The Candle Nobody Claimed — Past the crooked gate, Quinn counted the path candles from the safe patch of grass. One flame had gone out near the porch steps, leaving a puddle of dark between the pumpkins. Read the full story →
Past the crooked gate, Quinn counted the path candles from the safe patch of grass. One flame had gone out near the porch steps, leaving a puddle of dark between the pumpkins. They had come only to leave a single candle for their aunt’s good-luck walk, but the cold wind kept hushing, hush-hush, through the empty yard.
Quinn stepped onto the stones. Wax stuck softly to their fingers; dry leaves scratched their ankles. Halfway up, a tiny voice sighed from the owl tree. “Mine went out, too.” An old paper ghost, no taller than a mitten, bobbed from a branch, its lantern torn at one corner.
Quinn had one match left. They could light the porch candle and be done. Instead, they pinched their own candle in half, tucked the smaller piece inside the ghost’s lantern, and struck the match. Gold warmed both flames. Nobody clapped. Nobody saw, except the owl blinking slow as sleep.
When Quinn returned to the gate, the dark puddle was gone, and the path seemed to remember their footsteps. Next time you find the candle by the pumpkins, check whether its little flame is sharing that hush-hush wind.
