Candles

My grandmother told me a story that haunts me today. Not because of the nightmare that entailed the legend, but the reality of it. I was thirteen when she first told me the story. My parents were away for the night, probably loopy from the Pink Moscato they use to keep the marriage alive. They sent me to Grandma’s because it was the easiest option. Grandma was a strange woman, but she meant well. Her grey tresses were always pulled back in a neat bun. The green of her eyes lost youthful saturation. Instead of being as bold as peridot, the yellow hues morphed to the surface, creating a murky shade like the swamps. Her smiles were always bright, especially when she tucked me into bed, but it looked worn out from the years and counting. She talked at one point, knowing what she was saying. Then in the next instance, her words didn’t line up with reality. You were never for sure if she pulled away and forgot she was talking or if she knew and couldn’t control it like a trance.

Snuggled in my comforter, I grabbed my favorite teddy bear at the time and listened as Grandma rambled on.

“I hated the night,” she said. “I hated that we had to keep our candles lit. Mom, Pa, and your great uncle Randolf rotated throughout the night, checking on every candle in the house. Eventually, when I was old enough, my father made me take a shift. We lived in a cornfield. All we had was a tiny white house. At six, we’d eat dinner, all seated at the table. At 7, we brushed our teeth and prayed. Once the clock struck 8, we ought to be in bed leaving at least one candle in every room with a fresh flame.”

My face scrunched as I realized what she just said. “What’s with the candles?” I asked. “Did you not have lights? ...But you were asleep. What would be the point of keeping candles in your rooms?”

Grandma went mute, searching my face as if it read back the answer I was looking for. Finally, after the uncomfortable silence, she spoke. “If I tell you this, you’ll have to do what we did. You and your family.”

“Why?”

“Because I am about to tell you the truth.”

Before I could protest or squirm, she continued. “My father didn’t know he bought cursed land. Back then, we couldn’t search the internet. We didn’t have research the way you do now.

There was a family before were found—all four—with no faces. Not that their skin was gone or anything like that. They were just blank, like staring at the surface of a canvas.

I learned about this when I had the galls to go to the library and flip through their old newspapers. I was fifteen and tired of the rituals. Tired of the sleepless nights. Tired of being scared. But we did what we had to. We wanted to live to see the morning light.”

My petite frame sank further under the comforter as if the monster she’s about to tell me will come out at any moment. “Grandma, you’re scaring me,” I whined. “I don’t want to hear anymore. Tell me a different story.”

Grandma shook her head slowly and creepily. “I can’t,” she said. “We are already too deep to turn back...

It had no face. It had long legs and long, long arms. Longer than its body. It was gaunt and grey.”

“Grandma—”

“I saw it because I made a mistake. I was lucky enough to live,” she continued.

“Grandma!” I said louder.

Her eyes found me again. Even I knew she lost it for a moment. I wanted to talk her out of going any further, but her words haunted me. I had to listen. “Why did you keep candles in your room?” I asked after battling myself.

“Because it’s scared of candles,” she said. “It was a human before. A woman accused of being a witch long ago when people were afraid of them. The townspeople who convicted her raided home, all holding candles when it was nightfall. It was said her anger was so vile that her spirit clung to her body, creating a corpse that was just as terrifying as her rage. She was tossed somewhere in the fields. Her house was the house I grew up in. The little white house in the middle of a cornfield. Whoever lived in that home had to keep the candles lit. If she sees no candles, she will come inside. If she sees you in her home, she will find you.”

“How do you know when she is near?” I asked, too engulfed in the story for my own good.

“She screams,” Grandma answered. “The farther her scream, the closer she is to you.”

Well, that’s a comforting thought.

Remembering what she said, the mistake she claimed to have made, I cornered her with my thoughts. “What did you do?”

Grandma’s withered hands shakily lifted to her chest. It pressed against her heart. I assumed the nightmare finally regained its hold on her. “One night, I was too tired. The body can take only so many sleepless nights. I slept past my shift and let the candles burn out.

Suddenly, I heard screams. I thought it came from the fields. I almost let myself fall asleep until I heard them again. Then, I remembered.

I practically flew out of bed. I couldn’t see anything but darkness and the crust in my eyes. That's when I realized the candle was out. Then I froze. She was close. I was trapped. I heard something scuffle across the floorboards. It was like heavy boots being thrown about.

I was too stunned to cry or pray. I was too scared to make a sound. Then it was almost like a miracle. The halls outside my room lit up. Pa came barreling in the room with a shotgun in one hand and a new flame burning in the other. ‘Get away from her!’ he hollered. ‘Get away! Or I’ll blow you to pieces.’”

Grandma took a moment to breathe. She wiped away a tear that slipped down her cheek. I pulled myself out of the covers, reaching out a comforting hand. I let her collect herself, but I couldn’t let the pause draw out. “What happen after that?” I pressed.

Grandma squeezed my hand and turned her shoulders in my direction. “I forced myself to look at it,” she said. “Pa held the candle to her face and she screamed this blood-curdling scream. It was disgusting. She somehow got out of my room, and Pa chased it out of the house with the candle still in his hand.

I gained the courage to rekindle all the candles in the house, starting with the one in my room. Every night since then, until I was able to leave this stupid home. I escaped. I lived my life and never spoke a word of it to anyone. But my freedom was short-lived. Pa died on my 46th birthday, Ma passed away the year before, and your uncle Randolf went the same year. So, I took over the estate to keep anyone from buying the house. I don’t want another family to be haunted.”

Her hand clenched tighter. I was afraid she’d snatch it from my wrist. “Keep the candles lit tonight. Understand?”

Then it dawned on me. The room was pitch black and quiet, save for our trembling voices and the wax candle burning on my dresser.