Roasted at Witching Hour
Single-origin beans slow-roasted after midnight in small batches, then sealed in parchment and stamped with a wax skull. Bold, brooding, never bitter.
Pour · Pray · Percolate
Where the espresso runs dark, the candles never stop flickering, and the night is always one cup from forever. Pull up a velvet chair — the kettle's already screaming.
We keep the lights low and the kettle high. Every visit is a small ritual — part café, part séance, all comfort.
Single-origin beans slow-roasted after midnight in small batches, then sealed in parchment and stamped with a wax skull. Bold, brooding, never bitter.
No overhead lights. Ever. Just beeswax tapers, a flickering fireplace, and the soft glow of a moon that may or may not be watching you back.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves of vintage horror paperbacks, dog-eared and free to borrow. Read a chapter, sip a cup, leave a bookmark for the next soul.
A double-shot of our witching-hour espresso, layered with dark-chocolate ganache, smoked cinnamon, and a single blood-orange twist. Served in a black ceramic chalice under a dome of vanilla steam.
Earl Grey–steamed milk, espresso, and a whisper of lavender honey, finished with a salted-charcoal rim. Two cups for the price of one — if you order in a hushed voice.
"I came for a flat white and left convinced my landlord is a vampire. Five stars. The candle on table 7 still owes me a sequel."
"The Phantom Chai tastes like autumn and regret in the best way. I've written three screenplays here and finished none. Perfect."
"Cozy, dim, and quietly haunted. The barista remembered my order, my name, and somehow my childhood fear of the dark. 10/10."
We're open till the last candle dies. Bring a book, a friend, or a healthy fear of the dark.