Sweet Coffee

[Content Warning: Themes of death, and mentions of physical and substance abuse]

I follow the slightly smoky yet welcoming aroma of roasted coffee beans to the entrance of my local café. I’ve been coming here every morning for the past few months and it always provides an experience like no other.

With welcoming staff and even more heart-warming coffee. What else could I hope for in my morning routine?

Approaching the entrance though, I’m brought to the distinct image of a man collapsed on the ground infront of the door. The place is almost empty and the people that are here don’t seem to even notice him. His eyes twitch as I approach, his arm lets out a small, but helpless spasm- the last voice of a dying man.

I meet his gaze for a few moments- his cloudy blue eyes piercing through my soul like needles through cloth.

I walk over him. No-one else seems concerned- so why should I? I’m sure everyone else knows what they’re doing, or more likely this is just some hallucination from lack of sleep. I haven’t been getting much of that recently anyway. So that’s probably it.

The man lets out a whelp as I walk over him, sending a sinking feeling in my gut, but I push the feeling away and I make my way to the counter.

Mollie greets me. “Morning Tom! The usual?” she asks, chipper and mostly monosyllabic as always.

She’s always been quite a simple gal, having only moved here a month or so ago from the countryside and I’ve always had more than enough cause to doubt her intellect. She's misspelled and nearly forgotten my name on numerous occasions but it’s clear she loves what she does and she always means well.

I nod with a smile while she prepares it.

I look over back to the entrance for a moment. Finding the man absent from his location at the front of the building.

A hallucination. Just as I thought. I’ve been getting quite alot of those recently, of corpses, bodies, and the like.

I’ve talked to my therapist about it of course. But he seems far more interested in my “concrete actions” than anything else.

I’d switch therapists, but this is the fourth one I’ve had in the last year and at this point, I can’t be bothered to seek any more out.

I’m snapped out of my train of thought by Mollie as she places a coffee cup on the table.

I quickly sift through my wallet and tap my card against the reader.

“Come again!” Mollie chirps. “To the only place coffee’s made with soul!”

I nod, staring at the place where the man’s corpse was and take a seat at a corner table. Despite my attempts I can’t seem to push the feeling of foreboding aside.

Mollie follows me, taking the seat infront of me.

I try to hide my discomfort, but she still picks up on it. She keeps eye contact with me as comforting as she can, but all I can feel is unease- unease at how similar her eyes are to the body that was infront of the café.

“Do you… know why I left?” Mollie says, in an uncharacteristic solemnness.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“Why I l-left the countryside?” Mollie responds, discomfort audibly forming a clot in her throat.

“Why…?” I respond.

“My father beated me, he used to do it to my brother too, but after he left… All his anger was diverted to me instead.” Mollie states, visibly shaken.

“I’m… sorry.” I say, my voice losing all strength.

“Are you?” A voice responds behind me. Deep, dull, emotionless.

I tilt my neck slowly to meet the gaze of the corpse standing upright.

It walks slowly towards our table and my legs have lost all will in them that would allow me to run.

When it finally arrives, it places its hands on Mollie’s shoulders, unleashing an audible crunch.

Her body is limp, her eyes are emotionless, and she’s now as dead as the corpse that was lying infront of the doorway was, if not more.

“W-what is this?” I ask, hesitantly making eye contact with it.

The corpse leans forward, unleashing further and more heart-stopping crunches as it presses against Mollie’s lifeless body. Before it sits down where Mollie was, leaving Mollie’s corpse to where it was previously sitting at the front of the café.

“It’s such a shame really. You used to have such a good memory. That’s why you used to be situated behind that counter after all.” It states, a sadistic grin on its face as it gestures to the front desk.

“What’d you do to Molly?” I yell, the words barely forming.

“Correction. It’s not what I did that matters. It’s what you didn’t do.” The entity says, with an unrelenting smile on its decomposing face.

“What-what do you mean?” I blurt out, slurring my words as I speak.

It sighs, with the same tone of a toddler giving away its a toy to be washed.

“Well. I suppose I’ve dropped all pretense of subtlety- so let's get into it! Mollie was your sister. You were her brother. Everything she said was true Tom- in fact, it’s so much worse than she described.”

“She wrote you a letter, saying that old dad’ had taken her phone and that you needed to call the police for her, because pop was back and at it again!”

That’s not true. That can’t be true.

“Oh yes it is.”

How did it…

“Oh don’t give me that look. I can hear everything you’re thinking.” It states, taking a sip out of my coffee cup.

“Ah… that’s good isn’t it?” It states cockily, audibly swishing the liquid in the cup infront of me.

Thinking back, the memories slowly come back to me, but the image is still foggy. Something scorched my ability to look backwards and I’m picking through the ashes for the remnants.

“Narcotics are a wonderful escape aren’t they? Because of course, after Mollie died the day after you read that letter- you wanted to forget- to escape from the decisions you made, or rather didn’t make.”

“Unfortunately for you- that brought you to me and I’m not too fond… of the concept of escapism.”

“So there’s your answer. The hallucinations? Meant to nudge you in the right direction. Putting your sister as a barista? Meant to nudge you more in the right direction. And the corpse…” It states gesturing to itself. “It was meant to finally show you it.”

“Of course you never listened… Too focused on your own little world to even give a shred of concern for a fellow deceased member of your species-”

“If you’d investigated a little further- interacted with that body at the front of the door at all- shown an ounce of compassion for someone outside of your bubble- I’d have given you your chance at redemption. I’d have given you an entire narrative! An evil café turning peoples souls into beverages!”

“I have the heart of a poet, I confess. But you didn’t want to play along- you didn’t want to redeem yourself. You wanted to ignore other people’s problems and drown them out with your consumable of choice.”

“So I ended the time for subtleties and little mysteries. You don’t wanna piece everything together? You just wanna drink your coffee? Too bad. I’ll drag you to the pool of blood that you caused- and I’ll drown you in it.”

"So here it is. Your personal hell- enjoy the coffee. It's all you have going for you." The entity states, his face scarily blank.

“I said I was sorry!” I yell, my voice cracking.

“But that’s not enough, is it? What matters is action. After all, Mollie will still be dead.” It replies, annoyed but almost... curious.

“Intentions matter too! I didn’t mean to leave her to die. I-If I could do it all over again, I’d do it differently!”

The entity eyes me, an analytical stare plastered on its face. It seems to think for a bit before stating:

“We will restart this day. You will not remember anything of this encounter. I will be watching you closely.”

My hand then instinctively pulls the coffee cup towards my mouth, forcing me to gulp down the liquid. It’s lost all the sweetness that I’d come accustomed to seeing from it, turning into a burning, metallic tasting liquid that chokes me as I drink it.

I quickly lose consciousness waking up in a daze on the side of the street.

I follow the slightly smoky yet welcoming aroma of roasted coffee beans to the entrance of my local café. I’ve been coming here every morning for the past few months and it always provides an experience like no other.