My nightmares continue. At this pivotal moment in my journey, I find myself standing at a crossroads. The voices are growing more coherent, and their stories more compelling. It's a chilling thought, but I fear I can no longer ignore their pleas. I must venture deeper into this nightmarish realm to uncover the truth behind these voices and their connection to Candle Face.
My dreams have evolved, and my ability to remember them has sharpened. I am no longer a passive observer but a reluctant participant in this surreal story. As I navigate the realms between waking and dreaming, I hold onto the hope that, in time, I will unlock the secrets of these voices and find the light amidst the relentless darkness that seeks to claim my soul.
And then, last night, it happened—a dream so vivid, so real, that I rushed to write it down the moment I awoke. In this dream, a spirit reached out to me, her eerie presence filling the space around my bed. She was different from the other voices—a distinct entity with a story to tell.
As I listened, transfixed by her words, she revealed herself as one of Candle Face's victims. Her name was never revealed, but she yearned to share her tragic tale to ensure that her story was not forgotten in the annals of time. Her voice, once mixed with all the other voices, now resonated with haunting clarity.
Here’s what she told me:
I hate life. I hate people. And most of all, I hate myself. Everyone and everything has been against me from the very beginning. Parents, siblings, “friends,” schools, the government, and everyone and everything else is against me. I want out of the world, this life of mine. I could end it myself, of course. I had tried many times, but somehow, I survived. I know ending my own life would mean heaven wouldn’t take me, and I think hell wouldn’t want me either.
A few years before Candle Face kidnapped me, I had hoped that I wouldn’t wake from surgery, but I did. I cried when I woke. I even ripped open the stitches above my own heart, hoping my heart would fall out. I wished for death many times, but my body kept betraying me. My own body wants me to continue to be tormented by life. Why? Why must I constantly be tormented?
Candle Face explained it to me when she took me away to her lair. She said my punishment for losing my faith in her would be eternal life with pain that would compound over time with each of her kills. I’m not dead, I know. She keeps me alive just to torture me.
“Will you help me? Ray, please help me die.”
Her revelation shook me to my core. It was as though a missing puzzle piece had fallen into place, connecting the dots between my dreams and the chilling stories of Candle Face. The spirit's plea, filled with desperation and purpose, left an indelible mark on my psyche.
My dreams have evolved, and my ability to remember them has sharpened. I am no longer a passive observer; I am a reluctant participant in this surreal story. As I navigate the realms between waking and dreaming, I hold onto the hope that, in time, I will unlock the secrets of these voices and find the light amidst the relentless darkness.
To ensure readers grasp the full context and significance of this article, it’s crucial to have familiarity with Arthur Mills’ award-winning memoir The Empty Lot Next Door, inspired by actual ghostly events in Austin, TX. The book provides essential background information, and without it, the nuances and depth of this article might not be fully appreciated. Therefore, reading The Empty Lot Next Door is highly recommended for a more enriched and coherent understanding of this article’s content and implications.
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