—a séance of espresso and shadows, where the dead come not for vengeance, but for one last drink.
Once a year, the veil pulls thin,
and ghosts slip through to drink again.
They do not rattle, moan, or scream,
they stir their cups in silent dream.
No blood, no chains, no spectral cries,
just steam that rises like goodbyes.
Each sip restores what rot erased,
a face, a name, a time, a taste.
One stirs with bone, one drinks from glass,
one laughs like leaves across dead grass.
They gather round the sacred pot,
its heat the last warmth they have got.
You make it strong, you make it right,
you serve it black, you light no light.
You do not speak, you simply pour.
The dead remember what was yours.
They leave one drop upon the sill,
a blessing, or perhaps a bill.
📜 The Allhallow Brew – The Recipe
Ingredients:
- 4 tbsp Dark Roast Coffee (fresh-ground, soul-heavy)
- 10 oz Spring Water (drawn before sunset)
- 1 whisper of cinnamon or clove (optional, but nostalgic)
- Stirring implement: Spoon from the drawer you never open
Instructions:
Grind by hand as dusk falls. Heat water just before midnight. Brew in silence. Pour into as many cups as names you remember. Leave one mug at every window, steaming. Do not look behind you until dawn.