Black Coffee Kills

This is a short story by myself about a middle-aged man whose dream is to make his diner a sensation. Unfortunately, his coffee has not been very popular for anyone. Also found on

There was a dark, blistering torrent of wind outside the small diner known locally as Cafe De Torro. As for Mr. Samuel Torro, owner and founder of the cafe. He was warm inside the small, vacant shop, slowly packing his belongings after another day without a customer.

He had always adored his cafe, though it was now beginning to age and lose it's popularity with the neighborhood, just as the Statue of Liberty lost its copper luster after years of rust eating away at it. Its original teal chairs and walls were now nothing more than a dull yellow. More often than not, people who had not known of the cafe would believe there to be mold growing off of everything from what the critics had described in the papers. There never seemed to be any well meant comments...

Consequently, the cafe he owned had never been very full, and he could never earn enough to expand on his wonderful establishment, though that did not keep him from attempting to create more space. There was an arrangement of booths, tables and chairs, and many posters strung across the walls. Mostly, the posters bore the faces of old movie stars and cars, such as Elvis or an old vehicle. He was quite a fanatic of the older tastes that most would never think to love.

The most interesting part of his diner, however, was it's strong, earthy smell. Though his cafe was of course most famous for his coffee- his father used to make it constantly when he was still here, always creating his special black coffee in the same exact shop. He had always tried to make another flavor, but all he could do was the same old thing... black. The strangest part of it all was that he absolutely despised black coffee. Samuel Torro always tried to help his father with the creations, but they could never succeed. The coffee he could make was far too bitter for anyone, which is why Cafe De Torro very quickly lost it's popularity around town. Unfortunately for Mr. Torro, if he didn't find something to add to his menu soon, he would surely go bankrupt.

He created recipe after recipe, none better (or worse) than the last. He grew moderately frustrated until he finally decided to give in and call for help from a friend. He looked at the clock to make sure the time was proper for a visit; he had unintentionally stayed until 1:52 am.

Blast! He thought to himself with a groan, I shall have to wait, but come morning, I will head on my way.

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Once he had finished packing and prepared to leave for his home, Mr. Torro found it was incredibly dark outside, and the clouds were about to explode with a raging rain, attempting to pound anything in it's path. He was growing increasingly fearful of becoming caught in the storm. Walking faster every second, he made his way down to the coffee shop his father went to, and his father before, and so on. It's name was the Celebrity Diner. It once was a beautiful place with ivory walls and furniture much like the stuff in his own diner. There were many mannequins and posters of old rock stars, poets, and jazz artists. How his father loved the small shop, particularly for the more old-fashioned taste to the place. He once told him, "If I owned a cafe such as this, money would matter not, for my heart would be with the diner." That was when Torro assembled a cafe of his own; wanting to make his father proud, he had easily been driven towards his goal. Unfortunatly, his father would never be able to see the diner in such a glorious moment. Three years after the shop had opened, Samuel Torro's father suffered cardiac arrest, lying dead in his favorite chair before the doctors could arrive. There had been a horrible storm the night before, much like tonight, leaving the roads immpossible to travel.

Sam kept the restaraunt in order in his father's place, wanting everything as neat and tidy as he could possibly keep it, in order to represent his father's good name. He wished that his father could have been there to see it himself, though he was a bit worried what his father would say of the condition of his once shining and spectacular diner.

"The place is in shambles!" Samuel could practically hear the man yelling, his voice deep and filled with emotion. "What happened to the customers? This is dreadful..." He now realized that if he couldn't recover his business, he would lose his dear diner. He didn't know that in the next few days, he would no longer need to worry about the it, or his loss of money.

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He finally decided to go home to his wife Alice. Perhaps she can ease my suffering, he thought to himself with a sigh.

"Alice? Dear, are you still awake?"

"Uyuh. You've been gone an awful long while, haven't ya, "dear"?"

"Sorry. I've been thinkin' quite a bit about the shop. I just don't know wat ta do."

"Maybe if you just sold the damned thing and moved on, we wouldn't be in this financial mess." before poor Sam could respond to this she added, "We can barely afford to keep our home, and you're still trying to keep that damn little roadside disaster!"

"Well, excuse me for trying to make my father proud!" he barked at her.

They didn't talk any more that late evening, sleeping as far apart as the bed would allow them. When morning once again came round, he felt worse than the night before, haunted from the fight and nightmares that followed, though he could remember none. Everything that took place with his wife had put him in quite a mood. After he fetched something to eat, he silently left for work, not wishing to wake his equally disturbed spouse into a hell of a frenzy. He knew that if he even mentioned last night, she would make a fuss about it, telling him she was glad he was finally confessing it was a bad idea to keep the diner. Then they'd end up arguing until one of them finally broke, leaving the other in a hurry. He'd be cornered like a single fish in the center of a hurricane.

He still hadn't come up with a new coffee idea and was growing infuriate with his restaurant, even through all the years he had been with it. Mr. Samuel Torro never came home that day from work, though no one would think anything of it until later that night when his wife becomes curious...

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While disasters where becoming of her husbands cafe, Alice Torro was nervous due to Mr. Torro's odd disappearance. He hadn't yet come home and it was nearly time for dinner. He hadn't normally been that late and decided to go over and check if he was all right.

Going over to the store to check in on him, she began to worry if this was her fault. After all, she had started their argument before they fell into dreamless sleeps. It was possible, but she truly didn't want to believe it. She had always been a proud woman, never backing down from a fight. She supposed it had come from her occupation; she was a lawyer, after all. Forced to fight for the rights of others.

At long last, she reached Cafe De Torro, and enter through the sliding doors into the molding restaurant. We're lucky the health inspector never shut us down, she told herself, groaning at the thought.

"Honey! You here?" Alice belted at the walls. "Sam, come on!" she still heard no response, so she went into his kitchen to investigate.

It wasn't long before she found why her husband hadn't answered. Peering carefully and slowly around the wall between the kitchen and the main entry, she began to worry. Everything seemed to be covered in blood, the metallic smell overwhelming the normal scent of coffee and pastries. She gazed further around the wall, a look of sheer terror spreading over her once ordinary features. There on the floor lay Mr. Samuel Torro, his features brutally mauled, laying a pool of his own blood. Most of his appendages were missing; what was left was scarred or broken horribly out of proportion. It was then that an earsplitting scream could be heard through the neighborhood. The owner of the building next door, Mr. Jack Bruno, quickly called the police and came over to comfort the traumatized Alice, kneeling next to her husband, hands pressed tightly against her temples. Her beautiful yellow dress had turned to a sickly red, her face turned in a look of pure dread, makeup running down her cheeks mixed with tears and blood.

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It wasn't until morning the police arrived at the scene. The storm from the night before had knocked all kinds of things on the ground from tree branches to telephone poles, occasionally finding shingles littered through the streets. They were shocked to see Samuel Torro's body; it was severed in several places, with four of his ten fingers missing. There was also a large, still bleeding hole in the side of his head. He was froze in an expression of indescribable pain and terror.

The main investigators were Peter O'Brian and Shawn McKowski. They didn't know what to make of Torro.

"Well, do ya' think we should test him for prints?" questioned McKowski. "I'm guessin' Mr. Torro wouldn't just do this to himself." he laughed at his own statement, finding dark humor to it.

"Nah. Why would somebody kill da guy? His place is in shambles."

McKowski said nothing; simply nodded and grunted as an agreement. "As long as we're here..." he stated, pointing towards the machine that made Mr. Torro's coffee. O'Brian smiled and said, "Why bother? The guy was outta business for a reason, ya know." McKowski chuckled and took a cup anyhow, filling it with the liquid. He took a sip and said, "You know... this really ain't so bad." he took another drink and added, "Has a strange aftertaste..." but when he was done he looked back into the cup and noticed something peculiar. "What's the matter?" O'Brian asked, looking over with slight curiosity. "I dunno. Must be a coffee bean the missed the grinder." he said before looking in the cup. He let out a piercing scream, throwing the cup to the floor, causing the sound of shattering glass to enter the room.

"What the hell is-" that was all O'Brian could say before looking down, seeing that the coffee had an eerie red tint to it. In the center of the pool there lay a stray object, missed by the grinder, as McKowski had stated. But it wasn't a lonely coffee bean. O'Brian's screams joined that of McKowsi's as he realized that there was a finger floating in the pool, though what they had thought was coffee- had mostly been blood.

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Next time you go to a coffee shop, take a good look at what's in your cup. You might find something unexpected.

Author's Note

I would love to hear comments for my story, and remember, this is also written at http://hubpages.com. Thanks!

Reviews

[Legacy]

Luna,

Wow - Wow - Wow... What to say...?

This was a wonderful read. I am ready for the next part (is there more)?

I can tell you I didn't see it coming, but if and when I get a cup of anything I will be sure to pear inside first.

You are a very talented writer - I could copy and paste many, many lines and indicate which ones are my favorite, but I would have to copy the entire story.

Your metaphors are awesome - sentence structure flows. Very colourful to read. A movie playing in my head - the only thing I was missing was the pop corn.

Last but not least (who Done It)

Have a Great Day

Keep Writing

Legacy

[Luna.A.Tiny]

Thank you very much, Legacy! I appreciate your feedback immensly. My English teacher is putting this into our school's writing log (if I could call it a log) so others can read it. I'm sorry, but I didn't have plans for another part... I suppose I could try if necessary. The key was for people to figure out what happened for themselves. Thanks again!