The Candle That Never Burns Out

Rain poured down in thick sheets as Ella hurried down the dimly lit streets. She was drawn to an old antique store tucked in a hidden alley, the kind of place that looked as if it hadn’t seen a customer in years. The sign above read: Curios and Curses, and its windows were fogged, filled with strange objects that seemed to watch her as she entered.

Inside, a peculiar old man behind the counter nodded knowingly. “Looking for something…special?” he asked, his voice crackling like the wick of a burning candle.

Ella’s gaze swept over shelves of dusty books, ancient trinkets, and bottles filled with odd-colored liquids. But her attention stopped on a small, waxy candle sitting on a pedestal. It was crimson red with a black wick, giving off a faint, almost unnoticeable glow. She felt an inexplicable urge to reach for it.

The old man’s eyes sparkled. “Ah, the Candle of Eternum. It’s said that once lit, it never goes out.” He gave her a wry smile, revealing teeth far too sharp. “Light it only if you’re prepared for what it brings.”

Ella, ever the skeptic, scoffed. A candle that never went out? Nonsense. But something about it fascinated her. She paid for the candle, ignoring the old man’s final warning. “Only light it if you wish to see what follows.”

Back in her small apartment, she placed the candle on her table and lit it, watching as the small flame grew, casting eerie shadows on the walls. It burned with an unusual intensity, brighter than any candle she’d ever seen. She tried blowing it out, but the flame wouldn’t even flicker.

Days passed, and no matter what she did—water, wind, even burying it under blankets—the candle continued to burn. At night, Ella began to feel…watched. Strange shadows flickered in the corners of her apartment, darker than the night, with faint shapes shifting and moving.

One evening, as she sat in her living room, she noticed the flame cast a strange silhouette on the wall. It wasn’t her own. The shadow was taller, with long, thin fingers that seemed to move independently, curling and unfurling. Her pulse quickened as she realized that the figure was reaching toward her.

The shadow whispered her name.

Panicked, Ella tried extinguishing the candle again, but the flame only grew brighter, casting the shadow larger across the walls. The whispers grew louder, voices overlapping, calling her name from every corner. They spoke of things she didn’t understand, tales of souls that had been consumed by the flame, of those who had dared to summon it.

Finally, she grabbed the candle, intending to throw it out the window. But the moment she touched it, icy tendrils wrapped around her hand, rooting her in place. The flame flickered once, then expanded, casting the entire room in blood-red light. She could see them now—figures in the shadows, with hollow eyes and wide, grinning mouths. Souls, trapped in eternal darkness, beckoning her to join them.

The candlelight dimmed, leaving her alone in the dark, the whispers still filling her ears. The last thing she heard was the old man’s voice, as clear as if he stood beside her: “The candle never dies, and now, neither will you.”

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