Soup of Nightmares

Liora awoke with a jolt, her eyes snapping open to a canopy of shadowy trees. The ground beneath her was damp. A pervasive chill seeped into her bones, unlike the biting cold of the northern lands.

'Where am I?' she thought, struggling to rise. 'I remember stepping into the pool, hearing the bishop praying, and then everything went black… I can't remember anything more.'

She took a deep breath. The air was thick with the earthy scent of old trees and grass, but a foul odor lingered, sharp and putrid, making her stomach churn and her body tremble.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, her hands brushing against dead leaves and small stones. Her fingers, still quivering, traced the corner of a rough wooden surface. Following the texture, she saw a small, dilapidated house nestled among the towering trees. Its windows glowed faintly with an eerie orange light, flickering like the dying embers of a distant fire.

A sense of dread settled over her. The house seemed to beckon, yet it repulsed her in the same breath. Shadows danced in the corners of her vision, playing tricks on her mind. Every rustle of leaves and every creak of wood sent her heart racing.

"I gotta figure out where I am," she murmured under her breath.

She hesitated, then took a tentative step forward, the forest floor crunching softly beneath her feet. As she approached the house, the foul smell grew stronger — a sickly sweet odor that made her gag.

She stepped onto the porch, the wood groaning ominously under her weight. Holding her breath, she peered through one of the grimy windows.

Inside, shadows writhed and shifted, hinting at movement. The dim light revealed old, tattered furniture and walls covered in strange, intricate symbols. Her breath fogged the glass as she tried to make sense of what was happening inside.

Suddenly, a noise behind her made her spin around. The forest seemed to close in, the trees pressing closer, their branches like skeletal hands reaching out for her. Panic surged through her veins, but she forced herself to stay calm.

"Liora," a voice called softly.

She turned back to the house, her pulse pounding in her ears. Liora didn't know where the sound came from or how it knew her name. Fumbling with her dagger, she clumsily adjusted her backpack, making sure everything was okay with her kit.

'Night?' She gazed up at the sky. 'It was daytime before.'

Her eyes were drawn to the enormous half-moon that loomed ominously above. Its cold, blue light bathed the landscape in a silvery, pale tone. Its surface was marred by dark craters and ghostly white patches that seemed to shift and writhe as she stared.

The swirling clouds were shaped in an arc, their edges tinged with an unnatural, sickly green hue. Wisps of fog snaked through the air, their tendrils reaching down like ethereal fingers, brushing over her face and the canopy of trees.

The more she gazed up, the more her mind seemed to unravel. The moonlight wasn't the same as what she was used to seeing in Baurous. Instead of a sense of loneliness and poetic peace, she felt a hypnotic, malevolent presence that wore pieces of her sanity.

Her thoughts began to fray, and twisted memories of her aunt taunted her mind like a painter tricking the audience by shifting the light. She saw her familiar face that mirrored her own, brown and soft hair, a sharp nose, and a flick under her left eye, becoming unfamiliar with her smile maddening and the veins in her neck pulsing as if alive.

It was then that she heard it — a faint, almost imperceptible sound that broke through her daze. A chair scraping against the floor inside the house. The sudden noise jolted her back to reality. She tore her eyes away from the moon, the haunting image still lingering in her mind like a sinister afterimage.

"What's goin' on here?" She mumbled.

Liora turned back to the cabin. She knew what needed to be done, but what happened in her awakening still lingered in her like muscle memory.

'Study the place first,' she instructed her mind. 'Remember what happened last time. You entered that dammed house and almost lost your life. You don't need that now, Liora. What you need is to find your group.'

Her shoulders hunched, trying to make herself smaller. Liora tightened her grip around the hilt of the dagger as she moved stealthily to study the cabin.

The foul smell grew stronger with each step. She reached for the other window.

'Quiet, be quiet,' she mulled over. 'Remember the lectures.'

Inside, the kitchen was a monument to decay and neglect. The ceiling sagged ominously, with patches of mold creeping across its surface like dark, grotesque veins. The walls, once perhaps a cheerful color, were now stained and peeling, revealing the raw, rotting wood beneath.

A battered stove stood in one corner, its door hanging ajar as if it had given up any pretense of functionality. Pots and pans, their surfaces encrusted with years of grime, hung from rusted hooks above, swaying slightly in the draft that seeped through the cracks in the walls. The counter was cluttered with an assortment of dusty jars and chipped crockery, remnants of meals long forgotten.

A rickety cabinet, its glass doors cracked and fogged with age, leaned precariously against the wall. Cobwebs draped over long-unused plates and cups, their delicate patterns barely visible through the layers of filth.

The floor was a treacherous sight of broken tiles and warped boards, each step a careful negotiation to avoid the worst of the decay.

The moonlight filtered through the window and the gaps in the ceiling, highlighting the chair slightly arcing in and out. Near it, on the table, two plates of food stood out, with the candles around them drawing her attention.

At first glance, it looked comforting — a bowl of creamy soup topped with crispy meat and vibrant chives. The scent wafted toward her, rich and savory, making her stomach growl in anticipation.

She could almost taste the warmth, the velvety texture sliding down her throat, and the crunch of the bacon adding a delightful contrast. Her mouth watered, the initial aroma promising a reprieve from the cold and the dread that clung to her like a second skin.

But then, the sickly sweet odor she had smelled earlier hit her hard, filling her mouth with a nauseating taste that made her cough violently. She recoiled, but her eyes were drawn back to the bowl, unable to look away.

In the flickering candlelight, the surface of the soup seemed to shift and ripple unnaturally. She leaned closer to the window, her breath hitching in her throat as she saw tiny movements within the creamy soup.

Horror tightened her chest as she realized what she was seeing — vermin and worms, crawling and twisting, trying to escape the thick broth. Their writhing bodies churned the soup, making it pulse and bubble in a grotesque picture.

She stumbled back, her stomach giving up, and threw her breakfast against the cabin's wall. She clutched her hands to her belly, feeling thirsty and hungry, making her thoughts sicken with the idea of eating anything in the moment.

"Liora…"

She heard it again, this time certain that it came from the cabin. She knew she had to enter to confront whatever lay inside if she wanted answers. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open, its hinges protesting with a loud creak.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice trembling.

The interior matched the decay she had glimpsed through the window. It was a small house with a single room that connected to the kitchen. The moonlight filtered through the gaps in the ceiling and the grime-streaked window, casting eerie shadows across the disarray.

A battered mattress lay on the floor, its fabric torn and stained, the stuffing spilling out like the entrails of a long-dead beast. A broken table, its legs uneven and splintered, sat against the wall, a solitary chair next to it. Dust motes floated in the air, shimmering in the pale light like tiny spirits.

Liora's breath caught in her throat as she stepped further into the room. The silence was deep, broken only by the occasional creak of the house settling.

Suddenly, she heard tiny footsteps around her, skittering across the floorboards like the patter of a thousand tiny claws. She froze, her heart pounding. The sound grew louder, joined by the rhythmic, haunting noise of someone chopping wood. Each chop echoed through the cabin, a hollow, menacing sound that sent shivers down her spine.

"Is someone there?" she called out, her voice louder. Silence greeted her, the footsteps and chopping sounds ceasing abruptly, leaving her body trembling.

Summoning her courage, she delved deeper into the room. As she did, fast and piercing steps resonated from above, like daggers stabbing into the roof. The sound created small, jagged holes that allowed slivers of moonlight to pierce the gloom. The beams of light revealed more details within the cabin, and something on the far wall caught her eye — a small note, held by a fork driven into the wood.

She approached it cautiously, her nerves frayed and every sense heightened. The note fluttered slightly in the draft, and despite the fork in it, the paper was pristine, contrasting against the decayed surroundings. She reached out and took it, her fingers fumbling as she unfolded the note.

The handwriting was jagged and hurried, and the ink smudged and faded. As she tried to decipher the words, she read: "Sweet Liora, your aunt made your favorite dinner; eat it well."

"What?" Liora stuttered. "Aunt?"

She was lost in a rampage of questions. She knew her aunt would never be there; it didn't make sense. Before she could reason further, a sudden, violent crash from the kitchen made her spin around, dagger raised.

The noise reverberated through the cabin, as if the house itself were coming to life, filled with restless spirits. The oppressive atmosphere pressed in on her, the shadows deepening and closing in like a suffocating shroud.

Liora took a step back, the note clutched tightly in her hand, her eyes darting around the room.

'What I do? I'm sure my aunt isn't here. I don't know where I am, but from what I'm most certain, this is within the Eruption,' she pondered. 'But why it knows my name? Why my aunt?'

Liora pinched her arm hard, as if fearing she might never wake up and was still trapped in a nightmare. The sharp pain made her gasp, bringing her back to the cruel reality that surrounded her.

Her mind swirled with questions, but she pushed them aside, focusing on the task at hand. She took a deep breath and walked slowly toward the kitchen, determination steeling her nerves.

"I will never eat that thing," she muttered to herself, the memory of it turning her stomach.

As she neared the moving chair, it was as if time itself had halted. Every sound became mute, the flickering light from the candles turned static, and even the worms in the soup seemed to pause in their writhing.

The sense of dread engulfed her like a black tide, suffocating and relentless, threatening to pull her under. It felt like being trapped in a nightmare where every breath was a struggle against an unseen force.

Then, everything sprang back to life. The chopping sounds resumed, sharper and more insistent. Footsteps scurried around her, the chair creaked and moved, and the light danced with the specks of dust swirling in the air. 

In a blind panic, Liora bolted from the kitchen. Her feet pounded against the warped floorboards, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She was about to reach the door, her hand outstretched for the knob, when something crashed hard against her left flank.

She was sent sprawling back into the kitchen, her body slamming into the shelf with a force that broke plates into jagged fragments around her. 

Liora's vision swam as she struggled to regain her footing, the pain radiating through her side in sharp waves. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her mind was a chaotic whirl of fear and confusion. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, and froze. There, in the chair, was a woman.

At first, Liora doubted her eyes. She blinked rapidly, as if, by sheer will, she could dispel the apparition before her. Her mind raced with a thousand thoughts at once, each more impossible than the last.

The woman was hunched over the table, eating fiercely from the bowl of soup. The sight was grotesque and surreal. She was using a fork, but the liquid escaped through the tines, splattering onto the table and her lap. Every so often, a writhing worm was caught, only to be shoveled into her mouth with a sickening relish.

The sounds she made were hideous — a wet, slurping noise interspersed with the occasional crunch, like raw meat being torn apart. Her breath was a rough, labored wheeze, resembling the creaking of old wood. Liora's stomach churned, and she had to swallow hard to keep from gagging.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she took in the woman's appearance more clearly. Her skin was unnaturally pale, almost translucent, and marred with open wounds that oozed dark, ichor-like fluid.

Cobwebs intertwined with her tattered dress, the silken threads clinging to the exposed flesh like macabre lace. Her hair was a tangled mess, framing a face that seemed hauntingly familiar yet grotesquely altered.

Liora's heart pounded in her chest as recognition dawned. The woman's features were distorted and twisted, but there was no mistaking the resemblance to her aunt. The same sharp cheekbones and the same thin lips were now curled into a grotesque smile. But her eyes — her eyes were a nightmare, hollow and glowing with an unnatural light, as if lit from within by some malevolent force.

"Auntie? Is it ye?" Liora's uttered. She took a tentative step forward, her body rigid with fear. The woman paused, her head turning slowly to face Liora, the fork still clutched in her bony hand.