Aoi was wiping down the coffee machine behind the counter.
It was two in the morning, and the Moonlight Café was hushed, its glass windows reflecting the sprawling university campus outside, as if time itself had paused. The air was still, heavy with the quiet of a world asleep.
Aoi was twenty, her black hair tied back in a ponytail that fell just past her shoulders. Her pale skin, lightly dusted with freckles, caught the dim glow of the café's lamps. An apricot-colored apron draped her slight frame, and her sneakers tapped softly against the floor. The counter was cluttered with a well-worn espresso machine and glass jars filled with coffee beans, their faint, roasted scent lingering in the air.
"Aoi, mind sweeping the floor soon?"
Yosuke, the manager, poked his head out from the kitchen.
Mid-thirties, lanky, with a scruff of stubble shadowing his jaw, he always wore a tired smile. Aoi nodded and grabbed the broom. The café's old wooden floorboards creaked underfoot, carrying the echoes of customers' footsteps and the scrape of chairs.
The late-night shift was just the two of them. Customers were rare at this hour, though occasionally a student pulling an all-nighter or a restless soul with a strange air would wander in.
As she swept, Aoi glanced out the window.
The campus streetlights blurred in the fog, their glow smudging into the night. The distant silhouette of the lecture hall loomed quietly. Mist mingled with the cold, leaving faint droplets on the glass.
Her eyes caught something odd at the edge of the counter—an old coffee grinder, usually coated in dust, seemed to tremble faintly. She squinted, but then muttered, "Just my imagination," and went back to sweeping.
"Aoi, you hear something?"
Yosuke stepped out of the kitchen, tilting his head. Aoi turned and pointed at the grinder.
"I thought it moved just now…"
Yosuke chuckled, strolling over to pick it up. The heavy, iron grinder was an antique, a relic from the café's opening days. He gave the handle a quick turn, and it groaned with a rusty creak.
"See? Just an old machine. Don't let the late hours spook you."
He set it down and headed back to the kitchen.
Aoi shrugged lightly and resumed sweeping. But then, impossibly, the grinder's handle began to turn on its own, slow and deliberate. She froze, her grip tightening on the broom. The only sounds in the café were the grinder's creaking and the distant tick of a clock's second hand. Aoi took a step toward it, reaching out, but the doorbell jangled sharply.
The door swung open, and a man stepped inside.
Tall, draped in a black coat, he wore a mask covering half his face. Water dripped from his wet hair, pooling on the floor. Aoi flinched but quickly forced a smile.
"Welcome. What can I get you?"
The man approached the counter silently, a faint smell of damp earth trailing from his coat. Through the mask, he muttered, "Black. Hot."
Aoi nodded and turned to the espresso machine. He sank onto a stool, watching her every move. His gaze sent a chill down her spine. The machine hissed, steam curling as dark liquid filled the cup. She slid it across the counter, rang him up, and he took a sip, staring out the window.
"Quiet place at night," he murmured.
Aoi gave a polite smile and started wiping the counter. But her eyes caught something strange—drops of water from his coat had formed an eerie pattern on the floor, like thin, sprawling veins. She blinked, unsure, and glanced at him. He was just drinking his coffee.
Yosuke emerged from the kitchen, nodding at the man.
"Cold night, huh? Rare to see anyone this late."
The man didn't respond, only tilted his cup. Yosuke shot Aoi a look and slipped back to the kitchen. Aoi's gaze flicked to the grinder—it was moving again, its mechanical groan filling the room.
Heart pounding, she edged behind the counter and grabbed the handle to stop it. But the moment she touched it, a thick, black liquid oozed from the grinder. It wasn't coffee—it was viscous, almost like blood.
"What… is this?" Her voice trembled.
The liquid slid down the counter, dripping onto the floor, mingling with the water from the man's coat. The pattern on the floor pulsed, writhing like something alive.
The man stood slowly and pulled off his mask. His face was unnaturally pale, his eyes unnervingly large, black pupils locking onto Aoi.
"This place," he said, his voice low, as if rising from the earth itself. "I know it. Always have. The coffee here… it's special."
Aoi stumbled back, her shoulder hitting the counter's edge. The grinder's noise grew louder, and the café's lights flickered. The man lifted his cup, draining the black liquid, and grinned—a slow, unsettling smile.