Martin flicked a match and lit the candle. There was just barely enough light to reveal the endless rows of books along the eastern and western wings of the library. Reasonably so, he couldn't find what he was searching for. His eyes darted across the haphazard library desk, shifting through a disarray of papers and files of very little trivial significance. The candle's bright, yellow flame danced fiercely, using the waxen pit as a stage. The tin hooded candle liked to be lit. Whenever it was it would awake from its dreary slumber with Martin by its side.
A harsh draft suddenly brushed over him and the candle's flame flickered out, leaving an odd, smoldering aroma in its wake. Just as the room seemed abandoned Martin flicked another match and brought the candle back to life. Martin's face danced behind it, but his restless eyes remained empty of emotion. He drew a smile that faltered once it reached his cheeks. At the same time his baby blue eyes began to follow a hallucinatory cris-cross pattern. He did this for several minutes before continuing with his search.
There was no particular reason why the candle picked Martin as its keeper. He was in view and the closest among the bunch which was more than enough incentive. It called out for him. It wanted Martin to light the tin hooded candle so it could breathe again. It needed to dance in the darkness with its shadow as its partner. It called out for him in a harsh whisper; called out in a bed-time tone like a restless child wanting a story read before falling asleep.
The candle grabbed Martin by his mind, awaking something inside him that he had never felt before. It made him crazy. In that instant he desperately needed the candle and wouldn't feel complete without it. Martin snatched the antique off the shelf, holding it in his wanting hands, and departed for the door. He would have left the store if the clerk hadn't realized what he was doing and called out to him. Martin slowly turned toward the clerk behind the counter and what the clerk saw were the eyes of a man who had gone horribly insane. A man who was struggling to regain control of his mind. He felt trapped. A customer saw this too and she started to approach him. Martin saw the advancing stranger and screamed like a child having a temper tantrum. The dignified Martin, whos the town Liberian, was replaced by a lunatic. He burst out the store and sped home to light the candle. The woman and the clerk stood speechless with their mouths agape.
The candle's flame stretched an additional inch then wavered in the current. Martin caught sight of this and nodded his head instinctively. He slouched down on his hands and knees and scooped up a slip of paper off the floor. Martin examined it thoroughly, held it away then looked directly at the candle as if it was instructing him what to do next. He brought the slip of paper over the flame and uttered entirely to himself, "At last, no more voices!" He chuckled silently into the stale air.
"We'll be together always," the voice whispered in his head.
Martin burned the sheet of paper. It went up in black smoke and swirled in the candle light with ghostly grace. The flame ate it up quickly, leaving nothing but ash behind. The document was finally ridden of, and now Martin can go back home with his candle and talk to it, be with it, and caress it like none other. He loved it, and he knew it loved him as well. How? It told him so.
Now that Martin had destroyed his marriage license, he was apt to marrying his new found love. The one who lived inside the candle. Martin scrambled the vanilla folder open and removed another document. This was another marriage license which read: Martin and Lily to be thy wed.
Martin wiped the drool from his chin and placed the marriage certificate in front of the candle. He then opened an ink pad, pressed his thumb against the felt surface, and did the same on the certificate, leaving a clear print behind. Holding the candle, he tilted it on its side until a small amount of wax dripped on the certificate. He blew on this then laid it back down on the desk. Something frigid brushed against him as an invisible force squashed the bubble of wax, leaving its own print behind. Now it was final. They were legally Mr. and Mrs. Martin Montgomery Davis.
Martin straightened up and held out his hand. A stench of rotting flesh flourished through the air. Like smoke, a gray cloud suddenly emerged from out of the candle and a beautiful young lady, charcoal-gray in color, materialized beside him. She took Martin's hand and smiled salaciously. He bent forward and they kissed like two lovers who hadnt seen each other in centuries. As she did so, her pattern wavered like a television screen experiencing minor interference. The stench intensified as Martin neared her, but he didn't mind. She was with him now. With him for eternity.
Copyright © 2003 by Brian Grisham