Jacob and the Corpse Candle
In the quiet of a St. Lawrence morning, Tom McGrath heard something he couldn’t explain.
It was just after five, and the house was still. The fire was lit, the kettle was on, and he’d only just started the porridge when he heard it—footsteps on the stairs above.
They were slow. Heavy. Familiar.
Not Jacob’s quick, confident stride—seventeen and full of energy. Not Michael’s either—thirteen, light on his feet and always rushing.
No, this was a different weight. A different rhythm. A step he hadn’t heard in ten years.
His father’s.
But his father was dead. Buried in the churchyard just up the path.
Tom froze. He waited, heart pounding, expecting someone to speak, to call out and make sense of it. But the house stayed silent—except for the steady creak of each tread on the staircase.
Then the steps stopped. And that’s when he saw it.
A candle flame, hovering halfway down the stairs. No holder. No hand. Just the light, swaying gently, as if it were being carried.
It glided downward—silent, smooth—and crossed the kitchen floor. Then, without hesitating, it passed straight through the closed door and vanished into the morning fog, headed in the direction of the graveyard.
Tom stood there, frozen. Only the hiss of the kettle boiling dry brought him back to the room.
When the boys came down, the kitchen was warm and full of light. Jacob was teasing Michael, like always. If they’d seen anything strange, they didn’t let on.
Tom said nothing. It felt like the kind of thing best kept to himself.
They ate in silence, cleared the dishes, and walked down to the stage. There were traps to haul, and work doesn’t wait.
Tom tried to shake it off. Tried to tell himself it was a trick of the light or the mind—but he couldn’t. The sound was real. The flame was real. And the footsteps… those had belonged to someone long gone.
The day crawled. The sky felt heavier than usual. That night, Tom lay awake, eyes fixed on the dark hallway, the image of that flame burned into his thoughts.
Then, through the wall, he heard Jacob cough.
By morning, the boy was burning with fever.
It came fast and hard. No warning. By nightfall, Jacob was raving—caught somewhere between sleep and something else. Tom sat by his bedside, pressing wet cloths to his forehead, whispering prayers into the dark.
Just before dawn, Jacob opened his eyes. They were clear, just for a moment. He looked past Tom, toward the stairs, and said softly:
“I saw him… Pop came with the light.”
And then he was gone.
Corpse Candles
This story is inspired by a corpse candle sighting in St. Lawrence recorded in P.J. Kinsella’s 1919 book Some Superstitions and Traditions of Newfoundland. Kinsella learned of the event from a local gentleman, who claimed the strange occurrence had happened only a short time before.
Corpse candles or corpse lights are an old European superstition that found a foothold in Newfoundland. These lights are believed to be souls of deceased relatives, appearing as flames that come from the graveyard to summon the spirit of a dying person.
The appearance of a corpse candle is often seen as a sign that someone close to the family is about to pass away. It was believed not only to foretell death, but to guide the spirit of the soon-to-be deceased to the afterlife.
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Some Superstitions and Traditions of Newfoundland, P.J. Kinsella, 1919
Vikings of the Ice, G.A. England, 1924
