This is a little horror short story that came to me after reading an article
about "face blindness", a real condition called Prosopagnosia. I hope you enjoy.
Extra Matcha Powder
By
Ted Dewberry
Parker arrived at five am at COFFEE BAR 23. On the food
court area of the CIA building’s secure floor, the area off
limits to everyone, but those with the highest security
clearance. After complaints from agents who had to go
through security twice, just to go to lunch, the agency began
hiring workers with certain useful “disabilities.”
The small coffee bar, that had sandwiches and pastries
too, was not the twenty-third concession in the building, but
was named after an Agent, a nameless agent who did something
BIG during the cold war, but had to forever remain nameless.
Just another black star on the CIA wall of honor.
Parker glanced down at him mise en place, cursing his age
as he fiddled with his new and now necessary bifocals. His
coffee was full and ready to be ground, his knee-level fridge
was filled with different milks, his syrups were on a little
dispenser next to the hand-off point and his “sprinkle-ons”
were in a row on the top of the NUVIO Espresso machine. Cups
and lids were stocked to the brim, a cleaning log indicated
when the Nuvio was last cleaned (the previous night, of
course). The only thing left was his pastries. Shaw, the
delivery guy was late.
Parker flipped on the power. The Nuvio started to
percolate, building up pressure. It was an old machine, a
manual tamper. Parker insisted on old school. He liked the
control of tamping the grounds. Hated how the sixty-thousand
dollar automated machines were destroying the art of pulling
a shot. How could a machine know the individual customer
that loved a little extra crema in the espresso. It
couldn’t. Parker could.
Soon Parker heard Shaw’s squeaky cart rolling down the
long hallway from the service elevator. The walk should have
taken two minutes, but Shaw like to milk the clock and
usually took five. Soon he smelled Shaw’s cheap cologne and
pomade hair gel, heard his aimless whistling.
“Mornin’” Shaw muttered as he passed by Parker who was
opening the pasty case from the front.
“I open in five minutes. Can’t you make it a little
earlier?” Parker asked.
“Traffic.” Shaw said. His usual excuse.
Parker loaded the pastries with military precision. In
less than a minute, the entire case was loaded full and neat.
The scones looked especially good today.
“Have a good 'un.” Shaw muttered as Parker closed the case.
“Just a minute. Do you have the invoice?” As Parker asked
this, Shaw stood up and faced him. Everything that Parker
saw, smelled, sensed, was normal on Shaw, with one exception.
Where there was normally a recognizable face on a person,
Parker saw nothing to indicate identity. The eyes, nose and
mouth became a menagerie of features without features, as if
he was looking at nothing. Face blindness it was called,
though it had a much longer name. Parker had it and this was
why the CIA hired him. He was able to serve coffee to anyone
in the building and could never describe their faces. Quite
an asset where keeping a covert agent’s identity secret was a
matter of life and death.
“I’m outta here.” Shaw left with an empty cart. Left in
a hurry. He had only three minutes to get back on the
service elevator to the unrestricted area. If he didn’t on
his own, the guards would help him along.
Soon, the five-thirty bell rang and a green light on the wall
indicated that everyone who didn’t have the clearance to be
there was gone.
“Hi Parker.” His first customer with the British accent. He
smelled of Bay Rum cologne, always dressed in a suit. He
only made appearances once ever few months.
“Hello, sir. Medium Vanilla Latte?”
“Bingo.”
As Parker steamed the milk, he glanced up at the agent, the
featureless blob, still unrecognizable, but darker than he
remembered.
“Bay Rum”, as Parker called him, swiped his CIA debit card
and took his drink.
“Excellent, old boy. You know, I always look forward to
coming to the home office to have a cup of your handiwork.
In the old days, you know what we had to drink?” Bay Rum
leaned in for emphasis.
“What, sir?”
“Instant.” Bay Rum said with a shiver. “Just ghastly.”
“I agree.” Parker suppressed a gag reflex.
After Bay Rum, a steady stream of faceless customers
followed. Triple espresso, hot chai, iced mocha, on after
another, Parker remembered his customer’s drinks by their
cologne, perfume, the scarf that they wore, their comb-overs.
With these clues alone, he got the drinks right every time.
He had a place here where his disability was appreciated, and
by extension, his barista skill were that much more valued.
He had a home here. He had a purpose. He was happy.
Then, it happened. The NEW customer.
“Green Tea Latte’, extra matcha powder please.” The new
customer said.
When greeting a customer, he always tried to look at where
the eyes should be on the face. The eyes were only partially
discernible from the rest of the face, but it was polite to
try and make eye contact. As he glanced up now, he saw
something that stopped him cold. Two brown eyes, a large and
sloped nose, a chiseled chin. It was so foreign that he
couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.
“What’s wrong?” Extra Matcha Powder asked in a smooth voice.
Parker felt his knees buckle beneath him.
“I’m sorry, sir, I’m just not feeling well.”
Moments later, a small crowd formed around Parker. The
CIA’s own medical team brought a wheelchair and started
taking his blood, just to be sure that he wasn’t poisoned.
The coffee bar was taped off for further investigation.
In a secured room, James, the security chief pulled up a
chair next to Parker.
“Can you explain what happened?”
“The new customer. I think...I saw...his face.” Parker
admitted.
“But, you have face blindness.” James asked.
“Yes. I only can guess that its a face, but the features are
clear. I’ve never seen a face before. Never.”
“Do you see my face?” James turned sideways as if that would
help.
“No. The woman who took my blood, I didn’t see hers either.
The only face I saw was the new customer, the one that
ordered the green tea latte’, extra matcha.”
Another security agent opened the door and whispered
something to James. He glanced at Parker.
“Go through the roster. New agents within the last month.
Bring them here.” James nodded confidently.
Parker felt a sudden jolt of fear run through him. He didn’t
want to see the face again. It was foreign, frightening, too
detailed, especially when near the regular featureless ones.
He felt certain that something was wrong. Hallucinations. A
brain tumor. There must be a reasonable explanation.
They didn’t even get as far as the line up. Through the
window, Parker saw “Extra Matcha Powder” tack clear nestled
in the middle of a row of faceless agents.
“The one with the blue tie. That’s him.”
“Sure?”
Parker nodded. “One hundred percent.”
Two heavily armored guards surrounded the man, each holding
an arm. They rudely threw the door open, dragging the man in
front of Parker.
“Easy. Easy.” Extra Matcha Powder said.
James didn’t look at the man, keeping his eye on Parker,
watching his reaction. It was hard to miss. Seeing the face
again, Parker tensed up like a spring.
“You’re new here. Parker here was chosen for this clearance
level because he is face blind. Now, he tells us that he can
see your face, only your face, clear as day. What do you
have to say?”
Extra Matcha Powder let out a long groan and eyed Parker with
disdain.
“He has Prosopagnisia?”
James nodded. “If that means face-blindness. You know the
proper name of every disorder, do you? Care to explain
what’s going on here?”
Extra Matcha Powder smiled awkwardly.
“Well, this is the one contingency we didn’t think of.”
“We?” James gestured to the guards. They threw cuffs on
Extra Matcha Powder and pushed him to his knees.
“I’m using a device that disguises my face with a mental
projection. That’s how he can see me.” Extra Matcha Powder
said cooly.
“Really, that’s some trick, since no such machine exists.”
James said, loosing his patience. “Why don’t you turn it
off?”
“You really don’t want me to do that.”
As Matcha Powder said this, James nodded to one of his
officers who slammed on the back with a nightstick.
He winced, flashes of light appearing on his skin.
“Very well, but remember, you are demanding this.”
“Turn it off, asshole!” James screamed.
Extra Matcha Powder looked into Parker’s eyes, smiling.
“Do you enjoy this, seeing a face?”
“No, not really.”
“Neither do I, each time I look in the mirror, I am
disgusted. Watch this.” Extra Matcha Powder turned his
head, quick and hard. A beeping sound, then his face turned
as featureless as the others, identical except for one
critical element, the color. Instead of featureless flesh
tone, it was featureless deep green.
James and the guards screamed like children locked in a
room with the bogeyman. The green shape extended out like
tentacles, hitting the heads of James and his guards. In one
motion, one simultaneous CRACK, the featureless faces of the
security men were reduced to a red stubs attached to necks.
The CRUNCHING sound echoed in the room as Extra Matcha Powder
chewed the bone, eyes, brain and skin in less time than it
takes someone to swallow a pill. He snapped the handcuffs
like they were made of string.
Parker felt warm, hot fluid splash on him. Solid piece of
something wet landed on his shirt. Looking down, he saw a
piece of cerebellum.
Extra Matcha Powder turned his head swiftly with another
click. The face projection, the human face returned, his
lips covered in red bone fragments. He wiped it on his
sleeve.
“What are you gonna do to me?” Parker asked, trembling.
“This incident doesn’t change anything. Just moves up the
date a bit.” Extra Matcha Powder said, getting the last of
the blood off.
“So you’ll let me live?”
Extra Matcha Powder smiled like a salesman.
“In two weeks, after we process Earth, there won’t be a
single human alive on this planet.” He patted Parker’s
shoulder in a gesture of consolation.
“If I were you, I’d, how do you say it on Earth, ‘Party Party
Party.’”. Extra Matcha Powder strolled out into the hallway,
straightening his blue tie. He took one look back at the
terror-struck Parker and pointed at him.
“I’ll miss your green tea latte’s. Tasty!” He clicked his
tongue and laughed as he turned the corner and vanished,
leaving Parker in a blood-soaked interrogation room.
THE END
"Extra Matcha Powder" Dewberry,Ted
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