Slumbering Willows – An Excerpt From My Novel

The branches of aged oak trees stretched across the road like long, crooked fingers. If it were summer, the green leaves would have created a canopy, a haven of shade, but now in the dead of winter, they were bare. The headlights of Elaine’s old, beat-up Toyota cast eerie shadows across the weathered road. The vast expanse of the night sky was dark and stumbled over the peaks of snow-capped mountains. Though the mountains still carried the snow from last week, the roads were dry, the sky was cloudless, and the ground was clear. 

Elaine’s mind felt muggy with a fog she hadn’t been able to shake for weeks now. She stifled a yawn with the back of her gloved hand and used the other to gently nudge the wheel and avoid a pothole. She squeezed her eyes shut as they watered, wishing home wasn’t so far away and that the heat still worked in the truck, before opening them again with a sigh. At least the seats weren’t leather. That would have made the chill impossible to dispel from her body. 

Elaine frowned. A speck of light, foreign and new to her, grew larger as she drove down the winding road. It multiplied as she got closer. For the past four years, since she got her license, she had been driving this road home and had never seen these lights. They were bright. The building they illuminated looked old, nothing like the sleek, modern buildings big companies were constructing. Elaine squinted at the small sign that was at the entrance to the parking lot. 

The Misty Misto. 

A puddle of coffee underlined the words and the olive-green mug it spilled from was on its side next to it. A coffee shop. Elaine couldn’t wrap her head around it. She couldn’t fathom who would want to open a coffee shop on this lightly trafficked, old, country road. 

She wasn’t planning to stop but as she imagined a warm, ceramic mug in her old hand, the bittersweet, somewhat chocolatey aroma of coffee, and the energy in her tired bones, she found herself pulling into the empty parking lot. It felt new, smooth on the worn tread on her tires. 

The building was shaped like a triangle and was made of old wood. The front was made nearly entirely out of tinted glass, all the way to the apex. She couldn’t see inside but there was a faint, yellow glow that reminded her of warmth. Behind everything was the forest with its familiar towering trees and delicate, unflowered honeysuckle bushes. Trampled fallen leaves decorated the grassy area. 

Elaine took the keys out of the ignition and inhaled a bracing breath. She steeled herself as she nestled her chin into the high, woolen collar of her black sweater. The air was beyond frigid and smelled sweetly of pine. She hurried, slamming the squeaking door shut, before jogging across the pavement. Grey, cobbled steppingstones lined with moss as soft and vibrant as lily pads in a black swamp offered a pathway in. A bell rang as she pulled the surprisingly heavy door open. Elaine smiled a small smile and tugged at the fingers of her gloves even as a tingle went down her back. She was still cold. 

She was expecting it to be empty and slow, only a few customers at the rustic counters, but it was bustling with activity: the quiet roar of steaming milk, the incessant buzz of conversation, and the sound of sticky syrup pumps being pressed. An unusually tall barista with blue hair, thick winged eyeliner, and more piercings than Elaine could count let out a jingling laugh as she poured a high stream of steamed milk, bringing it down, then making minor movements with her slender wrist. 

“Hey!” she said, greeting Elaine with a smile as fresh as spring and eyes like blades of grass in the summer. “Welcome to the Misty Misto!” 

Elaine smiled in return. 

“Cleo will get your order up front at the register, okay?” she said. Her voice reminded Elaine of bubbly champagne and dripping nectar, and her emerald eyes made her feel comfortable. Cleo, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. He had cat-like eyes, deeply dark hair, and a single gold cross earring in his left ear. He grinned at her; the tips of his incisors slightly protruded over his lower lip. 

“What can I get for you?” he asked. His voice rumbled like a purr. Amusement danced in his eyes and that feeling of comfort the bubbly barista had invoked developed an edge. 

The menu was a massive chalkboard that had so much writing squeezed into every inch of available space, some of it in languages Elaine didn’t understand, and none of it was legible. There were no numbers anywhere to indicate price. 

“A small, hot, coffee,” she said. She hoped it was the cheapest thing on the menu.

“Cream or sugar?” 

“Cream, please.” 

He wrote her order down on a small notepad. Several gaudy, silver rings decorated his long fingers. Each had a different, massive stone on it. Amethyst, garnet, sapphire, and emerald stones were inlaid on delicately intwined metal. Elaine blinked at the sight, startled by how much it must have cost. 

“What’s your name for the order?” he asked. 

“Elaine,” she said. A peculiar sensation fluttered in her chest as her own name left her lips. 

“Elaine,” Cleo repeated. Each syllable came out of his mouth like a melody. His lips stretched into a haunting smile. “It’ll be $2.71.” 

She handed him three dollars, frowning at the way his yellow eyes assessed her. It was as though they each held a swarming nest of hornets, eager and primed to sting. She felt as though bugs had skittered across her skin as he dropped her change into the palm of her hand. Pins collected where their skin met. His smile turned into a grin. 

“Th-thank you,” she said. 

“Jess will have your coffee at the end of the bar. Thank you, Elaine,” he said as he gestured toward the other end of the store. She was eager to escape those hair-raising eyes.  

Elaine shoved her hands in the pocket of her coat. The store was longer than she had originally thought and the ceiling seemed to stretch further than it should have. She craned her neck upwards as she walked, eyeing the cobwebs in the darkest corners. Didn’t they have ladders to get up there? 

“Hey!” Elaine turned and saw the blue-haired barista standing there, a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. “Is this the right color?” she asked. The coffee was the color of caramel and smelled just as sweet. 

“Yes, that’s perfect,” Elaine said, “Thank you.” 

The barista—Jess, Elaine assumed—put the cup on the counter, smiled, and then bounced away, her ponytail swinging behind her. In mere seconds she had gotten started on another drink, grabbing a mug and pumping syrup into it. She hummed as she worked, nodding her head slightly to an invisible tune. 

The mug was just as warm as Elaine had hoped. She grabbed it, the red tips of her cold fingertips burning slightly at the stark temperature change, and turned to find a spot to sit. 

No two chairs were the same. Some had large velvet backs of varying colors—maroon, navy blue—and others were more like stools precariously balanced on three legs. A couple looked like tree stumps. All the tables consisted of raw, untreated wood. Some were round, others were cut lengthwise, but they all had dark stains embedded in the aged grain. 

Elaine eyed the mostly clean, empty table in the back left corner and cut through the crowds to go that way. A grimy smell enveloped her as she passed by a giggling gaggle of girls. She wrinkled her nose. Her coffee sloshed over the side of her hand as someone bumped her. 

“Sorry,” she murmured. 

It was pure bliss when she finally sat on the seat and was away from others. She loosed a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding, feeling the weight of her shoulders drag her down. The aroma of her coffee floated up, tickled her sense, and erased the putrid smell that had invaded. Her eyes fluttered shut as she inhaled creamy notes of spice, chocolate, and cedar. It was peaceful. She brought the warm cup up to her lips, blowing slightly to cool it down, then took a sip. 

It tasted like rot. 

She gagged, sputtering as she wiped her mouth with her sleeves. Disgust, frustrated, infuriation rolled through her like a tumultuous wave. When she looked up, ready to ask for a refund, her skin broke out in goosebumps and an artic chill swept through her body. 

A man was standing there. Only, he didn’t have his head. Or rather, he did, but he was holding it by his side the way a baseball player would hold a helmet. His fingers were absentmindedly playing with the flayed flesh of his throat. Blood dripped. 

A scream caught in Elaine’s throat as she stumbled backwards. The lights in the coffee shop began to flicker. The stool she was sitting on fell to the floor with a loud clatter that made her wince. Genuine concern flashed in his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” the head asked, or he asked. He held his own head out, fingers pressing on his own sallow cheeks, closer to Elaine, and she tripped over the legs of her own chair. 

“Wh-what—how? You—” She couldn’t get the words out as her rear ached from the landing. She was trembling. 

“Here, let me help you,” he said, tucking the skull and reaching out. She could see his severed spinal cord, the vertebra of his cervical spine. 

She shook her head, her chin disappearing into her collar as she pushed herself backwards, further and further until her back hit the wall. 

“Coups, what’s going on?” A gruff voice piped in from behind him. A large beast of a man appeared. He had a contorted spine, long calves, and he was hairy. Like, really hairy and it was thick, coarse, and red like fire when the light hit it. When he spoke again, Elaine saw the long, yellowed teeth inside of his mouth. 

“Why are you playing with the trash?” he asked. Spit stretched from his top teeth to his bottom teeth and his gums were brown, dirt brown. “You know the whole detached head thing isn’t a good indicator of altruism, right?” 

The nostrils on the head flared. “I can’t help it. It’s how I died. It was dirty and cruel and I still grieve the loss of my fully intact nervous system every day. Do I judge you for looking like you could shit in a box in somebody’s tiny, studio apartment?” 

“I do not shit in boxes,” The hairy man said with a low growl. Elaine swallowed eyes darting, chest heaving.

Coups sighed, tossing his head to his other hand. “I’m sure the sprites in Lichee would say otherwise. What happened, again? Was your drink laced? Was that your excuse?” 

The blood flowed from his severed neck. The hair man went to shove him but his hands (His paws?) went right through Coups’ figure. The murmur of conversation that had once been alive and buzzing had dimmed. The shop itself had changed color, the wood looking gnarled and grey. Ivy stretched from ceiling to floor, replacing the cobwebs Elaine had seen earlier. Coups laughed. It was boisterous. 

“All of this because I said you looked like a little kitty cat?” Coups began to float, rising higher. “So dramatic, Boris. You’re scaring our little friend.”

Boris looked at Elaine now, who had done her best to make herself small on the rough flooring of the store, but his gaze didn’t soften. 

“It’s her own damn fault for wandering in here! Let the pyxies have her.” 

The giggling gaggle of girls that Elaine had walked past looked over. Before, they had looked like normal, preteen girls getting coffee. Now their eyes were black and dark blue veins spiraled their faces like inky rays of sun. 

Coups drew his arms over head, ribcage splaying, and threw his head at Boris as Boris launched himself forward. He slammed into the wall and the lights rattled. Coups was laughing the entire time; his head was rolling across the floor and his chest was rising.  Elaine felt like she was going to be sick as Boris reached again, his hands now comprising of long, black claws as Coups floated out of the way. Elaine began to crawl along the back of the wall, trying to put as much distance between her and them but it only put her closer to the pyxies. When they spoke to her, they all said the same thing and it created a cacophony of noise that sent chills down her spine. 

“Do you want some tea?” They offered their mugs to her. Inside the contents were a dark, muddy purple. An eyeball floated to the surface, bobbing, its iris white. 

“Stop!” despite how loud the voice was, it was soft and melodic. It was Jess, the kind, bubbly, blue-haired barista. Elaine could see her black shoes out of the corner of her eye. Jess put a hand on Elaine’s arm, pulling her up from the ground as Boris and Coups came to a stop. He picked his head up, tucked it under his arm, and Boris’s claws retracted. Elaine’s breaths were coming rapidly now, and her head was spinning. 

“Thank y—” 

The words stuck in her throat as she looked up. Jess had very long, pointed ears and her eyes were as white as freshly fallen snow. Dozens of long, thin teeth protruded from a mouth that had its home on an unnaturally long, pale face. Jess smiled at her. 

Elaine screamed. It tore from her chest as she pushed Jess away. 

“Listen, don’t—” 

Elaine was stumbling. All of the faces were a blur but she needed to leave. She had to get out of here; she should have known better than to stop at a random building in the middle of the night when she was alone. She was stupid, incredibly stupid, and now she was going to die. They were all going to chop her up and make soup from her bones and tea from her eyes. 

“Elaine,” Jess raised her voice, “Come back!” 

Elaine wasn’t listening but that didn’t matter. Jess was fast; of course she was fast as she dropped in front of the door, landing silently on old, wooden boards. Her hands clasped Elaine’s upper arms. Elaine’s lip wobbled as she struggled. Jess stared intently down at Elaine, towering over her. 

“No matter how much you struggle, you will be back here.”

Jess’s hands were soft and warm, but the tips of her nails broke the skin on Elaine’s arms as she gave them a tight squeeze. It burned. When she let go, she faded like mist and the building began to creak and crack. Smells of coffee and sweet syrup faded to smells of pine and decaying leaves. Her truck was parked in the middle of a field now, but she sprinted towards it on legs that felt like TV static. The cold air kissed her hot cheeks and permeated her melting brain. 

She fumbled with her keys when she got into the car, her eyes staring at the rearview but there was no building. There was nothing there, no one chasing her, but she swore she could feel eyes on her, piercing and stabbing. She turned the keys in the ignition with numb fingers, breath caught in her chest. Tears pricked her eyes. 

You will be back here.

Snow began to fall from the sky as she skid out of the field and back onto the road. 

Note: This was originally part of a novella that I was writing for a creative writing class in 2022. I’ve since written about fifty-thousand more words and done a lot of worldbuilding, and I’m looking forward to continuing it. Leave a comment a let me know if you want more!