The Phantom’s Brew

The First Shot

The night had started like any other. Jakob was the head bartender at The Black Swan—a luxurious, Art Deco-styled speakeasy tucked into the quieter side of the city's nightlife district. People came for his cocktails but stayed for his stories. A raconteur by nature, he'd spun tales of adventure and romance, of fortunes won and lost over a single coin toss. But it was all fiction—entertaining fabrications to distract from the monotony of martini glasses and garnish trays. Or so he thought.

That evening, a peculiar woman had entered the bar. Her dress shimmered in shades of sapphire and emerald, as though the ocean itself had been spun into fabric. Her dark hair was styled in waves that cascaded over one shoulder, and her red lips curved into a smile that was equal parts alluring and dangerous. She'd placed a single silver coin on the counter—its surface etched with unfamiliar symbols—and murmured, "A cup of your finest brew, Mr. Volkov."

Jakob had been caught off guard. "Sorry, miss, but we don't serve coffee here. Only spirits." He'd gestured to the wall of liquor bottles behind him, hoping to redirect the conversation. But her smile hadn't wavered.

"Oh, you'll make an exception for me," she said, her voice smooth as velvet. "After all, isn't that what you're known for? Breaking the rules?"

Against his better judgment, he'd nodded and disappeared into the back room, where a dusty espresso machine sat unused on a shelf. It had been a relic from the café that previously occupied the building—a place abandoned after the mysterious disappearance of its owner. As he brewed the coffee, Jakob couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, though the darkened corners of the storeroom were empty.

When he returned with the cup, the woman was gone. In her place was a folded piece of parchment with a single line of writing: “Find the truth, and you will inherit the brew.”

A Bitter Aftertaste

Back in the present, Jakob's fingers traced the contours of the machine. Its chrome surface gleamed faintly, though the parts seemed antiquated. Why had he brought it here, to this long-forgotten café on the edge of the city? The fragments of memory refused to settle. He picked up the espresso cup, lifting it closer to his face. The aroma was intoxicating, but there was something… wrong. It didn't smell like coffee—not entirely. There was a metallic tang beneath the roasted scent, sharp and foreboding.

A soft groan drew his attention back to the slumped figure. Against his better judgment, Jakob approached cautiously. It was a man, his face pale and slick with sweat, wearing an expensive coat that seemed out of place in this decrepit setting. The scarf around his neck matched the woman's dress—sapphire and emerald—but the dark stains spreading across it told a story that Jakob wished he could forget.

"What… what happened here?" Jakob's voice cracked as he crouched, shaking the man's shoulder gently. "Who did this?"

The man’s eyelids fluttered open briefly, his lips parting to rasp a single word: "Drink…"

Jakob recoiled. The cup in his hand seemed heavier now, its surface radiating warmth. He turned to the espresso machine, the dials and buttons shifting subtly, as though the machine were alive and whispering. Something inside him screamed to destroy it, to end whatever madness had brought him here. But his fingers tightened around the cup instead.

The Last Taste

The café's shadows deepened as the storm outside intensified. Jakob raised the espresso to his lips, the liquid too dark to reflect the room. With a deep breath, he tipped the cup and drank.

The world fractured. He was no longer in the café but standing on the edge of an abyss, where rivers of molten gold flowed beneath a cavernous sky. Spectral figures danced along the banks, their movements fragmented and chaotic, like broken film reels. At the center of it all was the woman in sapphire and emerald, her gaze piercing through him as she held a shimmering coin between her fingers.

"Welcome, Jakob," she said, her voice echoing in the impossible space. "Now, let’s find out if you’re worthy of the brew."

Final Thoughts

In the dim light of the café, the empty cup clattered to the floor. Jakob's eyes snapped open, his breath ragged. The man in the coat was gone. The espresso machine sat silent, its chrome surface dull and lifeless. And in his pocket, where there had been nothing before, was the silver coin.

Jakob stared at it, the symbols etched into its surface glowing faintly. He didn't know what he'd inherited, but one thing was clear: his life would never be mundane again.

Genre: Dark Fantasy / Supernatural Suspense

The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: REVIEW Breville Nespresso BNV550 Vertuo Next Espresso & Coffee Maker Machine: COMPLETE HOW TO USE GUIDE

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