Chapter 4: Death By Latte
The boom of the gate slamming shut behind them echoed with a terrible finality. They were plunged into a new arena, another twisted game board designed by a malevolent intelligence. The deep, rolling laughter that filled the air had now faded, but its phantom vibrations remained, a chilling memory that promised more horrors to come.
Raven was still trying to scrub the phantom stickiness of the black syrup from her hand, her face pale. The foul taste of rot lingered in her mouth, a violation that went deeper than just a physical sensation. She had invited the carnival’s poison in.
“Everyone okay?” Ash asked, his voice low as he did a quick headcount. They were all there, shaken and terrified, but physically unharmed.
“Define ‘okay,’” Jasper muttered, his eyes darting nervously into the surrounding gloom. “If ‘okay’ means not currently being eaten by a possessed roller coaster or a rotten apple-heart, then yeah, I’m peachy. If it means not being seconds away from a complete mental breakdown, then we have a problem.”
This new section of the carnival was different yet again. It was designed to look like a quaint, old-world village street, but the facade was thin. The cobblestones were uneven, and the charming storefronts were dark and empty, their windows like vacant eyes. The silence was thick and oppressive. Ahead of them, at the end of the short, winding street, stood a single point of light and warmth.
It was a small café, nestled between a darkened bakery and a toy shop filled with shadowy, unmoving dolls. A warm, yellow light spilled from its windows, a beacon in the oppressive darkness. A gentle plume of steam rose from a chimney on its roof. A sign, written in elegant, curling script, hung above the door: “The Hollow Brew.”
The scent that wafted from it was heavenly, a stark contrast to the stench of decay they had just escaped. It was the rich, invigorating aroma of freshly brewed coffee, mingled with the warm, comforting spices of pumpkin, cinnamon, and nutmeg, all sweetened with a hint of molasses. It was the smell of autumn, of safety, of a moment’s peace.
“It’s a trap,” Finn said immediately, his voice flat. He had learned his lesson. Nothing in this place was what it seemed.
“Obviously it’s a trap,” Raven agreed, her voice raspy. “Everything here is a trap. But what choice do we have? We can’t go back.” She gestured to the impenetrable darkness that sealed the path behind them.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m freezing,” Willow said, her teeth chattering. A deep, unnatural cold had begun to seep into the air, a chill that went straight to the bone. It was the same life-draining cold they had felt in the deepest parts of Black Hollow.
The warmth emanating from the café was an irresistible lure. The promise of a moment’s rest, of a hot drink to chase away the encroaching cold and the lingering taste of rot, was more tempting than any jewel or treasure. Their exhaustion was a physical weight, their fear a constant, grinding pressure. Even a fake reprieve felt like a necessity.
“We go in,” Raven decided, her tone leaving no room for argument. “We stay on our guard. We watch everything. But we’re going in.”
The small bell above the door chimed softly as they entered. The interior was just as inviting as it had appeared from the outside. A handful of small, round wooden tables were scattered across a polished floor. A fireplace crackled merrily in the corner, though the flames within cast no heat. The air was thick with the wonderful aroma of coffee and spiced pumpkin. But the café was eerily empty. There was no one behind the counter, no other customers, no staff.
They chose a table in the center of the room, huddling together for security. The simple act of sitting down, being off their feet, was a profound relief. For a moment, they just breathed, the warm, fragrant air a soothing balm on their frayed nerves.
“It almost feels… normal,” Willow whispered, her hands outstretched toward the heatless fire.
“Don’t get comfortable,” Finn warned, his eyes scanning every corner of the room. “Normal is the most dangerous thing in this place.”
Raven was looking at the counter, where a menu was propped up. It listed only one item: “The Autumn Equinox Special.”
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Jasper said, rubbing his arms. “Is it getting colder in here?”
He was right. The initial warmth of the room was already beginning to fade. The deep, supernatural chill from outside was seeping through the walls, turning the air from cozy to cool, then to cold. The fire in the hearth still crackled, its flames dancing merrily, but it was like watching a video of a fire—all image, no substance.
Just as the cold became truly uncomfortable, making them shiver and pull their jackets tighter, a faint clinking sound came from the counter. They all turned. Six steaming mugs now sat on the polished wood, where a moment before there had been nothing. They hadn’t heard anyone place them there. They had simply… appeared.
A new wave of fear washed over them. This place was operating on its own, powered by the same unseen hand that ran the rest of the carnival.
“Nope,” Jasper said, shaking his head. “I’m not drinking a ghost latte. That’s how you get ectoplasm in your digestive tract.”
The cold in the room intensified dramatically. It was no longer just chilly; it was becoming freezing. Their breath began to mist in the air. A thin layer of frost started to form on the windows, creeping inward from the edges of the panes. The cheerful yellow light began to feel harsh and sterile.
The only sources of heat left in the room were the six mugs on the counter. Steam rose from them in inviting plumes, carrying the rich, spiced scent of the coffee.
“It’s another choice,” Luna said, her voice quiet and strained. “It’s taking our warmth. It’s offering it back to us, for a price.”
The cold became biting, painful. Their fingers and toes started to go numb. They huddled closer together, their shivering growing more violent. It felt as if they were freezing to death.
“We have to drink it,” Ash said through chattering teeth, his usual bravado gone, replaced by a grim survival instinct. “It’s either that or we become popsicles.”
Raven looked at the steaming mugs, then back at her friends, their faces pale and their lips turning blue. She remembered the putrid apple, the taste of decay. What fresh hell was waiting in these mugs? But Ash was right. They were dying of the cold, and the only heat was on that counter.
One by one, they got up and took a mug. The ceramic was wonderfully, painfully hot against their frozen hands. They returned to their table, cradling the mugs like precious lifelines. The liquid inside was a dark, rich brown, topped with a swirl of foam, an eerie skull drawn in the foam and dusted with cinnamon. Disturbing, but it smelled divine.
Raven hesitated for only a second before taking a sip. The liquid was hot, almost scalding, but it was a welcome burn. The rich, complex flavors of coffee, pumpkin, and spices exploded on her tongue, instantly washing away the phantom taste of the rotten apple. The warmth spread from her mouth down into her chest, a blossoming heat that began to push back the deadly cold.
One by one, the others followed her lead. With each sip, the agonizing chill receded, replaced by a wave of comforting warmth. The drink was delicious, restorative. It felt like life itself pouring back into them.
“This is… actually really good,” Finn admitted, his skepticism melting away with the spreading warmth.
For a few precious minutes, they allowed themselves the illusion of safety. They drank their coffee in silence, the simple act of consuming something warm and pleasant a quiet rebellion against the horror that surrounded them. The room remained freezing, the frost continuing its slow crawl across the windows, but as long as they were drinking, the cold couldn’t touch them. They existed in a small, temporary bubble of warmth.
Too soon, their mugs were empty. The warmth lingered for a moment, then began to fade. The deep, penetrating cold rushed back in with a vengeance. They had finished the drinks. They had fulfilled their part of the bargain. Now it was time for the trap to spring.
A low, groaning sound filled the café. It wasn’t coming from outside. It was coming from the walls themselves. They watched in horror as the far wall began to move, sliding slowly and inexorably toward them. The ceiling lowered, and the side walls closed in. The cozy café was transforming into a shrinking box.
They jumped to their feet, their brief respite shattered. The tables and chairs began to scrape across the floor, pushed by the advancing walls. The fireplace crumbled, its heatless flames vanishing into a pile of dust.
“The door!” Ash yelled, but as they turned, they saw the front of the café—the door, the windows, the counter—dissolve into a swirling mass of black shadows. There was no escape.
The walls closed in faster, the space shrinking with terrifying speed. Soon they were forced into a tight huddle in the center of the room, the walls just inches away. They were going to be crushed.
Jasper screamed. Willow buried her face in Finn’s shoulder. Raven braced herself for the inevitable, her heart pounding with a final, furious burst of defiance. This was it. This was how it ended.
But just as the walls were about to make contact, they didn’t crush them. They passed through them. For a dizzying, disorienting moment, they were surrounded by shadow and the smell of dust and dying embers. The solid structure of the café dissolved around them like smoke.
And then, they were standing outside again, on the same dark, cobblestone street, in the same biting cold. The Hollow Brew café was gone. Where it had stood was now just a dark, empty lot, filled with rubble and dead leaves. It was as if it had never been there at all.
They were alive. They were freezing, but they were alive.
As the adrenaline wore off, a new, more subtle horror crept in. Raven could still feel the warmth of the latte in her belly, a pleasant, lingering heat. It was a part of the café. A part of the carnival. Like the rotten apple, it was now inside her. Inside all of them. They had willingly consumed it to survive, and in doing so, they had maybe bound themselves even tighter to this place.
A cold wind swept down the empty street, and this time, it carried a sound. Faint, distant, and achingly familiar.
The mocking, triumphant laughter of their unseen host.
The Legend Of Black Hollow. © 2025 | Horrified Candles. All Rights Reserved.
