# "When our town loses power, we light candles. Not for ourselves, but for them" Creepypasta

An episode of [CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio](https://invisiblenetwork.ai/podcast/1492008134), 17 Jul 2025, 30 min.

Audio: https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/67020044/when_our_town_loses_power_we_light_candles_not_for_ourselves_but_for_them_creepypasta.mp3

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Frequent-Cat: / when_our_town_loses_power_we_light_candles... Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO- SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd... iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast... SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS- ►"Good Places to Start"- • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep web" ... ►"Personal Favourites"- • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher, and... ►"Written by me"- • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creepypasta ►"Long Stories"- • Long Stories FOLLOW ME ON- ►Twitter: / creeps_mcpasta ►Instagram: / creepsmcpasta ►Twitch: / creepsmcpasta ►Facebook: / creepsmcpasta CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪ ►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪ ►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪ ►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪ This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only

## Transcript

[0:02] Speaker 1: I was finishing up my afternoon shift at the gas
[0:04] Speaker 1: station when the power flickered once twice, then diet for good.
[0:11] Speaker 1: The store went silent except the hum of the old
[0:14] Speaker 1: drink fridge winding down, and outside, the entire street had
[0:18] Speaker 1: begun melting into darkness. For a moment, I stood behind
[0:24] Speaker 1: the cash register, staring at the dead monitors, thinking about
[0:28] Speaker 1: how I'd be leaving this place for college in two weeks,
[0:31] Speaker 1: thinking about how small and heavy it felt to still
[0:34] Speaker 1: be here. By the time I logged up and stepped
[0:38] Speaker 1: into the fading sunlight, candle light was already blooming in
[0:42] Speaker 1: windows up and down Main Street. Tiny flames flickered behind
[0:47] Speaker 1: lace curtains and line porch railings, glowing against the dark
[0:52] Speaker 1: like cautious eyes. That was just what people did here
[0:56] Speaker 1: whenever the power failed. It didn't matter if it was
[0:59] Speaker 1: a two minute brown out or an overnight storm outage.
[1:04] Speaker 1: Candles came out fast. No one ever explained it to
[1:08] Speaker 1: me in words that made sense. I just grew up
[1:11] Speaker 1: knowing that when the lights went out, he lit a
[1:14] Speaker 1: candle for them. No one really said who they were,
[1:19] Speaker 1: no one wanted to. I've always gone along with it
[1:23] Speaker 1: habit mostly maybe a bit of fear too, if I'm honest,
[1:28] Speaker 1: But nothing deeper than that. Grandma was the believer. She
[1:33] Speaker 1: would hum under a breath, low and tuneless, as she
[1:37] Speaker 1: lit each wick in the living room. Her hands would
[1:41] Speaker 1: tremble as she moved from candle to candle, whispering prayers.
[1:44] Speaker 1: I never fully understood the prayers meant to keep us safe,
[1:49] Speaker 1: she said. I used to watch her and wonder if
[1:52] Speaker 1: she really believed in what she was doing, or if
[1:55] Speaker 1: believing was just easier than asking questions. No one had
[1:59] Speaker 1: answers for. All I knew was that every window in
[2:03] Speaker 1: our street would glow. By the time the first hour
[2:06] Speaker 1: of the blackout passed, every porch would have a candle burning,
[2:11] Speaker 1: and every family would stay inside, quiet, waiting for the
[2:16] Speaker 1: power to come back on. I joked the short distance home,
[2:21] Speaker 1: my trainers slapping the pavement in the hush, there was
[2:25] Speaker 1: just enough daylight left to make it home. Without the
[2:28] Speaker 1: street lights, the neighborhood felt swallowed by the sky, leaving
[2:33] Speaker 1: only small islands of flickering light in the windows. Every
[2:37] Speaker 1: porch had its candle lentence burning. Some families set out
[2:41] Speaker 1: mason jars with tea lights lining their walkways, flames bending
[2:45] Speaker 1: and trembling in the spring wind. It was beautiful in
[2:49] Speaker 1: a way if I didn't think too hard about why
[2:53] Speaker 1: we did it. No one was outside, not even porch
[2:58] Speaker 1: smokers or gossiping neighbors leaning on rails. Windows were curtain tightly.
[3:04] Speaker 1: The only movement came from the restless flames themselves, stretching
[3:08] Speaker 1: shadows across gardens and driveways. When I was little, I
[3:13] Speaker 1: used to think the candles made the town look warm
[3:16] Speaker 1: and alive. Grandma would tell me stories about how our
[3:20] Speaker 1: own mother lit them every blackout, whispering that they kept
[3:24] Speaker 1: the watchers calm. At school, teachers never spoke about it.
[3:30] Speaker 1: My friends and I would joke that the candles were
[3:32] Speaker 1: just a hillbilly blackout tradition, something to make us feel
[3:36] Speaker 1: special when power companies ignored us. But I still lit them.
[3:42] Speaker 1: We all did. Even the new families who moved here
[3:46] Speaker 1: eventually fell in line. No one wanted to be the
[3:50] Speaker 1: only house dark during an outage. Our house sat at
[3:54] Speaker 1: the end of Sycamore Lane, as sagging one story with
[3:58] Speaker 1: pealing blue trim. It was smaller than most, with two
[4:02] Speaker 1: thin porch posts wrapped in chipped plastic. Ivy Grandmarow said
[4:07] Speaker 1: she liked being at the edge, away from the busier
[4:10] Speaker 1: parts of town, fewer eyes watching at every move. She'd
[4:15] Speaker 1: whisper with a smile, though I never understood what that meant.
[4:21] Speaker 1: I pushed through the gate and up the front steps,
[4:24] Speaker 1: two at a time, the wood creaking under my weight.
[4:28] Speaker 1: My fingers shook as I thumbed the keys from my pocket.
[4:32] Speaker 1: I wanted to see a silhouette in the window, rocking
[4:35] Speaker 1: slowly in a chair, candle light pulling around a lined
[4:38] Speaker 1: face as she mouthed prayers into the quiet. That was
[4:42] Speaker 1: how it always was, even when the power returned. She
[4:47] Speaker 1: lit the candles burn down to wax puddles before blowing
[4:50] Speaker 1: them out, just to be sure. Inside the living room
[4:55] Speaker 1: smelled of lavender wax and melted paraffin. Dozens of tea
[5:00] Speaker 1: lights flickered along the windowsill, and the old bugshelves crammed
[5:03] Speaker 1: with worn cookbooks and yarn baskets. But there was no
[5:09] Speaker 1: humming to greet me, no whispered psalms or half forgotten
[5:13] Speaker 1: lullabies weaving through the candle lit shadows. Grandma was slumped
[5:19] Speaker 1: in a rocking chair, head leaning against the shoulder. Her
[5:23] Speaker 1: eyes were open, staring at nothing. The glow of the
[5:27] Speaker 1: candles lit her face from below, deepening every wrinkle into
[5:31] Speaker 1: something hollow and waxen. Her chest rose and fell in shadow,
[5:36] Speaker 1: uneven breath that rattled in a throat. Grandma, My voice
[5:43] Speaker 1: cracked as I crossed the room, dropping my bag by
[5:46] Speaker 1: the door, I crouched beside her, gripping her wrist. Her
[5:50] Speaker 1: skin felt cold and damp. She didn't blink, Her breathing
[5:55] Speaker 1: fluttered like a candle about to go out. For a
[6:01] Speaker 1: long moment, I knelt there, listening to the ticking of
[6:05] Speaker 1: the wind up clock and the bug shelf, and the
[6:07] Speaker 1: soft hiss of candlewicks burning low outside. The street was silent,
[6:13] Speaker 1: holding its breath under the blackout sky. Emergency services never
[6:18] Speaker 1: came out during a blackout. Whether it was due to
[6:21] Speaker 1: tradition or religistical reason, I never knew. But what I
[6:26] Speaker 1: did know was it was useless to try. My chest tightened,
[6:31] Speaker 1: I stood and moved to the candle shelf, pulling down
[6:34] Speaker 1: the box of fresh votives. If Grandma couldn't finish them
[6:39] Speaker 1: to night, I would. I didn't know what else to do.
[6:44] Speaker 1: All I could think was keep them burning, keep her safe.
[6:49] Speaker 1: Keep whatever weighted in the dark from thinking our house
[6:53] Speaker 1: was empty. I moved through the house with a box
[6:58] Speaker 1: of motives balanced against my hair, placing candles in every room.
[7:03] Speaker 1: The kitchen counters were already lined with wax stained sauces
[7:06] Speaker 1: from past blackouts, each ready to cradle her flickering flame.
[7:11] Speaker 1: I lit one beside the sink, another on the breakfast table,
[7:15] Speaker 1: near Grandma's half finished crossword. Her pencil rested diagonally across
[7:19] Speaker 1: the grid. It's a razor worn down to metal. In
[7:24] Speaker 1: the hallway, I set a stubby pillar candle atop the
[7:27] Speaker 1: shoe cabinet, its orange glows stretching toward the bedrooms. Shadows
[7:33] Speaker 1: danced across the peiling floral wallpaper, blooming and shrinking in
[7:38] Speaker 1: the shifting light. Each flicker made me flinch. I kept
[7:43] Speaker 1: listening for Grandma's voice, hoping she would call out to me,
[7:47] Speaker 1: ask what I was doing, or tell me I missed
[7:50] Speaker 1: the spot. But the house stayed silent, apart from the
[7:54] Speaker 1: quiet hiss of wicks catching fire at the bathroom door,
[8:00] Speaker 1: the checker breathing again. From the hallway, I could see
[8:04] Speaker 1: her chest rising and falling, slow and uneven, relieved in
[8:10] Speaker 1: the tightness in my throat. For a moment, I whispered
[8:13] Speaker 1: a quick prayer word she used to say when I
[8:16] Speaker 1: was scared of thunder. Keep her safe, keep them away,
[8:21] Speaker 1: Bring back the sun. The last candle sat on the
[8:26] Speaker 1: living room window ledge. I knelt and held the match
[8:29] Speaker 1: to the wick. For a moment, the flame flared bright,
[8:34] Speaker 1: illuminating the frost wet glass. My reflection glowed, their skin
[8:39] Speaker 1: pale under the candle's bloom. I moved to blow out
[8:43] Speaker 1: the match, but something beyond the window caught my eye.
[8:51] Speaker 1: A figure stood at the edge of the yard, where
[8:53] Speaker 1: the candlelight faded into darkness. She wore her cotton house
[8:58] Speaker 1: dress with a hymn that rushed her ankles, and her
[9:02] Speaker 1: hair was pinned back neatly from her face. The woman's
[9:05] Speaker 1: shoulders were straight, her head tilted slightly to one side.
[9:10] Speaker 1: Even from where I knelt, I could see her smile.
[9:16] Speaker 1: My heart thumped so loud I couldn't breathe. It was Grandma.
[9:23] Speaker 1: She raised one hand and curled her fingers in a gentle,
[9:26] Speaker 1: beckoning motion, inviting me out into the darkness beyond the candles.
[9:35] Speaker 1: My hands fumbard from my phone as I packed away
[9:38] Speaker 1: from the window. Emergency services were no help, but maybe
[9:42] Speaker 1: someone from the town knew what to do. The screen
[9:45] Speaker 1: lit up blue and empty, no bars, no emergency signal.
[9:52] Speaker 1: I tried again, pressing the numbers harder, as if force
[9:55] Speaker 1: alone could push the call through. Each veiled attempt made
[9:59] Speaker 1: my chest tighten until I felt I couldn't draw breath
[10:03] Speaker 1: at all. Come on, come on, my voice, shoot in
[10:08] Speaker 1: the quiet room. The only answer was the low hiss
[10:12] Speaker 1: of the candles burning along the shelf. I shoved the
[10:17] Speaker 1: phone into my pocket and turned a check on Grandma.
[10:21] Speaker 1: For a moment, I thought she was still there in
[10:23] Speaker 1: a chair. The shadows clung thick around the cushions, curling
[10:28] Speaker 1: into shapes I almost recognized. I stepped closer, hard, pounding
[10:34] Speaker 1: so hard I could feel it in my teeth. The
[10:38] Speaker 1: chair was empty. The front door stood open, letting in
[10:43] Speaker 1: a chill breeze that carried the faint scent of damp
[10:45] Speaker 1: earth and blown out matches. The candles by the entry
[10:50] Speaker 1: had been extinguished, wax pooling around blackened wicks. The smoke
[10:55] Speaker 1: coiled upward in thin gray ribbons that faded into the dark. Grandma,
[11:02] Speaker 1: My voice cracked. I rushed through the doorway and peered outside.
[11:08] Speaker 1: The street stretched silent under the blackout sky, only lit
[11:12] Speaker 1: by the flickering candles in windows and porches. I stepped
[11:16] Speaker 1: onto the porch boards, clutching the frame to keep my
[11:19] Speaker 1: knees from buckling. Grandma, I shouted again, louder this time.
[11:26] Speaker 1: My voice echoed off quiet houses, then fell flat. At
[11:32] Speaker 1: the far end of the street, shadows flickered at the
[11:35] Speaker 1: edge of the driveway. They were tall, thin shapes, standing
[11:40] Speaker 1: just beyond the candle light's reach. They didn't move, they
[11:44] Speaker 1: didn't speak, but I could feel their attention pressing against
[11:48] Speaker 1: my skin, pricking cold and sharp. As sleet lights glowed
[11:54] Speaker 1: behind curtained windows, I saw a neighbor across the street
[11:57] Speaker 1: pull back a lace curtain with two fingers, her eyes
[12:01] Speaker 1: wide and round in the dimness, our gazes met. She
[12:06] Speaker 1: shook her head once in a quick, desperate motion, before
[12:10] Speaker 1: letting the curtain fall back into place. Another window brightened
[12:15] Speaker 1: as someone flicked on a flashlight, only to click it
[12:18] Speaker 1: off immediately, leaving candle flames to flutter alone. Please, I whispered,
[12:26] Speaker 1: Though I didn't know who I was asking, I remembered
[12:30] Speaker 1: Grandma's old warning, the one she always made me repeat
[12:34] Speaker 1: before bed during storms when the lights flickered, Never go
[12:39] Speaker 1: outside drawing a blackout without a single lit candle. They
[12:44] Speaker 1: can't see you if you carry the light. My hands
[12:49] Speaker 1: were empty. I was standing barefoot in the dark, nothing
[12:54] Speaker 1: but silent watchers between me and the rest of the world.
[13:02] Speaker 1: I stepped off the porch, the chill grass flattening under
[13:05] Speaker 1: my bare feet. My eyes darted across the yard, scanning
[13:10] Speaker 1: for any sign of her. The shadows at the end
[13:13] Speaker 1: of the street still stood, silent and watchful. I forced
[13:17] Speaker 1: myself to look away, focusing instead on the ground directly
[13:21] Speaker 1: before me. Half way to the garden bed, a faint
[13:26] Speaker 1: glimmer caught my eye. I moved closer, hard, thooding against
[13:31] Speaker 1: my ribs so hard it hurt. There nestled among the
[13:36] Speaker 1: dandelion stalks and damp earth lay Grandma's old brass candle holder.
[13:42] Speaker 1: Its curved handle rested on a patch of flattened grass,
[13:45] Speaker 1: wax pooled and solidifying around the wick. I crouched and
[13:50] Speaker 1: touched it with trembling fingers. The wax was still warm,
[13:55] Speaker 1: the scent of lavender clung to it, soft and sweet
[13:59] Speaker 1: in the cold air. Tears prickled in my eyes. She
[14:04] Speaker 1: never let this candle go out, not once in all
[14:07] Speaker 1: my years living with her, constantly replacing it when it
[14:11] Speaker 1: got low. She kept it by a chair every night,
[14:15] Speaker 1: even when there was no black out, flame flickering against
[14:19] Speaker 1: the dark until dawn came back. I clutched the holder
[14:24] Speaker 1: to my chest and stood, wiping my eyes with my sleeve.
[14:29] Speaker 1: The street felt wrong in its silence. My gaze drifted
[14:33] Speaker 1: past the fences and rooftops toward the tree line at
[14:36] Speaker 1: the far edge of town, beyond the open fields, In
[14:40] Speaker 1: the dense clutch of old pines and bare boned oaks,
[14:44] Speaker 1: hundreds of tiny lights flickered between the trunks. Pin pricks
[14:48] Speaker 1: of gold hovered in the dark, steady and silent. They
[14:54] Speaker 1: weren't fireflies. The lights didn't barble bounce. Each remained thick,
[15:00] Speaker 1: instead a different height, some low to the ground, others
[15:03] Speaker 1: near the canopy, spread among the trees in careful, unnatural patterns.
[15:10] Speaker 1: My breath caught. I could almost see shapes holding them,
[15:15] Speaker 1: figures with edges blurred by shadow, each carrying a pale,
[15:19] Speaker 1: unwavering flame inside them. They stood in silent rows, face
[15:24] Speaker 1: in my direction, though I couldn't see their eyes. The
[15:29] Speaker 1: sight made my skin tighten until I felt I might
[15:32] Speaker 1: crawl out of it just to escape the feeling. I
[15:36] Speaker 1: realized then why it never made sense before growing up,
[15:41] Speaker 1: I always thought the candles were for us. They kept
[15:44] Speaker 1: bad things away and kept our homes safe until the
[15:47] Speaker 1: power returned. That's what everyone said, even if they never
[15:52] Speaker 1: explained how. But no one ever talked about the woods.
[15:57] Speaker 1: No one ever spoke about what the candles were keeping
[16:00] Speaker 1: it for. It was a gap I never noticed because
[16:04] Speaker 1: I didn't want to, because the thought with the lights
[16:07] Speaker 1: weren't barriers, but invitations felt too heavy to hold as
[16:11] Speaker 1: a child, so I never asked. None of us did.
[16:17] Speaker 1: A memory rose sharp and sudden. Grandma's voice low and
[16:22] Speaker 1: quivering as she cleaned and trimmed the old wicks. They
[16:27] Speaker 1: need light to find their way home. If we don't
[16:30] Speaker 1: give it to them, they'll look for another glow to follow.
[16:35] Speaker 1: I pressed the hand over my mouth, fighting the nausea
[16:38] Speaker 1: climbing up my throat. The candles weren't meant to keep
[16:43] Speaker 1: spirits away. They were to guide them back to wherever
[16:46] Speaker 1: they came from, to keep them moving past us without
[16:50] Speaker 1: the light showing them the path they'd find another source,
[16:54] Speaker 1: another warmth, another living glow, to carry them through the
[16:58] Speaker 1: dark and to night. The only other light left was me.
[17:10] Speaker 1: My breath rasped in my throat, shallow and quick, but
[17:13] Speaker 1: I forced myself to move slowly, rushing but only make
[17:17] Speaker 1: the candle flicker harder with how close I was getting.
[17:22] Speaker 1: If it went out, I knew I would not be
[17:24] Speaker 1: able to relight it in time. The closer I drew
[17:28] Speaker 1: to the tree line, the colder the air became. My
[17:32] Speaker 1: bare arms prickled with goose bumps, and sweat cooled against
[17:36] Speaker 1: the back of my neck. The pine trunks rose tall
[17:39] Speaker 1: and silent before me, their branches clawing at the dark sky.
[17:45] Speaker 1: Between them, the flickering lights spread deeper, forming rows and
[17:49] Speaker 1: clusters among the shadows. I paused at the edge of
[17:53] Speaker 1: the woods, the scent of damp needles and rotting leaves
[17:57] Speaker 1: curling into my nose, or trembled in the faint breeze
[18:02] Speaker 1: in small flame, bending toward the trees. I moved forward
[18:06] Speaker 1: in a single step, then another, careful to keep the
[18:10] Speaker 1: holder level. My hands ached from gripping it so tightly,
[18:15] Speaker 1: but I didn't dare loosen my hold as I crossed
[18:19] Speaker 1: into the tree line, the light shifted. They began to move,
[18:24] Speaker 1: drifting out from behind trunks and thickets. Figures emerged with them,
[18:30] Speaker 1: pale shapes that blurreded their edges. Their faces were smooth
[18:34] Speaker 1: and empty, with thin white skins stretched over blank hollows.
[18:39] Speaker 1: Each one emitted a small light from their chest, maybe
[18:43] Speaker 1: a representation of their soul, made manifest, looking like a flame,
[18:47] Speaker 1: standing tall without so much as a tremor. Each only
[18:52] Speaker 1: had one light in them. If I had come with
[18:55] Speaker 1: more candles for safety, they didn't make a sound, no footfalls,
[19:01] Speaker 1: no breaths, just the soft hiss of wax burning and
[19:05] Speaker 1: the faint crackle of my own candle. As I passed them,
[19:09] Speaker 1: I had to walk slowly, measuring each step to keep
[19:13] Speaker 1: from stubbing over roots or fallen branches. The candle's flame
[19:17] Speaker 1: pulled my attention, forcing me to watch it more than
[19:20] Speaker 1: my path. The ground was littered with pine needles and twigs,
[19:25] Speaker 1: each threatening to shift under my weight. Every time the
[19:29] Speaker 1: wick guttered from a trembling step, my chest clinched so
[19:33] Speaker 1: hard I felt my vomit from fear alone. The pale
[19:38] Speaker 1: figures pressed closer, creating a narrow corridor of flickering gold.
[19:43] Speaker 1: The heads turned to follow my movement, though they had
[19:47] Speaker 1: no eyes to see me. With my scalp prickled with
[19:51] Speaker 1: constant sweat. As I felt their attention tighten around me
[19:55] Speaker 1: a silent, suffocating curiosity, they parted her head, revealing a
[20:03] Speaker 1: small clearing deep among the trees. In the center stood
[20:09] Speaker 1: my grandmother. A thin cotton nightgown billowed faintly around her
[20:14] Speaker 1: ankles in the breeze, though her hair and arms remained
[20:17] Speaker 1: utterly still. She stared forward, eyes glazed and unblinking, mouth slack.
[20:24] Speaker 1: Her hands hung at her sides empty. A shape moved
[20:29] Speaker 1: behind her, taller than the others, dark enough to drink
[20:33] Speaker 1: in every shred of candlelight near by. Its forms shifted
[20:38] Speaker 1: with each step, Thin and bony, Its hand emerged from
[20:42] Speaker 1: the gloom, long and skeletal, skin stretched taut over jotting knuckles.
[20:49] Speaker 1: It extended its hand toward mine, palm up waiting. The
[20:55] Speaker 1: meaning pressed into my chest with the weight of stone.
[21:00] Speaker 1: It wanted my candle, my light, in exchange for Grandma's return.
[21:05] Speaker 1: A soul for a soul, or at least what it
[21:09] Speaker 1: thought was a soul. I tied to my grip, and
[21:13] Speaker 1: my knuckles burned, unable to breathe past the cold swell
[21:17] Speaker 1: in my throat. Even though I knew I wasn't giving
[21:21] Speaker 1: it my soul, I was still handing over my only light.
[21:26] Speaker 1: Without a flame, would I find my way back through
[21:29] Speaker 1: these trees? Without it would have become just another flickering
[21:34] Speaker 1: shape among the silent congregation. My grip loosened around the
[21:40] Speaker 1: brass holder. The flame wavered once before steadying again, bright
[21:45] Speaker 1: and calm against the dark. The skele little hand remained outstretched,
[21:50] Speaker 1: fingers curling in silent invitation. My chest felt tight enough
[21:55] Speaker 1: to crack my ribs apart. Every instinct screamed to turn
[22:00] Speaker 1: and run, but I forced myself to take a trembling
[22:03] Speaker 1: step forward. I extended the candle. The figure's hand closed
[22:09] Speaker 1: around the holder, skin crackling with a sound like frozen branches.
[22:13] Speaker 1: Breaking the instant my fingers let go, The darkness surged inward.
[22:20] Speaker 1: Shadows rushed past my face, cold and sharp, scraping against
[22:24] Speaker 1: my skin as if testing its warmth. I lunged for Grandma,
[22:31] Speaker 1: my fingers wrapped around a thin wrist, gripping bone under
[22:34] Speaker 1: soft skin. She didn't move at first, for a single
[22:39] Speaker 1: crushing moment, I thought I had traded a soul for nothing,
[22:43] Speaker 1: that I had lost both of us to the woods forever.
[22:47] Speaker 1: Then her arm twitched in my grasp, her chest rose
[22:50] Speaker 1: in a sudden, ragged breath. Her eyes flickered with awareness,
[22:55] Speaker 1: confusion clouding her gaze. As she turned her head to
[22:58] Speaker 1: look at me. The shadows shrieked without sound, rushing forward
[23:04] Speaker 1: with the sudden violent hunger. Without a candle, I no
[23:09] Speaker 1: longer blended in, and just like an immune system, they
[23:13] Speaker 1: went straight for me, as if I were an invader.
[23:18] Speaker 1: They clawed on my shoulders, scraping across my back, ripping
[23:21] Speaker 1: the thin fabric of my shirt with ice cold fingers.
[23:26] Speaker 1: I tightened my olden Grandma and pulled her forward, forcing
[23:29] Speaker 1: her feet to move across the pine littered ground. We
[23:33] Speaker 1: stumbled between the pale watchers, weaving through their silent ranks.
[23:38] Speaker 1: Branches snagged to my hair and whipped across my face,
[23:41] Speaker 1: scratching skin. Roar roots rose from fallen needles, catching my
[23:46] Speaker 1: toes and send me staggering with each step. Grandma gasped
[23:50] Speaker 1: beside me, half dragged, her thin legs, trembling with effort.
[23:55] Speaker 1: The woods stretched on endlessly, every tree the same twisted
[23:59] Speaker 1: silver in the wavering candlelight ahead. The shadows closed in
[24:05] Speaker 1: behind us. I could feel them brushing against my back,
[24:08] Speaker 1: pressing cold fingers to my spine. My legs burned with
[24:12] Speaker 1: each lunging step, muscles shaking so hard I thought they
[24:16] Speaker 1: might give out. Before he reached the edge of the trees,
[24:20] Speaker 1: we broke from the tree line into the open. The
[24:23] Speaker 1: house stood ahead, porchedlight, stark candles flickering weakly in the windows.
[24:29] Speaker 1: My legs gave out for half a step, and Grandma
[24:32] Speaker 1: stumbled beside me, her feet scraping uselessly across the grass.
[24:37] Speaker 1: The shadows poured from the woods, stretching over the lawn
[24:41] Speaker 1: and curling gasping streams. She sagged in my arms, her
[24:48] Speaker 1: head falling against my shoulder. Her voice was thin, barely
[24:52] Speaker 1: more than a breath. Leave me, she whispered, You have
[24:59] Speaker 1: to run, they're too close. No, I gasped, tightening my
[25:04] Speaker 1: grip around a waist. I'm not leaving you, please, she breathed,
[25:10] Speaker 1: tears spilling from her closed eyes. Go they only need one.
[25:18] Speaker 1: I tried to pull her forward, but her knees buckled.
[25:22] Speaker 1: It was a miracle. She made it this far in
[25:24] Speaker 1: her rage, and it didn't look like I would be
[25:26] Speaker 1: able to make the distance together. The shadows searched, reaching
[25:31] Speaker 1: for her first, curling black fingers around her ankles and calves,
[25:36] Speaker 1: creeping up a thin cotton nightgown. Panic burned in my throat,
[25:41] Speaker 1: heart and choking. The house felt impossibly far away, its
[25:46] Speaker 1: candlelight too weak to shield us from the coal tide
[25:49] Speaker 1: crawling across the grass. A door swung open across the street.
[25:56] Speaker 1: Mister Harris, our elderly neighbor, stood in his doorway, holding
[26:01] Speaker 1: out a pair of thick pillar candles, the flames strong
[26:04] Speaker 1: and steady in the wind. His eyes were wide, shining
[26:08] Speaker 1: with terror. Take it, he shouted. I let go of
[26:14] Speaker 1: Grandma's wrist for a split second, grabbing the candles from
[26:17] Speaker 1: his shaking hand, I rushed the second into my grandma's
[26:21] Speaker 1: hand as she was being dragged across the lawn. The
[26:25] Speaker 1: instant the flame passed into the grip, the shadows recoiled
[26:29] Speaker 1: with a snapping hiss. The shapes crumbled backward, folding in
[26:33] Speaker 1: on themselves until nothing remained but the night breeze bending
[26:37] Speaker 1: in the grass. I clutched the candle to my chest,
[26:42] Speaker 1: its warmth seeping into my frozen fingers. Grandma sagged against
[26:47] Speaker 1: my side, her breaths ragged but strong. The porch boards
[26:52] Speaker 1: creaked under our weight as I half dragged her up
[26:55] Speaker 1: the steps and into the soft circle of flickering light.
[27:01] Speaker 1: The first pale light of dawn bled into the sky,
[27:05] Speaker 1: turning the edges of the woods to washt out gray.
[27:08] Speaker 1: Street lights flickered back to life, humming with a familiar
[27:12] Speaker 1: low buzze. Power returned with a quiet surge, clocks blinking
[27:17] Speaker 1: twelve in every room. The candles still burned, the flames
[27:22] Speaker 1: small and stubborn against the morning light. I sat beside
[27:27] Speaker 1: Grandma's bed, dipping a cloth in warm water to clean
[27:30] Speaker 1: the scratches along her arms. Her skin was thin and
[27:34] Speaker 1: marked with bruises and cuts where the shadows that grabbed her.
[27:39] Speaker 1: She winced once, then fell silent again, staring at the
[27:42] Speaker 1: ceiling with heavy eyes almost done, I whispered, wrapping gaze
[27:49] Speaker 1: around the deeper cut near her elbow. My own hands
[27:53] Speaker 1: trembled with exhaustion, wrists blotched with purple where clawed fingers
[27:58] Speaker 1: had scraped away skin. The house felt empty, despite the
[28:03] Speaker 1: quiet wear of appliances coming back to life. The candles
[28:07] Speaker 1: burned on every shelf and table, the wicks curling black
[28:11] Speaker 1: above trembling flames. Grandma's gaze shifted toward me on focused
[28:17] Speaker 1: at first, Then her eyes cleared and she reached out
[28:22] Speaker 1: her finger tips brushing my wrist. Thank you, she whispered,
[28:29] Speaker 1: her voice roar and hoarse, thank you for bringing me home.
[28:37] Speaker 1: I swallowed the tight ache in my throat and pressed
[28:40] Speaker 1: a hand between mine rest. Now, I said, you're safe.
[28:49] Speaker 1: When a breathing slowed into a gentler rhythm, I stood
[28:53] Speaker 1: and gathered left over candles from the hallway. The sun
[28:57] Speaker 1: had risen beyond the fields, painting the window glass gold.
[29:02] Speaker 1: But I lit one last candle anyway and set it
[29:05] Speaker 1: on the sill. Its flame glowed against the daylight, a
[29:10] Speaker 1: thin orange tongue dancing in silence. I watched the tree
[29:15] Speaker 1: line beyond our yards, where the shadows still clung low
[29:18] Speaker 1: to the ground. The candle flicked once, its scent of
[29:23] Speaker 1: lavender curling warm into the room. Maybe this is how
[29:28] Speaker 1: it goes, that when life ends here, we're taken to
[29:33] Speaker 1: be one with those things. There's a chance I've disrupted
[29:37] Speaker 1: the natural flow of this town. All I know is
[29:42] Speaker 1: I've bought some more time for my grandma for when
[29:46] Speaker 1: she inevitably joins them in the next blackout.

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