Personal Ghost Story: “The Candle Man” by Vicky Ward

Vicky Ward inquired if we ever publish personal ghost stories. I told her we haven’t really ever done that before, but I’d consider it. So she submitted this account for my review, which she titled, “The Candle Man.”

Because it almost reads like a #ShortStorySaturday submission and gave me chills, I figured I’d publish it on a Saturday. Hope you enjoy it too.

The Candle Man
by Vicky Ward

In retrospect, letting my friend talk me into ghost hunting with her that night was not the smartest decision I’ve ever made. Since I didn’t believe in ghosts, I figured it’d just be a fun horror-themed sleepover. That is not how that night turned out though, and I was very wrong.

Every day my friend, Anne, would come to our Intro to Psych class with bags under her eyes and would talk about how her house was haunted. She, along with a few other students, had just moved into this old house that was built in the early 20s. We would all joke about how she was lying for attention or was a little crazy. Eventually, she got tired of our teasing and invited us over to spend the night.

Personally, I thought it would be a fun sleepover and that her ghost fantasies were just a bonus. Once we were all there, she brought us into the living room and pulled out this walkie-talkie looking thing and said it was called a ghost box. She explained that it could pick up the voices of spirits, ghosts, demons, etc. so we could communicate with them.

Again, a skeptic, I asked how she was certain it wasn’t just picking up a nearby radio station or something. This made her get a little defensive, and she frustratingly replied that it did, in fact, allow you to hear ghosts. Still not convinced, we continued on with the night eating various snacks, vaping, drinking a nasty drink called fireball whiskey (never again), and watching the latest episode of Game of Thrones.

Around midnight an apple suddenly rolled all the way across the counter and fell onto the ground. Certain that it had been done by a mouse, since the house was so old, we were mostly unfazed by this. Anne, however, was not so sure. That’s around when she turned on the ghost box and asked, “Is anybody there?” and, to all of our surprise, a moment later a raspy voice replied, “Yes.”

If I haven’t said it a million times yet, I’m really skeptical, and was certain she had someone on the other end and that the “ghost box” was just a walkie-walkie or that, perhaps it had automated responses to questions. So, I asked it something it couldn’t possibly know the answer to unless it were actually in the room—“How many fingers am I holding up?” A moment later, “Two.”

THAT is when I finally lost my shit.

Now we’re all frantically asking it questions; some out of curiosity and others to disprove its legitimacy. Lizzy asked about the afterlife and if her mom was there, Hannah wanted to know if there was a god, and I wanted to know how quickly I could get out of that room. Anne told all of us to be quiet and said that it would be impossible for anyone to answer that many questions all at once. So, she looked back at the box and asked it why it was here.

“Coming home.”

At this point it became clear that its speech was oddly brief. I asked Anne about it later and she said that it uses a lot of energy for a ghost to speak; not sure about that, but I don’t have a better explanation so that’s what we’re going with for now.

Anyway, so we’re all freaking out when all of a sudden, a large jar of peanut butter falls from the top of the fridge. Just a minute ago, it was in the middle of the fridge’s surface, and had been there for days. Plus, I have no clue how a mouse could have scaled the slick surface of the fridge, so I started thinking that, just maybe, it didn’t have a natural cause.

Anne tried bringing out a Ouija board but another one of my friends, Hannah, slapped it out of her hands and said “Are you crazy?! Haven’t you seen any of the movies?” which made us all laugh through the nervousness.

Suddenly, we heard the apparition’s voice come through the ghost box again. He simply said the word “candle” and nothing more.

“Candle? What do you want us to do with a candle?” Anne replied. The box went quiet for several minutes before he spoke again. “Light.”

Anne suddenly had a brilliant idea; let’s turn all the lights off and light a candle!

Now we’re all sitting in a circle with a candle in the middle of otherwise complete darkness and silence (aside from the ghost box’s white noise).

We were all just sitting there, waiting, when I decided to pipe up and ask, “What now?” with an almost immediate reply of “blow.” My heart twisted for a second at the thought of blowing out our only light source, and as I was about to tell everyone we should stop, Anne went ahead and blew the candle out.

The smoke from the candle filled the room and seemed to be the only thing we could see aside from the black background.

Slowly, the smoke began taking form as I stared in horror, my heart racing. It became a large, pitch black, faceless man. Anne and Hannah both screamed while Lizzy and I were frozen in terror. “Open the window” it said, without the aid of the ghost box. Its voice filled the room but sounded as if he were whispering. Anne ran to the window and opened it.

The figure approached the window and stood in front of it for a moment before saying “Go to sleep,” and crawling out. We did not sleep that night.

Every day after that we’d ask Anne if he returned and she would always reply that he never came back—the haunting had ended completely. Whatever it was, we had just set it loose, and whenever I think about it, I hope nothing bad happened because of what we did. At least it was the last Anne ever saw of the ghost we now colloquially call the candle man.