The Smell of Java

I used to be afraid of the most childish of things. Things like the dark or the monster in my closet. Things most children fear because they are unknown. See, I wish I was still afraid of those things. Those were simple. They had a way to fix them. Turning on the light, for example, got rid of the dark. One peek under the bed and you can see that there was in fact, no monsters under the bed. However, since things that we typically see in our everyday life, we aren’t afraid of them as much. A car is responsible for most of the world’s deaths, but we still drive them. Airplanes should be scary to the common person, but for some reason, they are not. I guess that was how I felt that day. The day I can never forget 

I will start by saying that I work a nine-to-five job. I live a very structured life. I brew a cup of dark roast coffee every single morning at six am, since I love the smell of the burnt roast. I then go on a light jog and take a shower, before changing into my work clothes and driving the 95 highway to my office job. There I talk to no one. I just do my job and get it done as quickly and efficiently as possible. Once I get home, I brew another cup of coffee to take away the stress headaches. I turn the news on and read a good book, usually some historical fiction. I live alone. And I like it that way. No one to talk to, and no one to bother me. The only person I really do talk to is my mother. She likes routine like I do.  

However, this one morning, I did not follow my routine. When I was brewing my daily coffee, a small brown-like goo that was thick and slimy fell out of the dispenser. It was mixing into the bitter java, turning it black. I assumed it was just dirty since I hadn’t cleaned it in about a month. So I decided to skip my morning run and just went to the local coffee shop. I planned on cleaning my coffee maker when I returned home. 

When I got to the office, I did my daily work. Once again I avoided everyone. I got home fairly late, due to traffic. I could smell the faint smell of the bitter java beans in the air, I panicked thinking I left the gross liquid out before driving to work. When I looked at my coffee pot I saw the brown substance oozing out of the cracks, slightly melting onto the wood counter. I mentally slapped myself for forgetting to clean the pot. I don’t remember it being this bad though.

I quickly grabbed a paper towel and began wiping the machine down. As I did so, the towel became warmer and warmer until it was slightly burning my hand. Stopping and throwing the napkin away, I sighed.

Marveled and terrified of the sight, I hesitantly pulled out my phone and dialed my mother. I explained my situation and asked if this was normal behavior for a coffee pot. She seemed confused and concerned. When we came to no possible conclusion, I decided to look up a scientific explanation. 

After loophole to loophole, I decided that maybe I should get a new coffee pot. The damage on this one was already done so there was no way I could just clean it. I took a pair of latex gloves and picked the coffee maker up. It was heavier than I thought it would be. That was when I realized, I unplugged the coffee pot last night after it started making weird noises. If that was so, how was it possible for me to make coffee this morning? Maybe I unplugged it after it started making the brown goo. That seemed like a logical explanation. 

Rushing outside to where the garbage bins were located, I tossed the broken machine in. Once I returned back into my apartment, I noticed there was a trail of brown goo leading to my bedroom. How that possibly got there, did not cross my mind. Curious and conflicted, I decided to follow the path. 

I slowly opened my room door, causing it to creak. I shuffled my weight onto my toes as I looked around the room. I could smell coffee, strongly. I flipped the switch on and crept into the middle, where my now stained white rug sat. I looked around waiting for something. Anything. However, I got nothing. Nothing but silence. Silence. 

Sighing in relief as I relaxed. Of course, no one would get scared of a coffee pot. Like I said, you cannot be afraid of things you use daily. I cannot be scared of a coffee pot. I returned to my kitchen and saw it once again. The coffee pot was back. However this time it looked in perfect condition. 

Completely ignoring how this could logically be here, I decided to brew a coffee, out of curiosity. I wasn’t going to drink it. While I waited, standing back just in case, I kept hearing a tapping noise. Tap. Tap. Tap. I looked around the room, and once again back at the coffee maker, noticing a grey smoke was arising. Taking an even bigger step backward, I heard the tap again. But louder. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

The lights began to flicker as the coffee pot shaken and rambled. Starting it again was not the brightest idea of mine. I quickly ran over to the cord to unplug it. Tap. Tap. Tap. And just like that, I was on the floor, covered in sheering hot coffee as I held a dripping wet electrical cord. Tap. Tap. TAP. Suddenly everything was all black, the taste of coffee in my mouth, and the smell of that burnt...flesh. My burnt flesh. I guess it was alright to be afraid of a coffee pot.