The Devil's Candles

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

After a tragic accident, all Abigail wanted was her son back. But is she willing to go to the depths of Hell to get him back?

The Devil's Candles

Don’t blow them out...


I look around the empty room, trying to decide numbly if I should pack up his stuff or leave it exactly as it is. I haven’t been in here for days, the pain was too great. It looks exactly the way it did before he… he… he died. I suddenly burst out in tears. I would do anything to get him back… Anything.

I walk out of my son’s room, closing the door gently behind me, tears silently flowing down my face. He was the only thing that kept me in this cruel world, but I can’t leave now that he’s gone. He would want me to keep living, for him. I shrug my coat on and grab my car keys. Maybe Nahimana knows a way to get in touch with my son.

As I drive, I choke back my tears. Nahimana will know what to do, she has to. She will help me. She will tell me what to do.


Her message was clear. The only way to get him back is to collect him from the Devil myself. I shiver at the thought, but eventually ready myself for the trip. I am determined to see my beautiful child again.  I will do anything it takes to find him, even if it means confronting the Devil himself. I am ready to walk out the door, when I stop myself.

Where do I find the Devil? I can think of no way to reach him, but to die myself. I shudder. There must be some other way. I think back to what Nahimana told me.

“Remember, dear, do not rush into things. Use this to guide your decision. Think on it, but go if you must. You will find the way. It is in your hands now. I can help you no more.” She handed me a booklet as she spoke, ‘Guide to Smart Decision-Making.’ I pull it out of my pocket.

As I open it, an old, yellow piece of paper flutters to the ground at my feet. I bend over to pick it up. As I read it, I realize the true meaning of Nahimana’s words.  “You will find the way. It is in your hands.”

I begin to read the words out loud, hoping, praying, that this does what I want. Nahimana hasn’t failed me yet.

“I am in dire need.

To get what I want,

My soul must bleed.

Though it does daunt,

The man down under,

Who rules the dead

Could fix my blunder.

It is where I must tread.”

I hold my breath as the air begins to swirl. The room grows cold, the lights flicker and go out. And everything turns creepy. A mirror appears in front of me. It floats about two feet off of the ground and decorated with silver skulls. It is about as tall as me, maybe taller. As I stare at it, the glass begins to ripple. At first I think it is a figment of my imagination, but when I blink, the rippling doesn’t stop. I stare at it some more, fascinated by the mirror’s beauty and elegance, though at the same time, I am frightened by it.

The rippling finally ceases and I jump back in shock. Instead of my reflection, I see a fiery pit with hundreds of moaning people pulling on chains that look like they have no end. Demon men with horns and red skin casually walk around, whipping anyone who stops working. This must be Hell, no where else would people be so horrid. I cringe every time I hear the crack of a whip and I start to have second thoughts. This place is abhorrent, how could I go there? Just how? It is the only way to save Peter, I argue to myself. To save Peter, to bring him back. I know I must do it, for my son, the only reason why I continue breathing.

I walk up to the mirror and trace the outline of one of the silver skulls. I take a deep breath and put my hand into the mirror. Immediately I feel the ungodly heat. I pull my hand back into the cool air of my house. I rub my hand and know that somehow I must get my son back. If this is the only way, then I will do it. I close my eyes and step into the mirror.


When I open my eyes, the mirror is gone and I’m surrounded by moaning sinners and gruesome demons. The heat is deadly, and I tear off my coat. I am so engaged in my search for Peter, I do not notice the demons surrounding me until one of them grabs me and begins to drag me away. I don’t know where he is taking me. Perhaps to the Devil himself. This was part of my plan, to confront the Devil, but now that it’s happening, I am terrified.

We reach the center of Hell, where the Devil sits on his red, fiery throne. I am thrown on the hot sand in front of him, where I can see every gory detail of his majestic and bloody robes. I can’t tell what kind of fabric it is made of so I try to get as close as I can to study it. I realize that it is made of patches of human skin sewn together. He pokes me with his burning staff, bringing me out of my terrified trance and I look up.

“What do you want here?” he demands. His calm but severe tone makes me more scared than if he were yelling. My hands start to shake, so I put them under the folds in my shirt. “No one has dared come here alive since the fall of the Roman Empire! Speak to me, mortal, and I may let you escape my wrath. Tell me, what do you want with me, now?”

I can barely speak, and when I do, my voice sounds weak and childish. “Please, I want my son. Peter. My son Peter. Peter Whitman, I want him back.” The Devil just laughs.

“Your son! That is why you came? Ha! Your son! You are more pathetic than I thought! Damion, take her out!”

I began to cry. “ No! Please, no. My son. I can’t live without him. Please, I need him!”

The Devil laughs again.  “Yes, your son. Not worth living without him. So don’t live! I’m sure we have room for you here! Perhaps, even, with your darling Peter.” He sneers, and gestures towards an empty chain and a lone sinner. A young boy. My son.

“Peter! Peter, It’s me! Peter!” He turns toward me, and I begin to cry. His eyes are empty and cold. His face, lifeless. I try to run over to him but one demon holds me back. “No! Peter, It’s me! It’s mother! I’m here for you, Peter! I love you! Come back to me! Come back!” Nothing gets through to him, and I fall on my knees in the burning sand, tears streaming down my face. I choke back a sob, “Peter. My son. Peter.”

“Damion! Take her out!”

The demon picks me up and begins to carry me away.  He holds me as you would hold a baby. There is no point in struggling. He is strong, and yet, he doesn’t seem to be trying to hurt me. In fact, he seems to be carrying carefully, as if I were fragile, which I guess I am right now. When we are far enough away from the Devil, he turns around. He ducks into a cave and sets me on the ground. He sits down next to me and starts to put his arm around me but then seems to think better of it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, in a rough voice that sounds like it isn’t used much, and it’s strangely comforting. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that this is not safe. A demon from Hell, trying to comfort me. I know it’s dangerous, but I cannot get comfort anywhere else. So I decide to bury my face in his shoulder and keep crying. We sit there for a few minutes before he picks me up again. “Come with me. I want to show you something before I take you home. Nobody else has seen this besides the demons and the Devil.” He carries me a little ways further, and ducks into another small cave. At the end of it, there is a burning red door. He opens it.

The whole room is glowing. It is one of the biggest rooms I’ve ever seen. And it was filled with red candles. Some are lit, some are not. They are all about the same size, though, some of the burning candles are smaller than the others.There are billions and billions of them.

“What do they mean?” I ask, in wonder.

“Each candle represents a person,” he explains. “Everybody has one. The lit ones belong to the living, or those who have not yet been born. The candles that represent the unborn down burn down the candle, though. But the dark ones, they belong to the dead. The Devil has the power to extinguish them. When a candle goes out… the person the candle belongs to, dies.”

I look around. “Where is Peter’s? Show me his,” I practically demand.

The demon, Damion, looks at me sort of surprised but leads me deep into the cavern. I stare at the candles as we walk. Each candle sits on a block of wood, with intricate carvings in it. I look closer, and see it is their name. So many names of people, an occasional one I know, most that I don’t. Finally, he stops. He points down a row.

“It is in this row,” he says. I walk down slowly, looking at each candle carefully. I pass over the lit ones, mournfully, for Peter is gone. I stop halfway down the row. My silent tears fall on his candle. Peter Whitman. My son. I look up, slowly.

“Can I relight it?” I ask, desperate,“If I light his candle, can…can Peter come back?” I hold my breath, hoping for it to be true. The demon is silent and shakes his head slowly.

“No,” he finally says. “I’m sorry. Once a candle is out, it cannot be lit again.” He touches my back lightly, probably his attempt to comfort me. “I’m… I’m sorry. I would bring him back if I could. I would bring him back for you.”

I swallow my tears and try to smile. “Really?” He nods, so I try to change the subject. “Where is my candle?” I ask. “Can I see it?”

The demon smiles. “Of course. I was waiting for you to ask.”  Something in his voice sets off an alarm in my head but I shake it away. He’s been so nice to me. I watch the back of his red head as leads me farther into the candles. We walk silently for several minutes until he stops and points to a row. “Here, yours is in this row.” He grins as I hesitantly walk down the aisle. There’s something off about Damion but I can’t put my finger on it.

As I walk, I study the burning candles. I reach the end of the row, confused. “You must have gotten it mixed up,” I say. “My candle isn’t here.”

The demon looks as confused as I am. “No, no,” he says. “You must have missed it. I know it is in this row.” He walks down ahead of me. This time, I watch the wooden boxes more carefully. The demon stops in front of me, and I see my name written there. Abigail Whitman. Carved as beautifully as my son’s. I look up at my candle.

It’s dark and cold and lifeless.

I turn around to see feet. I look up and see that the Devil is standing above me, smiling.

“No one leaves Hell alive, you see. No one…”

Submitted: April 19, 2014

© Copyright 2021 VoraciousReader. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



Well how gresome and refreshing. I like how elements were given out as you read like how she's a woman in the middle or how she's already dead at the end. It made me sad , but that just means that you did a good job.

Sat, October 3rd, 2015 12:58pm


Thank you so much! I love that you liked my gruesome details. I am proud of them. I'll be sure to check out some of your stories!

Sat, October 3rd, 2015 1:42pm

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