You have been stalling at the door for the past few minutes now. The bell chime above you twinkled softly, and there was that distant crackle of a hearth that you could not see. The patrons seem content doing their own thing, curled up on the mossy couches with quilted throw pillows, enjoying their warm mug of coffee and half-eaten sandwiches…The knicknacks on the cafe (atleast you assumed it was) walls provided some semblance of comfort alongside the warmly lit space. But it could only last for a while. You were still unsure what brought you here—whether it be the codes, the ciphers, the breadcrumbs—but you were starting to get sick of standing. So, you soundlessly crossed the quiet room, feet not quite touching the wooden floor, until you found yourself seated by the bar counter. You lingered your eyes around, hoping to find a menu, or something.You eyed the floating bookshelf you saw earlier, just beside the kitchen counter. You wondered about the titles on the shelf; “Bones in the Basement,” “The Demonologist,” “Communion”—it sounded too paranormal than you would expect from a cafe like this to display. What struck you the most odd, when you first saw it, however, was the pinboard beside it. There were what you can assume are receipts in white and yellow papers, pinned haphazardly over one another, some sticky notes of various sizes—yet the snapshots appeared abnormal. You thought they were memorabilias from previous customers, given there was something written under the free space of the photographs, but chills slid down your back when you saw that they were blurry or empty, not as empty as you would think as figures started emerging from the negative space the longer you stared.When you tried to call out these peculiarities earlier, nobody seemed to have heard you. Or noticed, at all. You wondered why you even came forward to the front given this. Just before you could leave, though, a presence filled your front, and you locked eyes with a short man’s stormy blue ones.Strands of his brown hair framed over his temples, leading you to study his firm but round face. You caught a few scars jaggedly running at the either edge of his lips, and you could only wonder what sort of accident he got himself into. Despite his ruggedness, there was a homey sort of charm to him; if the brown apron, worn out from the day’s slow work, draped over his mossy button-up shirt, was any indication at all. He had a scarf with the same mossy hue wrapped snug around his shoulder, and it led your eyes to the curious glint of his nametag—Subedar, engraved.“Can I help you with anything?” He asked, voice crackling softly like the hearth. Words were caught at the tip of your tongue and you could only stammer them quietly. You wracked your brain for anything. You picked the hem of your top a little tighter, feeling anxious, until a hand clasped your arm. You looked up at the man in surprise to see concern ebb in his eyes. “Easy,” he said, “how about a warm drink to get you started?”You figured to nod. When he turned his back to fix you that drink, you let your eyes wander around again to calm your nerves. From across the bar counter, somewhere to the right of the memorabilias, was (what you could tell, atleast) a small offering table draped with lace. It was not the bowl of fruits nor incense that drew your full attention to it, but rather the small mahogany door tucked away inconspicuously beside it.There was an odd sensation that pooled at your chest the longer that you looked at it. Fortunately, Subedar came back to hand you a hot mug of cocoa. You tried not to pay too much attention to the stitches lined up his forearms as you murmured your thanks. What you did notice, however, were your hands caked with mud, splattered with drying crimson. The sudden gore made you freeze, your eyes slowly gazing down at your knees, seeing the rest of it dirtied with grime and blood. The initial shock was eventually resolved with realization, as though hints of what you came here for began emerging with the trickles of hurt.You feel Naib lean over the counter to look at you. Not too close to startle you, but not too distant either—atleast enough that was comforting. There was a gentle twinkle in his eyes. “If it’s alright, I’ll ask you again. Can I help you with anything?”This time you did not stammer. You only paused, wracked your brain again, and simply responded, “I don’t know.” The words eventually came to you easier than before. “I think…I’d like some help with that, actually.”You did not miss the small smile quirking his scarred cheeks. Immediately, he forwent his apron and grabbed a nearby polished cane. Naib flipped the small board signage displayed atop the bar counter, and you watched the portrait silhouette go from a man drinking coffee to a man smoking a large pipe. He crossed the other side, lifting the hinged top as he nodded for you to follow him. The curious glimmer in his eye made you wonder if he was more than just some barista—especially with his next words: “Let’s work with what we have then.”

ㅤ

Written by pddng.chi
Commissioned by joyoron
© 2025. All rights reserved.901 Words
Commission Type: Drabble B. 600-900 Words