The Last Candle in the Chapel

The storm came fast, swallowing the countryside in a blanket of black clouds and relentless rain. The narrow road twisted through the woods like a snake, slick with mud and nearly invisible under the downpour. Emily's car sputtered once, then died completely.

With no cell signal and the nearest town miles away, she was left with only the forest around her—and the faint glow of a structure through the trees.

It was a chapel. Old, wooden, and forgotten by time. The cross on its roof tilted sideways, and its stained-glass windows were cracked but intact. The heavy front doors groaned as she pushed them open.

Inside, the air was cold and stale, thick with the scent of wet earth and candle wax. Wooden pews stretched toward the altar, where a single candle still flickered, its light trembling like a heartbeat in the darkness.

Emily stepped forward. The candle’s flame danced as she approached, casting long shadows on the walls. There was no wind. No draft. No sign of anyone else.

And yet... the candle burned.

Her footsteps echoed as she moved through the pews, drawn to the strange stillness. The silence pressed in on her ears, broken only by the quiet hiss of the rain outside. She reached the altar and stared at the candle.

It was thick and white, melted around the base as though it had burned for days. Beside it lay an old Bible, pages yellowed and brittle. She flipped it open.

"Let the last flame burn. When it dies, so shall the barrier."

A chill gripped her spine.

Suddenly, the chapel door slammed shut.

Emily spun around, her heart pounding.

"Hello?" she called out.

No answer.

She rushed to the door, pulled, pushed—it wouldn’t budge. It was as if the storm itself had sealed it shut.

The candle sputtered behind her.

She turned. The flame had grown smaller, as though suffocating.

"Okay, it’s just a candle," she whispered, trying to steady her breathing. "Just a draft. That’s all."

But deep down, something told her otherwise.

A whisper echoed through the chapel.

Not a word—just a sound. A sigh. As if something had stirred awake.

She backed away from the altar.

That’s when she saw it. In the stained-glass reflection on the floor—a shape. Tall. Thin. Standing in the far corner of the chapel.

She turned.

Nothing there.

But when she looked back down... the reflection remained.

Emily’s breath caught in her throat.

She wasn't alone.

The flame dimmed further.

She ran back to the altar and grabbed the candle, shielding the flame with her hand. Its light illuminated the chapel just enough to see the far wall—lined with small, crooked wooden doors. Confessionals.

One of them was open.

From inside came a slow, deliberate knock.

She backed away, whispering, “No, no, no...”

Another knock. Louder.

Then a low, rasping voice: “The flame is dying.”

Emily bolted down the aisle, pounding on the chapel doors. “Let me out!”

Silence.

She turned back just in time to see the flame flicker violently.

The candle was almost gone.

The voice echoed again, now from everywhere: “When the light dies… the dead shall rise.”

The flame dimmed.

She could hear footsteps now—multiple—coming from behind every confessional door, from under the pews, from the very walls.

Whispers filled the chapel. Names. Screams. Pleas.

She dropped to her knees in front of the altar and cupped the candle, trying to protect it with her shaking hands. “Stay alive. Please... stay alive…”

She looked around and saw melted wax on the floor. Dozens of puddles. Candles that once were.

She wasn’t the first.

The chapel had been a prison long before she ever stepped inside.

The flame gave a final flicker.

Then—darkness.

No sound. No wind. Just the crushing silence of a world without light.

Then... the breathing.

So many voices.

The last candle was gone.

Emily screamed, but her voice was swallowed by the dark.

No one ever saw her again.

But the next time the storm came, someone else’s car broke down. And through the trees, a flickering light called to them—

The last candle in the chapel.