Candle Face Victim #43: Pushed from Congress Avenue Bridge

Subjects of Interest:

• Candle Face Chronicles

• The Lost Souls

October 24, 2024

I again used the crystal ball just after midnight to conjure a lost soul. My attempt with Candle Face Victim #42 had succeeded, so why not try again?

I took the crystal ball from my home office and placed it on the dining room table, just as I had before. Settling into the silence, I took a deep breath, reaching inward for my mediumship and remote viewing skills I’ve been honing. I recalled the session with Victim #42—the clear but desperate cries as Candle Face scalped her. Would this attempt bring the same clarity, or was I about to open myself up to Candle Face’s gaze again?

The crystal’s surface slowly clouded, pulling me into a scene. I recognized the location immediately: Congress Avenue in downtown Austin, overlooking Town Lake. My perspective felt detached, hovering in third person as I watched a scene unfold below. Four figures stood on the bridge.

A young man, likely in his late twenties, struggled at the edge of the bridge, pleading with his attackers. His voice, thick with fear, cracked as he begged for his life. “Please, don’t do it. I’ll do anything—please!” The desperation in his words rang in my ears as if I were truly there, witnessing his final moments.

I studied the attackers, absorbing each detail to capture them for my journal. The first was a tall man, around six feet, muscular but lean. His hooded jacket obscured part of his face, but his strong jawline and piercing eyes stood out. His grip on the victim’s shoulder was firm, as if he held no doubt about what was to come.

Beside him stood a woman, likely in her mid-twenties, perhaps 5’5”, her frame abnormally thin. Her hair was pulled back. A fitted black leather jacket hugged her form, and she watched the victim’s pleas with a disturbing calmness.

The third attacker was another man, around 5’10”, and heavier-set. His dark jeans and worn flannel shirt looked rough, adding to his unkempt appearance. Unlike the others, his eyes darted around, as if searching for someone or something.

Together, they moved as one, forcing the man over the bridge’s edge, his cries silenced in a final, haunting scream. I could almost feel his terror, the shock, the horrifying finality as his body plummeted, the water below breaking his fall with a distant splash.

The three attackers didn’t linger. They fled up Congress Avenue, their footsteps slapping against the pavement, before turning east onto 1st Street, vanishing around the corner and melting into the night.

I blinked back into the dining room as the scene faded from the crystal ball. This attempt had indeed brought the clarity I sought, but so did the question: had Candle Face been watching, too? Was she guiding me to these visions, feeding me her own chosen memories for her purposes?

About ten minutes later, as I sat in my home office, typing up the vision for my Candle Face Chronicles journal, I heard a noise coming from the living room. I knew what it was. I sat there, staring at the screen, waiting for a lost soul to arrive. Thirty seconds passed, and then, slowly, a figure emerged and walked into my office.

Dripping wet, the young man I had just seen in the vision walked toward me, his eyes wide and disoriented. Water pooled beneath him, his trembling figure standing still. His stare locked onto mine, and he spoke with a fearful and urgent voice.

“Look into the crystal ball again,” he said frantically, his voice breaking. He paused as if struggling to get out more words but could only repeat, “Look into the crystal ball.”

Hesitantly, I returned to the crystal ball on the dining table, the room silent except for the faint dripping of water from the spirit behind me. I reached out, my fingers brushing against the cold surface, and focused, peering deeply into the depths of the crystal.

At first, nothing but emptiness filled the crystal ball. Then, slowly, a figure took shape—a gaunt face, with charred, hollowed eyes staring back at me. Candle Face.

She appeared as if deep inside the crystal’s core, her burned, twisted features pressed against the glass, as though waiting to be unleashed. Her eye sockets glowed faintly, her mouth curving into an evil smile, and though she didn’t speak, the silent hatred was unmistakable.

Suddenly, the crystal ball grew unbearably hot, steam creeping along its surface. I gasped, instinctively jerking my hand away. In an instant, Candle Face’s image vanished.

Turning back, I saw that the man’s figure had disappeared, leaving only faint puddles where he had stood moments before. I was alone in the room again, left with the undeniable sense that Candle Face wasn’t only watching me but was also using these visions to tighten her grip. The young man’s plea still plays in my mind: “Look into the crystal ball.”

Personal Note to My Readers 

I only wanted to reach a lost soul, hoping to offer comfort or closure. Instead, I found myself witnessing a brutal memory, played out before me in disturbing clarity: a young man forced over the edge of a bridge, pleading for mercy. And just when I thought the encounter had ended, he appeared in my home, dripping wet. But it wasn’t just the tragic visitation. What truly rattled me was his desperate request—"Look into the crystal ball again.” When I did, I saw Candle Face, her twisted face pressed against the glass, watching, mocking, waiting.

This leaves me wondering: what was the purpose of this vision? Why did the spirit urge me to look into the crystal ball, knowing it would reveal Candle Face herself?

He seemed terrified, as though delivering his warning to me was as urgent as his last moments on that bridge. Was he simply seeking help, or was he warning me about the crystal ball? Did he know what Candle Face wanted to show me? These questions raise more possibilities—was he compelled by Candle Face herself to lead me to her image, to draw me closer to her? The crystal ball seems more than just a medium for spirit communication. It feels like a portal that Candle Face might be using to manipulate the lost souls and me.

Should I stop using the crystal ball altogether, as I mentioned before? The image of Candle Face pressed against it, as if inside, waiting to pounce on me, tells me she is somehow tied to it. But is that reason enough to destroy it? If I do, will I lose my connection to the lost souls, or will I be closing off Candle Face’s entry into my world? Perhaps this vision, and Candle Face’s message within it, was meant to be a warning—a reminder that while I’m helping the lost souls, I may also be feeding her power. She may be taunting me, showing me she has a hold on me through the crystal ball, like a spider weaving me into her web strand by strand.

Destroying the crystal ball might cut that hold, but it might also silence the voices of the lost souls who still seek me out. It’s a dilemma—if I keep it, I risk Candle Face getting me eventually. If I destroy it, I risk losing a vital tool for helping the spirits desperately seeking my aid. Or, maybe the crystal ball has nothing to do with any of this. After all, I was communicating with the lost souls before using it.

For now, I’ll leave the crystal ball untouched but observe it closely. This experience has shown me that Candle Face isn’t content to stay on the sidelines. She’s reminding me that she’s watching, that each vision could be a trap as much as a revelation. And if she truly is using the crystal ball as a conduit, I may need to prepare for a future without it—to seek new ways of reaching and helping the lost souls, ways that Candle Face cannot control.

In the meantime, I’ll continue to write down every encounter, every vision, every warning. And I’ll remain vigilant, watching Candle Face as closely as she watches me.