The Butterfly Cafe was a mysterious place.

Nobody knew how long it had been there, tucked away in the middle of a residential neighbourhood. It seemed to have been there forever, at least, longer than the area had been zoned as residential; nobody could recall anything else ever having been in the dilapidated house-turned-cafe. Many assumed it was a front for something else, some kind of illicit activity, and used for money laundering and tax purposes. At the same time, it was a very small town, with a very small number of players in its underbelly, and nobody had claimed it.

No, it was just a normal cafe. Well. Not quite normal, I suppose. Nobody could really understand how it managed to stay open. There wasn’t much foot traffic in the area, other than the people who lived nearby. Not much of a consumer base. It only marginally passed the routine health inspections it needed to retain its operating license. But somehow, the Butterfly had managed to stay in business.

The Butterfly was a lonely place. There was the occasional pair of elderly men playing cards or chess, or sometimes a young parent popping in for a rest and a hit of caffeine with their young child. But most of the time, the place was empty, save for the owner and his daughter. Nobody knew what happened to his wife; maybe she was still around, maybe she left, maybe she passed away. Nobody ever saw her, though.

The owner was a gruff, quiet man who looked to be in his late 50s or early 60s. He didn’t really talk; he usually communicated with customers, when there were any, with a series of grunts. His daughter, in her late teens or early 20s, was more personable, but only slightly. She had a mystical air about her, and when she did speak, she did so cryptically. She had a different energy from her father, but was no less of an enigma.

The cafe was identifiable by a sign out front. It had once been a vibrant pastel blue with pink script and a purple butterfly, but now the sun-faded paint had begun to peel, giving it the appearance of a relic from days gone by. The chains it hung from made a slight creaking sound as the wind blew the sign gently back and forth. Inside, the cafe had a dingy feel to it. The owner could be seen sweeping the floors and wiping down surfaces regularly enough, but dust and dirt had accumulated in the small corners and crevices over the years. The three small tables inside all wobbled, and the chairs made an ear-splitting scraping sound against the tile floor every time they were moved.

Even more unsettling than the place itself, however, were the rumours about it. Some swore by the place, but only visited in stealth, not wanting to be seen going in by the neighbours. Others dismissed the cafe as a dilapidated shack that should just be torn down. Still others thought the family that owned it invited dark spiritual forces, and, if they knew what was good for them, should leave town. What was it that spurred the rumours? Any other place of similar ilk might just be dismissed as dirty and dilapidated, not worthy of attention. But most had at least heard of the Butterfly.

It was the menu that fuelled the Butterfly’s notoriety. The coffee was nigh undrinkable. The butterfly-shaped cookies they served managed to consistently be both underbaked and burnt, somehow. It was just one menu item that people returned to the cafe for, again and again. It was one offering that fuelled the rumours. One specialty that inspired the cafe’s supporters and angered its detractors, that encompassed the air of mystery around the place.

Behind the counter, there were two chalkboards mounted on the wall. One of them seemed to not have been updated in years, and listed the few coffee drinks and food items available, along with their prices, with several additional items that the cafe no longer served being crossed out instead of erased. The prices were quite low and didn’t seem to have changed with the times. The other chalkboard, however, didn’t fit with the rest of the cafe. It appeared to gleam in comparison with the grimy feel of the rest of the place. It only had one item on it, and it was much more expensive than one would expect at such an establishment.

“Today’s Special: Mystery Drink”

It was always “Today’s Special”. The item itself never changed, but the chalkboard was redrawn each day with care by the owner’s daughter, frequently featuring a spiral in some fashion. Although they had been asked many times, neither the owner nor his daughter ever disclosed what was in the Mystery Drink. This was the source of the rumours. This was why the Butterfly was so notorious.

Nobody could seem to agree about the Mystery Drink. Some insisted it was different each time, yet others maintained that the drink was consistently the same. Nobody could describe the flavour, or even agree whether the drink was hot or cold. Everyone who had tried it, however, could agree that the Mystery Drink was a downright blissful experience.

Those who had experienced the Mystery Drink would speak in hushed tones about the strange effects it had caused. Some spoke of a deep relaxation. Others spoke of burning, intense pleasure. Still others described a sense of comfort and softness. Each person who had experienced it had done so slightly differently, but all agreed that it was a feeling they’d like to experience again. And again. And again.

It was almost like an addiction. Most people were able to put it out of their mind for some days, weeks, months, or even years. But the craving always resurfaced and returned. For it was an experience unlike any other, the Mystery Drink. And as much apprehension as many felt about the rumours, the disagreements, the complete lack of answers, it just felt too good to ignore.

Customers often asked the owner or his daughter what the drink would do to them. The owner would only grunt in response. His daughter usually smiled knowingly without answering the question. Occasionally, however, she did provide a response, and it was always the same.

“Whatever you need it to do, hun.”

And so the Butterfly Cafe remained, and would remain, an enigma. Who needs to provide answers, when it feels so good that people will keep coming back for more?

Would you try the Mystery Drink?