Source
It was just another night at the roadside diner until she arrived. A pale woman, dressed in old black, who sat by the window ordering nothing but coffee.
Her presence was ethereal, almost ghostly. The driver and I exchanged puzzled glances. When I served him, he didn't even touch the steaming cup.
He stood motionless, peering through the glass with deep, dark eyes.
-It's cold in here, isn't it? -he whispered, making my skin crawl, for the room was warm.
At two in the morning, the customer left and she simply vanished. All that remained was the cup of coffee, the liquid strangely cold and icy, as if it had never been hot. And the chair she sat in, soaking wet.
On checking the security cameras, the mystery grew: the recordings showed no one occupying that table. It was as if a disembodied presence had visited the premises.
Since then, every night I work, I feel the air getting thinner near that window. An icy breeze that chills the bones and forces one to look over one's shoulder, fearing to see a dark female silhouette gazing out of the shadows with her gloomy night eyes.