For several seconds, neither Nora nor Evan moved.

The coffee machine continued working upstairs.

Hiss.

Click.

Drip.

Hiss.

Click.

Drip.

It was the most ordinary sound in the world.

That somehow made it terrifying.

Evan stared at the staircase.

“The machine is making coffee.”

Nora nodded.

“Yes.”

“In an abandoned house.”

“Yes.”

“After a dead man ordered coffee.”

“Yes.”

“And now somebody just told us to find a murderer.”

“Yes.”

Evan swallowed.

“I’m beginning to miss my old problems.”

Nora glanced at him.

“What old problems?”

“My landlord.”

“You don’t pay rent.”

“Exactly. Those were simpler times.”

Another drip echoed through the darkness.

Then the coffee machine stopped.

Silence.

Nora tightened her grip around the piece of paper.

FIRST: FIND THE MAN WITHOUT A FACE.

She looked at Evan.

“What does that mean?”

Evan shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re supposed to be the detective.”

“I’ve been promoted too quickly.”

A sound came from upstairs.

Something scraped across the floor.

Both looked up.

“Someone’s moving,” Nora whispered.

Evan nodded.

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“It’s either someone or something.”

“That isn’t helpful.”

“I never claimed to be helpful.”

They slowly approached the staircase.

Nora switched on her phone flashlight.

The beam traveled up the stairs.

Nothing.

At the top was a long hallway lined with closed doors.

The house seemed different now.

Colder.

The wallpaper appeared darker.

Even the portraits looked different.

Nora looked at one of them.

She could have sworn the eyes had moved.

She quickly looked away.

“Which way?” Evan whispered.

Nora pointed toward the left.

They stepped onto the first floor.

The floorboards creaked beneath them.

One.

Two.

Three steps.

Then—

Bang!

A door slammed somewhere behind them.

They jumped.

Evan grabbed Nora’s arm.

“Keep walking.”

“I’m trying.”

Another door slammed.

Then another.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

The doors were closing one after another down the hallway.

Moving toward them.

Evan’s eyes widened.

“Run.”

They ran.

The final door slammed just as they reached the end of the hallway.

Evan pushed it open.

Inside was a small bedroom.

There was a bed.

A wardrobe.

A desk.

And an enormous mirror.

Nora entered.

Evan followed.

The door behind them slowly closed.

Neither noticed.

Nora walked toward the desk.

There were dozens of old documents scattered across it.

Most were covered in dust.

One was fresh.

She picked it up.

It was a police report.

CASE FILE: VICTOR HALE

Nora began reading.

“Victor Hale, age sixty-eight. Found deceased in his study at 2:00 a.m. No signs of forced entry. No weapon found.”

Evan looked over her shoulder.

“Keep reading.”

Nora continued.

“Initial cause of death: cardiac arrest.”

“Nothing unusual,” Evan said.

She moved to the next page.

Then stopped.

“What?”

Evan leaned closer.

At the bottom of the report was a handwritten note.

DO NOT LISTEN TO THE SECOND VOICE.

Evan frowned.

“What second voice?”

A voice answered from behind them.

“Mine.”

They screamed.

Both spun around.

Nobody was there.

Evan grabbed the nearest object.

It happened to be a lamp.

He held it like a weapon.

Nora picked up a heavy book.

“Come out!”

Silence.

Evan whispered, “Excellent plan.”

“What?”

“I said excellent plan.”

“You’re shaking.”

“So are you.”

“I’m holding a book.”

“I’m holding a lamp.”

“You look ridiculous.”

“You’re threatening a ghost with a dictionary.”

“It’s a very heavy dictionary.”

Suddenly the mirror cracked.

CRACK!

A long line appeared across the glass.

Then another.

Then another.

Within seconds, the entire mirror was covered with cracks.

But it didn’t break.

Instead, words slowly appeared across its surface.

As if an invisible finger were writing on the glass.

HE IS WATCHING.

Nora stepped backward.

Evan stared.

Another sentence appeared.

DO NOT TRUST THE DETECTIVE.

Nora’s eyes widened.

“Detective Bell?”

Evan nodded.

“That’s what it looks like.”

A third sentence appeared.

HE KNOWS ABOUT ROOM 11.

Nora looked at Evan.

“Room 11?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

Then the mirror went completely black.

For one second, there was nothing.

Then a face appeared.

A man’s face.

Except there were no eyes.

No nose.

No mouth.

Nothing.

Just smooth skin.

Nora screamed.

Evan dropped the lamp.

The faceless man leaned closer from inside the mirror.

His hand pressed against the glass.

Then he wrote one word.

RUN.

The bedroom door suddenly flew open.

Nora and Evan didn’t hesitate.

They sprinted into the hallway.

Behind them, something slammed against the mirror.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The entire house shook.

They raced downstairs.

At the bottom, Nora stopped.

Evan nearly ran into her.

“What?”

She pointed toward the front door.

It was open.

Rain was visible outside.

Freedom.

They ran toward it.

Then a figure stepped into the doorway.

Detective Bell.

His coat was soaked.

His expression was furious.

“What are you two doing here?”

Evan froze.

Nora looked at him.

“Detective, we—”

“Get outside.”

“But—”

“Now.”

They stepped through the door.

Bell followed.

He closed it behind him.

Then he locked it.

Nora looked back.

“Why did you lock the door?”

Bell stared at her.

“Because nobody should be inside.”

Evan laughed nervously.

“That’s funny.”

Bell didn’t smile.

“What did you find?”

Nora hesitated.

“A message.”

“What message?”

She showed him the paper.

Bell read it.

His face changed.

Only for a second.

But Evan noticed.

“You know what this means,” Evan said.

Bell folded the paper.

“No.”

“You do.”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

Bell looked directly at him.

“You should learn when to stop talking.”

Evan’s smile disappeared.

Nora stepped forward.

“Who is the man without a face?”

Bell stared at her.

“I don’t know.”

“Room 11?”

“I don’t know.”

“The second voice?”

“I don’t know.”

“The coffee?”

Bell said nothing.

Nora narrowed her eyes.

“You’re hiding something.”

Bell looked toward the house.

Then back at them.

“Go home.”

He walked toward his car.

Evan called after him.

“Detective!”

Bell stopped.

“Where were you at 11:43?”

Bell slowly turned around.

The rain fell between them.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Bell answered:

“At the police station.”

He got into his car.

The engine started.

He drove away.

Evan watched until the car disappeared.

Nora folded her arms.

“You don’t believe him.”

“No.”

“Why?”

Evan pointed at the road.

“Look at his tires.”

Nora stared.

They were covered in mud.

But the road from the police station to Willow Street was completely dry.

The only muddy road nearby was the one leading behind Blackwood Cemetery.

Nora’s face tightened.

“Why would he be at the cemetery?”

Evan smiled.

“Now we’re asking the right question.”

---

That evening, Nora locked The Last Cup early.

She turned the sign to CLOSED.

Evan sat at a corner table with six newspapers spread around him.

“You’re making a mess,” Nora said.

“I’m solving a murder.”

“You haven’t solved anything.”

“I’ve eliminated several possibilities.”

“Which ones?”

“Aliens.”

Nora stared at him.

“Why were aliens a possibility?”

“They’re always a possibility.”

She ignored him.

“What did you find?”

Evan pointed at a newspaper.

“Victor Hale wasn’t the first strange death connected to the café.”

Nora stopped.

“What?”

He handed her the newspaper.

The article was twenty years old.

LOCAL ACCOUNTANT FOUND DEAD

Nora read the details.

A man named Samuel Reed had been found dead in his apartment.

Official cause: heart failure.

The article mentioned one strange detail.

He had ordered black coffee from The Last Cup shortly before his death.

Nora frowned.

“But the café was owned by my father twenty years ago.”

“Exactly.”

Evan handed her another article.

TEACHER FOUND DEAD

Same thing.

Black coffee.

Heart failure.

Then another.

SHOPKEEPER DIES SUDDENLY

Black coffee.

Heart failure.

Nora slowly placed the newspapers down.

“How many?”

Evan answered quietly.

“Seven.”

She stared at him.

“Seven people?”

“Over twenty years.”

“All ordered coffee before dying?”

“All ordered black coffee.”

“And Victor was number seven?”

Evan nodded.

Nora felt cold.

“Then what’s number eight?”

Neither spoke.

The café clock ticked.

10:58 p.m.

Evan looked at the clock.

“We need to find out.”

“How?”

“I have an idea.”

“No.”

“You haven’t heard it.”

“I know you.”

“That’s unfair.”

“What is your idea?”

“Go through your father’s old records.”

Nora hesitated.

“My father kept everything.”

“Exactly.”

They went into the storage room.

Boxes covered the walls.

Old menus.

Receipts.

Invoices.

Photographs.

Customer records.

Nora found a dusty wooden box labeled:

1998–2006

She opened it.

Inside were old account books.

She began searching.

Evan found a notebook.

“Look.”

He opened it.

The pages contained handwritten names.

Dates.

Coffee orders.

Nora took the notebook.

The first page had a list.

Samuel Reed — March 3

Helen Morris — June 17

Daniel Cross — October 22

Victor Hale — August 12

Nora’s hands trembled.

“August 12.”

“Yesterday,” Evan said.

Then she noticed something.

Next to each name was a symbol.

A black circle.

Exactly like the symbol on the coffee cup.

“What does this mean?”

Evan turned the page.

The next page was completely blank.

Except for one sentence.

THE EIGHTH CUSTOMER WILL BE SOMEONE WHO ALREADY KNOWS.

Nora looked up.

“Knows what?”

Evan didn’t answer.

A sound came from the café.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

They froze.

Someone was at the front door.

Nora checked the clock.

11:31 p.m.

Evan whispered:

“Maybe we shouldn’t open it.”

The knocking came again.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Then a man’s voice spoke from outside.

“Nora.”

She recognized it.

Her blood ran cold.

It was Victor Hale’s voice.

“Open the door.”

Evan shook his head.

“No.”

The voice came again.

“Nora, I know you’re there.”

Evan grabbed her hand.

“Don’t answer.”

The lights flickered.

The knocking stopped.

Silence.

Then the café telephone rang.

Nora stared at it.

It rang again.

And again.

She slowly picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

No answer.

Then breathing.

Slow.

Heavy.

Nora whispered:

“Who is this?”

The voice replied:

“You forgot my coffee.”

The line went dead.

Evan stared at her.

“What did he say?”

Nora couldn’t speak.

The café door suddenly opened.

A man stood outside in the rain.

He wore a long black coat.

His face was hidden beneath a hat.

Nora stepped backward.

“Who are you?”

The man raised his head.

His face was pale.

His eyes were dark.

But his mouth was covered with a strip of black cloth.

He pointed toward the café counter.

Then he slowly raised one finger.

He pointed at the coffee machine.

The machine turned on by itself.

Hiss.

Drip.

Hiss.

Drip.

The man stepped inside.

Evan grabbed a chair.

“Don’t come closer.”

The stranger stopped.

Then he pulled something from his coat.

A photograph.

He placed it on the counter.

Nora picked it up.

It showed eight people standing outside The Last Cup.

Seven were familiar.

Victor Hale.

Samuel Reed.

Helen Morris.

Daniel Cross.

And four others.

All seven were dead.

But the eighth person was alive.

Nora recognized him immediately.

She dropped the photograph.

It was Detective Arthur Bell.

Evan stared at the picture.

Then at the stranger.

Then toward the café window.

A police car was parked across the street.

Its headlights were off.

Evan whispered:

“Bell is watching us.”

The stranger nodded.

Then he removed the black cloth from his mouth.

Nora gasped.

There was no mouth underneath.

No lips.

No teeth.

Nothing.

The man without a face.

He pointed toward the clock.

11:43.

The café lights went out.

And from somewhere behind the counter came a cheerful voice:

“Order ready!”

A cup slid across the counter by itself.

It stopped directly in front of Nora.

Black coffee.

Steam rising.

Beside it was a small white card.

Nora picked it up.

Five words were written on it.

THE EIGHTH CUSTOMER IS HERE.

She looked at Evan.

“What does that mean?”

Evan stared at the faceless man.

Then toward the police car outside.

Then back at the coffee.

His voice became very quiet.

“It means we aren’t investigating the murderer anymore.”

“Then what are we investigating?”

Evan swallowed.

“The next victim.”

Behind them, the café door locked itself.

And somewhere in the darkness, someone began laughing.

End of Chapter Two