Author here! I’m realizing that I’m no longer writing a short story. By the time I’m finished I think it will be 30’000 words long. Sooooooo not quite a full novel, not a short story, but something in between!
I think it will have 12 chapters in total.
Chapter 3: Sebastian
07:00 — Sebastian wakes to the sound of his alarm, same as every other morning.
Years earlier, he had gone through every option on his phone and chosen the right one. Not too harsh, not too gentle. The perfect alarm, he believed, would wake him consistently without being so disruptive that he’d be tempted to turn it off before getting out of bed.
He sits up in a room that doesn’t feel like his. It isn’t his.
Only when his feet touch the floor does he allow himself to turn off the alarm.
On the nightstand, next to the phone that now speaks only silence, stands a framed photograph overlooking the bed.
07:05 — He’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth. The bed is already made, and his clothes for the day, folded and prepared the night before, lie neatly next to the sink.
Making the bed first thing in the morning had been a habit since he was young. His parents taught him that starting the day with an act of order would set the trajectory for everything that followed.
The only time he had strayed from that habit was when he shared the bed with his wife, as she would wake an hour or so later.
After the fire, he hadn’t missed a day.
07:10 — Sebastian stands in the shower. He adjusts the handle controlling the temperature a few times, as if cracking open a safe.
The water pressure is wrong. Uneven. Slightly uncomfortable.
But after a while, the temperature feels familiar.
There’s a combined soap and shampoo dispenser mounted to the wall. He doesn’t use it. He’s brought his own.
07:20 — He shaves.
No one has ever seen him with a beard, and no one ever will.
Before he moved in with the woman who would become his wife, he always shaved before showering. She had laughed when she found out.
“You’re making it more difficult for yourself,” she had said. “Shaving on hard mode like that.”
He hadn’t expected a lesson in shaving from her, but listened anyway.
“Hot water softens the hair. Shower first, then shave. It just… slides off instead of fighting you.”
A flicker of amusement in her eyes.
She had undressed without hesitation, stepping into the shower and pulling him in with her.
“Here. Let me show you.”
She ran the razor along her leg, smooth, effortless.
The demonstration convinced him. From that day on, he shaved after showering.
He hadn’t changed any part of his routine since the fire.
07:30 — He’s dressed and ready for the day. The usual cup of black coffee comes next.
Next to the small TV sits a water heater and a few packets of instant coffee on a plate with some small cups.
He presses the switch.
Nothing.
The cord is plugged in. He unplugs it, moves it to another outlet, and presses the switch again.
Nothing.
He exhales, sharp and deliberate, as if the object should understand.
He picks up his computer bag. Before leaving, he glances once at the framed photograph on the nightstand—a happy family.
He had moved the nightstand the previous evening so the photograph would be placed on the correct side of the bed.
The door closes behind him. A key turns in the lock.
Coffee.
Acceptable. Necessary.
It didn’t interfere with anything. Quite the opposite.
Any respectable morning routine was incomplete without it.
In a mechanical sense, he understood that finding coffee was now his purpose.
The lobby is empty. No coffee machine in sight.
There’s a bell on the desk.
He presses it once.
Then again.
Then a third time.
The sound reaches only his own ears.
Outside, twilight is giving way to morning.
A figure passes the window.
The door opens.
A young man steps inside, thin, distracted.
Sebastian presses the bell again, gaze fixed on the newcomer.
“Do you work here?”
He does.
The situation is explained. The response is insufficient.
“I’ll ask someone to look into it later today.”
No.
That won’t do.
Other rooms are occupied. Guests aren’t to be disturbed.
The staff coffee machine is for employees only.
The lobby used to have a café, years ago. The barista had since opened her own place at the edge of town.
A five-minute walk.
Sebastian is told to go there.
Some towns never sleep.
This one feels like it never wakes up.
The November air is cold, unchanged from the night before. With enough layers, and a clear objective, Sebastian steps out into the street.
There’s a dog there, on the other side of the road. It looks like it could be a stray. It’s just sitting there, staring toward the hotel, as if waiting for someone.
It ignores Sebastian as he walks up the street to the right.
“The Overlook Café.”
The sign hangs slightly above eye level.
The building sits on a rise, a staircase leading up from the street.
From here, most of the town is visible.
Wood. Brick. Functional.
At the edge of it, a car graveyard pressed up against the forest.
Beyond that, trees and hills, and in the distance, the faint outline of a lake.
The café feels out of place. Lighter.
Closed.
“Opens at dawn, closes at dusk.”
Sebastian checks his watch.
08:23.
He exhales.
Nearly an hour off schedule.
“This town will be the death of me,” he mutters.
“Goooooood morning and welcome to the Overlook Café.”
The voice arrives before the person.
Warm. Disarming.
A young woman climbs the steps, light brown hair catching the first edge of daylight.
“You’ve been waiting here all night, sir?” she asks, smiling.
Sebastian adjusts slightly, recalibrating.
“No. No coffee at the hotel. I was told to come here.”
“That’s no way to start a morning.”
Her expression is immediate. Genuine.
“I’ll sort you out. Give me a minute.”
She unlocks the door and gestures him inside.
“My name is Iris.”
“Sebastian.”
“You can sit wherever you like.”
The café is warmer than expected.
Not in temperature.
Things are slightly out of alignment, yet nothing feels out of place.
He chooses a table near the window where the sun is pouring through.
Places his bag down.
Opens his laptop.
No network.
He looks around.
“Wi-Fi?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Iris says from behind the counter, not looking up. “It’s behind you.”
Sebastian turns.
Nothing.
He scans the wall. The shelves.
Nothing.
He turns back.
She’s smiling.
“The password?” he asks.
“Behindyou,” she says. “One word. Capital B.”
A pause.
He nods once.
Types it in.
It works. Connected.
Coffee arrives five minutes later.
Black. No milk, no sugar.
Just the way he likes it.
He didn’t even have to ask.
He takes a sip.
Acceptable.
Most definitely acceptable.
Instant coffee in his hotel room wouldn’t come close to this.
He reads the news while he sips his coffee.
World events, global economics, the important stuff.
Without this ritual, he’d feel disconnected from society.
The view is beautiful too. He had never seen a car graveyard before, one where nature reclaims the vehicles instead of having them crushed into cubes as they do in the cities.
Iris moves easily around the space, her movements feel so free.
A few customers shuffle through the doors.
“You’re very… precise,” she says at some point, placing down a flower vase on a nearby table.
He looks up.
“What do you mean?”
She looks up to the right, clearly thinking.
“You seem very deliberate in everything you do. Precise and methodical. As if you’ve planned out everything you do in advance. Maybe even most of what you say.”
“That’s… I…”
She laughs awkwardly at herself.
“Sorry for putting you on the spot like that. I’m very curious about people, as you can tell, and strangers rarely come to Stillwater. I couldn’t help observing you and making up some theories.”
Sebastian did very much feel like he was being put on the spot. And this woman, charming as she was, reminded him of Leon. He often didn’t know how to answer Leon either.
He looks down at his coffee for a moment, then back at her.
“It’s not planned,” he says. “Not consciously.”
A small pause.
“It’s just… better that way.”
Iris tilts her head slightly.
“Better?”
“Fewer variables,” he says. “Less that can go wrong.”
She studies him for a second longer than most people would.
“But what if something goes wrong anyway?”
Sebastian holds her gaze, just briefly.
“It usually does.”
Iris softens a little.
“That sounds exhausting,” she says quietly.
“It isn’t,” Sebastian replies, almost immediately. Then, after a beat:
“It’s just efficient. Keeps me from… worse alternatives.”
She smiles gently at that, but her eyes have a heaviness to them now.
“Efficiency isn’t usually what people are chasing first thing in the morning.”
“It should be.”
That gets a small laugh out of her.
“Maybe,” she says. “Or maybe people just want a delicious cup of coffee and some peace and quiet before the day begins.”
Sebastian doesn’t respond to that. He takes another sip instead.
A few more customers drift in.
Sebastian returns to his screen.
Numbers. Headlines. Familiar structures.
The coffee helps.
The door opens again.
Leon.
He pauses just inside, taking in the room like it’s something he hadn’t expected to find.
“Morning,” he says, spotting Sebastian by the window.
Sebastian closes his laptop.
“You found me.”
“Hotel guy pointed me in the right direction,” Leon says, stepping further in. “Heard you went tracking down the smell of coffee before dawn, you absolute lunatic.”
Iris looks up from behind the counter, curiosity in her eyes.
“Lunatic Sebastian. Should I offer your strange friend something to drink?”
Leon is caught slightly off guard as he turns to face her.
“Leon, this is Iris, the girl who runs The Overlook Café.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” she says.
“Iris, this is Leon, the boy who runs his life into the ground.”
“HEEEY!” Leon protests while Iris laughs.
Leon gives him a look Sebastian recognizes immediately.
“I’d like a… do you have mocha? I’m a sucker for anything sweet.”
He glances back at Sebastian.
“Still surviving?”
“Barely,” Sebastian says.
“What brings you to Stillwater?” Iris asks Leon.
“Reunion,” Leon says. “Old friends. Poor decisions.”
“Poor decisions? There’s plenty of opportunity for that in Stillwater.”
“Already made a few last night, at the bar. And you? Always here this early?”
“Someone has to open the place,” she says. “And someone has to deal with people like you.”
“Dealing with me sounds like a full-time job.”
“I’m getting that feeling.”
Leon glances toward the door.
“Think I’m being followed,” he says.
Iris looks past him and smiles.
“That’s Ramen.”
Sebastian turns slightly. There is a dog sitting outside the café.
It’s the same one he saw when he left the hotel.
“Does it belong to someone?” Sebastian asks.
“Not really,” Iris says. “Comes and goes. Picks people sometimes.”
Leon narrows his eyes at it.
“Yeah, well. I didn’t sign up for that.”
“It’ll get bored,” she says. “Or maybe you’ll grow on it.”
Leon huffs lightly.
“Not sure which one I prefer.”
She hands him the coffee.
Leon takes it, but instead of sitting, he nods toward the door.
“I’ll be outside.”
“Of course you will,” Sebastian says. “Enjoy your cigarette.”
Outside, the cold air and a dog named Ramen meet him.
Ramen had already settled beside him.
Not looking at him.
Looking out with him.
Leon stands on the edge of the steps, looking over the town.
He lights his cigarette and takes a sip of the warm drink.
“Breakfast of champions,” he mutters to himself.
A minute later, Sebastian joins him by the door, not fully outside.
“Where’s Oscar?” he asks.
Leon doesn’t turn.
“In his room. Door wasn’t locked.”
A small pause.
“Still dressed. On top of the bed. Snoring.”
Sebastian nods once.
“That aligns with expectations.”
“I considered waking him.”
“And?”
Leon shrugs slightly.
“He made his choice.”
They stand there for a moment.
The town below them is waking slowly, if at all.
“I didn’t have any dreams last night,” Leon says.
Sebastian looks at him.
Leon smiles faintly, almost surprised at himself.
“First time in a while.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
He takes another sip.
“I think that’s why I feel different.”
“Different how?”
“Lighter,” Leon says. “Like something didn’t follow me into the morning for once.”
Sebastian considers that.
“I don’t really dream,” he says. “I used to. That stopped years ago.”
Leon glances at him.
“Just stopped?”
“Yes.”
“What’s that like?”
“Calm,” Sebastian says. “Dreams are distracting.”
Leon nods slowly.
“I haven’t slept properly in months.”
He looks back out over the town.
“You ever get the feeling something’s… off here?”
Sebastian follows his gaze. The streets below are quiet. A few parked cars. Thin morning light on old roofs. Smoke rising somewhere in the distance.
“No,” he says.
Leon lets out a faint breath through his nose, something between amusement and unease.
“Yeah,” he says. “Me neither.”
He takes another drag from the cigarette.
Below them, Stillwater continued its slow and reluctant surrender to morning.
Sebastian turned back toward the warmth of the café.
Leon remained outside. From the window, Sebastian could see him. Leon and his dog.
He was no longer looking at the town below. His gaze had drifted elsewhere. Past the car graveyard where nature reclaimed rusting metal, through the forest beyond, and toward the lake.
Adrian Tornholm 