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A Candle Burned: A Ghost Story

It's just a dumb dare. Until you can't leave.

By Sarah JohnsPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 19 min read
4
A Candle Burned: A Ghost Story
Photo by Olivier Guillard on Unsplash

"The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window." Jack handed Bobby the squat, wax candle.

“So, I just…light this thing in that window?” Bobby pointed at the dilapidated log building which could collapse at any second. He was the new kid in town, but since his family moved a lot this wasn’t his first experience with hazing from the local kids.

Jack waggled his fingers next to his face and spoke in a low voice, “If you dare.”

The two girls, Chelsea and Tracy, snorted and tapped the screens of their cell phones. The sun was setting and they were busy taking selfies and making heart shapes with their hands while using the brilliant colors and fading light as a dramatic background along with the tall pine trees.

“Okay.” Bobby shrugged like going into an ancient and supposedly haunted cabin was no big deal. Because it wasn’t. He wasn’t easily spooked, startled, or frightened. He loved scary movies. Loved horror. The bloodier the better in his opinion. This would be too easy.

Shoving a pocketbook of matches into his jeans pocket, he marched towards the cabin while the rest of the group hollered that he better “Be careful!” or “Crazy Molly” would get him. The outside of the log cabin was overgrown with moss and weeds. Part of a tree or bush was sticking out through a jagged hole in the roof. The biggest issue wouldn't be battling a long-dead angry spirit, but making sure he wasn't buried and trapped by the house falling in on itself.

Twigs snapped under his feet and Bobby wondered if this stupid dare was worth his time or if these kids were going to be any fun to actually hang out with after he proved himself to be “cool” enough for them.

His mom often encouraged him to at least try to hang out with kids his age, which was sometimes pointless, since they’d most likely move in less than a year because of his dad’s work in the army. He could usually impress others with his backflips or ability to hack any school firewall–which meant he could access the really violent video games everyone wanted to play instead of doing classwork.

But here, no one was interested in his athletic abilities or computer skills. All this town could talk about was poltergeists, demonic possession, and places that might have an evil paranormal evil lurking inside. Each person he met, regardless of their age, would tell him about their own personal weird “sighting” they'd had of a ghost. Especially near the old cabin in the woods.

Bobby knew he had to act like nothing scared him. Even if he was terrified. He reminded himself that scary stories worked because people liked to feel afraid. They wanted it. In the cabin, he decided that he wouldn’t be scared just because it was old and dirty. What would probably happen is some dumb jerk would try to make spooky sounds before jumping out and screaming at him. It was all going to be stupid and fake. Nothing to actually scare him.

Horror was an addiction he returned to over and over again, regardless of whether the last time he had tried reading or watching something had been actually scary or not. When he cracked open a Stephen King book or turned on a bloody slasher movie, it was a chance to see if, maybe this time, he’d feel that deeper sense of fear. Something more than he had the previous time. Or if his worst fear would come to pass and he would feel nothing.

Just emptiness.

Like he was already dead inside.

Ivy wrapped itself around the wooden posts of the porch. It was as if the entire place had almost been reclaimed by the forest, swallowed whole to return to the earth. Jack had told Bobby that this cabin was the most important part of any of the town’s local ghost legends and that anyone who was thirteen years old had to go inside to light a candle at night.

“Why?” Bobby asked.

“Because if you light a candle, you’re protected from Molly. She can’t steal your soul.”

“Who’s Molly?”

“A girl who died a long time ago. Murdered on her thirteenth birthday by her father, a woodchopper who’d gone insane. They never found her head. Only cut-up pieces of her arms and legs.”

Bobby didn’t scoff when Jake had told him the story, though it seemed unlikely to be true. He just nodded and said, “Okay.” He bet that at least half of the stuff kids told him at school weren’t even real town legends, but just a way to scare, or dare new kids into doing weird and wild pranks.

He’d stay calm no matter what they said or did. Bobby had played this game of “chicken” before and always won when it came to who wasn't scared. This time would be no different.

Before opening the door to the cabin, he did allow himself one last look over his shoulder. The girls held up their phones, recording, which Jack had explained was part of the tradition to prove that all kids participated in the challenge to protect themselves against the ghost girl Molly. When Bobby had asked if he could see the other videos of kids lighting the candle, Bobby shook his head and said, “Not until after you do it yourself.”

“Probably just videos of kids screaming and peeing themselves when someone leaps out from behind a door,” Bobby muttered to himself as he grabbed the door handle and pulled. It groaned and got stuck twice, but he finally wedged it open enough to slide inside.

“Close the door!” Jack bellowed at him. “That’s the only way this thing will work!”

Bobby gritted his teeth and dragged the door shut his feet shuffling desiccated leaves and dirt that had found its way inside the entrance. The dim light which had come through the broken windows darkened suddenly. A cold chill wrapped around Bobby’s spine.

How elaborate will they be with this prank? How far will they go to scare me?

White canvas covered a variety of odd shapes, most likely furniture. Dead leaves and dirt littered the floor, especially near a broken window at the other end of the cabin. In the rapidly fading light, he saw a curved piece of plastic and wondered if this was a place people dumped trash or discarded used beer bottles. But when he leaned down to inspect it, he could see there were other broken pieces nearby, and something lumpy and torn, but encased in a daisy patterned cloth. He picked up the curved plastic and turned it over. An eyelid flopped open with a pop. The brown iris stared blankly up at him making his skin shiver. It was part of a broken doll. He dropped the piece and kicked it away. Shouts from Jack and the girls reminded him that they were waiting for him to complete the challenge.

As he pulled the small matchbook out from his jeans pocket, the inside of the cabin grew even darker like a shadow had passed in front of the remaining light from the sunset like it was no longer twilight, but the dead of night.

Bobby rubbed his eyes, hoping they would adjust to the almost nonexistent light, but when he opened them he couldn't see anything but vague shapes and dark shadows.

Did a storm suddenly roll in? Or is this part of the prank?

Either way, he needed to be able to see. He felt for the matches and struck one to light it. It burst into flame briefly, and he could see the window ledge where he was supposed to put the candle. Carefully choosing each step he took across the rotting wooden floor, several boards creaked and he wondered if they’d hold his weight.

Bobby peered out the window, hoping to be able to see Jack and the girls to make sure they could watch him through the window when he lit the candle, but between the sudden darkness and the smudges on the glass, there was no way he could tell if they were even still out there.

He dropped the matchstick before it burned his fingers. Striking another one it flamed for a moment before extinguishing like someone had blown it out.

Another one. A tiny spark. Burning sulfur. A wisp of smoke.

Only two matches left, and Bobby dropped one in the dark.

He steadied his shaking hand and took a breath. He refused to show fear, no matter what happened. All of this was in his head. With the last match, he struck it and it flamed bright and strong. He held it to the wick of the candle, it sputtered as it melted the wax and then caught.

Something crawled up the back of his leg and he clapped his hand over his mouth to stop himself from screaming. With his right hand, he brushed at his legs and noticed that cobwebs caught the light of the candle.

This whole place is crawling with spiders and other nasty crap. Stay calm.

Shaking the jitters from his arms and legs, he stared out the window into the inky black abyss of the night. Jake had said that when Bobby lit the candle, they would give him the signal of what to do next.

He crossed his arms across his chest, trying to calm his heart slamming against the inside of his chest.

Nothing.

Silence, thick and strange wrapped around him. His teeth chattered as he realized he was freezing.

How long do I have to wait? Is this part of the challenge? To see how long before I give up?

With an exasperated grunt, he picked up the candle and held it up as he continued to look out into the night, but there were only shadows and uncertainty.

He turned and assessed the inside of the cabin again. The flicker of candle flame cast eerie shapes on the wall. Dirt and broken branches and dust and cobwebs were everywhere, and beside one of the chair-shaped forms, something caught Bobby’s eye. At first, he thought it might be a small end table, with the canvas sheet from the chair partially covering it. But as he walked to the object, it became clear what it was.

A girl. Crouched on the floor. Knees pulled into her chest, dark hair spilling forward, covering her face like she was crying.

He stopped, his blood freezing and crystalizing in his veins.

It’s one of the girls. Chelsea. Or Tracy, Jack’s girlfriend. One of them snuck in here to pretend they’re Molly, the “ghost girl” they were telling me about. It’s all part of the prank.

Bobby coughed and cleared his throat hoping that would make the girl raise her head. But she didn’t. Her head hung limply forward like her neck was too small and weak to hold it up.

“Hello?”

The girl didn’t move.

Bobby took a step closer and raised the candle bringing the small light to chase away the shadows. “Are you supposed to be Molly?”

The girl’s head made a jerky movement, but whether it was a nod of affirmation or a shake of denial, he couldn’t tell.

“Look. I’m not sure what Jack told you to do to scare me, but I just want you to know that even though all of this has been creepy, I’m not scared. Really. Good try though.”

His heart was pounding so hard, that he was certain his shirt shuddered from the movement.

Heavy silence pressed into his forehead, his shoulders, his chest. He pulled in a ragged breath, but before he could say anything else, a low voice said:

“Cold.”

His own teeth were aching from how fast the temperature had dropped. “Yeah, let’s get out of here. Go back home, get warmed by a fire, you know?” He took a step away from her, unwilling to turn his back to the girl. But she didn’t move.

He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He didn’t mind proving he wasn’t easily scared or intimidated by others, but this experience had already dragged on longer than he’d expected. He was getting impatient. “I know I was supposed to wait in the cabin for some sort of signal, are you the signal?”

No answer. Her dark matted hair didn’t stir. Her pale arms caught the eerie glow of the candle.

“Look, I’m getting a little sick of this. I’m leaving, okay?”

A whisper, “so cold.”

“Cut it out. It’s not funny anymore. I get it. I’m supposed to be freaking out, but I’m not. I'm just not scared. Got it?”

The flame flickered and for a moment Bobby was sure it would blow out, but then it glowed brightly once more.

Time to get out of here before I drop the candle or someone blows it out or something. The rest of them are probably outside waiting to scream at me when I come out. I’ll just stay calm, maybe even laugh, and tell them they did a good job, but I was never actually scared.

Bobby reached for the front door, turning his head away from the girl crouched in the corner, but when his hand touched the handle he heard a moan:

“Can’t.”

He sucked his teeth and clenched his fist, whirling around, but the girl was gone. “Can’t what?” he demanded. The air didn’t move. Nothing moved or stirred. No living thing made any sound. Like it was a tomb.

I’m done with this.

He grabbed the door and pushed against it with all of his strength but it didn’t budge. A sick feeling slithered down the inside of his chest and wrapped itself around his heart. With one hand on the handle, he shoved his shoulder into the door as hard as he could. The candle in his hand shook and hot wax splattered down his arm.

Can’t.” The voice croaked with pain, sorrow, and death.

“What?” Bobby yelled. “Can’t what?”

“Can’t. Leave.”

His breath was gone. There was no air. Hands trembling, palms sweating, despite the cold, he clenched one into a fist and pounded the door as wax continued to drip from the sputtering candle.

He laughed and yelled through the door. “Okay! You guys are good! Bracing the door shut trying to freak me out. Nice one. Really! So scared. So scared.” He tried to mask his tremor of fear with sarcasm and disdain, but even though he pounded against the door again and again and never stopped pushing, there was no movement. No laughter, nothing to indicate anyone was outside waiting for him.

The other window on the far side of the cabin. The broken one.

He ran to the window which had a faint swath of light coming through the broken shards of glass that still jutted out from the sides. Searching the floor, he found a broken tree branch that had fallen inside and used it to knock the rest of the glass away from the opening. The splintering and cracking of the glass as it fell was the only sound, other than Bobby’s rapid breathing.

Slow down. They’re just trying to scare you. You’re fine. This is nothing. Nothing.

Blood dripped from his palm as he pulled his hand away from the windowsill as he climbed through the opening. The candle slipped from his hand and the flame extinguished as he swung his leg up and over the window ledge and the light of the pale moon was barely enough to see the drops of blood he had spilled onto the wooden porch.

A sigh and a cold breath on the back of his neck made all his hair stand on end.

Without looking back at whoever, or whatever was trying to scare him, he jumped off the porch and jogged in the direction of where he’d left Jack and the girls.

“Had some trouble getting out of that place, but I lit the candle and put it in that window, just like you said. But could you even see it?” Bobby called out.

The trees stood by without stirring. No birds called to each other. No insects sang in the night.

“Jack? Chelsea? Tracy?”

No frogs croaked. No breeze rustled the leaves. The only sound was Bobby’s feet striking the dirt as he ran.

Snap.

Something cracked and then fractured under his foot. A cell phone.

Bobby picked it up, turning on the light app. It had a pink, glittery case. Bobby recognized it as belonging to one of the girls.

“Hey, Tracy? Chelsea? I found a phone, one of you must have dropped it?” He swung the light around in a circle, and it shone on trees, bushes, and then a solitary shoe.

A solitary shoe.

Bobby stepped over a broken log and bent over to examine the shoe. It was an all-white Nike sneaker, with a few scuff marks, and a couple of reddish-brown spots on the side.

Bile crept up his throat.

It’s all a prank. This is all a prank.

But he couldn’t stop his body from shaking. The light jerked back and forth in an irregular and unsteady pattern, as he raised the phone unsteadily. “Jack? Anyone?”

A shadow moved, but by the time he pointed the light at it, there was nothing to see, just rocks and dead leaves.

“Can’t,” a low voice whispered.

“Stop. Stop it!” Bobby screamed. He didn’t care if it was clear how afraid he was. He felt the terror etched into every inch of his skin. He screamed again for the voice to stop.

A long sigh, a gurgling noise, like someone drowning in their own blood.

“Can’t. Leave.”

Bobby’s hand shook so violently he dropped the phone. It bounced in the dirt, and landed with the light hidden. He stumbled toward it and as he picked it up, the light caught on something small, shiny, and silver. A bracelet. On an arm. That was snapped and pulled in an unnatural direction.

The eyes were milky white, the mouth open in a silent shriek.

Bobby couldn’t hold the phone still. “Tracy? What the hell…”

Her body was twisted, her legs bent in odd and strange directions. Then the light found Chelsea. And Jack. Lifeless, pearl-white eyes wide open, jaws unhinged in terror, bloody stumps where teeth had once been.

“What the hell! What kind of sick joke is this?” Bobby fell when he tried to step away from the grotesque scene in front of him, his legs flying up when his foot struck the broken log he’d forgotten was behind him.

“You.”

An undefined shape was outlined in the soft glow of the crescent moon.

Shaking, he lifted the phone to point the light at the shape. It was a girl, dressed in a tattered white dress, her head hung forward, dark tangled hair covering her face.

“What the hell are you?” Bobby snarled, anger and fear mixing as he pushed himself up and crab-crawled away from the figure.

“You. Can’t. Leave.”

Pull yourself together you shithead. Can’t let whatever this is win.

“Why the fuck not?” He grabbed a rock, no larger than his fist and flung it at the girl. Without moving her head, she stepped to the side, the stone flying past her.

“She wouldn’t let me leave.”

“Who?”

“Molly.” The girl’s head rolled to the side, and she pulled her hair away from her face, revealing cross-stitching over her eyes and mouth, her lips parting just enough for her to gasp the bloody words.

“They. Brought me. Here. I. Lit. Candle.” Her head rolled in the other direction. “Molly said they bring her dolls. I was her doll. She played with me. When Molly is done with her doll, she pulls the head. Off. They knew.” The girl stepped towards the bodies, her head flopping back. “They. Knew.”

“What the fuck…” Bobby gasped. Pushing himself up he waved the phone light to find a clear path. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t know Jack or Chelsea or Tracy. I don’t know why they did that. Or why they brought me…I’m sorry.” He only took three steps before the girl was in front of him, the stitches stretching over her mouth as she opened it to scream.

“YOU. CAN’T. LEAVE.” Her head flopped to the side, almost touching her shoulder.

His insides liquified and somehow, from deep inside, he pulled what little courage he had deep from his gut and spat, “The fuck I can’t.”

He sprinted, thinking of every time he’d run suicides in basketball practice. Thinking of dodging players on other teams. Thinking of how fast he could be on his feet when he needed to take the ball to the net.

He didn’t feel the ground change beneath his feet.

He didn’t feel the rotten wood or the fetid plants.

A quiet pop when his ankle snapped, followed by a ghastly scream. The ground absorbed his foot, and before sucking his leg down, inch by inch, like the earth itself was a monster devouring him.

A pit of decay opened up in the desiccated dirt, six feet long.

He sank into it, slowly at first, before tumbling down while yelling for someone, anyone, to hear him. He dropped the cell phone in the cracking muck and when he reached to retrieve it, to try to use the emergency call option, the soil swallowed it whole.

“Please!” he cried.

“Molly says….” A whisper on the wind as the forest floor shifted and slid over Bobby as he clawed at the sides of his fresh grave.

“Please!” A sob.

“You. Can’t. Leave.”

First, the grave dirt covered both his feet. Then his legs. He twisted and tried to yank his limbs free, but he was tired. So tired.

"I'm really not scared," Bobby whispered to himself.

The soil kept coming, falling, like snow on a perfect Christmas morning. He looked up, vision blurring with tears and grim, and saw a girl in a white dress, holding a burning candle.

Stay calm.

Every part of him was filled. Covered. His chest. Neck. The soil enveloped him, swaddling him like a newborn. His mouth swelled with dirt. His eyes shrouded with dead foliage.

You’re fine. This is nothing. Nothing.

At last, his ears overflowed with freshly turned earth, blocking out the rest of the living world.

I'm not scared. I'm not scared. Not scared.

No more thoughts. No more fears.

The burning candle was gone.

fiction
4

About the Creator

Sarah Johns

I'm a former middle school English teacher who has lived with T1D for almost thirty years. I drink too much coffee and spend most nights at home reading, writing, or connecting with readers and writers on bookstagram. IG: @WriteThingJohns

Reader insights

Outstanding

Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

Top insights

  1. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

  2. Compelling and original writing

    Creative use of language & vocab

  3. Easy to read and follow

    Well-structured & engaging content

  1. Heartfelt and relatable

    The story invoked strong personal emotions

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Comments (5)

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  • Dana Stewart2 years ago

    This story gave me goosebumps! Great plot!

  • Stacey Mock2 years ago

    Oooo super creepy! When he turned around and saw the girl crouched by the furniture I got goosebumps!!!

  • Danielle Deutsch2 years ago

    It's been awhile since I read a good ghost story. Wow! You wrote this so well. Thank you for your kind words on mine by the way. You inspire me. <3

  • I have to say that this story definitely pulled me in! As I read about the family moving to a place where people talk about ghosts, all I could think of was the fact that they could be here in Savannah. LOL! There are bases close to here and it's one of the most haunted cities on earth. This story was a great read! You totally nailed the hazing thing. :)

  • Mare 2 years ago

    I really like the imagery of the story!

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