October 24th, 1989

  “Rebecca, wake up. We’re moving out today.”

  The sentence shook me from my slumber. I groggily look up and see a fully dressed man, exhibiting a Dark Academia aesthetic from head to toe. That man was my father, Alexander Cisco. He radiates youth and enthusiasm despite nearly being 40 years old.

  “Is it already settled? When did you get the news?”

  I said to him as I rub the sleep out of my eyes. It was far too early to chat, but it made sense after I realized our new home is practically the dream house he’s been saving for his entire life. I’ll cut him some slack this time.

  “I got the approval this morning, now go wake up your mother and escape this dumpster of a house!”

  He wastes no time and immediately exits my room, promptly collecting the important clutter from the house. I soon get out of bed and prepare as well. After getting dressed, I go to my parent’s room and see my mom peacefully sleeping under the covers. Only her head and neck are visible, with red marks tattooing her throat and black hair splayed over the pillow. I attempt to shake her awake, which is a success. Her eyes flutter open, seeing me right beside her.

  “Oh… hey sweetie.”

  She musters out three words before trying to fall asleep again, but I won’t let that happen.

  “What happened to your neck?”

  I try questioning her to keep her awake, but also due to curiosity.

  “The dog did it…”

  We have no dog, but it answered my suspicions. I go fish out some clothes that fit her preferences, mainly dark alternative fashion, and throw it on top of the covers. I leave the room and close the door, smirking the entire time. She’s usually stoic and composed most of the time, so it surprised me to see her in a good mood. I whisper to myself:

  “It’s about time we leave this house.”

  For as long as I remember, my family lived decently off of my father’s paycheck. My mother was unemployed, but helped out with his workload as a professor. It wasn’t until he found a house that was closer to his work that caught his eye. After managing finances for a couple of years, he finally bought the house.

  “You guys ready?”

  My father enters the house after a while, checking up on the both of us. I nodded simultaneously with my mother, and soon we drove off to visit our new home. After what felt like forever, our car slowly stops in front of a two-story house. It’s undeniably a beautiful house, boasting many rooms with a subtle Victorianesque design that makes it stand out from our neighbors. Put simply, it most definitely doesn’t look like how much it was worth.

  “Welcome to the Cisco household.”

  My father says with pride. You can see in his eyes how much this purchase meant. After gazing a couple more minutes, we finally brought our luggage inside to settle.

  “It seems like this place is already decorated for us. The last visitors must’ve kept it tidy!”

  My mother speculates as she tours around the living room. She was right. Pictures are hung throughout the halls and walls of the interior. Vases and other decorations fill up the empty space on the furniture. Everything was neat and orderly, and despite the very dated objects, it was clean.

  “Hey ‘Becca, me and mom are going to explore upstairs. You stay down here… to cover more ground. Go check the kitchen!”

  Father says as he rushes up the stairs with mom in tow. I pay no attention to their antics. I glance at the kitchen across the room.

  “I guess I could entertain the idea.”

  I said to myself. I have nothing better to do with my time, so I venture into the kitchen. It’s a very open kitchen, with a moderate amount of space to move around. All the old appliances line the walls below many empty cupboards, almost making a funnel towards the door that resides in the corner. I open the door, revealing a cramped room with only shelves.

  “That's odd…”

  In front of me is a single can of Campbell soup. There’s something peculiar about it, but I can’t grasp what it is. I examined it further. The manufacturing date was listed as October 24th, 1929.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Exactly 60 years ago. What a coincidence… but where’s the expiry date?”

  I muttered to myself. I rotated it once, twice, even three times, but no luck. Just as I put the can of soup down, a memory flashes through my mind. This memory isn’t mine. I look around in this other world I’ve immersed myself into. I see a family discussing finances in the living room. I walk closer to the family, but they seem to be ignoring me, like I never existed. All of them are panicking, but I can’t seem to make out the sentences, only certain words.

  “Depression. Crisis. Economy. Food. Bills.”

  I repeat back the words I managed to make out. I don’t understand any of it. They’re in my living room, but they don’t see me.

  “Is this some sort of vivid dream?”

  Before my question was answered, my body felt a sharp jolt. I look around and figure out I’m back in my previous spot. My hand had let go of the soup can, and arms were gripping my shoulders. It was my mom shaking me.

  “Rebecca, you there? Earth to Rebecca.”

  I snap out of my trance and turn around.

  “Oh, what’s up mom?

  “It’s way past dinner time! Get to bed already.”

  Before I could comprehend what she just told me, she left to go upstairs. I look out the window, it’s pitch black. I start quietly rambling to myself.

  “This doesn’t make sense. Only a few minutes have passed since I entered the house. That must mean I’ve been standing there for hours. But if that’s the case, why didn’t mom point that out as well? And what was that memory? Perhaps hallucinations?”

  I open one of the many doors in the house and claim the room as my own, still continuing to piece that experience together.

  “Maybe I just need some sleep…”

  As if on cue, I pass out the moment I flop on the bed. I didn't dream that night.

  “Ok, I’ll see you later. Love you, bye.”

  I wake up to the sound of my father

  leaving for work.

  “Can’t you stay a little longer?”

  “No, my students need me.”

  What a weird interaction I just heard, but I give little attention to it. The only thing on my mind is that soup can. I want to know more about it. I bolt straight past mom and down the stairs. I could hear her questioning me, but I didn’t care. I quickly opened the door and saw the soup can right where I left it.

  “There you are.”

  I exclaimed, grabbing the soup can with little thought. And just as expected, I warped back into that memory. Something was different about the memory this time. It was still sanctioned in the living room, but now there’s less family members. The atmosphere was more depressing than the last dream.

  “…all of our money is gone.”

  My ears perked up when I heard those words. It appears that I can also understand them better. I looked at the man who was speaking. He wore old-fashioned clothes, something you’d see in the 20’s. His hair was beginning to gray, so he must be around 50. I looked at him, but he paid no attention to me no matter how close I got. His gaze was inside the room in the kitchen. The room had a couple of miscellaneous canned foods and boxes, but nothing to boast about. I glance around the room once more. Then, I heard the old man speak up again.

  “That rascal said he was going to name his future kid Alexander… as if he’d live that long. Cisco’s don’t run away from family…”

  “Cisco!?”

  I blurt out loud. Unfortunately, my time in the memory ran out, and I was sent back into reality. I fell onto the floor as I put back the can of soup. I felt very weak and tired. I could only assume that time leaped forward again from how the sun was setting already. I caught a glimpse of mom pacing throughout the house, biting the tip of her thumbnail and murmuring to herself.

  “Where is he…. I need him badly… he shouldn’t be at that school all the time… he isn’t young anymore…”

  I truly have never seen mom so worked up before. She’s practically panting between every pace. Her calm, collected self has been replaced by something entirely different: hunger.

  “I need to help mom.”

  Is what I would’ve said, but frankly I couldn’t care less. I have more important matters needing my attention. I don’t need to worry about mom, and father can screw off all he wants. I don’t care.

  “I need that soup can.”

  I mustered as I stood up, wobbling due to both fatigue and lack of food.

  “I need to know more.”

  And so I finally reach for the can of soup. Grabbing it alleviated all my aching and sleep deprivation, as well as drowning out the constant ramblings of my mom. I look around the living room, seeing the family members I saw last time slumped on the floor. They were dead. all the bodies were skin and bones.

  “They all died of starvation.”

  I said to myself. I took in the sight. It shook me to my very core. I walked around, examining the decaying corpses. I don’t know how to react to such an unnerving experience. I was starting to feel depressed, until I heard a certain, decrepit voice: the old man.

  “Revenge…”

  I looked towards the direction of the voice, identifying the old man who’s on his knees in the pantry. Just like the corpses, the old man was also skinny. He seemed to be clutching something in his hands. It was a can of soup. He starts speaking.

  “Revenge is a dish best served cold. To any god that can hear me, I want that traitor and his entire lineage to suffer the same fate my family has fourfold. Not only shall they feel the hunger that kills, but also the hunger that desires the body; the hunger that envies the soul, and the hunger that shall devour the mind. I shall torment them at the chance we interact once more. If it won’t happen from my own hands, my hatred alone will carry out justice.”

  And with that speech, the old man places the can of soup on the shelf before collapsing. The bodies around the room fade into dust, with the old man’s ashes seeping into the can of soup despite there being no entryway. The memory ends at that point. I appear back inside the pantry, my hand hovering over the can of soup.

  I slump onto the floor, my gaze is pointed towards what’s going on in reality currently.

  “Honey, I’m home.”

  My father says as he enters the house. Everything else happened in a blur. I see my mom jump onto him with a ferocity that’s more than lust, but wrath. She sinks her teeth into the neck of my father like a wild animal, causing a great commotion and blood spilt everywhere. The screeches of pain fill the room, but I’m numb to the noise. As my mother and father tear each other to shreds like hungry monsters, all I can muster is to watch in vain.

  “The old man succeeded.”

  I say to myself. As the fight comes to the end, my father stands above what is left of my mother; a grotesque painting that will stain those grounds forever. I watch as my- no, I watch as that man turns his head to me, muttering the words:

  “Please end me.”

  I know what must be done. I stand up and walk towards the knife rack, selecting the biggest one. I walk up towards the man, and finish him off. The man falls, leaving a knife lodged in his neck. The atmosphere is dead silent, like the world itself is grieving. The sun sets in the distance, covering all of the mess with a dark blanket. After an undisclosed amount of time, I turn my head towards the dining room table. A bowl and a spoon are neatly laid out on the table. I walk towards the table against my will, revealing the liquid inside the bowl: soup. I look around. The can is not in sight, nor is everything else. It’s just me and a table, chair included, lost in an endless void that engulfs every direction. Whether it be an illusion or reality, it doesn’t matter anymore. I sit down and raise the spoon to my mouth, eating a spoonful of the soup. I shedded tears of blood, the dark liquid running down both sides of my face and dripping onto my skirt. That single spoonful fed me the emotional turmoil the old man carried. His hate was incomprehensibly overwhelming. Before giving into the darkness, one last sentence fled my mouth:

  “The soup is cold.”

  FIN