The Coffee Shop Horror

As the sun shines down on the lobby, the two men take up a tall glass of coffee with a shot of chocolate. A quick intake of air seems to prove that this indeed is a high establishment for the air is clean of smoke from the rancid pipes many men these days care to smoke. As the two men delve into the conversational topic of Newton versus Leibniz, the waitress makes her dawdling way to them.

          An unsuspecting patron might be thinking her presence as normal as she carefully sets down a stained sheet of paper. This is a coffee house, so bills do come out stained in one sense or another. This particular piece of paper had no sign of numbers or calculations. There wasn’t even mention of a coffee being bought.

          The larger of the two men, a burly French man clad in imported silk, looks appalled by the sight of the paper and jumps up out of his seat in fright. Fright is the becoming emotion one would show as you gaze down at the threat implied on the yellowing paper. Another observation would be that this particular man was not a smart one in the sense of intelligence and common sense.

          His partner was higher in both than the afore mentioned fellow. This second fellow was a tall, lanky fellow fresh out of the Caribbean. His face was weather beaten and looked too old for his young persona. Indeed that was what happened to most of the folks from that part, with the troubling business unfolding. The business consisted of a fishy importer giving people spoiled, stolen goods at a very high price. Alas, that is not for here nor there at this moment in time.

          This smart fellow pocketed the note, and calmly stood up from his seat. The sunny sky glared down at him, casting an angelic like halo around his curly locks. A hand being pointed to the door and the outraged burly man takes his leave. In his crumbling wake is left the remains of his now cold glass of coffee, shattered into a river of white pieces crawling along the expanse of the table and traveling down onto the black marble tiles.

          The man, now left alone, takes long strides towards the kitchen door. The normal seeming door would not pose a problem to the unsuspecting eye, but this man, trained to seek the unexpected, took upon it like a moth to a lantern. How unnatural that a café, specializing only in beverages, would have a kitchen door when they already have an open bar to make all the drinks.

          As he takes the final step towards the door, he notices a cold draft envelope his entire being. Opening the door, he is met with the porcelain like face of a hand crafted English woman. In her hand, a bloody hand to be, is a knife at rest between her thumb and pointer finger. Behind her lays the beheaded form of his former partner.

          His mouth flops open as a scream tries to force its way out of his mouth, but he is met with the stifling silence instead. She slowly raises the knife and plunges it into his side, bringing the sharpened metal up until it rests below his heart.       

Scared, he gazes down, and his eyes meet with a steady flow of coffee. A cold glimmer of a sadistic smile meet his eyes as she swiftly pulls the knife out and makes a clean cut along his neck. His empty head falls to the ground, creating a thick pool of black liquid.

He stares at her, his body remotely gone. Weirdly he still feels alive, somehow connected to this real world. She picks up his head and carries it off. He can feel, with his amazing senses, that what she has in store for him can only be imagined like what the mad scientist had for Frankenstein. When he next awakes he might be in the body of another, his head the only part unchanged. His brain the only part still intact with his never ending intelligence. And thus an immortal is born.