Some Spirits Never Rest...
A gothic candle crafted for those who embrace the eerie beauty of the unknown. Notes of wild Scottish thistle carry the whispers of lost souls, mingling with the soft warmth of vanilla, a fleeting comfort against the chill. Crisp eucalyptus lingers like the ghostly breath of unseen watchers in the night.
Every Hex and Wax candle comes with a short horror story and this one tells of a true Scottish legend: an eerie funeral procession that glides along desolate highland roads, where unseen hands push travelers aside to make way for the dead. A true horror candle, perfect for those who find solace in the shadows. Light it, but beware—some spirits never rest.
Scottish Thistle
Vanilla
eucalyptus
- Phthalate Free
- cruelty free
- vegan
- sustainably-sourced wick
wooden wick candle care tips
wooden wick candle care tips
- Always trim your wood wick before each light! Simply pinch off the charred wood from the previous light, or use a wick trimmer for a cleaner cut. Wicks should be about 1/4" each time the candle is lit. The most common reason for wood wick candles not staying lit is a wick that is too long.
- In order to ensure your candle will not tunnel over time, give your candle ample time to melt to the edge the first time you light it. This can take up to 4 hours
- remember not to light the candle near anything flammeble: fabrics, curtains, house plants, etc. Keep candle away from pets and children. Do not light for longer than 4 hours at a time. Be careful handling candle when it is lit as the jar can be very hot.
Let me tell you a story...
The rain tapped lightly against my window, adding to the dreary chill of the early spring night. My cozy B&B sat on the edge of Inverness, flanked by an old pub on one side and a small cemetery nestled in the highlands on the other. The contrast between the pub’s warmth and laughter and the silent resting place of the dead only deepened Scotland’s charm.
Down on the dark cobblestone street, a silvery wisp flickered at the edge of my vision. I dismissed it as a trick of my weary mind, but as I turned away, it shimmered again. Was someone out in the rain at this hour? I peered closer, and slowly, a figure took shape—an old woman, shrouded and spectral, her skeletal fingers gently clutching a thistle, drifting toward the cemetery.
Moments later, others emerged, forming a silent
funeral procession. While the town lay deep in sleep, I bore witness to a passage unseen by the living.
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