Creepypasta Stories

The Candle

She gave him the key as soon as he had walked in the door. It had been in a small box, wrapped up with a bow.

He tried not to show his concern as he was acutely aware she was waiting expectantly for him to say something.

"Well, what do you think?" She asked.

A bit sudden, don't you think? came to his mind, but he knew better then to say that. They'd only been dating for a month and here she was giving him a key to her house. Still, he guessed there was no set time for this kind of thing.

"Great," he said, struggling to find an adequate response. "Now I can come over and watch your big screen anytime!" Trish rolled her eyes and gave him pouty lips until he gave her a kiss. He tried a simpler tact.

"Thanks hon." She pecked his lips, grinning. "Get your coat off and relax. I'm going to get the grub," she said, then ran to the kitchen. She had a quick enthusiasm he thought was adorable, somewhat childlike.

He did as she said, listening to her in the kitchen; she made the commotion of ten professional cooks in there, instead of just one. Metal clanking against metal. Bowls slamming on counter tops. She started singing softly as she worked. He collapsed on the couch.

"Hey, hon?" she called from the kitchen.

"Uh, yeah?" he said hesitantly. His immediate fear was that she was going to follow the giving-of-the-key by telling him she loved him. That would not be his idea of starting the evening off right. He quickly ran through his options.

Tell her I love her back? No good. I'm a terrible liar. She would see threw me like a window.

Tell her I think things are going too fast? No, she's in the room of the house filled with the most knives.

Oh! Tell her—

"Can you light the candle?"

"What?" He had been so engrossed in his thoughts, he honestly didn't hear what she said.

"Can you light the candle," she said again.

"Candle?" It was so far out of context of where his mind was, that at first he honestly found the word to be exotic, somehow. He tasted the word again, softly. "Candle."

"Yeah, CAN-DLE. It's by the TV," she called out, sounding either concerned, or slightly annoyed. "I'm surprised you haven't noticed it, yet."

He turned and sure enough, there on the entertainment unit was a candle roughly the size of a very small refrigerator.

"Whoa! How did I not see that?"

"I know, right? It's so big it needs six wicks just to burn the whole thing."

He approached it. It was sitting on the end of the TV unit, in a spot the designer obviously designated for a very large potted plant or for giant speakers.

"Where did you get this thing?" he asked, thinking he had never seen this much wax in his life. It came up to his knees. It was a pale white and he could smell a hint of vanilla coming from it. He hated vanilla.

"Online," Trish said and went back to her singing.

He went to pick it up, curious to know how much it weighed; but before he touched it, he pulled his hand back, feeling a familiar sense of dread he hadn't felt in years.

There was a time in his childhood when he loved watching scary movies with his friends. They were always impressed with him because no matter what movie they put on – of course without their parents knowledge – he never lost it. He never jumped when the mass murderer popped on screen to the surprise of the hapless blonde; when the blood and guts would fly and his friends were screaming their heads off, he would be sitting calmly, eating a snack, or more likely laughing his head off at them.