About Coffinfolk

Coffinfolk Café – a safe space for learning, reading and healing

Coffinfolk Café is a fictional meeting place here in the digital world, where you can step inside, sit down with a cup, and read about everything related to death – which is surprisingly much!
Death is a big part of our lives, our society, and our cultural history, yet it’s something we rarely talk about.

Maybe you have thoughts or questions you don’t dare to Google?
Here, curiosity is always welcome!
We hope this blog can offer you new insights, knowledge, and perhaps even a more confident and positive relationship with your own mortality – and with Death itself.

We share facts, stories, and reflections – always with heart, never with judgment.

We are religiously and politically independent.

The header illustration was created exclusively for Coffinfolk by the amazing Dany Darkly.

How the blog works – what you can expect from us

Factual text– clear and simple. Straight to the point, no fluff.
Perfect if you’ve got too many thoughts in your head and too little time.

Short story – follow the fictional café colleagues Quinley and Herrow as they explore the theme of the post in a stand-alone short story.
Quinley, Coffinfolk’s café host, is a young woman brimming with curiosity and zest for life. She loves to share her thoughts and discoveries together with Herrow, Death himself, as her travel companion and guide.

At Coffinfolk Café you can read about

▪️How we talk about death – with children, with each other, and with ourselves.
▪️Living with grief – from personal stories to tools and rituals that may bring comfort.
▪️Culture and history – Victorian mourning clothes, death masks, cemeteries, myths and folklore.
▪️Funerals past, present, and future – green alternatives, new trends, and old traditions.
▪️Death in pop culture – movies, books, art, games, and music where Death itself takes the stage.
▪️Symbols, omens, and signs – the colors of grief, what ravens, doves, church grimms, and other portents mean.
▪️People who work with death – interviews with those who encounter it every day.
▪️Unexpected perspectives – dark humor, strange court trials, death in sports, or as a tourist attraction.
▪️Your own relationship with Death – reflections, worksheets, and the chance to share your thoughts.

…and much more to spark reflection, curiosity, and maybe even a laugh in the midst of seriousness.

The people behind Coffinfolk Café

Harley – death positive blogger and founder of Coffinfolk
I started Coffinfolk Café to hopefully make death a little less frightening for others, and to have a place where I can write about my great passion together with my fictional friends.

I’ve been fascinated by history and folklore ever since I was a child. Even though I was afraid of – well, pretty much everything – I couldn’t resist reading, listening, and watching whatever I could find on the subject. And death always seemed to appear in those stories.

Over the years, my mix of fear and fascination turned into curiosity and a hunger for knowledge. The more I learned about death – both through Swedish cultural history and through my own experiences of personal loss – the less frightening it became. Today, I love life, and I almost see Death as a friend.

It’s my own relationship with death that planted the seed for my fictional characters Quinley and Herrow.
Life and death, storms of emotion and moments of peace, searching and finding answers.

Quinley & Herrow

Quinley – the death curious café host
My name is Quinley – so glad to meet you!
It’s from my perspective the short stories are told.
I’ve always been drawn to the things we rarely dare to speak of. Here at the café, both you and I get to do that – freely and without filters.
I look forward to sharing thoughts, questions, and above all, journeys and discoveries together with Herrow.
Herrow is my friend, colleague, and mentor. In that order – most of the time.

Herrow – the Grim Reaper and café regular
I’ve been called many names throughout history, but you may call me Herrow, Death, or whatever name you prefer. My task is to escort those who have left the world of the living to whatever comes next.
It has been a true pleasure to get to know Quinley and to guide her on our journeys through time and space. It’s one thing to hear something told second-hand, but quite another to be present yourself – without disturbing or intruding, of course.
I hope you’ll stay a while longer; it warms these old bones of mine that you’ve read this far.
Wishing you all the best!

Short story: The Death Buddies First Meeting
Narrated by Quinley

Cemeteries have always been such peaceful places for me. Some people find them creepy, even on days like this when the sun is high in a clear blue sky and birds are singing in the trees. I find it cozy to sit here in the stillness and just be. I’m never really alone either, even if I can’t see all the other people resting here beneath the earth.

I pulled out a chess set from my bag. A little magnetic travel set, the kind you can play in the car. The small pieces clinked softly in my hands as I carefully set them up in their places.
“Oh, Grandma… how I miss playing with you. Even if I lost every single time…” With a short laugh I placed the chessboard beside me on the bench, the white pieces facing me — just like it always was with Grandma — leaned back and closed my eyes to the sun.
The crunch of gravel hinted that someone was walking my way along the path. I felt the bench shift as someone sat down beside me.
“Would you like to play a match of chess?” asked the stranger in a deep, slightly raspy voice.
“Gladly. Just don’t expect much of a challenge,” I replied with a giggle, reaching down to make my first move without needing to look.
His piece clicked against the board as he made his opening move.
I blinked a couple of times as I turned to make mine. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of black fabric. Is it the priest himself that has joined me? Before I could lift my gaze, he reached for another piece. His pale hand was so thin I could see every bone in his long fingers.
I blinked again. I couldn’t believe my eyes… Slowly my eyes followed the hand up into the folds of black cloth, along his arm and shoulder. Where I expected a friendly face, there was only a hollow-eyed skull. The world tilted for a second. Was it really…him?! Here? Now?
A faint breeze carried a scent from him — old books, juniper, and lilac. I had expected something musty, but instead it was not only pleasant, it was comforting. It helped me find my footing again. 

My lips moved, but no words came. No gasp, no scream. Instead I felt my mouth curl into a smile.
“Y-you…? You’re… Death?”
The vertebrae in his neck clicked softly as he nodded and extended a bony hand.
“You can call me Herrow.” My gaze flickered between his empty eye sockets and his outstretched hand. My heart skipped a beat or two. Talking was one thing, touching was another… “Relax, you’re not going to drop dead just from brushing against me, I promise.” His chuckle was so disarming, as if he could feel my moment of hesitation. I took his hand. It was unexpectedly soft, almost warm. “You’ve been reading about my work and talking to me for so long, I thought it was about time I answered.” My cheeks flushed. I’d had the strange habit of speaking to Death for a long time, but I never thought he actually heard me.
"I have so many questions…” I whispered with a giggle.

Herrow leaned back on the bench and folded his hands in his lap. His hood rustled lightly as he turned his unseeing gaze toward me and leaned in a little closer. I mirrored his movement and whispered:
"Can everyone see you?” Herrow tilted his head, and I could swear he gave me a crooked smile. Impressive, for someone with only a skull to work with.
“No, just you right now. Most people do everything they can to ignore me, or pretend they imagined it if they catch a glimpse.”
“Mhm…” I pursed my lips. “That I see you like this” — I gestured over his long black cloak — “is it because this is how I imagine you?” Herrow nodded.
“I exist in all sorts of forms. It depends entirely on the person thinking of me. You see me like this, others see me as a gust of wind, a ball of light, an angel, or a terrible monster.” I rested my elbow against the bench’s backrest as I turned to face him fully. Herrow’s face seemed to brighten.
“So, tell me — how’s your application coming along?”
“Application?” I gave him a questioning look. “Oh, the café job? Coffinfolk?” Herrow nodded. I scratched the back of my neck and looked down at our forgotten chessgame. “I don’t know… I don’t exactly have the qualifications for something like that…” Herrow tilted his head and chuckled.
“Quinley… you just met the Grim Reaper in a graveyard, and your reaction wasn’t fear, or anger, or denial… You smiled before you even knew why I was here.”
“D-Death— um, you don’t scare me,” I replied with a shrug.
“Exactly. You meet what so many turn away from with curiosity and enthusiasm, even though you yourself have endured grief of all kinds.” I picked up one of the white knights from the board. Grandma’s favorite piece. “You’re the one your friends turn to when they lose someone, or when they grieve. You don’t let your own losses drag you down, you use your experiences to support and lift up others.” His hand rested on my shoulder. “You’re perfect for the job.” I looked up at Herrow.
“For a Grim Reaper, you make a really good life coach.” I giggled, blinking back a stray tear. Herrow’s chuckle made the bench vibrate just as a bee landed on his finger. He lifted his hand and watched it crawl around on his bones.
“Harley, who runs the café, is a good friend of mine. I’m convinced you two would get along well. He’s there now, shall we go visit?” Herrow lowered his hand, letting the bee crawl onto a leaf swaying in the gentle breeze. There was something unexpectedly tender about how gentle he was with the tiny creature. I took a deep breath and nodded.

Herrow held out his hands to me.
“Here, let’s save your strength. I know a shortcut to the café.”
Can a skull wink? I could have sworn I just saw one give me a playful wink!
With a smile, I took his hands in mine. “Hold on tight, I don’t fall to pieces easily.” I gripped him with what felt like a literal death-grip.
A light gust brushed my face and made me squeeze my eyes shut. When I opened them again, I was standing in an alley in the old part of town. At the other end, I could hear the murmur of people and traffic. A sharp contrast to the calm of the cemetery.
“Thanks for…” I looked around. No sign of Herrow. “…the ride.”

A door caught my attention. Ordinary, really — dark weathered wood against a pale wall almost completely covered in ivy. A sign read: Coffinfolk Café. Below it, a handwritten note: “Sorry for the mess, we just moved in!” I leaned closer. Inside I could hear muffled voices and laughter. 

Curiosity overcame my nerves. I pressed down the handle and pushed the door open. A little bell jingled above the door, announcing my arrival. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and something baked swept over me like a warm blanket, easing my shoulders down a notch. The place was bigger than expected, yet cozy, with a comfortably low ceiling and worn wooden floors creaking underfoot. The walls were painted and papered in soft, earthy colors and patterns. Nothing matched, but somehow it all fit. Bookshelves lined the walls. Out in the room were worn sofas and armchairs. Not crowded, more like an inviting smorgasbord of places to sit — together, or more secluded. What I first thought were coffee tables I now realized were simple wooden coffins, stained dark brown. On one stood an almost empty glass of blackcurrant juice beside an open book. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed a pair of curious amber eyes in a furry face peeking from behind another coffin, but when I looked over, nothing was there.
Behind the counter stood a door, slightly ajar. A sign on it read: “Admin”. Below, a paper note in block letters: DO NOT DISTURB — unless it’s a matter of life or death. 😉
I had hoped the café would be a nice place to visit as a guest — but this felt like coming home.

Another laugh drew my eyes to a pair of sofas near the counter.
There sat Herrow, his scythe leaned against the wall. Opposite him sat a blond guy who had to be Harley, the café’s owner… and hopefully my new boss.
I swallowed hard and swept my hair over one shoulder. Herrow waved me over. As I approached, Harley stood to greet me. His voice was unexpectedly soft, despite his rough exterior with worn jeans and tattoos peeking out under the rolled-up shirt sleeves.
“Welcome, Quinley. Herrow has spoken highly of you.” He gave Herrow a smile, and the Reaper nodded before taking a sip from his coffee.
“Thank you. It feels almost like I’ve been here before — it feels familiar, homey.” I sat down beside Herrow. Harley asked what I’d like to drink, and while he went to fetch me a cup, I leaned closer to Herrow. “How did you manage to be here already when we arrived together?” I whispered. Herrow whispered back:
“I’m everywhere, all the time. Time and space play by slightly different rules when you’re part of eternity itself…” I nodded slowly, as though that was the most natural answer in the world. Because, in a way, it was.
Harley returned, placing my cup on the unconventional table before sitting cross-legged in the opposite sofa.

Conversation flowed as if we’d been friends for years. Harley shared his plans for Coffinfolk, we spoke of our views on death and curious anecdotes we’d picked up from cultures around the world. Herrow chimed in now and then, watching us like a field researcher observing something fascinating.
“When I listen to you two, one could think you were the same person,” Herrow chuckled, crossing one leg over the other.
It was so incredibly freeing to talk about these things without being judged, silenced, or ignored. For the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel the need to explain myself. Here, I didn’t have to apologize for my questions — here, there was room for them. Perhaps that’s exactly why I knew I wanted to stay.

A soft grumble was heard, and an adorable little creature hopped up onto the sofa beside Harley. Larger than a housecat, yet moving too gracefully to be a dog. Its big amber eyes looked at me with such warmth I could feel my heart melt like wax in the sun. Harley stroked its head, its floppy ears bouncing.
“This is our church grim, Grimmy. He moved in the same day we did. Herrow has a theory he once guarded the old forgotten gravefield a few miles away, but got bored and came here to watch over the atmosphere instead.” Grimmy let out another contented sound as Harley scratched behind his ear. “He’s very good at knowing when someone needs company but doesn’t dare ask for it.”
“He’s also a rascal at stealing muffins if you look away,” Herrow added with a laugh. Okay — if it wasn’t already clear I wanted to stay, Grimmy was literally the final nail in the coffin. I wasn’t leaving this place voluntarily!

As if he could read my thoughts, Harley looked at me and asked:
“So Quinley, what do you say? Would you like to be our café host?”
I nearly choked on my coffee as my eyes darted from Harley, to Herrow, and back again.
-"YES! I mean — I’d love to.”
Harley raised his cup in a toast, Herrow and I followed suit.
“To Coffinfolk!”
–“To Coffinfolk!”