Candle Face Victim #44: The Lost Soul from Bryan, Texas

Subjects of Interest:

• Candle Face Chronicles

• The Lost Souls

November 2, 2024

I had been practicing with the crystal ball again, trying to refine my focus. Usually, it’s just shadows or flickers of movement—nothing clear, nothing tangible, except for Candle Face’s image those two times. But tonight was different. Tonight, the glass seemed almost alive, swirling with an energy I hadn’t felt before.

As I peered deeper into the mist, something began to take shape. At first, it was just a faint outline, like a smudge on the surface. But slowly, it sharpened into the unmistakable image of a young girl’s face. I blinked, thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me, but the vision only grew clearer. She looked right at me, her brown eyes wide and filled with desperation.

The connection was so vivid and real that I lost myself in it for a moment. I could see her lips move, forming words I couldn’t hear. Instinctively, I pulled back from the crystal ball. But as I turned, she was no longer in the glass. She was standing in the corner of the dining room as if she had stepped right out of the vision.

She was around 15 or 16 years old, Hispanic, and on the shorter side—about 5’3” with a small frame. Her clothes were torn and dirty, her face streaked with tears. Her neck was severely red and bruised. There was something raw and vulnerable about her.

I spoke softly, not wanting to startle her. “You came through the crystal ball?” She nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. I could tell she was still gathering the courage to speak, so I waited.

“How can I help you?” I asked.

She took a shaky breath and began to tell me her story:

“I was from Bryan, Texas,” she said. “It all started when I got mixed up with some friends who told me about—her.” She glanced nervously at the crystal ball on my desk, as though it might bring Candle Face back to listen.

“They didn’t call her Candle Face,” she continued, shaking her head. “To them, she was just a girl ghost—someone who died in a fire and came back to help those who needed it. My friends said she only asked for one thing in return—faith. If you believed in her, really believed, she’d solve your problems. At least, that’s what they told me.”

Her hands trembled, and she clasped them together to steady herself. “At first, I thought it was just a joke, a way to pass the time. But some of my friends started seeing things, feeling her presence. One of them swore that she appeared in her room one night, promising to protect her from bad things.”

Her voice cracked on the last words, and she looked down, her eyes filling with tears. I waited, giving her the space to continue.

“They invited me to one of their meetings,” she said. “I didn’t think much of it—just a bunch of us in a friend’s garage, lighting candles, talking about how she could help us if we had faith. But soon, it got serious. They started saying we had to prove our loyalty to her, that she needed our devotion. I tried to back out, but by then, it was too late.”

She paused as if reliving the moment. “One night, they took me to this old, abandoned house outside town. They said it was a test of faith. I thought it was just another game, but when I got there, there were four men I’d never seen before. They were older, rough, and they had this look in their eyes.”

Her voice became hoarse, barely audible. “They said I needed to prove I truly believed in her. That’s when they grabbed me. The first man forced me down and climbed on top of me, pressing his hands around my neck, just for ten seconds. Then another took his turn. They kept going, making a game out of it. Ten seconds each, then longer. Twenty seconds. Thirty. Each time they let go, they laughed, like it was some kind of sick joke. I could barely breathe, and everything was starting to fade.”

She brought her hands to her throat, as if feeling their grip all over again. “I thought it was over, that I was fixin’ to die. But something in me refused to give up. I tried to fight back. I clawed at the man on top of me, trying to pull his hands away. That’s when he saw it—the tiny cross tattoo on my right hand.”

Her eyes widened, her voice quickening. “His face changed. It was like he’d seen a ghost. He let go of my neck and stumbled back, like he was struck by something. ‘Oh no, not a cross,’ he said, his voice shaking. And just like that, all four of them dropped to the ground, gasping for air.”

I leaned in closer, captivated by her story. “What happened next?” I asked.

She drew in a shaky breath. “I stood up, still gasping for air, and held out my hand toward them. I don’t know where the words came from, but I shouted, ‘In the name of Jesus, I demand that you leave me alone!’ They kept writhing on the ground like they were in pain. For a second, I thought it had worked.”

A bitter smile twisted her lips. “But then, they started laughing. It was this awful, hollow sound. They stood up like nothing had happened. One of them sneered at me and said, ‘You really thought we were in pain? You thought your little cross would save you? Only in the movies, sweetheart.’”

“Before I could run, they were on me again. And this time, they didn’t stop. They strangled me until everything went black.”

I watched her carefully as she finished her story, her form flickering slightly as though she were fading.

“How can I help you?” I asked again, my voice softer now, almost pleading.

Her eyes darted around the dining room as the lights in the kitchen flickered. She stepped closer, her voice barely more than a whisper. “You, you can’t help me,” she said, her voice breaking. “But maybe you can help the others. I was the last…”

My heart sank. “The last of what?”

“They, they know you’re helping us,” she said, her voice cracking. “But they don’t care. It’s all… it’s all just…”

Before she could finish, her form suddenly stiffened, her eyes widening in terror. She let out a strangled gasp, as if an invisible force had tightened around her throat. I reached out instinctively, but she flickered violently and vanished, leaving only a cold, oppressive silence in her wake.

I stood there, my hand still outstretched. Whatever she was about to reveal, it was something I wasn’t meant to know.

Just as I turned to leave, I heard a faint “Hide.”

The lights flickered once, and then, just as quickly, they returned to a dim, steady glow. I was left standing alone, wondering what it meant.

Personal Note to My Readers (November 4, 2024) 

I’ve been reflecting on my encounter with the lost soul who appeared to me through the crystal ball. There’s a lot I’m still trying to piece together, but her words have been haunting me ever since.

She told me, “You can’t help me.” I keep asking myself what she meant by that. Was she saying it because she truly believed I was powerless to change her fate? Or was she warning me that something—or someone—was making it impossible for me to help her? Or she feels that I’m not capable of helping her since I don’t have a good record with helping the lost souls since I’ve only identified six or so of the 42 lost souls who have come to me. It felt like she was resigned to her fate, almost like she had accepted that whatever had happened to her was beyond saving. But why would Candle Face allow her to come to me at all if I couldn’t do anything to help? Perhaps I’ve been allowed to see these souls not to save them, but to witness their torment.

And then there’s her statement, “I was the last.” That line keeps replaying in my mind. Does it mean she was the final soul to be allowed through to me? Is Candle Face closing the door on these visits? If that’s true, then why? Has something changed on the other side? Or was it simply a warning that from now on, any attempt to help would come with even greater risks? The more I think about it, the more it feels like this was meant to leave me questioning everything I’ve been trying to do.

But what haunts me most is that faint whisper I heard at the end—"Hide.” Who said it? Was it the lost soul, trying to protect me in her last moments? Or could it have been something, or someone else, reaching out through the crystal ball? And who was the warning really for? Was it directed at me, urging me to prepare for something coming my way? Or was it meant for other lost souls trying to reach me?

Every encounter I’ve had so far has left me with more questions than answers, but this one felt different. The way she vanished, the flickering lights—it’s as if something or someone is trying to cut off my connection to these lost souls. Maybe the whisper was a plea, or maybe it was a command. But one thing is certain: I can’t ignore it.

If any of you have thoughts, ideas, or even your own experiences that might shed light on this, I’d be grateful to hear them. For now, all I can do is stay vigilant, try to understand the warnings, and continue searching for answers. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the truth—whatever it is—won’t reveal itself easily.

Thank you for reading, and as always, stay safe.