Candle Face Victim #23: The Shattered Shepherd

Subjects of Interest:

• Candle Face Chronicles

• The Lost Souls

April 2, 2024

I’m slumped on the couch tonight. I’m so tired—tired of all these nightly visits from souls in torment. I’m starting to think I’m not who they need anymore. Maybe it’s time to give up. Candle Face must be pleased, playing with my weaknesses so perfectly. I’m at the end of my rope, and my faith in myself feels like it’s running on empty.

Just when hopelessness was about to swallow me, a tune drifted through the room. It came from the furthest corner, and I saw a figure stepping out of the portal when I looked. He was dressed in religious garb, but an inverted cross hung around his neck. He signaled me to remain silent, as if he only wanted my full attention.

And so, I kept quiet, my heart pounding, as he began to share his story.

I thought my faith was unshakable. My life was built on it—helping people navigate the storms of their lives, always telling them, “Never lose faith.” It wasn’t just a message; it was who I was. But I never thought that faith would be tested in ways I couldn’t imagine.

One evening, after a late service, I was heading home. The air felt off—too warm. I tried to ignore it, but then she appeared.

She stepped out from behind a flickering streetlight, her form impossible to ignore. Her face wasn’t just burned; it was twisted and hollow. But it was her eyes that struck me the hardest. They seemed to see right through me, pulling at something deep inside.

Fear gripped me, but I anchored myself in my faith. It was all I had.

“I do not fear you,” I said, trying to steady my voice.

She didn’t move at first, just stood there, watching me. Then she spoke, her voice low. “I come to challenge your faith.”

And so, it began—our nightly debates. She wielded scripture like a weapon, twisting its meaning to undermine my beliefs. “Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light,” she said one night, her voice calm. “How can you trust what you see or believe?”

I countered with the words of Christ: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.”

She pressed harder every time we met. “Why do you cling to your faith when it blinds you to the suffering around you?” she asked. “Faith without works is dead.”

I pushed back with everything I had: “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”

But her words worked their way into my mind. Doubts I’d never dared to entertain began creeping in. She found every crack in my armor and pried it open, piece by piece.

Then, one night, she asked me the question that broke me. “If God is for us, who can be against us?” she said, her form growing larger, more imposing. “Yet here I stand, against you. Doesn’t that make you wonder?”

And it did.

“I... I don’t know,” I said, hesitating.

Her smile twisted, sorrowful and triumphant all at once. “Then you are mine,” she said.

I felt it then—a searing pain in my chest, like my soul was being torn apart.

In the end, her goal wasn’t to win an argument. It was to destroy my faith from within. And I let her.

Now, I’m trapped in her lair, tending to a different flock. The lost souls here look to me for guidance, but the sermons I deliver aren’t about God anymore. Candle Face has twisted my role. I preach her mercy now—a dark, empty promise that’s all she allows me to give.

The man I was is gone. My greatest regret isn’t just losing my own faith—it’s knowing that my fall pulled others down with me.

She let me see my church one last time.

I was seated in the pews, a spirit unnoticed by the congregation that once looked to me for guidance. The sacred space, once filled with hope and light, now felt heavy with doubt and grief.

I listened as they spoke. “He seemed troubled,” one said, “like he was grappling with demons.” “His sermons lost their fire,” another added. “It was like he doubted the very words he preached to us.”

Their voices filled the church: disappointment, betrayal, disbelief. “He led us to believe, only to lose his own faith,” someone said.

Instead of uniting them, my passing sowed doubt and division. The church that was my life’s work, my pride, now carried the weight of my failure.

And as the vision faded, the last thing I saw was the empty pulpit. It was a hollow reminder of what I’d lost—not just my faith, but the trust and hope of those I’d led.

Now, I’m just another soul in her collection, a preacher turned pawn, forced to serve the evil I once stood against.

I used to believe my faith was invincible. Now, I know how fragile it truly was.

After the preacher finished his testimony, he began to fade back into the corner from which he’d emerged. Before vanishing completely, he paused and glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes with me one more time. I could see the conflict in his expression—a blend of resignation and a lingering sense of duty. He quietly confessed that he hadn’t abandoned his calling as a preacher; rather, in Candle Face’s lair, he now tended to a different flock: the lost souls.

He admitted that his sermons had taken a twisted turn. Where he once spoke of God’s grace, he now preached about Candle Face’s mercy, offering her up as a kind of dark savior to the spirits trapped there. Hope was long gone, so he gave them the only “comfort” Candle Face allowed—insisting she alone could grant them some warped form of salvation. It was a sign of how deeply Candle Face manipulates her victims, warping both identity and purpose.

With that, he stepped into the portal and disappeared. All I could do was stand there, trying to process this tragic transformation. The preacher—once guided by firm faith—was now forced to comfort tormented souls under Candle Face’s rule, a sign of her power to break even the strongest will.

Personal Note to My Readers 

The story of Candle Face Victim # 23 is heartbreaking. Imagine a preacher whose entire life revolved around leading others toward spiritual light, finding himself in a showdown with pure evil—Candle Face. His unshakable devotion to God was put to the ultimate test. In the end, it wasn’t only his life he lost, but also his certainty in the beliefs that once defined him.

Candle Face didn’t just take his soul; she used doubt itself as a weapon. And when his faith faltered, she claimed victory, twisting his role into something grotesque: preaching her name as a savior in her lair that no longer offered genuine hope. This turn of events is a sobering reminder of how vital faith can be in resisting evil. When tested, our faith—whatever form it takes—can be our toughest shield, but it’s also vulnerable to exploitation by a cunning foe.

Yet, confronting an entity like Candle Face—who’s skilled at using our own fears, doubts, and even sacred texts against us—isn’t a simple matter of just believing. It demands we acknowledge our own flaws and uncertainties. It requires resilience, courage, and above all, an open-eyed understanding that faith isn’t bulletproof. It can be tested, warped, and turned on us if we aren’t vigilant.

The preacher’s tragedy leaves us with a crucial lesson: even when we stumble or question our path, it’s essential to cling to what anchors us in good. That steadfastness is perhaps our only real hope against something as insidious as Candle Face. By confronting our doubts—rather than running from them—we can strengthen our convictions and stand a chance in any spiritual battle.

May we remember the preacher’s story: a reminder that, in the face of the greatest evil, it’s our belief—refined and tempered by trial—that might ultimately help us endure.