MYSTERY | SUPERNATURAL
The CaféGeist — Chapter 2
Late for an important date
Quick recap
Our protagonist, Daill just started a new coffee shop in a quiet town and had a visit from an interested local called Delia who stopped by to say hello. Daill gave her an invitation voucher to use when the cafe opened for business.
Three weeks later
Detective Homer pressed the front doorbell and waited. He peeked through a window but could not see anything in the darkness of the shop. Moments later, the door slowly opened but was chained.
Homer couldn’t see who was behind the door.
“Ms. Helen? Daill Helen?”
“Who is it?”
“Uh, I’m Detective Homer from the Saint Crete precinct.”
A pair of weary eyes emerged from the darkness into the door gap.
“… Yes?” Daill’s stilted voice betrayed her trepidation.
“Ms. Helen? Daill? May I call you Daill? I just want to ask you a few questions…” Homer paused as he edged closer to the opening. “Can we…”
He saw the distress in her eyes. “You know what, I can come back another time. Sorry to come unexpectedly. Have a good day,” Homer gently said as he turned slowly away.
“Detective?” Daill called out, removing the door chain. “Please come in.”
Homer nudged the door open just enough to step in before he closed it behind him. The air felt musty and stale. The shop must have been kept closed without ventilation for some time, he thought, scanning the neglected space.
The shop remained dim. The only source of light that kept the space from being pitch dark was a small ray of light that came from the room in the back.
Daill brought out a lit candle and centered it on a table near a window that was boarded up so that no light could enter — or escape. She then placed a glass of water on the table and silently motioned to Homer to have a seat as she hesitantly sat across the table. In contrast to her usual vibrancy and glowing complexion, she appeared pale and ghostly in the near-darkness.
“Please call me Daill, Detective,” the failed cafe owner said, looking anxiously at him.
“Thank you, Daill. And I appreciate the water. I won’t take too much of your time.”
Homer took out his notepad from the breast pocket of his jacket and skimmed over a couple of pages.
“Your coffee shop opened for business less than a month ago?”
“Yes, exactly three weeks ago.”
“The initial police report says that you had called about four customers who had vanished. Did you mean you didn’t see them leave?”
“No! I mean…sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. They…they began to fade. Then, they disappeared in front of my eyes!” Daill recalled as if facing a sudden death.
Homer took a moment to digest what this traumatized woman before him had just revealed. Was he dealing with the supernatural or a nutcase?
“When did these customers disappear? Did they know each other?”
“No, they came here on separate days. I don’t think they knew each other, but I can’t say for sure. Otherwise, they probably would have inquired me about their missing friend or family member.”
True. Or plausible, Homer corrected himself and skimmed through his notepad again. The first to disappear was a middle-aged man in his early fifties, a local electrical engineer. The next was a retired nurse in her mid-sixties. The third was an unemployed female millennial who had just graduated from college. No pattern.
But who was the fourth? The police records showed nothing.
“An elderly woman who called herself Delia came by a few days before I opened my cafe for the first time,” Daill said. “But she didn’t vanish like the others.”
“How was she different?” Homer asked.
“I can’t explain it well. The first time she dropped by, I gave her a voucher for a free first cup of coffee. A week later, the day I opened the shop — it was late in the afternoon — I went to the room in the back to get something. When I returned, I found her voucher on the table, but nobody was here.”
“How do you know it was hers?” queried the detective, suggesting the voucher may have belonged to another customer.
“I dated and numbered each one a whole month before I met Delia. This is hers. It says №1. And she was the first to visit my cafe.”
Homer picked up the piece of paper with a pair of tweezers for a closer inspection.
“Did you tell the police about this?” he asked, peering at Daill through the top corners of his glasses.
“No, I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. How would that help?”
Homer straightened his posture. He looked straight ahead at Daill, so intensely that it was unsettling.
“It’s good you didn’t. This voucher won’t help the police. But it will help Delia return to this world,” he said in a voice that was not his.
Daill stared back in bewilderment.
“Return to this world?”
Homer continued, “And Delia’s life depends on you.”
“What do you mean? Why? You’re scaring me.”
Then, Homer’s voice returned as before, “How do you write the dates on your vouchers?”
Daill was stunned. She took a few long seconds to clear her mind, dismissing the oddity she had just experienced.
“Just: date, month, and year. Why?”
“Look closely here. What does it say at the bottom?”
Daill squinted her eyes, focusing on the date. She noticed the text and font were not the same.
Ol. 72.6
“I didn’t write this. What is it?” Daill murmured, perplexed.
“What do you know about ancient Greek calendars?” Homer breathed deeply.
To be continued
