Are Ominous Prologues Really Necessary?

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locations, and events depicted are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events or places, is entirely coincidental.

***

Are ominous prologues really necessary?

Sometimes not. Sometimes they are a must. However, that ‘must’ is entirely up to the writer’s preference. There are ways to masterfully tackle a prologue, and only a select few could manage to do it so well.

Well, that doesn’t matter. After all, the twins at Café Elegia could care less about the struggles of writers. To them, the final result was deemed the most important thing of all. The product gained after years of crafting, revising, and polishing; the story. So, although they had little to no know-how about the world of crafting stories, the thirst to consume each and every story was still there.

And seeing that their thirst might be reaching its breaking point soon, here’s to hoping they don’t blow up on some poor old chap, now, right?

Cheers.

***

The door of the dingy building opened to reveal an interior laden with clusters of tables and chairs, amidst the pale flowery wallpaper. 

Lamps emanated a warm glow that contrasted nicely with the pink and brown accents of the café. The crackling fireplace was accompanied by large floor cushions on a carpet. And finally, aside from the tables and chairs, comfy armchairs were huddled around the corners, each with their own individual lamps. 

One in particular, caught the man's eye; it was situated at the far back, almost separate from the whole place, perfect for writing.

Thunder rumbled outside and twenty-nine-year-old Eliot Devlin hastily jerked inside the café, shutting the door behind him. He made sure to dry off first; hanging his coat and hat on the rack and then pausing to ponder whether his boots were clean enough for the polished wooden floor. Once he deemed them all neat and dry (nearly), Eliot stepped inside and glanced around.

Despite the warm and welcoming environment, the café was empty. For a moment he thought the café had closed down, maybe the owner forgot to flip the sign on the front door. But his worries were immediately squashed when a red bob of hair emerged from the door at the far back.

“Oho, looks like we have company,” the woman said. Eliot thought she looked the most peculiar. Slim and tall, she was wearing the café’s pink and brown accents—a checkered dress, an apron and a cravat pinned with what Eliot assumed was the café badge (tacky, all of that was, mind you). Her red, fiery hair was shoulder-length and neatly swept aside with glittery pins, paving way for her sharp features that were more prominent than needed; a semi-permanent smile, cat-like dark eyes, and a pointy nose that seemed inclined to poke into other people’s affairs more often than not. In short—she seemed crafty and a careful type.

THUD.

“Ow!”

…Or well, maybe not so careful—since on the way to welcome Eliot she stumbled on the edge of the carpet and dropped the mop she had.

Nevertheless, ever the gentleman he was, Eliot ran over to her.

“Are you alright, miss?” He helped her up gingerly. With the distance between them so small, he could easily spot the café badge on her cravat; an hourglass with a teacup inside. Weird. Definitely very original.

The woman thanked him and apologetically picked up the mop. “I always tell my brother to not to dim the lights, but his insistence—? Ugh, it costs me my sight.”

“Haha, yes," Eliot nodded enthusiastically, "With siblings, things like these happen a lot, I know that for sure.” At his sentence, the woman sharply met his eyes for a millisecond and Eliot felt something akin to curiosity in her eyes. But before he could ask, she looked away and gestured to one of the nearby tables.

“Again, I apologize for my clumsiness. Have a seat while I fetch the menu… and my brother,” she added the last part with an annoyed sigh, making Eliot curious about the absent brother in question as well as the establishment itself.

“So, your brother runs the café? Miss—uh…"

The woman perked up, apologetic once more. “Oh! I am Alberi of Café Elegia. And to answer your question, no. My brother is too careless to run the café on his own, the guy can’t even walk straight without tripping over something every now and then!”

Eliot politely restrained himself to not to remind her how she had tripped over something too.

“Oh, so you run the café, then.”

She was putting the mop away now, and gave him a sheepish look, “Nooo, we both run the place. It’s sort of like lifting a dining table; we both need to be on the either side to successfully move it, you know?”

“Uh, sure.”

…But Eliot wasn’t sure. The analogy was so weird, just like the rest of the place! As the woman, Miss Alberi (again, tacky name)—scampered off to the kitchens—Eliot half-considered just getting up and leaving. Because although the place was warm from the stiff cold and storm outside, he felt as if staying any longer would drain his already-seeped energy. Leaning back against the cushioned chair, he glanced at his shoulder bag with a skeptical eye and took out his notebooks.

Would this environment be fit for him to focus on his work?

No. No, no, no. Lousy pessimism wasn’t going to get him anywhere. 

He already had plenty ideas about advancing the plot of his book, they were so wonderful and exciting, that he just couldn’t afford to look for another place to sit down and continue writing. Flexing his fingers, he remembered that exciting energy that buzzed inside as he wrote. He loved it and was sure that his writing—his worlds, his characters, and his stories—loved him all the same. It was a beautiful feeling, just him and his writings.

If the owners pestered him, he’ll simply have his coffee and then leave. But Miss Alberi seemed reasonable enough to not to bother him though.

“Sorry to keep you waiting!” Miss Alberi  arrived with the menu. Behind her, the brother followed hurriedly. He was, unsurprisingly, a complete copy of his sister. The only difference was his short flamboyant hair (overly-gelled, Eliot observed), and the male version of the checkered uniform; a vest and dress shirt and the signature cravat. The face and features were almost the same, save for the tactful look he hid in those cat-like eyes; it was much more prominent than his sister’s.

He grinned and made a polite bow. “Mister Eliot, thank you for being patient. Today was a slow day and we weren’t really expecting any customers.”

Eliot immediately went for the elephant in the room: “How'd you know my—?”

“I spotted it on your notebook. That's your name, no?”

“…It is,” Eliot said, deliberately not mentioning how his name was written inside the closed notebook. Some questions could wait.

“Lovely. It’s nice to see a new face every now and then, mister. I am Albert of Café Elegia.”

Again with the tacky introduction.

“Nice meeting you”, Eliot said, examining the menu instead of humoring the man any further. The way they introduced themselves spoke of pretentiousness. It was annoying him how they behaved like their café was the most elite of them all. But on the positive side, there was a vast selection of tea items on the menu, as well many variations of coffees, smoothies, and pastries to go with it, and the cost...

“You haven’t listed the prices on the menu,” Eliot turned to them half-chuckling, “I hope it’s not too expensive for a meager man like me?”

The twins both laughed, something malicious hidden in the tone. Eliot suppressed a shudder.

“Oh, no, that’s the beauty of our café!” Albert was saying. “We don’t charge our customers; we just ask you to tell us something interesting from your life.”

Now that was even weirder. The whole place now seemed more like a prank-show, and Eliot feared he'd find a camera lurking hidden the corner. Worst, he imagined how would he get out if the place was a cult of some kind. He took a deep breath to distill the stupid thought.

“…That's dumb… Unless—no way," he said, observing the serious expressions on their faces, "You're serious…?”

Albert chuckled, “It’s nothing to worry about, we run this place for fun and prefer hearing about people’s stories rather than business, you know?”

Eliot paused for a moment (because he was about to say something stupid), but then forced a laugh and leaned back. See, he wasn’t entirely convinced, but if these two were really some rich, loaded lunatics running a charity café, then he would humor them for a bit after all. “Heh, alright then! Just don’t expect this poor old writer to pay up when he finishes up all your coffee stock!”

“Ah, and of course, what a coincidence you happened to be a writer too!” Alberi said, clapping her hands together in awe, “Your stories must surely be one of a kind.”

Eliot warily glanced at the eager woman and grinned, waving a finger at her. “Ah-ah-ah, only when I’m done with this one,” he said, patting the thickest notebook on top of the stack, “That you'll get to hear a fantastic story.” Both twins eyed the notebook curiously. But before any of them could ask further, Eliot hurriedly glanced at the menu, “By the way, could you get me some coffee?”

In the silence that followed, the two pairs of cat-like eyes slowly traveled from the notebook, to him. For a minute Eliot felt like he was on a stage, observed and examined piece-by-piece by the judges. It didn't help that he still couldn’t stop himself from shivering despite the warmth from the fireplaces.

The twins, though… were extremely still. Eyeing him as if searching for something.

“Er—Preferably with extra cream and sugar…?” He continued, hoping for one of them to take the hint.

“Oh—Oh yes, sorry!” Thankfully, Albert apologized and hurried off, with Alberi soon following after him with the menu. 

They were like broken records. Robots. Uncanny.

It was only when he was alone that he stopped rubbing his arms and examined his hands. They were still shaking. His will to leave was becoming more prominent the longer he stayed. ...Say, he couldn’t hear any of the raging weather from before, could the storm had ended?

Out of habit, he turned his wrist to check the watch and—

—Time had stopped as well.

…Crap.

Something was very wrong here, and he had walked right in the middle of it. With a jolt, Eliot’s brain went on full-throttle at ringing warning bells, and in seconds he was at his feet, hastily gathering all his notes back in the bag, making sure to not to make noise.

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his breath quickening—he had to get out of here, fast. Countless thoughts flitting by in his head—If his guess was true… then it wasn’t worth coming here, even if it was for his work. Screw it.

Thankfully the boots weren’t noisy on the carpeted floor, however, he had to tip-toe on the wooden floor once he neared the front door. A quick glance back showed no signs of any malicious redheads, and he discreetly turned the doorknob, readying his feet to carry him as far as they could—

Sudden sounds approached from the kitchen, calling after him, but he quickly stepped out of the door, without so much as a glance back—

“—Huh?”

His feet were back on the wooden floor. And his face collided with one of the twins.

…

Aware of his heartbeat hammering in his eardrums, Eliot slowly looked up.

Albert of Café Elegia smiled, his hands holding a steaming cup of coffee. In the background was the same café interior he had left behind.

“I—I’m back? But—impossible…”

“You don’t want to miss out on our delicious coffee, yes?”

Eliot stepped backwards. But Albert continued as if he hadn’t noticed a thing, “And we don’t want to miss out on your ‘fantastic’ story. So why don’t you sit down and get to writing, hm?”

Alberi appeared from behind, seeming apologetic again, “As much as I hate to admit it, he's right. We wouldn’t like to see you go so soon! Stay for a bit, you can write to your heart’s content and we’ll wait as long as you need us to!”

“Haha— you don’t have to—!" Eliot fumbled at a loss for words, grasping at whatever justification he could find. “I uh—, I guess I write better at home—"

Albert nodded with a sudden sparkle in his eyes, “Is it motivation? We heard artists struggle with that a lot… If you want, we can help you with that.”

“No thank you, I’m better—”

But Alberi already stepped into swift action and approached Eliot with a small ribbon in her hand. Eliot yelped back but didn’t have any room to swerve her attack, and in a second, her hand had wrapped the ribbon around his neck.

“No, no—”

“Now, now, it’s not harmless! It’s only there to motivate you, it serves as a nice timer, that’s all,” she said, stepped back and gesturing to the tables once more. “Your coffee’s getting cold, have a seat, please.”

Eliot tried to remove the thing on his neck and only panicked when he couldn’t feel anything but his bare skin. His breath restless, coming in short gasps, took out any other resolve to flee, and he mustered the rest of his energy to let out a short laugh—a half self-pitying one.

Was it too late? A door to the exit had closed, sure. But he knew a hundred more will open.

It wasn’t over yet.