We kept our faith in her, and she made sure our health was strong. We even talked to people in town about her loving ways, but most would just laugh. We were the crazies down the dirt road. Anyway, my wife started to lose her way and stopped talking about her; she didn’t even want to listen to my stories anymore. Eventually, my wife started to hear noises in her head, which turned into voices. These voices…” I interrupted him and asked her to continue with the story. She looked at me and smiled. “Thank you, Ray. At least someone lets me talk.” “These voices were incoherent; I never was able to understand them.” I saw this as a chance to use some remote viewing to “listen in” to these voices in her head at that time. I didn’t think it would work, but I closed my eyes and focused on the memory of her hearing those voices. I imagined my consciousness slipping back in time, attaching itself to her presence as if I were standing beside her when it happened. As I looked deeper, I felt a faint ringing in my ears, like the low hum of static interference. Slowly, fragmented words began to filter through—a rambling chorus of overlapping screams, echoing through my mind. “... why did you do it … why did you leave her … she’s coming … you can’t run … you’re too weak … she remembers … it’s your fault … her eyes are burning … you’re the reason … why didn’t you stop her … her face … you’re the reason she’s like this …” The voices melded into a horrifying symphony, each word echoing through my mind. I strained to make sense of them, feeling the intensity build, like a coiled snake ready to strike. It was as if dozens of voices were yelling directly into my brain, each one struggling to be heard over the other. “You can’t hide … she’s watching … she’ll make you see … you’ll see her face again … forever … it’s all your fault …” I pulled myself back abruptly, gasping for air. The couple watched me, unblinking. “She was trying to torment you,” I said, my voice barely steady. “The voices were blaming you. They wanted you to suffer. They mentioned a knife... Did something happen in your home? Something involving a knife?” The old man’s eyes darkened, and he nodded slowly. His gaze fell to the floor. His wife remained silent, a look of sorrow etched into her face. “I killed her,” he confessed softly, almost as if admitting it to himself for the first time. “Candle Face was tormenting her, and I couldn’t stand to see my wife suffer anymore. The voices wouldn’t leave her alone, they kept saying things, terrible things. They were breaking her down, piece by piece.” “She begged me to help her,” he continued, his voice trembling. “So I took my gun and shot her in our bedroom while she was standing next to the bathroom entrance. She didn’t even scream, just looked at me with those haunted eyes, like she knew it was coming. She fell to the floor, and I barely had time to realize what I’d done before there was just a small pool of blood beneath her. I moved her body to my truck, cleaned the floor as best as I could, but the bathroom door had a hole in it I couldn’t fix. That type of door isn’t manufactured anymore. So I took it off its hinges and hid it in the barn under a pile of old hay. My plan was to burn her body, then bury the bones somewhere in South Texas and move to Mexico. But before I could…” The old woman’s hand tightened on his arm, as if bracing him for what came next. “My son showed up,” the old man said. “It was an unannounced visit—came out of nowhere. He didn’t know what I’d done to his stepmother, didn’t even suspect it. He saw me outside, standing by my truck, and he must have seen something in my face, or maybe it was just bad timing. It was like he was being pulled there by something else, something I couldn’t see.” His voice dropped lower, trembling as he continued. “He got real angry, like something snapped in him. He accused me of trying to sell off the ranch or leave him behind. I tried to calm him down, but he wouldn’t listen. One moment he was yelling, and the next, he pulled out a gun. He shot me, right there beside the truck. Cold, like it didn’t mean a thing. I remember falling, staring up at the sky, wondering if this was how it all ended. He didn’t even check if I was dead. Just grabbed my body and tossed it into the back of the truck in a hurry.” His wife’s expression darkened, her eyes fixed on the floor. “He was in such a rush, he didn’t notice her,” the old man continued, his gaze shifting to his wife. “My wife’s bones were already in the truck bed, wrapped up in an old tarp. He didn’t even know she was there—didn’t know I’d killed her to end her suffering. He just threw me in with her remains and drove off, leaving the blood in the dirt outside the house. Drove all the way to South Texas and buried us deep in the desert, like we were nothing. Then he just left. I guess he carried out my plan for me.” His voice trembled. “He buried his own father and stepmother without even knowing it. All because of a misunderstanding, because of a moment of anger. And now he thinks I was going to abandon him, that I was going to run away.” The old woman’s hand tightened around her husband’s arm. “He doesn’t know the truth,” she said, her voice strained. “And we can never tell him. You can never tell him. He did what he thought he had to do. We don’t want him to get in trouble. He’s already paid enough.” The old man nodded slowly. “We don’t blame him, Ray. He didn’t know. And now we’re stuck here, trapped in this cycle, because Candle Face won’t let us go. She wants us to relive it all—the regret, the pain—over and over again.” He looked up suddenly, a flicker of memory in his eyes. “Just before he shot me, I swear I heard Candle Face yell in my ear, ‘This is your reward,’ like she was smiling at what was about to happen.” A son, unwittingly burying his parents in a fit of rage, believing he was left behind. A husband who took his wife’s life to spare her agony, only to find himself punished for it in death. They looked at me, eyes hollow but pleading. “Just don’t let anyone come after him,” the old man pleaded. “He’s been through enough already. Please.” The shadows began to close in as the couple’s forms dissolved, their outlines blurring and fading. I stared at the empty space where they had stood, feeling the chill of their presence seep into my soul. I knew there was no way to ease their pain or undo Candle Face’s torment. But something else was gnawing at me, a deeper, darker suspicion as the seconds ticked by. This wasn’t just a random encounter. Candle Face had allowed them to come to me. She had made sure I heard every detail of their story. But why? I replayed their words, the fear and anguish etched into every syllable. Candle Face didn’t just want me to bear witness—she wanted me to remember. She was orchestrating this, pulling strings I couldn’t even see, ensuring that I became a part of whatever twisted game she was playing. My heart hammered against my ribs as I stood up, my legs trembling beneath me. The room felt darker now, the shadows lengthening and stretching, twisting at the corners of my vision. Candle Face wasn’t just a vengeful spirit, tormenting these lost souls. She was something else entirely—something that thrived on control and manipulation. She was toying with me, too. She wanted me to feel it too. The powerlessness. The helplessness. The way she forces her victims to watch, unable to stop her relentless cruelty. It didn’t matter how many spirits came to me, how many stories I listened to—there was no changing their fate. I was powerless. And that’s exactly how she wanted me to feel. The shadows seemed to breathe, shifting and swirling as if she were still there, watching, waiting. A sharp sizzling sensation hit me in the chest, and I knew without a doubt: Candle Face had made her intentions clear. This wasn’t just about the souls she tortured—this was about me. Every word they spoke was a piece of the puzzle she wanted me to assemble. Every glimpse into their suffering was another brick in the wall she was building around me. The more I knew, the deeper I’d be in her web. Whatever game she was playing, she had just made me a central player. My hands shook as I clenched them into fists. I was her captive audience. I had a sinking feeling that more stories like this one were on their way. More souls, more pain, and with each one, Candle Face would be waiting in the shadows, watching me unravel piece by piece, savoring every moment. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. And as I glanced around my living room, I felt her presence curling around me like smoke, a faint, mocking laughter echoing in the silence. I knew Candle Face was smiling, her grin wide and spiteful. Because she knew she had me exactly where she wanted me. Personal Note to My Readers (Updated on Oct 8, 2024) I’ve been doing a lot of thinking after this last encounter. Every time a lost soul reaches out to me, sharing their pain and tragedy, I’m left wondering if I’m really helping them or just playing into Candle Face’s hands. The more I look at it, the more I see her using these souls to mess with me—to make me feel the weight of their suffering, the frustration of not being able to do anything to change their fate, and that crushing sense of powerlessness. But you know what? Just because Candle Face thinks she’s pulling the strings doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying to help. I’ve learned that simply acknowledging the pain these souls have gone through is an act of defiance. I’m giving them a voice, even if Candle Face wants me to think it’s pointless. And that’s probably why she’s so determined to keep twisting things around. She wants me to believe that I’m just a helpless observer, that no matter what I do, it won’t matter. That’s her game. Make me doubt myself, make me think I’m as trapped as these souls. But I’m not falling for it. Every time I listen to these stories and share them, I’m pushing back against her control, even if it’s just a little. I know she’s using this confusion and these stories to weaken my resolve, but I’m not giving in. Take, for example, the voices the old woman heard during our encounter. They weren’t just random words—they were Candle Face’s twisted way of breaking her spirit. The voices kept harping on things that made no sense, feeding on her guilt, confusion, and fear. That’s the thing—none of it is meant to make sense. It’s meant to drive her mad and leave her questioning everything. And if the voices didn’t make sense to you either, that’s because it’s not supposed to. That’s Candle Face’s tactic: keep it chaotic, keep it disturbing, and keep it personal. Let me break it down for you line by line: “... why did you do it …” It’s like Candle Face was trying to make the woman doubt herself, planting the idea that she did something wrong even if she didn’t. That vague accusation lingers, making it impossible for her to feel peace. “... why did you leave her …” Who’s “her”? Candle Face? Someone else? It’s designed to poke at the woman’s guilt, make her think she abandoned or betrayed someone. When you start doubting yourself, it’s easy to spiral into regret. “... she’s coming … you can’t run …” This one’s a classic scare tactic. It’s the equivalent of someone hiding around a corner and whispering “I’m coming to get you.” It’s meant to heighten her anxiety and fear, making her feel trapped and powerless. “... you’re too weak …” Candle Face is straight-up attacking her self-worth here, breaking down any confidence she had left. She wants her to feel like she’s completely powerless against whatever’s happening to her. “... she remembers … it’s your fault …” This is Candle Face planting a false narrative, making the woman believe that something she did or didn’t do is the reason why all this is happening. It doesn’t have to be true—just convincing enough to sow more doubt and guilt. “... her eyes are burning …” A reference to Candle Face’s appearance. It’s designed to remind the woman of that terrifying face, forcing her to relive the fear and trauma over and over again. “... you’re the reason … why didn’t you stop her …” Candle Face is making her feel responsible for something she never had any control over. She’s twisting the truth, turning it into a lie that feeds on the woman’s sense of regret. “... her face … you’re the reason she’s like this …” It’s a direct accusation, making it personal. Candle Face wants the woman to think she’s to blame for everything Candle Face has become. Whether it’s true or not doesn’t matter—it’s meant to hurt. But the part that really threw me off was when the voices started mentioning a knife. I know the husband killed his wife with a gun, so why bring up a knife? It doesn’t add up. And I’ve been chewing on that for a while now. I think Candle Face throws in false details like that to further confuse and disorient her victims. Maybe she wants them to think they’re forgetting something, or worse, remembering something that never happened. It’s a way to make them question their own sanity, to make them feel like they’re losing touch with reality. And in a way, it’s even more terrifying because you start to think, “What if I’ve forgotten something terrible?” or “What if I’m not remembering things correctly?” That knife didn’t exist, but in the old woman’s mind, it’s now part of her story, another burden she has to carry. See, that’s how Candle Face works—by turning truth into lies, mixing up memories, and making you feel responsible for things you never did. It’s not about the weapon she mentions; it’s about the damage she inflicts on the mind and soul. Candle Face doesn’t want her victims to have clarity or peace. She wants them confused, torn apart by doubt, and constantly questioning their own reality. The voices are there to blur the line between truth and fiction, making the woman feel guilty for things that never even happened. It’s psychological warfare at its finest. But here’s where I stand: I see through her games now. The more I encounter these lost souls, and the more I perfect my mediumship and remote viewing abilities, the more I understand Candle Face’s tactics. She might be trying to break me down, but I’m learning to piece things together, to find the logic in her chaos. I know she wants me to feel trapped, just like she did with that couple. She wants me to believe I’m just a helpless pawn in her sick game. But I’m not backing down. I’m going to keep listening to these lost souls, keep sharing their stories, and keep pushing back against whatever twisted game she’s playing. It’s not over—not by a long shot. Candle Face wants me to feel stuck, but I refuse to be just another pawn on her board. I’ll keep fighting for these souls, no matter how hard she makes me doubt myself. She might think she’s winning, but I’ve got news for her: I’m not going anywhere. 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 To Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] , please visit Amazon 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

  • Unveiling the Mystery of Candle Face: A Research Project Derailed

    October 12, 2023 My return to Texas initiated an investigation into the origins of Candle Face, an 11-year-old ghost girl from The Empty Lot Next Door . Her haunting presence became a regular occurrence in my childhood dreams and waking hours, marked by her disfigured, melted appearance. Although I wasn't her only victim, accounts of terror stemming from Candle Face haunted Austin locals for years. Years ago, their correspondences to me were destined for research and were sidelined—until now. Back in Texas, my investigative journey commenced, though fraught with dark mysteries. Two of the three original witnesses I reconnected with have vanished without a trace, refusing to return my calls or emails. One withdrew in fear after a threatening dream warning from Candle Face herself. Despite his prior boldness towards talking to me, her menacing presence was enough to silence him. Now, their stories hang in a suspended, unnerving silence. Should they resurface, a desperate dash to Austin awaits to capture and share their stories with my readers. In the meantime, my research languishes in a haunted pause as I scour for new leads and tiptoe further into Candle Face's origins. 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 To Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] , please visit Amazon 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

  • From Shadows to Light: The Elderly Witness to Candle Face’s Past

    October 29, 2023 In an unexpected twist, the elderly gentleman who once eluded my interview has made a dramatic reversal. Shrouded in mystery, the stage is now set for an eagerly awaited face-to-face interview scheduled for Monday, October 29th. At 82, this mysterious figure holds secrets from a forgotten time. He professes an intimate connection to Candle Face's early days. Before I awakened her and dubbed her Candle Face, he was there, silently witnessing her story’s genesis. His initial silence to share his insights has transformed into a firm resolve. An intense tension hangs in the air as he readies himself to reveal a story long hidden in the shadows. The risks are substantial; the danger is real. He confronts the potential for life-threatening consequences with unwavering courage. What hidden knowledge does he possess? How did his path intersect with Candle Face before the inferno that scarred her features, giving her the appearance of a scorched candle? As we draw nearer to the interview, the atmosphere brims with suspense. This is more than just a revelation; it’s a descent into a story that has remained untold until this moment. Stay alert as we prepare to uncover the mystery of Candle Face through the recollections of the man who knew her before the world took notice. 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 To Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] , please visit Amazon 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

  • An Old Man’s Insight into the Candle Face Mystery

    October 31, 2023 In paranormal research and storytelling, stories have a frightening, inexplicable quality that echoes through generations. As the author of The Empty Lot Next Door , I’ve always been drawn to stories in the gray area between reality and legend. My current pursuit, the haunting of Candle Face, has pushed me deeper into this twilight world than ever before. To uncover the mysteries behind Candle Face, I sought out an 82-year-old gentleman who knew about the tragic fire on Ben Howell Drive in Austin, TX. For reasons of his own safety and privacy, he chose the pseudonym Mr. John Doe. He agreed to this interview on one condition: absolute anonymity. What follows is a transcript of our interview. I had ten minutes to unravel years of history with Mr. Doe, a constraint that lent urgency to every question. The interview explores the fire’s genesis and encounters with the ghost known as Candle Face. Interview date: October 30, 2023 Location: Austin, Texas Arthur: Mr. Doe, did you live near Ben Howell Drive in the 1960s or 1970s? John Doe: Indeed, my family and I lived a stone’s throw from Ben Howell Drive. Our time there has spanned from the mid-1960s to the mid-1980s. Once my children had all wed, we bid farewell to the neighborhood. Arthur: There was a devastating fire on Ben Howell in the late 1960s. Do you recall it, and if so, what do you remember? John Doe: The father was cleaning a car carburetor with gasoline in the kitchen. One of his sons knocked over the gas can, spilling its contents while the mother cooked. It was an accident waiting to happen. The gasoline or its fumes ignited rapidly, engulfing the house in flames. I believe there were several children in the home; all escaped with severe burns. But the father couldn’t locate his youngest son, a mere two-year-old. Assuming the boy had returned to the house, he, his wife, and his mother rushed back into the inferno. The flames forced them to retreat. However, the father, driven by paternal instinct, tried to re-enter, but a crowd of onlookers held him back. Firefighters eventually entered the blazing structure, but initially, no body was found, leading everyone to believe the boy was lost in the neighborhood. A frantic search ensued, with over two hundred people calling his name, I think it was Paul, though I’m not sure. Tragically, they later discovered his body in the kitchen. I vividly recall the boy’s mother, inconsolable on the curb across the street from her house, surrounded by comforting neighbors. Strangely, the father was arrested that night, reportedly for a parole violation unrelated to the fire. It was a cruel twist of fate; the police should have shown leniency, allowing him to tend to his injured family and grieve his lost child. Arthur: You said the child’s name was Paul? Do you know if one of the other children was named Griffin? John Doe: I believe the two-year-old was Paul, not Griffin. I’ve never heard of the name Griffin. Arthur: As you’re aware, I moved to the house adjacent to the empty lot where that house once stood. According to rumors... John Doe: (Interrupting) What rumors have you heard? Speak up. Arthur: When we settled into the house in 1976, I was only four. The local children spun a tale of a little boy causing the fire by playing with matches near the water heater, resulting in the entire family’s demise, purportedly buried in the backyard due to financial constraints... John Doe: (Laughing heartily for a couple of minutes) Children have a fondness for fabricating tales. It’s a part of growing up. No, there were no backyard burials, and only the little boy perished in the fire, not the whole family. Your book mentioned this, and I remember finding it amusing. Arthur: As detailed in my book, The Empty Lot Next Door, I began experiencing dreams about a little girl emerging from the hole in the back of the lot... John Doe: (Chuckling again) A hole, yes, but why would there be a hole there? Arthur: Perhaps an old, collapsed septic tank? John Doe: Unlikely, as the houses in that area [South Austin] aren’t equipped with septic tanks. It might just be a hole. Don’t fret over it (still chuckling). Arthur: Mr. Doe, I recall standing around that hole with my friends. Randy, one of the oldest kids, dared anyone to jump in, warning that the ghost of a little girl would haunt the jumper. One evening, I took the plunge. Soon after, a little girl with charred features began haunting my dreams and even left handprints on my windows, proving her existence. John Doe: But there’s no certainty she was buried there. Why did you jump in the first place? Arthur: I was often overlooked as the smallest kid. I sought something to distinguish myself from my brother Ricky’s shadow, to be recognized for my own deed. John Doe: Whatever your motivations, you might have awakened Candle Face. I doubt she was buried there; perhaps the hole was a portal. But what do I know, you’re the investigator (spoken condescendingly). Arthur: If it’s a portal, should I attempt to close it to stop Candle Face? John Doe: You’re the investigator. Now you’re starting to sound like a movie (sounding irritated). Arthur: Mr. Doe, you believe in Candle Face, I presume. John Doe: It’s better to believe, just in case. It’s akin to an insurance policy. If you believe, you’re safe. If not, you might end up with a visit. Arthur: Now you sound like a movie (I remarked, to which John Doe didn’t react). But how do you know this? How are you certain that Candle Face preys on skeptics? John Doe: I’ve heard stories for years. Rumor has it she targets skeptics who lead degenerate lives, though not exclusively. Some of her victims are upstanding citizens. So, belief is prudent, just in case. Besides, I’ve encountered her firsthand. Arthur: You’ve seen her? John Doe: Yes, around 1990, while walking my dog near the creek you mentioned in your book, at the intersection of Wilson and El Paso Streets. I saw a young girl with long dark hair, seemingly bathing in the water. We locked eyes. I kept trying to see better. I thought I heard a voice asking, “Do you believe?” Perhaps it was the wind, but I whispered “yes,” just in case. She continued her actions. I never saw her again, but I heard stories, not specifically about Candle Face, but of a little girl ghost. But I knew it was her. In a sick way, I hoped it was her. If so, I knew I wouldn’t be next. Arthur: Mr. Doe, do you think Candle Face is still out there? John Doe: I do. I’m a believer. Interestingly, after you contacted me in July, I dreamt of Candle Face warning me against talking to you. But recently, she reappeared in my dream, encouraging me to reveal everything. Any idea why she might’ve had a change of heart? Arthur: No, I don’t. But as you said, I’m the investigator; I aim to find out. Sir, you mentioned in a phone call in July that you had information about Candle Face before I awakened her. What can you tell me? John Doe: Well, all I know is I saw her with my own two eyes in 1990, well before you wrote your book. I didn’t know you or your story back then. That’s what I was referring to. Arthur: Do you think others in the community may have encountered Candle Face or know of her existence? Your sighting of Candle Face raises the possibility of additional witnesses or sources who might shed more light on her history and nature. You said you have heard stories of a little girl ghost. Can you provide me with the names of other people who may have additional information? John Doe: I know a few people, mostly my age, some younger around your age. They may not talk since they’re not believers like me. Arthur: If there’re nonbelievers, they have nothing to worry about… John Doe: (interrupting) You can still be scared if you don’t believe. And you should be afraid. But I’m not going to ask them, do your own investigation. Arthur: Fair enough. Sir, is there anything else you would like to add? John Doe: Yes, be cautious in your quest. You might find what you’re looking for. When you do, remember that belief is an insurance policy. Arthur: Thank you for your time, Mr. Doe. The interview with Mr. John Doe adds a new layer to Candle Face’s haunting, providing invaluable insights and reinforcing the necessity of belief. As I investigate this mystery, I'm reminded of Shakespeare’s words, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” The pursuit of understanding Candle Face and her world continues, bearing testament to the mysteries beyond our understanding. 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 To Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] , please visit Amazon 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

  • The Bedtime Battle: How I Turned Toenails into Weapons

    November 18, 2023 People often inquire about a peculiar scene in The Empty Lot Next Door  of how I transformed my innocent toenails into jagged weapons, all to thwart my brother Ricky’s relentless sheet-stealing antics. To those inquiries, I affirmatively respond with a vivid account of this audacious act. At the tender ages of around four and five, Ricky and I shared a rather disagreeable resting place – a pullout couch that offered little respite. Ricky’s mischievous habit of snatching the coveted sheets further exacerbated this uncomfortable arrangement. His pilfering was far from discreet, for he lacked the patience to wait until I fell asleep. Instead, he brazenly yanked the sheets from my body, enveloping himself in victory. This ceaseless skirmish persisted for weeks until my determination to assert myself (a recurring theme in The Empty Lot Next Door ) reached its zenith, compelling me to employ my mother’s trusty toenail clippers. On a fateful night, my eagerness to enact my daring plan led me to retire to bed early. Undeterred by the impending showdown, Ricky leaped onto the bed and lunged for the coveted sheets. Just as he pulled the sheets from my body, I unleashed a powerful kick aimed at his upper right thigh. Now sculpted into jagged saws, my toes found their mark, plunging deeply into his flesh with unrelenting force. The result was a gruesome gash that stretched nearly a foot in length, a gruesome display of blood splattering across the sheets and bed. At that moment, the bed bore witness to a scene reminiscent of a heinous crime. As one would expect, Ricky’s response was an inharmonious chorus of agonized screams while I, wearing a grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s, stared back at him, triumphant in my defense of territory. Within mere heartbeats, the thunderous arrival of our father, summoned by the chaos, disrupted the unsettling scene. He was greeted by the grotesque scene of gore that had overtaken the room. Swiftly and decisively, our father administered a stern punishment by way of a resounding spanking, rendering my butt as red as the sheets that had borne witness to my triumph. Yet, in the wake of this punishment, I didn’t care. For on that night, amid the chaos, I emerged victorious. Ricky never stole the sheets again. 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 To Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] , please visit Amazon 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

  • A Conversation with Candle Face’s Confidante

    November 25, 2023 Tomorrow promises to be an intriguing day for an interview! Today, I received an email from someone who asserts that he possesses information about Candle Face, the renowned ghost believed to haunt the Austin area. The email didn’t provide much detail, but the sender is enthusiastic about granting me an interview tomorrow. According to “Mr. Smoe,” Candle Face supposedly aids individuals in “finding peace.” It’s perplexing how haunting and, ultimately, killing people could be connected to peace. This contradicts the messages I receive from spirits in my dreams. Nonetheless, I must remain open and allow this individual to share his perspective. He has agreed to let me record the interview on video for documentary purposes, ensuring I have a comprehensive and accurate transcript of our conversation. I will make the transcript available as soon as possible. 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 To Purchase Candle Face Chronicles: The Lost Souls [Book One] , please visit Amazon 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

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