The Last Candle

That night, the mountain shook like a giant beast awakening.

The valley was filled with the roar of rocks, the wind howled through the cliffs, and then… “BOOM!” – the deafening sound of the earth being torn apart.

The Millers’ small wooden house was perched precariously on the mountainside. Sarah Miller, the 33-year-old mother, jumped up as the picture on the wall fell. She screamed:

“Eli! Nora! Sam! Lucy! Get down to the basement!”

The house shook so violently it seemed like it would split in two. Four children, the oldest only ten, ran after their mother, crying. The little cat, Muffin, followed, screeching in panic.

Sarah grabbed the flashlight on the table, but it went out immediately – the power was out, and the batteries were dead. In the pitch darkness, she reached into the cupboard and pulled out the last candle she had kept since Christmas the year before.
She struck a match, her hand shaking.

The small flame flickered, its weak light reflecting off the four children’s pale faces.

“Sit down, cover your heads, don’t be scared, I’m here.”

She pulled the thick blanket over them, shielding them from falling wood.

The sound of the mountain shaking, the sound of broken glass, the sound of cracked walls.

Then everything went black.

1. The Basement

Sarah woke up, her head throbbing. She realized she was in the basement, buried in dust and wood chips.

The candle still burned, flickering on the wooden table.

The four children – Eli, Nora, Sam, and Lucy – lay beside her, their faces dirty but breathing evenly. Muffin the cat was curled up in Lucy’s arms, her yellow eyes still wide open.

She breathed a sigh of relief, then looked around. A section of the ceiling had collapsed, blocking the way up the stairs.

She tried to push, but the block of wood wouldn’t budge.

She understood: they were trapped.

Sarah checked her phone – no signal.
The food supply was down to a few boxes of biscuits, a 1-litre bottle of water and some dried fruit in the spare bag.

She divided it evenly, bit by bit.

“We’ll only eat when it’s light, okay? Think of it as a camping game.”
The children nodded, and she smiled, though her lips were chapped.

2. The Knocking on the Wall

The second night, after the children had fallen asleep, Sarah heard a faint sound – a knocking on the other side of the cement wall.
Knock… knock… knock.
Three times. Then silence.
Then another knock… knock… knock.

Sarah pressed her ear to the wall.
“Is anyone there?” she whispered.

An old, tired voice answered:
“Sarah… it’s me… Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins. My house collapsed… she’s hurt…”

Sarah closed her eyes. The Jenkins family lived next door, they lived alone, in their seventies.

She shouted: “Hold on! I’ll find a way through!”

But between them was a thick concrete wall, with only a small crack to let in air.

Sarah was silent for a long time. Then she took a knife and pried off each piece of brick, her hands bleeding. But it was no use – the crack wasn’t big enough.

She turned around and looked at the sleeping children. Lucy’s small hand clutched her mother’s shirt.

Sarah bent down and kissed her forehead.

She knew what she had to do.

3. The Third Day

In the morning, a faint light shone through the crack in the wall. She gave each child half a biscuit and a few sips of water.

She wrapped the rest in a handkerchief.

Eli asked: “Mom, why don’t you eat?”

She smiled: “You’ve eaten, you’re fine.”

When they were asleep, she took the food package, crawled towards the crack, and called softly:

“Mr. Jenkins, I have some bread and water. Please reach for it.”

A trembling hand reached out. She put the small bag on it.

“For your wife. My children are fine. I have enough.”

“Sarah… you are an angel…”

“No, just a mother.”

She turned back, tears streaming down, mixing with the dust.

4. The Fourth Night

The children began to cough from the cold. She gathered all the blankets and wrapped them around them.

The candle was almost gone.

Sarah hugged Muffin the cat and whispered:
“You have to watch the children while I sleep, okay?”

She rested her head on the wall, vaguely hearing the sound of helicopters in the distance.

But no one knew they were alive.

She began to scribble a few lines on the wall with a piece of burnt wood:

“If anyone finds them, tell my children I love them, and I only wish I could take them out into the sunlight.”

The candle flickered and went out.

She sang a lullaby—her voice choked, hoarse, but so gentle that the children fell asleep.

5. Dawn

The next morning, the sun was shining over the mountaintop, and the rescue team had finally arrived. They had found signs of life through the thermal scanner.

The sound of a drill, shouts, the sound of falling earth.

Someone shouted, “Someone! Someone is here!”

When the last plank was removed, the scene inside left them stunned.

Sarah sat with her back against the wall, her arms still holding her four children, her face serene as if she were sleeping.

The children were alive—weak but safe.

On Sarah’s palm, there was a bloody scratch.

Muffin the cat lay curled up in her lap, eyes half open.

Beside her was a candle that had burned out, leaving only a streak of wax frozen white as frost.

6. The Truth That Choked Everyone

As the medical team carried the children out, another rescue worker ran over, panting:
“The other team just found two old people – Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins – in the ruined basement. They’re still alive. And the strange thing is, they said… someone had been passing them bread and water through the wall for three nights…”

The commander paused.
“But the Millers’ basement was completely sealed. How…?”

They

found a small air hole in the corner of the tunnel, just big enough for a hand to fit through, covered in dried blood.

In Sarah’s pocket, there was a piece of paper covered in dust, hastily written:

“If I had to choose, I would choose to save them. They took care of me when I was an orphan. I knew my children would have someone else to help them, but they didn’t.”

A rescuer put his hand over his mouth.
No one said anything more.

7. The Mountain Candle

On the day of Sarah’s burial, the whole small mountain town came.
Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins came with canes, crying silently.

A rescuer said softly:
“She died of dehydration and hypothermia. But her children lived. She kept them warm until the end.”

People called her “The Mountain Candle”.

In the rebuilt cabin, the four children lit a candle in front of the window every night.
Lucy – the youngest – asked her brother:
“Eli, can mom see?”
Eli replied, his voice trembling:
“Yes. Mom said, as long as there is a candlelight, she will always find her way home.”

And on that mountain, every night, people said they could still see a small light flickering beside the Miller house’s window – as if someone was still sitting there, watching, never leaving.