Chapter 1 The Night Coffee Ritual
Every cup of coffee invites something—or someone—around us.
It hardly matters what time of day it is; coffee is always welcomed and welcomes all alike.
But there’s something different about a cup brewed at night.
Whenever I find myself craving coffee late at night, I walk to the coffee station. And more often than not, I sense something—a presence, a shadow lingering at the edge of my vision. Never during the day, only at night. As if the ritual itself calls for something unseen.
My daughter and her friends often speak of the strange occurrences in our apartment, whispering stories of the supernatural. They claim to have felt something watching, moving, roaming unseen. Their voices echo from the cellar where they play, full of excitement and unease.
I wonder—are these the same unseen guests I sense in the quiet hours of the night? Do they, too, seek a moment of warmth, a sip of strength before retreating into the darkness?
Perhaps.
But I brush it off, telling myself it’s nothing. Just the mind’s play.
Or so I choose to believe.
