Coffee With Ghosts

Amidst the hustle and bustle... nah, not really. More accurately, at the dead end of an alley that at night likes to cosplay as a makeshift Silent Hill, stood Kinanti's Coffee Stall. This place truly went out of its way to appear ordinary, when in reality, the most normal occurrences there were things that were completely abnormal.

Just imagine, its location was right next to an ancient banyan tree that seemed to have a habit of smoking stale incense every Friday night. Seriously, its cough was heavier than a great-grandfather who'd forgotten to take his medicine. The sound was hoarse and wet, kho-kho... ngiiik..., and the aroma... well, a blend of bitter memories and stale offerings. Truly a mouthwatering combination (if you have strange tastes).

The building itself was a masterpiece of emergency architecture. Its walls were half decaying wood that longed for a touch of paint, creak... crack..., and half creative patches of used instant noodle boxes of various brands. The tables? Crooked... clatter..., making every cup of coffee a potential spill disaster. The chairs? Oh, they had their own orchestra. Every time someone sat down, they would emit strange sounds, from a protesting creaaaaak... to a soft wail as if being tortured iiiihk....

Then, let's discuss the main attraction: the coffee. Don't expect to find selected Arabica beans brewed with the V60 technique here. Kinanti's Coffee Stall was a haven for connoisseurs of cheap sachet coffee where the sugar outnumbered the grounds. The creamer? Rumor had it that it had expired since the beginning of the pandemic, but after all, no one was really sure when the "beginning of the pandemic" version of this stall was. Amazingly, despite all that... people (and other "people") still came.

Maybe they were tempted by the mysterious "three for a thousand" fried snacks. Their contents could change every day, sometimes cold, limp tempeh mendoan..., sometimes bakwan that was crunchy but somehow chewy?, and occasionally... something unidentified that was squishy-squishy.... Or maybe, they just didn't know... that the stall had a life of its own, complete with a faint breathing sound ssshhh... in the dead of night.

That night, Damar stared at the "Kinanti's Coffee Stall" signboard with a mixed feeling of acute laziness huft... and final-stage curiosity hmm?. At the age of 27, he was the prototype of a failed former Literature student. More precisely, miserably dropped out because he'd forgotten to pay his tuition fees for three consecutive semesters facepalm.... Now? His status was part-time unemployed, reclining mode on.... Part-time, because he was too lazy to be fully unemployed ugh, full time!. He got the job of looking after the stall tonight by accident, all because of a heroic incident helping Bu Kinanti lift a gallon of mineral water last week lift... grrr.... A sacrifice that now felt like a curse duh, regret....

And here he was. His first night. The real horror shift.

"Just look after it until dawn, Dam. At most, there will be two or three customers," said Bu Kinanti with a mysterious smile hihihi... this afternoon. "But remember this well, son. At one minute past twelve... don't panic ssst.... If there's anything strange, just serve them. They pay too, you know cling! (maybe)."

Initially, Damar thought it was just a metaphor psh, dramatic.... Or maybe some cheap mystical seasoning to make this rickety coffee stall seem exclusive in the eyes of its customers who were probably not too normal either yeah right, who hangs out here in the middle of the night?.

Until then, the old wall clock above the shelf ticked with a sound that echoed in the silence: 00:01.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Suddenly, the night breeze that had been blowing gently wuuush... completely... stopped ...sreeek! Not slowing down gradually, but really like someone had pressed the "Mute" button on the universe click!. The leaves on the banyan tree stopped swaying krek... still. Even the smoke from Damar's freshly lit cigarette hung still in the air puff... static.

The long fluorescent lamp on the stall's ceiling began to flicker erratically klip... klap... klip... klap..., as if sending Morse code that read, "Get out, Dam! NOW! YOUR LIFE IS IN DANGER! tit... tot... tit... tot..."

The wooden chair in the right corner-which he had laboriously folded and leaned against the wall that afternoon-moved on its own. With a slow but sure movement kriet..., the chair unfolded itself, forming a perfect sitting position glek!. Then, it stood still, upright upright..., as if awaiting the arrival of a very important guest. Or maybe, a very impolite guest who came uninvited tak tok tak tok... (sound of unseen footsteps?).

Damar gripped Bu Kinanti's leftover coffee cup tightly krek!. His hands trembled slightly tremble..., but strangely, not from normal fear uh-oh, but more like... a desire to know?. More precisely, it was a combination of unhealthy curiosity oh no, could it be... and a strong urge to record this strange event and upload it to TikTok click! Who knows, it might go viral like... comment... subscribe....

"Good evening," said a voice ssshhh....

But that voice... was truly strange. It didn't come from anyone's mouth. At least, not from a visible mouth?.

With his heart pounding hard dug... dug... dug..., Damar looked up ngiiiik....

In front of the rickety cash register thud!, stood a tall figure of a man in a clean and overly neat gray suit for the standard of a midnight alleyway coffee stall guest wow, dapper!. His suit looked like it had just come out of dry cleaning, without a single speck of dust cling!. But his face...

There was nothing there blong!.

Not covered by a mysterious black cloth no.... Not even terrible scars that made him lose his facial features no scars either.... It was truly nothing hollow.... Just a smooth, pale, and flat skin surface like a blank sheet of paper just out of the printer srrrr.... Completely empty owloooh.... Like a canvas that forgot to be painted not yet colored....

"I would like a cup of black coffee. Without sugar. Without hope. But if possible, with a little taste of... humanity sigh...."

That voice didn't come from a mouth because he didn't have one no hole!. But Damar heard it clearly-directly inside his head blup! Like a voice inside, but with a rather disturbing 7.1 surround sound audio quality wuuush... sssshhh... kring.... It felt like an alien was whispering in his eardrum zzzzzz....

Damar's heart beat slowly but felt heavy buk... buk... buk..., like a stone rolling inside his chest gruduk... gruduk.... Strangely, instead of running away screaming "Bald demon! aaaaaa!!!", his brain worked automatically loading.... He turned on the gas stove that sounded more like a dragon's snore ngooook.... Poured water from a dented aluminum kettle here and there clontang... clontang... into a small pot ting!. Then, with mechanical movements srek... srek..., he tore open a cheap instant coffee sachet like a robot programmed to make bitter drinks pyek!.

"U... use a cup or a plastic glass, sir?" he asked, trying hard to make his voice sound as calm as possible ahem.... Even though inside, he was having a fierce debate with himself about whether this was a nightmare this must be a dream!, a hallucination from lack of sleep or too much MSG?, or if the apocalypse was indeed near and starting from Kinanti's Coffee Stall the apocalypse of sachet coffee....

The faceless man sat down on one of the crooked chairs krieeet... thud!. The chair made a sharp, heartbreaking sound iiiyyyaaaaa..., like the soft scream of someone being stepped on krek!.

"A cup. Plastic is too fleeting pft...."

Damar carefully handed over a cup of hot coffee slurp... uh, still hot. The man's hand took the cup cap!. His fingers were long and thin, with nails that looked darker than usual pitch black.... His touch was cold, piercing to the bone brrrr.... Those fingers were more suitable for playing a ghost piano ting... tong... than typing office reports tap... tap... tap... (but there were no hands). It felt like touching an ice cube that had just come out of the freezer of hell ngiiing....

The faceless man lifted his coffee cup lift.... Just for a moment, as if only wanting to smell the aroma hmmm....

"The scent... is sad hikss...."

Then he fell silent ...silent.... A chilling silence enveloped the stall again sssst.... Only the faint ticking of the old wall clock could be heard tick... tock... tick... tock.... Suddenly, the old, broken radio on the corner shelf that had been dormant since last year turned on by itself krrrr... jreng!. Its sound was crackly at first kris... kros..., then an old, melancholic song began to play:

"Let me cry... for your departure~ du... du... du... so melancholic..."

Damar's throat tightened glek!. His goosebumps rose in unison kriyak!, like doing mass calisthenics at attention grak!. He stared at the chair across from the cash register. Empty zong!. The coffee cup that the faceless man had been holding was still emitting a thin wisp of steam pssssh....

On the table, right where the cup had been, lay a half-burnt thousand rupiah bill charred!. Its edges were crispy kriuk..., and it smelled strange, like burnt paper mixed with the scent of... loneliness hiks.... On the money, faint fingerprints could be seen... which were clearly not human fingerprints no!. Too long, too many segments curving-curving.... More like the footprints of a giant spider tap... tap... tap... (but there was no sound).

With slow movements slowly..., Damar got up from his chair ngiiiik.... He looked out the steamy window sreeng.... The stall looked quiet quiet.... The narrow alley outside was also deserted, only illuminated by the pale moonlight glow.... But for some reason, Damar felt... he wasn't alone someone was watching.... Something was still watching from the darkness lurking... ssssh....

And this night, which had only just begun one minute ago, felt like it had just started just warming up....

Suddenly, from behind the kitchen, Damar heard a soft whispering sound.... The sound came from inside the sugar jar that he usually used to make coffee for customers (who were still normal) krek... krek....

"Don't give any more coffee to the faceless one... ssst... He hasn't left... he's still here..."

Damar froze stiff.... He stared at the sugar jar with a blank stare plong!. Could sugar also talk in this stall? huh? Or maybe, the effects of this cheap sachet coffee were really that strong? oh dear... Tonight, it seemed like it was going to be a very long night hlaaaah.... And very... unusual indeed!.