Scary Soup
My favorite soup is tomato soup. Or it was… I know it’s everyone and their mother’s favorite soup too, but something about it reminds me of home; and all I have now are memories of my mother standing at the stove making a big steaming pot of it while I watched cartoons just through the doorway in the living room.
I had an amazing childhood filled with tomato soup and grilled cheese made by my mother. To be honest, I probably ate that combination every day after school from kindergarten until the time I graduated high school. Before I let for college my family and I took a trip to our cabin up north for one last ho-rah. That was the last time I ever ate my mom’s famous tomato soup.
When we got to the cabin, everything seemed normal. It was a cold, snowy day, and I had to help my dad clear a path for the car so we could make it up the drive. Now, the cabin is set back in some trees off a dirt road deep in the forest. There is hardly anyone around. The closest neighbors are almost a mile away. So it was a shock when we pulled up and the gate onto the property was wide open.
Now that I look back, I think my dad downplayed the whole thing, not wanting to scare my sister and I. But it was weird. He pulled the car through, saying the recent storm must have blown the gate open. We got out and started clearing the way, which took us about 30 minutes. I broke a sweat, and once we got into the cabin was ready for a shower.
My mom set to work cooking up some tomato soup, perfect for a chilly evening which was bound to get colder, and my dad started a fire in the fireplace. I headed for the bathroom, towel in hand. My sister raced past me down the hall and claimed the bathroom for herself before I could even turn the corner. We fought for a few minutes, but eventually my dad came down the hall calling for me, and I had to relinquish the bathroom to her.
I slowly made my way to the kitchen where the smell of my mom’s soup filled the air, only to find it empty. I called for my dad, wondering what he had called me into the kitchen for, only to be met with silence. I walked from room to room with no luck, they were all empty. I found myself in the kitchen, once again. A cold blast of air woke me from my searching trance, and I noticed that the back door was open just slightly.
Over to the door I went, not knowing what I was going to find. I opened it painfully slow, and the light from the kitchen flooded out into the pitch black, and snow-covered backyard. I called for my dad, then my mom, and again heard no answer. I did, however, notice two sets of footprints heading from the back door out into the yard. I called one last time, and then went back inside to get a flashlight.
When I got to the back door again, I light snow had started to fall. I stepped onto the porch, and pointed the flashlight at the woods that bordered our cabin’s land. I shone it around and noticed that the footprints led straight into the trees. I began to panic, and jumped when the timer on the stove went off, signifying my mother’s soup was done.
