Three Knocks in the French Quarter

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

A pounding at the door cut through the dim and quiet café at the corner of Decatur Street like a rusted knife. The lights were low with the CLOSED sign facing outward, but in a few hours, the café would be bustling with regulars and tourists alike. Margaux Lumiere was grateful her café dreams were a success, but these quiet moments baking pastries in the kitchen were the ones she cherished most. She had been humming along to the soft sounds of Edith Piaf as she rolled out the laminated dough for her famous croissants.

The knock at the front door startled Margaux so deeply that she dropped the rolling pin. It thudded to the floor, shattering the peaceful rhythm she had been in while baking and singing along to French music. As she rushed out from the kitchen, she wiped at her chin, feeling the dusting of flour there. No matter how many years she’d been baking, she somehow managed to get flour somewhere unwanted.

Margaux’s pace slowed as the café door came into view. There was no one there. She walked up to the glass and peered into the French Quarter, past the lettering on the door that spelled the café’s name: Dilly’s, a tribute to her late husband’s nickname. A homeless man was passed out on a bench across the street, but other than him, there wasn’t a soul in sight. She checked the door to make sure it was locked, which it was.

Sighing and patting her heart as if to remind it to beat normally again, Margaux headed back to the kitchen. Standing over her unbaked, half-rolled croissants, something didn’t feel right. “La Vie En Rose” seemed to swell from the Bluetooth speaker as she realized what was amiss: the rolling pin. The same rolling pin that had thudded onto the floor was now on the metal counter.

“Alright, Patrick, thanks for picking this up,” Margaux laughed. “But I doubt you washed it, and I’m not about to get a health code violation because my dead husband likes to mess with me.”

She tossed the rolling pin in the sink and grabbed another one from a rack above her head.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

Margaux nearly dropped that rolling pin too, as she once again startled from the knock at the front door—but this one was even louder.

“Patrick, please, mon amour, I need to finish my work.”

It was no secret that Dilly’s Café was haunted, and Margaux always embraced communication from her husband, but his visits were few and far between, and far less obvious. Usually, it was a cold draft on her shoulder, a light tickle at her lips, or a moved coffee cup. Slight worry filled her as she headed back to the front of the café.

A hooded figure stood at the glass, peeking in. Margaux gasped, and as soon as she did, it was gone. Knowing for certain it wasn’t her husband, she decided to ignore the knocking and get back to work. Whoever or whatever it was couldn’t hurt her and would go away if ignored.

Turning up the music, Margaux returned to her croissants, singing along. She finished rolling them and was just about to put them in the oven when everything stopped. The music cut off, the lights went out, and the hum of the oven was gone.

“No, no, no…” she hissed. “Are you kidding me?”

Taking her phone out of her apron pocket, she turned on the flashlight and revealed the hooded figure standing there. The sight of the apparition shook her, causing her to drop her phone and scream out in terror. Not about to stand in the dark while some strange ghost loomed in front of her, Margaux ran back to the front of the café, where a sliver of streetlight still shone through the glass.

“I don’t know who you are, but you need to leave. Go to the light or whatever!” she shouted, but no one was there.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she cursed herself for having caffeine that morning on her way in. Sometimes she switched to caffeinated coffee when she needed an extra pick-me-up or when she was hoping for a message from her husband. But she hadn’t needed one in a while. She knew Patrick had found peace, and she had found love again with her boyfriend. It would never be what she had with Patrick, but Jack was a good man, and she did love him. She always believed caffeine opened the mind to the spirit world, and so far, she’d been proven right.

Margaux waited in the dark, hoping whatever spirit had been messing with her was done now. A ringing sound cut through the silence.

“Merde!” she cursed in French. She hesitated before heading into the kitchen, where her phone lay on the ground, vibrating and ringing, flashlight still on. Her daughter’s face lit up the screen, and Margaux found it strange that she would be calling before seven a.m.

“Josie, is everything okay?”

Jocelyn sniffled. “He’s dead, Mom. Gabe is dead.”

Margaux sucked in a sharp breath of air. “Well… that explains a lot.”

“What do you mean?” Jocelyn asked.

Gabe was—well, had been—Jocelyn’s abusive ex-husband. He’d been in prison, and ever since he got out, Margaux had feared he’d find Jocelyn and hurt her again.

“How did he die?” Margaux ignored the question.

“He was hit by a car last night in the Quarter. The police called me because I was still listed as his emergency contact.”

“How are you doing, bébé?”

“Relieved. Does that make me a bad person, Mom?”

“No, sweetheart. Gabe wasn’t a good man, and I’m relieved that you don’t have to look over your shoulder anymore.”

Just then, the power came back on, and Margaux sighed in relief. She continued to work as she let Jocelyn process her emotions. She checked the time, and with the phone on speaker, walked into the café and started up the espresso machine to test the shots for the day. She turned to the coffee brewer and began setting that up.

A loud whooshing sound startled her. The steam wand on the espresso machine was aerating on its own. She immediately turned it off.

“Everything okay, Mom?”

“Uh, yeah… Mercury must be in retrograde,” Margaux laughed it off. “All of my appliances are acting up today. I have to get ready to open the café. Can I call you back later?”

“Sure. Thanks for listening, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you, bébé.”

Margaux didn’t want to tell Jocelyn about the malevolent spirit tormenting her that morning. Her daughter had feared Gabe enough while he was living; Margaux would be damned if she let his ghost haunt her, too.

“Gabe!” Margaux shouted. “Jocelyn is not here, and you’re going to leave us alone, you hear me?!”

There was no response. No lights flickering or noise of confirmation. Just silence.

Margaux turned back to the coffee brewer and finished setting up the grinds. She repeated the process with the decaf, desperately wanting to sit down with a hot cup to calm her nerves. She grabbed a biscotti from the jar by the register and set it on a plate for herself.

From behind her came a dripping sound, as if a faucet had been left running. She turned to see that decaf was pouring out of the coffee urn spout, flooding the floor.

“Merde!” she hissed, closing the valve quickly while trying to avoid stepping into the spilled coffee.

TAP! TAP! TAP!

Margaux jumped at the light rapping at the door but saw it was only Carly, her café manager. Carly was fumbling in her oversized bag, looking for her key, no doubt. Margaux avoided the puddle as best she could and jogged over to let her in. Just as she opened the door, Carly held up her key ring, which was connected to a ridiculous number of keychains.

Carly pushed her purple hair out of her eyes. “Morning,” she grumbled.

“How do you have such a hard time finding your keys when they’re so hard to miss?”

“It’s early, and they got tangled on other stuff in my bag.”

“I have a mess to clean up.”

“Oh no, what happened?” Carly asked, following Margaux to the coffee-covered floor.

Just as Margaux was about to answer, the coffee started pouring out of the spout again.

“Are you kidding me?!” She ran over to the machine and flipped the lever again. “Ugh, Gabe, no one wants you here!”

Carly looked at Margaux like she was crazy. “Everything okay?”

“No. We’re haunted.”

“Duh, we knew that.”

“No, not like how I say my husband’s spirit fills this place kind of haunted. I mean, evil spirit haunted!”

Carly groaned. “It’s too early for an exorcism.”

With that, the younger woman headed to the back room while Margaux grabbed the mop and began cleaning up the mess.

She felt someone standing behind her. “Carly, can you grab some dry rags to soak this up?”

No answer.

“Carly?”

Margaux turned around and froze. The hooded figure stood there, and she could finally see his face, though it was faded, like an old black-and-white television on its last leg. It was Gabe.

“Forgive me,” he said hoarsely. “Please.”

“You don’t deserve forgiveness. You can’t bully me into it, either, Gabe. Go away. You are not welcome here.”

“Who are you talking to?” Carly asked, tying her apron on.

Margaux felt a shift in the air. It was no longer cold. The sun was rising outside the window. She felt lighter somehow, like she could finally be at peace knowing Gabe couldn’t hurt anyone anymore.

“No one,” Margaux answered.

She finished cleaning up while Carly helped her open the café for the day. About an hour later, another barista came in. Margaux took off her apron and sat at the reserved table for Dilly with two cups of decaf—one for her and one for her husband—and her biscotti.

“Patrick, we don’t have to worry about our little girl anymore,” she whispered. “She’s safe from that monster.”

Just then, her cell phone rang. Jocelyn’s face lit up the screen.

“Mom, I don’t want you to worry, but I’m on my way to the emergency room.”

Panic filled Margaux. “What happened?”

“I was at the Café Conquistador making a batch of coffee, and somehow a bean got stuck in the brew basket or something. I pulled the basket out to dump the grinds, but it was filled with hot water, and it spilled all over my hand. It’s burned pretty bad. Travis is with me.”

“Oh, bébé,” Margaux sighed. “I’m sorry. That has to hurt.”

“Yeah, my eyes keep tearing from the pain. You must be right about Mercury being in retrograde, Mom.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It was so weird,” Jocelyn continued. “I felt like everything in the café was acting up when I went into work. I was only there for thirty minutes, but the lights were flickering, and it was like someone was following me around. I know it sounds crazy… but I could have sworn someone pushed me when I was dumping the grinds.”

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

Margaux heard the loud banging through the phone.

“Jocelyn, what was that?”

“I—I don’t know. It’s like someone is banging on the hospital wall.”

“Jocelyn, get sage immediately.”

“Sage? Mom, what’s going on?”

Author’s Note: This short story takes place in the same world as my novella Decaf for the Dead, but it also stands on its own.