Grace lived in a small cabin on the wood line just outside of town. It had been a family property passed down for generations. Tucked away so well you'd miss it if you weren't paying close enough attention. It wasn't much, but it was hers.

She grew up here raised by her grandfather, Walter. Her grandmother Margaret had passed many years prior to her birth. Never given the opportunity to meet her. Their daughter Jane would have raised Grace but an aneurysm took her before Grace had a chance to know her. But even with tragedy striking early in life Grace grew up happy and loved.

Running wild through the woods, splashing in the creek, Playing practical jokes with Walter on anyone and everyone they could.

Always a practical jokester at heart Walter made sure Grace spent every second possible with a smile adorned to her face and laughter and joy filling her heart.

He was her rock and her idol. He was her reason for sorrow when he passed. Truly her best friend.

But she was strong. Walter made sure of that. But a mear 5' tall and around 100 lbs she was still a force not to be reckoned with. For she could hold her own.

Her home still had trinkets and relic's of his life.

Pictures scattered throughout of his many journeys.

His favorite coffee mug, mug, a term being used loosely. It was an oversized miners tumbler allowing more than twice the capacity of your standard mug. Free caffeine was always Walter's reasoning.

Now it had become Grace's cup of choice, sitting conveniently next to the coffee maker.

And in the corner of the living room, sitting on a solitary floating shelf sat a small urn. Just a simple midnight blue ceramic cylinder with a chrome cap. Engraved with his information on the side.

And a picture of Walter dressed up in his best set of blue jeans and a blue flannel shirt. His Sunday best compared to his dirty overalls being his daily work attire.

A single solitary candle sat flickering softly as it was wedged between the two items.

A small altar that she put together to remember him. She often found herself talking to the urn or the picture as if he was still there.

Asking for guidance or looking for a response for whatever her current problem may be. Never being answered despite her numerous attempts throughout the years.

She Awoke to it raining outside. The sounds of thousand tiny raindrops falling. Beating the roof with a force that would awaken the gods.

The winds howling.

"Definitely some speed behind those gusts" she thinks to herself.

The Sounds of trees creaking off In the distance. Branches snapping.

Nice stormy day outside.

" Wonderful, today's already looking up," she said sarcastically to herself.

As she sat up in bed the brisk cool air surprised her as she threw back the covers.

“Fuck its cold” she says as she reaches for her robe while adorning her slippers.

Pulling her robe on a rushed fashion in an effort to combat the cold. Its soft plushness was a welcome blessing this stormy morning. It Also helped that she basically could live in the thing. Being a mear 5' tall and 100# On a good day she easily found herself wrapped up hiding among all the extra fabric.

Working her way over to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, as his mug catches her eye and comes into focus.

A small smile forms momentarily as she remembers the good times.

Then the reality sets in that no he was really gone. And she was stuck navigating life on her own.

As She glances over at his altar for some support and to see his photograph, instead sees that the candle she had going had burned up.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

She tried to always keep one going. A small gesture that allowed her to maintain a connection to Walter. Or least that's what she told herself.

"Crap, looks like that needs a new one "

Walking over to the closet to get a fresh one she wondered what else she had to do today. The stormy weather limiting her available options. Venturing outside was low on her list of things she'd like to do.

Looking upon the usual shelf resulted in disappointment, the empty spot where they sat was a stark reminder Grace was long overdue with her shopping and answered her own question in the process .

"Not just the candle but food and other items as well. CRAP '' she said aloud. Knowing full well she was there alone. And she was talking to the air.

Looking back over at the altar to gauge what size candle she needed to buy. Grace was instead shocked speechless by what she saw.

Instead of a burned down pile of wax where the old candle sat, was now a fresh candle.

Just sitting there.

Plain as day.

She could have sworn it was burned down to next to nothing but upon a closer inspection.

Nope.

It was a brand new candle.

Never used.

It was an odd pearlescent color, outside of the usual spectrum of blues she would have bought ( Walters favorite color) on top of everything else.

"I don't remember buying this" Grace thought to herself as she picked up the candle

She scanned the room looking for anyone who could have placed it there. Already knowing the answer. She lived alone and no one was breaking in to replace a candle.

"Man this coffee needs to kick in, it's too early for these mind games" she said shaking her head.

Placing the candle back on the shelf

"Beats going to the store" she thinks to herself. Forgetting she still needed a bunch of other items, not just the candle.

Grace then walks over to the buffet on the opposite side of the room.

Opening the drawer to fetch a source of fire she found a half empty pack of wooden matches inside. Closing the drawer, turning around and headed back towards the candle Grace couldn't help but wonder where this candle came from.

Sliding the box open and extracting a match she then slides it back shut before striking the head on the striker siding and With a quick spark it ignites the end with a FLASH before it settles back with a small flame.

Grace brought her left hand up cupping the candle and she proceeded with the match held tightly in the fingertips of her right.

Once the match is nearly touching the wick atop the candle it shares the flame from its wooden body over to its new host.

As the wick takes the flame from the match it shines bright before compacting to nothing more than a red ember at the end of the wick.

"Crap, these damn drafts," mutters Grace as she starts going for a fresh match within the box. Placing blame on invisible non-existent wind as the reasoning for it going out. She again opens and closes the box and goes to strike it creating a fresh flame for another attempt.

She looks over at the candle.

There's now a continuous trail of smoke cascading from the wick over the edge and down the sides of the candle. Reaching the base of the candle then engulfs the shelf it sits on surrounding the small urn and picture of Walter much like a dense morning fog.

"What the hell," Grace says aloud, frozen in her tracks.

The wick then glows brightly for a second and a new flame appears from it. And for a moment it resembles a normal candle, but keeping with Grace's morning of weirdness the flame changes color and now has a purplish hue to it. Gone is the traditional red orange yellow and replaced with various shades of purples with green tips.

Stepping back the flame settles out and it acts like a normal run of mill candle. The fog-like smoke it had been emitting had disappeared without her even noticing. Unsure of what's going on Grace reaches quickly and grabs both the urn and picture from the shelf. Pulling them close to her chest as she backs up, nervous from the candles odd flame and whatever that fog-smoke stuff was.

"I'm losing my mind." Grace mutters to herself.

Subconsciously still backing up she bangs into the kitchen table scaring her while making her jump.

"Ahhh" Grace yells before catching herself and calming down. Placing the urn and frame on the table she frantically rubs her temples.

"What's going on?"

She turns and looks back at the candle unsure of what to do next.

When all of a sudden she hears something behind her.

Turning to look at the table she sees the urn trembling and shaking as it sat on the table top.

"Oh what the hell now" Grace says, while subconsciously backing up. Watching the unusual sight before her.

THUD

THUD

RATTLE RATTLE

THUD THUD.

The urn now rumbling so much it's now bouncing off the tabletop. Lid rattling loose from it. Moments later It falls over and everything comes to a stop. No more movement. Just a moment of eerie silence. Urn lying on its side, its lid having fallen off during the commotion.

Grace is awestruck at the sight before her. She scans the room looking for anyone to validate what just happened wishing she had a dog or cat at least, to keep her company and make it so she wasn't completely crazy.

Eyes refocusing back on the tipped over urn lying before her. After what seemed like an eternity of staring when in reality it was mere seconds smoke began radiating from the opening at the top of the urn. Not dust as expected to be caused from the disturbed ashes, no this was a thick white smoke. At first the smoke was exiting at a moderate rate but after a few moments the speed and volume at which it was exiting was unimaginable. So fast, so thick just rolling out of the urn much like the steam trail on a locomotive.