Three days ago, a weathered envelope arrived in our mailbox. No stamp. No return address.
Inside was a single scrap of paper. Scrawled across the top in a shaky, frantic hand was a single word: FLAVORS. Beneath it, a set of GPS coordinates and yesterday's date scratched so deeply into the paper it had nearly torn through.
Against our better judgment, driven by a morbid curiosity we couldn't shake, we went out to those coordinates last night.
They led us deep into the woods and down an overgrown path. At the end of it stood a decaying, silent shed with a red light in front. We didn't dare go inside. But sitting by the tombstone in the yard, completely untouched by the damp fog, were two bags of our coffee, but labeled with flavors that we haven't offered.
This must be our Roastmaster's cabin. We haven't seen it before, and it gave us a really uneasy feeling. We don't even know what he looks like.
We left with the bags of coffee, and tried them this morning. I'm taking this experience as his way of telling us these flavors are ready.
That said, we now offer these two new flavors! Let's just hope that's what he meant for us to do.
