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The Soup

Estimated reading time — 4 minutes

I had a son. His name was Tom.

I remember just how much I loved him, and what for. The sweetest child anyone could possibly ever see, just a pure bundle of joy bursting with positive energy. But, along with the good memories, also come the bad ones. I still remember his death, and I see myself as completely at fault for it. It really was my fault, if only I hadn’t been so stupid and ignorant…

It all started on a sweet, summer morning in a Kentucky, which is where me and my only son Tom lived. We had moved a few months earlier, away from Texas, where we used to live with my boyfriend until we broke up. Now I lived alone with my only son in a pretty large house of by the country side. I found it very peaceful there, and thought that everybody around me would have a very positive impact on my Tommy, the children, friends, classmates, and even the neighbors. I didn’t have any neighbors, besides one old lady who lived across the street. At first, I thought she was kinda creepy, and that I should stay away from her as much as possible. But later, as I got to know her, she seemed like a pretty nice woman. Her husband had been murdered a few years ago, so she lived alone in her small little house. Her name was Milo. Me and Milo would usually talk after I dropped off Tom at school. I remember how she would always tell me about her babysitting business, and oddly enough she would always double over with words about her soups just after that.



I always thought it was strange, but I did realize that she was an old lady and that she was probably going senile. Soon, our conversations became shorter and shorter, as her requests to babysit grew to tedious amounts, and she would always end our conversations with “Oh no, I have a child scheduled at 5 today, I must go prepare the meal! Have a nice day, Joan!” or “I must go make some soup, I just finished babysitting, and I am quite famished.” I always wanted to let her babysit my Tom, since she got great reviews, and always seemed so nice and cheery, I thought she’d be a great influence on him.

So on this very morning, I received a call from my office, saying I needed to join them for an important meeting, I hopped out of bed and ran down to the kitchen to make breakfast and get ready. While I was cooking, my son Tom walked into the room and asked me why I was up so early. I immediately remebered the fact that it was summer, and I didn’t have anywhere Tommy could go to while I was away. Suddenly, I remembered about my neighbor’s babysitting business, and gave Milo a call. She seemed very tired on the phone, and I asked her if she was ok. She said she was a little burned out because she had triplets staying with her yesterday, but said she will happily watch over Tom while I was away. After dropping off Tom, I peacefully went to the meeting, my heart at rest, knowing that Tom was in good hands. I patiently sat through the whole thing, exited to see my son after it was over.

As soon as we were excused, I ran over to my car and put it in drive. I sped the whole way home, my heart racing with excitement, eager to finally see my precious boy. I quickly shut off the engine and locked my car, speeding towards the front door. I was greeted by Milo, who welcomed me into her home, which smelled deliciously like meat and vegetables.

“Are you cooking another soup?” I asked her, smiling down at the old lady. She nodded her head, sliding out a chair for me. I gracefully sat down, and Milo offered me a plate of soup. “I cooked it for your son, but he’s asleep right now, so I decided not to bother him.” I smile, picking up a spoon and began eating. The soup had carrots and beans floating around in it, and had chunks of large, strange meat in it. But I’ll have to admit, it tasted delicious. “What kind of meat is this, Milo?” I asked her, my mind full of curiosity.

“It’s my secret ingredient. it makes all my soups special!” she said, gleaming with pride. I had a few spoonfuls, before standing up to go to the fridge.


“You wouldn’t mind if I took some sour cream?” I asked, and started opening the fridge.

Milo’s smile was completely wiped off her face as she saw me open the fridge, her jaw dropping to scream out a loud “No!”


But it was too late. For inside the fridge, I came face to face with my own son. Or at least his head. At first I thought I was hallucinating, so I turned to Milo to see if this is real. She flashed me the scariest smile I had ever seen, her eyes wide and glowing down at me, her teeth all bloody, but no open wounds in her gums. Which meant it was not her blood.


That’s when it hit me. My son… was…

The Soup.

Credit: Anastasia Levenets

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23 thoughts on “The Soup”

  1. KortneyUnderYourBed

    So you completely ignore the fact that the old woman creeped you out and decided to let your only son stay with the creepy old woman? Also, how did she have good reviews if the people she babysat for never got their kids back??

  2. HauntedHeart Melodies

    Many grammatical errors. Usually I can read past these errors but I found myself stumbling and rereading several sentences. There are many other mistakes that have been pointed out in other comments so I won’t be redundant.
    I see so much potential for this story. Writer, please take my criticism as a positive and keep writing. If you want assistance with the specific errors please contact me.

  3. so this lady was eating peoples kids, and no one figured this out when they went to pick them up and they weren’t there? did they just go, “oh well”, and leave?

  4. In 3 sentences, you refer to Tom as “my only son” twice. Many uses of “me” where it should be “I”. MANY other spelling and grammatical errors. A basic run of spellcheck would have done this story a lot of good.
    Who would give good reviews to a babysitter when their child disappears? How did she suddenly get bloody if the soup wasn’t bloody? The bit about the open wounds just pushed too far. The point was clear, and that is not a conclusion you could come to without thoroughly inspecting someone’s mouth.
    It’s a good concept, but it needs a whole lot of work. The amount of errors and little things that don’t make sense is extremely distracting.

        1. “…but poor execution.”

          Perfect facebook-parent talk: me, me, me, my, my, my, I, I, I, when she talks about her son. We know nothing about him at all, except that he’s the sweeeetest child on earth (again, facebook-parent talk). Can’t say I was moved about his end at all.

          The neighbors will have a good influence – I have only one neighbor. The woman is senile and weird and offers to babysit my precious child, but so weird, but her reviews are good. She lives alone in a small house and is old, but is connected to the internet?

          Narrator’s child goes to school and has friends (or is this talk for the future? No idea, as I don’t even know how old this important child is), but has to go to the internet to check if her only neighbor of the many good neighbors is good? She talks about friends of her child, and he cannot stay with one of them for a few hours?

          Also, the way her actions are described sound more like a teen being late for school than a independent single mom with a great important job that pays for her large house.

          And which guest would stand up and just go to the fridge to help herself without asking?

          The beginning sounds like she’s still alive and regrets her carelessness every day. So the old woman let her go. How does that fit with the evil bloody smile? How didn’t she notice the blood earlier? Why is there suddenly this demonic psychopath touch when all speaks for a genuinely sweet woman who isn’t aware of the horrors she’s doing (did she give the reviews herself, by the way?). Suddenly, she’s malicious? If she didn’t fake her own reviews and therefore didn’t kill the other children, why did she need this specific child for her soup? What’s so special about him? Wish we had any clue if the narrator had told us a little more about him except that he’s super and hers, hers, hers.

          There is some good stuff hidden in this story but there are so many details that don’t add up and had to be forced to keep the story going the direction the author wanted and too much other details lacking to give this a natural flow.

          (not going to judge the scare factor, tho. Stories here are rarely scary or unpredictable. Oh, look at this premise, dead child, weird neighbor who talks about soup and wants to babysit the child, my, what could that possibly lead to? This goes for most creepy pastas, which means, it’s all up to the execution and presentation because the “twists” rarely are strong enough to deliver some neat entertainment on their own.)

  5. So nobody had ever became concerned that children dropped off at “Milo’s” house were never seen again?

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