Amy Cross - Persona

“I don’t trust him,” Della’s voice says quietly.

I watch as Walter takes some sticks and starts rubbing them together, trying to get the fire started.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says after a moment, still working with the sticks. “You’re wondering how I’ve managed to stay alive for damn near half a century. The truth is, I don’t know. I guess I got lucky, and maybe I have a knack for slipping along unnoticed. Now that I’m getting old, though, I’ve noticed myself slowing down and—” He lets out a victorious gasp as he finally gets the fire going, and then he quickly adds some more dried grass. “That’s why I decided to try living with others for a while,” he continues. “Look how that turned out, huh? I don’t think it’s right for people to clump together like that, not here on the island. If you ask me, there’s a kind of natural filter that’ll always work to make sure communities here never get too big.”

I watch as he grabs two crude, carved wooden bowls filled with some kind of gray liquid.

“His story doesn’t make sense,” Della whispers. “If he was living in the town, why does he have this camp all set up and waiting?”

“Hungry?” Walter asks with a gap-tooted grin. “I’ll heat some soup. It’s not much, but it’s nutritious and you look like you need something healthy. I’m good at making soup. They used to call me the Soup-Maker back when… Well, when I was mixing with other people.”

“Why did he have two bowls ready?” Della asks. “Something’s wrong here.”

The worst part is, she’s right.

“I have plenty of this stuff stored nearby,” he continues. “Never underestimate the value of decent food. Most people on the island just eat rabbits for every meal, straight off the bone, or grass and berries if they’re really struggling. Soup’s what it’s really at, though. Soup’ll get you through the toughest days, and by the looks of you, I reckon you could use a little firming up. I usually take two bowls each evening, but I’ll share one with you now and I can go fetch some more later.”

“I still don’t trust him,” Della whispers.

Even though I agree with her, and I know she’s only voicing my deep-seated concerns, I step closer to the fire and watch as steam starts rising from the soup bowls.

“Soup-Maker,” Walter continues, leaning closer to the steam and taking a deep sniff. “Funny old nick-name, huh? Damn, though, this is one of the best batches I’ve made for a while. I’ve got my own special recipe, the main ingredient is wild rabbit, but I don’t ever tell anyone about the precise combination of herbs I use:” He smiles at me. “Then again, maybe I should start being more open. We’ll see.” As the soup starts to bubble, he passes one of the bowls to me. “Don’t be afraid,” he says calmly. “I promise, I’m on your side. Just being friendly.”

Cautiously, I reach out and take the bowl. I want to be smart, to turn down his offer and get out of here, but I could really use something to keep my energy levels up. Besides, Walter really does remind me of the old man from five years ago, and I guess that has to count for something. Raising the bowl to my lips, I take a sip. The soup is hot, but I manage to gulp it down, savoring the rich, meaty taste.

“Good, huh?” Walter laughs. “Yeah, well… That’s why I ended up as the Soup-Maker!” He watches for a moment as I finish the bowl. “So are you sure you’ve never heard of those people I told you about before? The name Harold doesn’t ring any bells? Or Leanne and Ben?”

I turn to him. He seems very surprised by my lack of knowledge, and I don’t quite understand why that might be.

“What about me ?” he continues. “You never heard mention of old Walter, the Soup-Maker?”

“You should leave soon,” Della’s voice tells me. “Better to be safe than sorry.”

“Well,” Walter mutters, after drinking some soup from his bowl, “I suppose the island’s a pretty big place. You spend long enough in one spot, you tend to forget that people at the other end are living their own lives. That’s one of the hardest things to get used to around here… The lack of information. Back in the old world, you had everything available to you, but here?”

He glances toward the forest, and for a moment I follow his gaze.

“Someone could be getting murdered out there right now,” he continues, “not more than fifty meters from us. So long as they don’t scream, there’d no way we’d know.” He turns to me again. “When you die on the island, that’s it. There’s no fuss, no-one comes looking for you, there’s no funeral or mourning. You just drop to the ground and rot. Maybe someone comes across your bones some time, or maybe not. There are no rituals for the dead here. Everyone’s just meat and bone.”

I wait for him to continue, but he seems lost in his thoughts right now.

“Do you think he’s crazy?” Della’s voice whispers.

I watch the old man’s face as light from the fire flickers across his features.

“I don’t think there’s any such thing as crazy or not crazy on the island,” I imagine myself telling Della. “I think people just do what they do.”

Suddenly setting the bowl aside, Walter gets to his feet, although he winces in the process.

“I’m going to need some more soup for this evening. How about you come with me and help carry, huh? I’m getting old, and it’d sure be useful to have someone else who can lug a few bowls to the fire for me.”

“I really don’t like him,” Della hisses.

“I know,” I want to tell her, “but I owe him. He seems harmless enough.”

“This could be a trap,” she points out.

She’s right, but if it is a trap…

I can handle myself.

“This way,” Walter says cheerily, waving for me to follow as he makes his way between the trees. “Not far to go. I always make my soup a little way from the fire. I don’t even know why, really, but old habits die hard.”

With my knife still gripped firmly in my right hand, I once again start following him through the dark forest. I honestly don’t know whether I can trust this old man, but I want to know one way or the other before I get out of here. He seems to know a lot about whatever disaster struck the burned town, and hopefully he’ll start giving me some more information. If I could speak, I’d be able to just ask the questions that are on my mind, but he seems pretty chatty. So long as I keep my guard up, I’m pretty sure I can handle anything he throws at me.

“Don’t worry,” his voice calls back to me from the pitch darkness ahead. “Not much further now.”

“Damn it!” I hiss, as I drop the sticks.

Fumbling in the darkness, I manage to find them again, and I quickly get back to work. I need to get a fire started, but I’m shivering so much, I can barely keep my hands steady. Finally, however, I manage to get a few sparks, and the mix of dry grass and wood flickers to life. It’s not much, but at least it’s something.

After leaning down and gently blowing onto the flames, I glance over my shoulder and watch the darkness of the forest. Having spent five years at Steadfall and then the time before that with Jude, I’d forgotten what it’s like to be out here alone. Every faint noise feels like a threat, no matter how much I try to tell myself that there’s no-one watching me.

As the fire starts to grow, I reach my hands closer and start to warm the palms. I hear a scratching sound nearby, but I refuse to turn and look. It’s nothing, it’s just a natural sound of the forest. I need to calm down and keep my head together. Not everything out here is a threat.