Coffee

Brewed Reckoning

by Dr. D

I am Dr. Thomas Davison, a criminal investigator for the State of Ohio. I have handled ‘special’ investigations on behalf of four different Governors. I had an interesting conversation at a recent seminar with a gentleman who asked me for my business card. It turned out the man was the Governor of Louisiana. Two months later, I received a phone call from him. 

After a jet flight (first class, courtesy of The Man), I stopped at the car rental to pick up the brand new, four-wheel-drive Jeep Wrangler. Neither my GPS nor the Avis car rental workers could find directions to my destination. 

Finally, a kind local lady gave me handwritten directions to the Parish. Once in the Parish, they could guide me to the small town I sought. 

Why was a semi-retired special criminal investigator from Canal Winchester, Ohio, traveling to the tiny village of Frogmore in Shongallo Parish, Louisiana? When a Governor asks you for help, you say yes, sir, and go.

The population of Frogmore was approximately 800 people. In the last two months, there have been over a dozen murders or unexplained deaths. I would say that qualifies as special. According to the Governor, rumors were rampant that there were zombies in Frogmore. 

Stories about zombies running amok in your state weren’t helpful in a re-election year. Sending in the Louisiana State Highway Patrol to investigate would add credence to the crazy rumors. The Governor needed this mystery solved quickly but quietly. My contact was the town’s constable, Sheriff Bufford Brossard.

The constable was six feet and ten inches tall and weighed a solid 300 pounds of muscle. He was also a sadistic bully. I remained professional. Inside, I was boiling mad. I despise bullies. 

I shared the letter from the Governor instructing Brossard to share his investigation notes with me. He was to follow any orders I gave him. For a bully like the Constable, these instructions were unacceptable. 

Bufford Brossard looked down at me and snarled. “So, the Governor thinks us stupid folks down here in Frogmore can’t figure things out without help from some hot shot from out-of-state.”

Keeping my voice level, “Just doing my job, Constable. About those files?”

The Sheriff dropped a beaten old cardboard box on the desk. “Here, Mister Special Investigator. Good luck. You’re gonna need it!” He stormed out of his office, leaving me with a few meager files. 

Pulling my tech equipment from my beat-up old leather shoulder bag, I swiftly scanned the documents from the box. My next stop was anything resembling a coffee shop in Frogmore.     

There wasn’t much on the main street of the tiny village. I spotted a faded sign that read Brewed Coffees. Keeping my expectations low, I headed to the coffee shop. 

After I seated myself, a beautiful, dark-skinned woman approached to take my order. She had long, beautiful black hair. She reminded me of my beloved wife Diana, who was half Cherokee. I assumed this attractive young woman had Seminole ancestors in her bloodline.

“Hello. My name is Emma LeBlanc, owner and operator of Brewed Coffees. You must be the special investigator they sent here to solve the zombie murders?” She laughed deep in her throat at my surprise.

I spoke cheerfully, “Well, Emma LeBlanc. I came in here for some strong black coffee. Also, to talk to the town Barista. I heard she could give me all the inside scoop I would need to solve the Frogmore Zombie Murders.” 

I extended my hand, “Nice to meet you, Emma. My name is Tom Davison. You, young lady, can call me Tom. All my friends call me Tom.” 

Emma smiled, “Are we friends, Mister Davison?

I sighed deeply, “I certainly hope so, Emma. I could use some friends.”

Emma gave me her throaty laugh again, “You must have met our town constable. Bufford?”

I nodded, “Unfortunately, yes! Met him. Don’t like him.”

My barista flashed a brilliant white smile. “I will bring you that black coffee now, Tom.”    

I spent the next two days extensively seated at the Brewed Coffees table. I knew small towns. The information I needed would come to me, dribbling in bits and pieces. I would invite folks to sit down, share a coffee, and talk.

Everybody in town had an opinion. A select few had pertinent info I needed.  

A sweet little old lady and former teacher, Alma: “Mister Davison, I would suggest you look into the involvement of the old witch who lives deeper in the swamps. Her name is Ebella Larue. She has a zombie potion. I’m sure you will find she is behind this evil infection.” 

Violet, a timid young part-time high school helper at the coffee shop, said, “Emma likes you, so it’s probably okay if I tell you her story. Sheriff Bufford always hit on her in high school. She turned him down because she hated him. She loved Billy Fontenot. Six months ago, somebody stole a truckload of sugar cane stalks. The Sheriff arrested Billy. They tried him and sent him to the prison. Four months later, he was dead. He tried to break up a fight in the prison yard, and they stuck him with a shiv. Please don’t tell her I told you, sir.”

Yes, there was superstition and myth here in Louisiana. But, I have found superstitions and myths around the world. These folks were no different. Most townsfolks were convinced there was a gris-gris, an evil spell responsible for the zombies and the murders. 

Emma brewed a great cup of coffee. She had a special brew she refused to share with me. Only those town folks who won the weekly drawing could have this coffee. It was an intelligent marketing gimmick. The entire village of Frogmore lined up for a chance to win free java. 

The winners droned on, and on about the perfect cup of Joe. I tried more than once to persuade just a tiny taste from Emma LeBlanc, but she wouldn’t budge.

***********

On my third day in Frogmore, there was another zombie attack. An old man drenched in blood carrying an axe came marching down Main Street. Grabbing my cane, I rushed to the door. I barked, “Emma, stay inside. Don’t leave the shop until it’s over.”

I rushed toward the elderly man carrying the axe. His face was twisted into a clownish grotesque grin. His eyes appeared to be black as coal and contained a blank look. Whoever this man was, he had thoroughly checked out.

I walked behind the human zombie and contemplated the best way to safely bring him down when I heard a loud BANG! 

Sheriff Brossard stood over the twitching body of the dying man. He sneered at me. “A clean headshot. That’s how you kill a zombie, Mister Special Investigator. What were you gonna do, beat him to death with your little stick? Just go back to your coffee. I’ll take care of things here in Frogmore!”

I was trembling with anger. Bufford turned and walked away. The town Constable had just executed the crazed man without attempting to take him alive. Leaving the man dying in the street. I stooped down. It was too late to help. He was dead. 

I saw a wallet in his left hip pocket. I gently removed it from his pants pocket and found his driver’s license. I sighed aloud. Much as I wished it wasn’t, his name was on my list. It was time to end things.  

Pulling my cell phone from my pocket, I dialed the phone number given to me earlier.  

I heard a deep, rumbling voice, “Captain Ladsous, Louisiana State Highway Patrol, here.”

I responded. “Captain? This is special investigator Thomas Davison. Your Governor, Johnathon Ladsous, gave me this number. I need your assistance, sir.”

The baritone barked, “Big John told me to give you whatever you need, Special Investigator Davison. What can I do for you, sir?”

I smiled when the Captain referred to the Governor as Big John. “Captain, I will need enough cruisers and medical teams to take five or six Frogmore citizens to the nearest poison control center. Please inform them that these folks have been ingesting very high concentrations of pyrethroids, plus one other poison to be determined.” 

The Captain responded firmly, “You will have it within the hour. I will bring them myself, anything else?”

I hesitated, then, “Captain, I need something a little irregular from you. It involves a certain town constable.”

Before I could finish, “Mister Davison, if you’re taking down that arrogant ass Bufford, I will owe you a shot of whiskey. Anything you need, sir!”

I chuckled, “I drink Ta-kill-ya, Captain, and with the size of that goon, you will owe me two shots.” 

****** 

Emma finished, “I loved Billy with all my heart, Tom.” She shot an insane look at Bufford. “Him, the Judge, and the twelve jurors, they killed him. They murdered my Billy!”

I prompted her gently, “So, you created the free Coffee Contest and ensured the winners were the people responsible for Billy’s death. Right, Emma?”

The Sheriff came thundering towards her, “You murderous BITCH!” 

I swung my hickory cane sharply against his shins. He stopped cold. “Ouch! You will pay for that, old man.”

Ignoring him, I returned to Emma and spoke gently. “I know you used pyrethroids, bug spray. There was another ingredient, wasn’t there, hon? Please, tell me what it was.”

Emma’s face looked pained. “I am sorry, Tom, I can’t. I went to see Ebella in the swamp, and she gave me some of her zombie dust. I don’t know what was in it.”

I turned to look at Bufford. “Do you see what your petty jealousy has caused? You framed Billy because you wanted Emma for yourself.”

Sheriff Brossard sneered. “So, what? Sure, I framed that pansy boyfriend of hers. You will never prove it. Because you aren’t leaving this place alive!”

The giant goon rushed straight at me. My cane was resting on the toe of my outstretched right toe. He reached down to grab me. I shifted my right foot and kicked with all my strength. The hardwood of the cane slammed loudly into Big Bufford’s privates. He moaned and fell to the ground.

I spoke softly, “You can have him now, Captain. Please, be gentle with Miss LeBlanc.”

END

The Special Brew

by Arla Jones

Deep within the heart of the forest, where the trees twisted and writhed like tortured souls, stood The Forest Café. A place where lost travelers stumbled upon, seeking refuge from the darkness that lurked beyond the tree line. Jarmin, the enigmatic owner, presided over the shop with unnerving intensity, his black beard tangled with twigs and leaves like a madman’s crown.

Erin, a young woman with a passion for coffee, took a job at the isolated shop, eager to escape the city’s chaos. But as she settled into the eerie routine, she discovered Jarmin’s sinister obsession with a bluejay that visited each morning, its screeching arrival heralding the weird incidents to occur in the shop.

The bird’s presence was always accompanied by an unholy stench, a noxious aroma that clung to the coffee beans like a malignant spirit. As Erin served the brew to unsuspecting customers, she witnessed their transformation from ordinary people to raving lunatics, consumed by paranoia and terror.

A young couple, once loving and tender, devolved into a grotesque spectacle, their minds seemed to be shattered for no reason. It took only minutes after they had finished the drinks, the woman stood up and screamed, “Take them away!” Frantically, she brushed her shirt as if she was seeing some spiders or other insects crawling on her.

Her husband stared at her for a moment, and then he slapped her on the face, hard. “You bitch! You slept with my best friend!”

As the woman’s eyes widened in terror, she frantically clawed at her skin, convinced that some unseen horror was burrowing beneath her flesh. Her screams echoed through the coffee shop as she stumbled out into the darkness, her husband’s enraged bellows following close behind. “You filthy whore!” he bellowed, his words dripping with venom. “I’ll make you pay for your infidelity, and I’ll gut the bastard you’ve been screwing!” The woman’s cries grew fainter as she vanished into the night, pursued by her husband’s vengeful roars, leaving behind a coffee shop bathed in an eerie, unsettling silence. The woman’s screams still echoed in Erin’s mind as she watched, frozen in horror, as the husband’s face contorted into a snarling beast.

Erin shook her head watching the scene play out. People are crazy, she thought.

Giving a side glance at Jarmin, she noticed he looked pleased, and almost smiled. How strange, she mused. Why does he look pleased? Is this his doing?  

As similar incidents kept happening, Erin started believing something was wrong with the coffee because the visitors were normal when they arrived and then left bat crazy. One customer even jumped out of the window breaking it into hundreds of pieces. And every time something strange happened, Jarmin smiled.

Customers who drank the coffee became increasingly agitated and paranoid as if the brew was fueling their darkest fears.

Erin’s curiosity turned to suspicion as she wondered what Jarmin and the bluejay do in the backroom. Her chance to uncover the truth arrived one morning two weeks later when Jarmin announced his departure for the town. “I must procure more beans,” he muttered. “You will tend to the shop in my absence, Erin. Ensure that the customers… remain satisfied.”

Erin nodded. “Yes, of course, I will.”

The bluejay’s gaze locked onto Erin, its dark eyes glinting with evil as it watched her with an unblinking stare. It was as if the bird could see into the depths of her very soul, reveling in her growing unease. Then, with a sudden flutter of its wings, it vanished into the darkness, slipping out of the shop like a specter as Jarmin opened the creaking front door. The bird’s departure seemed to draw the shadows closer, like a dark veil settling over the shop, leaving Erin feeling vulnerable and exposed to the horrors that lurked beyond.

With Jarmin gone, she seized the opportunity to uncover the secrets hidden in the back room, wondering what she would find there.

She snuck into the backroom, where the bluejay’s feathers lay scattered upon the coffee beans like an offering to a dark deity. The ancient tome, bound in leather that looked like human skin to Erin, revealed the horrific secret: the coffee beans, infused with the burned feathers of a special bluejay, unleashed a secret ingredient within the feathers that drove men mad.

As Erin read on, the words blurring together in terror, she discovered that the bluejay was no ordinary bird, but a harbinger of an ancient evil that had taken residence within this bird and its master, Jarmin. The darkness that lurked within the coffee shop was not just a product of the beans, but a living, breathing entity that fed on the insanity it created. Jarmin required that madness stay alive, and he needed the bird’s feathers to keep making more of the brew of madness.

The creaking of the door behind her sent a chill down Erin’s spine. She spun around, her heart racing, as Jarmin loomed in the entrance, the bluejay perched on his shoulder like a malevolent familiar. “Join me in a cup of my special brew,” Jarmin hissed, his eyes blazing intensely as he proffered a steaming cup.

Erin recoiled, her defiance faltering as Jarmin’s form began to twist and contort, his body elongating into a towering monstrosity. The air thickened with the stench of sulfur, and Erin’s screams were drowned out by the sound of her own sanity shattering.

The next day, customers entered the coffee shop to find a hollow shell of a woman, her eyes vacant, her skin deathly pale. She moved with a jerky, puppet-like motion, her voice barely above a whisper as she served them coffee with a haunted smile. Erin was no more. She was consumed by the abyss of horrors that lurked within the shop, forever bound to the twisted will of Jarmin and his demonic bluejay familiar.

Premium Service

by Amy Hodges-Laurenzo

Kristen just turned off the Fox New Channel and changed the in hours TV
to a children’s program. Sure it seemed boring, but people already knew
what they reported. To keep repeating only fostered more panic.

Since the newest pandemic started, Le Cafe du Chat Noir had done a
killing in business. With hours extended to twenty-four hours, there
wasn’t a shift that went by without a packed house. Everyone liked the
super strong coffee and just wanted to stay awake.

The entire coffee shop had black cats in mind when the owner sat the
place up. Each rod iron table sat four. Table cloths had been silver
with black cats, in silhouettes, around the edges. The silver walls had
black cat art, and even the logo. The registers and appliances had also
been done in black. The counter was stainless steel painted silver.

Being the night shift, three baristas worked. Kristen, Cherish, and
Isabel worked the building. Kristen and Isabel wore all black waitress
stye uniforms and Cherish wore a silver chef shirt with black pants like
all management. All three wore comfortable black shoes.

Kristen had brown hair and hazel eyes. Standing at five feet and five
inches, she worked the front counter.

Currently Isabel walked through the dinning room, checking on the
patrons and refilling cups from her port-a-carafe. She had brown hair
and eyes. She also stood a few inches taller than Kristen.

She nudged an older man, “Now, sir. We don’t allow napping in shop.”

“Huh? Thanks, I can’t sleep. My wife died in bed beside me. I can’t go
out like that.”

She refilled his cup, “Drink up. We’ll keep you awake.”

He had paid for the premium service amount when he came in. All present
had. Coffee until dawn and checks.

Isabel moved on.

No one had come in, within the last hour. Kristen looked up at the clock
and stepped to a button that sat on the wall near the backroom door.
With a press, a loud buzzer went off in the back room.

Cherish shrieked. Then she called out, “Thank you!”

Kristen walked to the back room with one of the carafe. “Get you a
refill, madame manager?”

“Please.” She gestured to an empty cup. “I almost fell asleep just now.”
Cherish got up and walked to the sink to wash her face. “Night managing
is kicking my butt.”

“Tell me about it.” Kristin finished the refill and returned to the
front.

Moments later, a girl came in and went to the counter.

“Hi”, said Kristen with a smile, “What can I get you tonight?”

She scanned the menu, “What is this premium thing?”

“Coffee all night in house and we will help keep you awake. It is
$18.00, but worth it.”

“That sounds good then. I have been awake for three days.” She pulled a
twenty dollar bill out of her pocket and gave it to Kristen, “Keep the
change for a tip.”

Kristen nodded, “Thank you.” She proceeded to get the girl her coffee.

Behind her, a man walked in. A dark sort, he stood six feet tall. His
hair was dark too with grey. His clothes were all black as well.

He walked up behind the girl.

As she turned into him with her first cup, he slipped a hand under it
and shoved it in her face.

As the coffee landed on her face, she screamed.

Kristen grabbed a cold wet cloth and rushed to help.

The man struck her hard in the face. “DIE BITCH!” The man’s eyes looked
wild.

Kristen hit the ground…unconscious.

Isabel walked up behind the man and broke her carafe over his head. “YOU
first DICK!”

Cherish came out of the back to help the first girl.

Isabel quickly went to Kristen, “KRISTEN!”

***

Kristen bolted up right.

The girl still was in the coffee shop. however there was no one around.
When she got up and looked around, she tried the front door only to find
it locked.

A distant voice called out to her, “Kristen? Oh God girl, open your
eyes, wake up.”

Kristen gasped, “Oh God, I’m asleep and don’t have my meds.”

The owner happened to be an older woman with grey hair and eyes and had
a huge love for cats. She even wore a black cat dress as she came out of
the back room.

“Mrs. Russo?”

“Come, Kristen, you can help me with the new flavor.”

Before she knew it, Kristen got pulled along to the back room.

Large stainless steel vats stood smoking in the room.

This couldn’t be the backroom. Realizing this, Kristen backed away only
to bump into someone. She gasped, but two arms quickly seized her.

They were whiter than white, muscular, and obviously connected to
someone taller than her. “It’s a new flavor”, the dark masculine voice
whispered in her right ear, “Kristen Humphrey Flavor.”

She tried to struggle but couldn’t move. “Please, NO”, her voice
squeaked.

Suddenly. the lip of one of the boiling vats of coffee sat in front of
her. He still restrained her. “This part says…add Kristen.”

He hoisted her above his head.

She screamed.

The man threw her into the center of the boiling hot pool of coffee. The
fluid was so hot that it melted the flesh from her bones in seconds.

Morpheus folded his wings back as he dipped a mug into the very vat he
threw her in. He brought it to his lips for a taste, then said, “Sweet
blend with a hint of Kristen.” He laughed hysterically.

***

In the shop, Isabel moved away from Kristen abruptly…

Blisters popped up all over Kristen’s body, her clothing became damp and
smelled of coffee, as well as smoked. As the blisters blew, suddenly, so
too did veins and arteries. Her bones became visible.

Kristen stopped breathing, a look of terror on her face. She
died…another victim of the Sleeping Death Pandemic.

Choices

by J. Louise Powell

I stared at the bloody hand in front of me and wondered if that was
correct. Would ridding the ‘bad man’ of his hand make him stop
thieving? I reflected upon this quest on which I had been sent.
“You have a choice,” I read aloud. The sound of my voice had been
comforting. “Stay here, or begin committing the tasks I assign.”

Since ‘here’ was an unknown hole somewhere behind/below/adjacent to
the coffee shop, The Undead Cafe, I had agreed to the tasks. I mean, you
would too, right?

Now I wonder about that hole. Could I have eventually discovered a way
out? Had I stayed longer, perhaps I would have met a priest, wrongfully
imprisoned, offering me the riches of a deceased nobleman somewhere in
the Mediterranean. No, that was fiction. I was no count, nor sailor,
wrongfully imprisoned. But I was a person, I mean, I had been a person
before I began committing these tasks. I wasn’t sure I qualified now.
Would my voice even now soothe me, or would I fear it?

The figure in front of me was breathing more shallowly now. Grabbing the
hot iron, I sighed. I knew cauterizing him was the humane thing to do,
but then he would wake up and whine and cry again. I didn’t like them
awake. I didn’t want to be doing this. I kept hoping each task was the
last, but they kept getting worse.

At first it was simple, make a false report about an employee at the
store, maybe they’d lose their job, maybe not, but at least it
wasn’t something they had to have. Jobs were jobs, and these were shit
jobs, a dime a dozen.

Then the accusations escalated. My skills on the dark web were utilized.
Whoever this taskmaster was, they knew I had expertise. And experience.
I sold things I would never sell on my own. I bought other things and
sent them to strangers, all at the command of the task master.
Police were involved more than once. I found out later on the boards.
Arrests were made. Weeks went by and I heard nothing. I thought I was
done. The arrests must have been enough to whet their appetite. Or,
perhaps, they were caught in the sting. Had my choice brought them down?

Every night I went to bed without receiving another task was glorious. I
even began praying. I expressed my gratitude for having given me no
choices that day. Even though they were called tasks, I knew each one
was a choice. My choice. Would I do it? If I didn’t, would I go back
to the hole?

2 months went by and I decided I needed to know if I was free. I
researched The Undead Cafe. I was no fool. I wouldn’t easily step back
to the place where this began. But the kernel of an idea had begun in
the back of my mind. If I could just go there again, maybe I could undo
this. Take away my choices. Of course, I would never be able to undo the
deeds I had committed, but were they truly evil if I had no choice?
I found out little. Reviews, their website, it was all generic. “Fun
atmosphere, quiet, great coffee, you won’t wish you were dead when you
leave,” Wait. That comment was a little weird. But it was The Undead
Cafe. No one would ever wish to be dead anyhow.

Like a fool, a total fool, I went back. And now, here I am, about to
seal this man’s stump of a hand before he bleeds to death. Wait, he is
still breathing, isn’t he? That wasn’t one of the choices. No, they
were “cut off his hand or never drink coffee again.”

With a sigh, I pressed the hot iron to my other arm.

Dark Roast

by Garnett Starr

The Brookstone Coffee House was a haven for the local residents with its rustic charm and inviting aroma. Located near the heart of the village, it was a place where people from all walks of life gathered, sharing moments over steaming cups of coffee. Yet, beneath its warm facade, the coffee house held secrets as dark as the roast it served.

Eliza Mitchell, a literature professor at Brookstone University, frequented the coffee house every morning. Her routine was sacred: a large dark roast with a dash of cream, savored while she read through student papers. It was a quiet respite from the noise of academic life.

One crisp autumn morning, Eliza noticed a new barista behind the counter. He was tall and gaunt, with pale skin and eyes that seemed to bore into her soul. His name tag read, “Felix.”

“Good morning, Professor Mitchell,” Felix said, his voice a soft rasp. “The usual?”

Eliza nodded, taken aback. “You know my name?”

“I know many things,” he replied with a cryptic smile. “Your coffee will be ready shortly.”

Eliza settled into her favorite corner, near the window overlooking Rushing Brook. As she sipped her coffee, a strange sensation washed over her. The rich flavor seemed to envelop her mind, and she felt a sudden, overwhelming drowsiness. Her vision blurred, and before she knew it, she was asleep.

***

Eliza awoke with a start. The coffee house was empty, and the sun was now setting, casting long shadows across the room. Her head throbbed, and she struggled to recall how much time had passed.

“Miss Mitchell.” Felix’s voice cut through the silence, making her jump. He stood behind the counter, wiping a mug with a cloth. “I see you enjoyed your nap.”

“I…I don’t usually fall asleep like that,” Eliza stammered, gathering her things. “How long was I out?”

“Long enough,” Felix replied enigmatically. “Sometimes, the mind needs rest to see clearly.”

As Eliza hurried out, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. That night, her dreams were vivid and disturbing. She saw shadowy figures whispering in unknown languages, their eyes glowing with a sinister light. At the center of it all was Felix, his eyes piercing through the darkness, watching her.

***

The next morning, Eliza returned to the coffee house, driven by a need to understand what had happened. Felix greeted her with the same unnerving smile.

“Good morning, Professor. Another dark roast?”

Eliza hesitated. “I think I’ll try something different today. Maybe a cappuccino.”

“Change is good,” Felix said, but there was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. “Coming right up.”

As Eliza waited, she observed the other patrons. They seemed unusually quiet, their faces blank, almost as if they were in a trance. She shivered, her unease growing.

When Felix handed her the cappuccino, she noticed a peculiar symbol drawn in the foam. It was an intricate design, almost hypnotic in its detail.

“What is this?” she asked.

“A little something special,” Felix replied. “To help you see.”

Eliza took a tentative sip, and immediately, the world around her shifted. The coffee house faded away, replaced by a vast, dark expanse. In the distance, she saw figures moving, their forms twisting and writhing in unnatural ways. Whispers filled her ears, growing louder and more insistent.

She dropped the cup, the cappuccino splattering across the floor. The vision vanished, and she found herself back in the coffee house, with Felix watching her intently.

“What did you do to me?” she demanded, her voice trembling.

“I merely opened your mind,” Felix said. “The coffee here has certain… properties. It reveals the truth hidden beneath the surface.”

Eliza backed away, her heart pounding. “You’re insane.”

“Am I?” Felix’s eyes gleamed. “Or have you simply been blind to the reality all around you? The Hollowstone Apartments, the brook, this very coffee house – they’re all connected. Dark forces linger here, Professor, and they’ve chosen you.”

***

Eliza fled the coffee house, her thoughts a whirlwind of fear and confusion. She avoided the place for days, but the dreams continued, growing more intense. Each night, she saw the same shadowy figures and heard the same whispers. She couldn’t escape the feeling that she was being watched.

Desperate for answers, she began researching the history of Brookstone and the coffee house. She discovered that the building had once been a meeting place for a secret society, rumored to practice dark rituals. The more she learned, the more she felt the weight of an ancient, evil presence.

One evening, unable to bear it any longer, Eliza returned to the coffee house. Felix was waiting, as if he knew she would come.

“I need to know,” she said, her voice steady. “What is this place?”

Felix nodded as if she had passed a test. “Come with me.”

He led her to a back room, hidden behind a heavy wooden door. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of burning herbs. An altar stood in the center, adorned with candles and strange artifacts.

“This is where it all began,” Felix said. “The coffee, the visions – they are a gateway. A way to see beyond the veil.”

Eliza stared at the altar, a sense of dread washing over her. “What do you want from me?”

“To join us,” Felix replied. “To embrace the truth and the power it brings.”

Eliza felt a surge of defiance. “I won’t be a part of this.”

Felix’s expression darkened. “You already are. The moment you drank the coffee, you were marked. There’s no turning back.”

***

Eliza stumbled from the room, the whispers growing louder in her ears. She ran through the darkened streets of Brookstone, the shadows seeming to reach out for her. She knew she couldn’t escape the truth she had uncovered, but she refused to let it consume her.

She poured the last of her coffee down the sink in her apartment, watching the dark liquid swirl away. She vowed to fight against whatever forces lurked in Brookstone, to protect herself and those she cared about.

As she lay in bed, the whispers subsided, replaced by a steely resolve. She knew the road ahead would be difficult, but she was ready. The dark roast had awakened something within her, something unyielding.

***

The next morning, as the first light of dawn filtered through her window, Eliza’s phone buzzed with a new message. It was from an unknown number.

“Welcome to the truth, Professor. We’ll be watching.”