The Candle at the Crossroads

There was only one rule: never let the candle go out.

Halloween night in Willow’s Creek was a time of dares and haunted whispers, and every October 31st, one unlucky soul had to sit alone at the crossroads with a candle until dawn. This year, it was my turn.

I sat shivering on the stone bench at the old crossroads, the candle’s flame flickering in the frigid wind. Every gust felt like a threat, every rustling leaf seemed to creep closer, as if something just beyond the light was watching me. Midnight crept up, and a strange silence settled over the town.

Then, faint at first but rising, I heard it—a dragging sound, like something being pulled slowly through the dirt. My stomach knotted as the noise grew louder, and my eyes darted to the road, straining to make out what was coming.

A figure emerged from the shadows, towering and hunched, with a long, crooked neck and arms that hung disturbingly low. It seemed to shimmer with darkness, as if it was made of the night itself, its hollow eyes locked onto the candle in my hands.

I wanted to turn and run, but I knew the rule. I held the candle tighter, its warm glow trembling, and whispered to myself, just don’t let it go out.

“Do you think a little flame will keep me out?” it rasped, its voice twisting through the night like smoke. It took a step forward, its body bending and stretching unnaturally, and I could feel my grip on the candle weaken, my hand trembling.

The flame shivered, nearly extinguished by my shaking breath. I took a step back, then another, as the figure advanced, filling the air with a chill that seemed to sap every ounce of warmth and hope from my bones. It was only inches away, its hand stretching out toward me—

A shout echoed down the road, piercing the suffocating silence.

“Get away from her!”

My heart leapt as I saw figures running up the road. My sister, Emily, her long hair streaming, and my friend, Marcus, close behind. They skidded to a stop in front of me, hands outstretched, faces pale but fierce.

The figure’s expression twisted in rage, its hollow eyes narrowing. “You can’t—”

Emily’s voice cut through it like a knife. “You have no power here! Leave!”

Marcus pulled out a flask, dousing the figure with what I hoped was some kind of protective oil or salt. The creature recoiled, hissing as the liquid splattered across its form, sizzling against its inky flesh.

“Back away!” Marcus yelled, his voice wavering but strong. Emily gripped my hand, holding it steady as she whispered urgently.

“Keep the flame steady. Don’t let it go out, no matter what.”

The figure let out a low, guttural growl, its body twisting and contorting as it tried to advance. But every time it moved, Marcus threw another splash of salt water at it, sending it reeling. Emily’s grip on me tightened, her hand warm and reassuring. The presence of my friends, their courage, steadied me, and the candle’s flame stopped flickering, burning brighter and steadier than before.

The figure let out a piercing wail, its body dissolving like smoke, unraveling into wisps of shadow that twisted and writhed as it faded. Its eyes lingered last, burning with a hatred that sent a final chill down my spine before they, too, vanished into the night.

Silence fell. The three of us stood there, breathless and trembling, as the dawn light began to creep over the horizon. The candle’s flame, now tiny and fragile, blinked out just as the first rays of sunlight brushed the ground.

I turned to Emily and Marcus, my voice breaking with gratitude and relief. “I thought… I thought it had me.”

Emily hugged me tightly. “No chance. We weren’t letting that thing win.”

Marcus grinned, though his eyes were still wide with adrenaline. “Next Halloween, I think we bring the whole town here, just to be safe.”

As we walked back to town, the horror of the night faded, replaced with an unbreakable bond. The crossroads felt lighter, like we’d reclaimed it, banishing the fear that had plagued Willow’s Creek for years.

We’d faced the darkness together—and won.

Happy Halloween! 🎃