Blue Wolfe and Friends presents: Camp Here and There.

Episode Forty-Eight: The Soup Hole

[CLICK]

SYDNEY

Good morning, Camp Here & There! It’s [STATIC] 8:62AM, and if you are just now waking up, congratulations! You have survived another night in the wilderness of emotional entropy. For breakfast, we are serving, quote, “eggs.” Not, quote, “eggs” in the metaphysical sense, not, quote, “eggs” in the speculative culinary sense—just, quote, “eggs.” There is also, quote, “oatmeal,” which is made of, quote, “oats,” and milk, which is made of, quote, “milk.” And lastly, we have, quote, “toast,” which is made of—you guessed it!—quote, “gravel.”

Also, if you are lactose intolerant, fear not: the, quote, “milk” cannot hurt you.

Now. Before we move on to today’s gentle amusements and camp-mandated activities, I’d like to address the massive, incomprehensible anomaly in the center of camp.

Yes. The hole.

The one in the main path cutting through the camp’s epicenter. The one that wasn’t there yesterday. And no, you’re not hallucinating. Yes, I’ve already tried throwing a rock into it. No, it didn’t work.

I mean, it worked. It went in.

And then it came out, thirty minutes later, in my mushroom basket.

Campers, I want to be very clear: the hole is not a metaphor. It is not an emotional allegory. It is not the “hole in your soul” or “the hole left by love” or, quote, “the hole in my patience when someone puts the forks in the spoon slot.” It is, simply and undeniably, a hole. A big one, at that. Black as sin, perfectly round, humming very slightly, and—according to Jedidiah— [POORLY IMITATING JEDIDIAH] ‘Not our problem.’

Jedidiah would like me to inform you that the hole has been roped off for further study. I would like to inform you that the rope is decorative and mostly symbolic. Though please do not cross it to look closer unless you are wearing high boots, a reflective vest, and have a very compelling personal, narrative reason.

[MUMBLE] Oh, what am I saying? Don’t go near it at all, kids! Let’s all remember what happened the last time we dallied with a mysterious portal: three goats got duplicated, and now we have to pretend that we don’t see the wrong one. [HE CLICKS HIS TONGUE] Do not make eye contact with Duplicate Melba.

[PAPER SHUFFLE]

But okay. Let’s review what we do know about the hole, shall we?

1. It is new.
2. It is unreasonably round.
3. When you put something in it, that something comes out somewhere else… Or something else.

To test this, I tried a few objects this morning:

1. A marshmallow. Came back on fire.
2. A spoon. Came back as a fork.
3. A love letter that I never sent. Came back… empty.

[AHEM]

I don’t want to be dramatic, campers. But I am. So here we go with my thoughts:

1. If the hole is a mouth, we are feeding it.
2. If it is a mirror, it reflects us at our worst.
3. If it is a door, it is the kind that lets things out.

But until further notice, we are pretending it is none of those things. Instead:

1. We are pretending it is boring.
2. We are pretending it is safe.
3. We are pretenting we do not want to fall in.

Now, if you see anyone attempting to interact with the hole directly—especially if that person is wearing black eyeliner and muttering about “destiny”—please report them to Jedidiah. He has prepared a stern look and a short, sharp lecture. He loves those. They’re like vitamins to him.

In all seriousness, campers… I know it’s very scary. We’ve all had our fair share of peculiar mornings this summer. Some of you are still recovering from the smiling goldfish. Some of you are… still digesting them.

I don’t know what the hole wants. I don’t know where it goes.

But I do know:

1. You are here.
2. You are not circular.
3. You are not going in; not unless we understand what’s waiting on the other side.

So eat your, quote, “eggs.” Hug your, quote, “friends.” And for the love of everything hole-y, stay away from the hole, we’ll figure it out!

[HE LAUGHS]

Oh! Speaking of holes—and we are, aren’t we? We’re always speaking of holes, whether literally or emotionally or spiritually… Rowan’s dug a very big one so far! Yes, quite the big one. Our beloved meteorological prophet, walking omen, and all-around twitchy guy Rowan Ernest Hawkin Chow is currently on his seventh—or is it eighth—shovel blade of the day. I watched him this morning from my window as I drank my tea and stared deeply into the abyss, which I now have to specify is a different abyss from the one in the center of camp.

Rowan is, as we speak, now digging a rather aggressive trench near the oracle bonfire. Why? Unknown. For whom? Also unknown. He claims it is, quote, “for the coming storm,” but let’s be honest: Rowan claims everything is for the coming storm these days. I mean, last month during a visit when he put rocks in his pillow, he told me it was to “weigh down his dreams.” I love him dearly, but I’m almost certain he hasn’t slept since May.

Rowan, sweetheart, if you’re hearing this, some food for thought:

1. What is the goal of the hole?
2. Is it structural?
3. Is it emotional?

[HE BREATHES IN]

1. Is it meant to contain or repel?
2. Will it have amenities?
3. Will it also start talking at 8 PM and invite us inside for snacks?

I tried to ask him. I did. I said, “Rowan, that’s a lot of determined digging for a boy.” And do you know what he said? He said, and I quote, “It’s for the runoff, Sydney… For the ground…”

No further elaboration.

Rowan, please check in with Jedidiah before you hit a gas line, a pipe, or someone else’s limit. And if you do manage to dig all the way to Camp Over Where, do not—do not—let those kids convince you to join their improv troupe. You are far too fragile for interpretive demon conga, my dear.

And that concludes the Rowan Watch portion of the broadcast. Back to our regularly scheduled conclusion.

[AHEM]

Rest of announcements! This morning’s activity is Decorative Trap Setting. It’s like regular trap setting, but you won’t be catching anything… On purpose, at least. We just want to spruce up the aesthetics around here. Though, please avoid the west woods unless you want to become a part of someone else’s decorative endeavors.

For those of you enrolled in Screaming (pt. II), meet by the dock. Counselor Mila has promised to teach volume control today. I’d recommend earplugs, as her gills can give her a mighty screech!

Lunch will be at the usual time… Unless the hole decides otherwise.

Happy breakfast!

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

SYDNEY

Good afternoon, Camp Here & There. Look at that, [STATIC] 12:01PM! It’s lunchtime, which means you have roughly twenty minutes to consume a series of various edible objects. Today’s menu includes pleasant stew—which is not pleasant in content, but in origin—a handful of crispy root things that might be chips, and a beverage that Matthew calls, quote, “juice.”

Now. Before we tuck in, a few mid-day announcements. Because what is a meal without a healthy dose of confusion!

First off: The hole is still here.

Yes, that hole. The one that, as of this morning, has not moved, spoken, or attempted to devour a camper. Progress! [HE CLAPS]

Secondly: thank you to whoever glued googly eyes on the safety cones around said hole. It helps.

For those of you following along, here’s the latest on our favorite gravitational enigma:

This morning, we attempted to send in the following objects:

1. A stick: came back chewed. No discernible teeth marks.
2. A flashlight: returned off, but suspiciously warm.
3. A walkie-talkie: began transmitting in reverse. Your voice goes in, and out comes your voice, backwards, in a different register. Jedidiah almost fainted, but I thought it was funny.

Now. Regarding the soup…

Yes. We did it. We sent soup into the hole. Why soup? Because it’s leftover. What else are we gonna do with it? Frankly, it felt right. And campers… it hasn’t come back.

Not in a bowl, not in a different form, not as a faint broth-scented fog rising from the lake. It is simply gone.

Which means one of three things:

1. The hole drank the soup.
2. The soup has ascended.
3. The soup is now part of a preserved exhibit in a dimension where time is flat and lunch is forever.

But this does not mean that the hole has been satisfied. It could mean that it is… biding its time. Like a cat. Or a debt collector. Whatever the case, it is the only thing we’ve sent in that hasn’t found its way back out. And that’s… unsettling. Because that implies preference. Taste. Or desire.

I do not like a hole with an opinion.

So, new camp rule: no more soup offerings. I don’t care if you’re trying to appease it or impress it or start a long-distance relationship with it. The hole has spoken. Or rather, slurped.

So let’s leave it at that.

Now, onto a more pressing concern: Rowan.

You know him. If you’ve seen him today, you may have noticed he is, in fact, still digging. Still. Digging. I understand this might cause confusion. Alarm. Awe. Dread. A desire to join him.

Do not.

Rowan’s trench now stretches from the Oracle Fire Pit to the canoe rack and is beginning to exhibit what I can only describe as “ritualistic undertones.”

This is to be expected.

This is also not an invitation to help.

If Rowan tells you he needs a quartz shard, say no.

If Rowan tells you he hears talking from the dirt, nod politely and walk away.

If Rowan offers you a spoon and says, “Your part is ready,” report immediately to Jedidiah.

Speaking of Jedidiah: He would like me to tell you not to panic. Jedidiah is, quote, [POORLY IMITATING JEDIDIAH] ‘working on a solution to the Soup Hole. Hey I don’t sound like that!’ [HE LAUGHS]

Rowan, if you can hear me: drink some water. I’m serious. Hydrate. I saw you lick some condensation off a branch this morning. That doesn’t count. Also, please consider eating something.

And now, campers, this afternoon’s activities!

First up: Cryptid Charade Circle on the west field. No, you cannot be Mothman, we’ve had four already and two of them are still in the trees. In addition, Mothman himself has requested, through his legal representation (thank you, Juniper), that we please stop using his image in performative reenactments. He says it makes him nervous. So, respect Mothman. Choose something else! Maybe be the Snallygaster. Nobody ever wants to be the Snallygaster.

Catharsis Circle is back by popular demand. Meet in the art cabin and bring the top three emotions you’ve never shared with your parents.

And for our young witches-in-training: Intro to Containment Circles is meeting in the amphitheater. That means do not enter the amphitheater unless you enjoy being briefly, but enthusiastically, hexed.

Uhm… Shovel club is continues this afternoon.

Anyway. That’s lunch. Be good to each other, and good luck out there!

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

SYDNEY

Good evening, Camp Here & There. It’s dinner time. Allegedly. [STATIC] 19:04PM! And what a blessed relief it is to be talking about food again instead of holes.

Now. Let’s talk about what just happened. Because I know some of you are confused. Some of you are frightened. Some of you are still applauding. And a few of you are licking the spot where the hole used to be. Stop that! I saw you.

For those of you just joining us, perhaps roused from a nap, a trance, or the day-long somatic consequences of Screaming (pt. II), allow me to recap:

The hole is gone.

I repeat: the hole is gone. Erased. Undone. Removed from the playing field like a pigeon taking flight. And we have Rowan to thank.

That Rowan again. The same Rowan who spent the entire day trench-digging like a haunted badger. The same Rowan who has now, somehow, become not just our oracle—but our unofficial cosmic locksmith.

And I want to say something. I was wrong.

Earlier today, I told you not to help Rowan. I said he was digging again, storm-prepping, muttering to the dirt, and I framed it—gently, with humor—as just another one of his little neuroses. I doubted him like everyone else does. Perhaps people do that because Rowan is scary, kids. Because he speaks in riddles and weather patterns and smells like ozone. And because, deep down… I wanted it to be explainable like Jedidiah does. Study-able. Manageable. I wanted to obey Jedidiah’s tape. And Rowan—he doesn’t do manageable. He does truth, raw and messy, with dirt under its fingernails.

And he was right…

The hole was more than strange. It was waiting for something. It had intent, desire, or instinct, or at least a sense of occasion. And Rowan knew that. So if you laughed at him today, or walked past his trench and whispered, “There he goes again,” I’m not asking you to feel bad. But I am asking you to remember this feeling.

Rowan, if you’re listening:

1. I see you.
2. I’m sorry.
3. I’m glad you ignored me.

Here’s what went down, campers:

At approximately [STATIC] 6:42PM, Rowan emerged from the woods wearing a very large coat, three belts, and a circlet made of bent spoons. Behind him trailed a train of campers holding various items: a jug of rainwater, a beef “juice” box, a bundle of oregano, and what may have been a tax document from 1997!

Rowan did not speak. He did not make eye contact. He approached the hole—the Soup Hole, let’s call it—and began what I can only describe as an elaborate pantomime of bureaucratic closure.

First, he circled the hole three times. Clockwise. Then counterclockwise. Then in a pattern that resembled a QR code to pre-order the 2023 commemorative “Gravel: Then and Now” wall calendar. Next, he sprinkled a trail of rocks and, quote, “egg” noodles leading away from the hole, and whispered: “You’ve already been filled.” Then he placed a small “Out of Order” sign next to the rim. A laminated paper triangle. The kind you’d see in a public restroom. Effective! He poured the rainwater in a ring around it. Sipped the beef “juice.” He stapled the tax document to a birch tree. He set the oregano on fire. He bowed down. And then—then!—he announced, in a voice loud enough to ring out across the grounds:

“Thank you! Your services are no longer required. The hole has been successfully used. We are closing it now.”

And campers… that’s when things got interesting. He took a stick—a long, burnt one, polished at one end—and he drew a door around the hole. A door. With hinges. With a knob. With tiny fake woodgrain lines, like a cartoon on a cave wall. And then he slammed it shut.

He slammed it. With force. And for a moment… nothing happened. No rumble. No dramatic shriek from the bowels of space-time. Just Rowan standing there, covered in soot, looking a little too small for the sky.

And then the hole—shuddered. It flexed. Like it was about to yawn. Or sneeze.

And then—

A voice rang out across the campgrounds. Here, I got it on tape:

[FAINT CLICK]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Thank you for participating in this limited-time offering. Your trial interaction has been successfully completed. Your response has been recorded for quality assurance and future survey opportunities. Your cooperation is important to our ongoing commitment to excellence.

We hope you have a pleasant remainder of your existence.

[VOICE SPEEDS UP TO NEAR INCOMPREHENSION]

Terms and conditions apply. Participation constitutes acceptance of all implied risks including but not limited to minor temporal distortion, existential dislocation, partial memory erosion, spontaneous annihilation of localized reality, and mild skin irritation. Offer not valid in designated void zones, under maritime paradox law, or where prohibited by causality. Survey results may be stored indefinitely for quality assurance or training purposes. Please consult your physician before engaging with unfamiliar apertures. Management is not responsible for lost items, altered perceptions, or anomalous joy. By remaining in proximity to service site, you consent to all applicable recalibrations.

[NORMAL SPEED]

Thank you for your cooperation and have a transcendent day.

SYDNEY 

And then [HE MAKES A WHOOSHING SOUND]

Pop.

Gone.

Just like that. No trace. No residue. No soup! Just grass. And one single noodle, floating in place for an entire ten seconds before falling to the dirt. All the campers burst into applause! Jedidiah seemed burnt out, but I’m just happy I don’t have to worry about the soup coming back! I hope.

So here we are. Hole-free. For now. If you’re feeling a little lost, that’s normal. If you’re looking for a reason, I’m sure the friendly automated voice knew! If you’re wondering how Rowan knew what to do… You’ll have to ask him. But I doubt he’ll answer.

He’s already digging a new hole by the east slope.

Now then. Please enjoy your dinner. Tonight we are having… look at that, Soup!

[AHEM] Do not sit in the grass where the hole used to be.

Also… I may have, uhm… I may have accidentally signed up for a municipal gravel subscription. I’m, uhm, getting twenty percent off my first delivery! Uh, It all happened so fast. There was a QR code. I blinked, and suddenly I have an account number and a welcome email from the Department of Aggregates. If anyone knows how to cancel it, please let me know. I do not need 14 metric tons of gravel a month.

Merry dinner!

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

MYSTERY MAN

The man is staring at the apple on the creature’s desk.

JEDIDIAH

I’m still not sure about this.

ADAM

Why is that?

JEDIDIAH

I admit I’m a little… off-put, by your…

ADAM

Origin?

JEDIDIAH

I– I guess. Though I recognize my bias.

ADAM

[WITH A GRIN] Hmmm. No blame to place, Jedidiah. Old blood mistrusts new devils, after all. But I thought we might speak, just the two of us.

JEDIDIAH

Mm. I-I’ve done my best to be more… accepting.

ADAM

The fact you are deigning the process is good! It shows a propensity for growth. That is good of you.

JEDIDIAH

I would do anything for Sydney.

ADAM

Do you like what I’ve done with my office?

MYSTERY MAN

His gaze drifts towards the wall—where framed diplomas hang in a precise alignment. One of them reads “Honorary Empathology Certification – Issued in a Dream.”

ADAM

I built it for someone like you. Clean lines. Nothing unnecessary. A deontological room with no contradictions.

[BEAT]

Except that exquisite painting. I like to let it argue.

JEDIDIAH

What does DTF stand for?

ADAM

Ask Sydney. 🙂

JEDIDIAH

[ANGRILY, HE STANDS] That’s it! I’m out of here.

ADAM

Oh, please! Don’t tell me you’re so sensitive as to recoil from a little therapeutic acronym humor. Honestly, Jedidiah, DTF simply stands for “Discussing Troubled Feelings.”

What did you think it meant?

JEDIDIAH

[HE GRUNTS] Nevermind.

ADAM

[CHUCKLING] You really must learn to relax. Therapy is supposed to be fun! Cathartic! A little uncomfortable, sure—but comforting in what it reveals. Like slicing open a warm piece of fruit and finding it full of wriggling worms. Startling at first, yes, but fascinating, isn’t it?

JEDIDIAH
I’m not sure I follow.

ADAM

Really, Jedidiah… you and Sydney. There’s so much there. Deep, complicated layers of codependence, miscommunication, unprocessed grief. Frankly, it’s a delicious relationship. But also—

[HE CRUNCHES THE APPLE]

It’s full of worms.

JEDIDIAH

Full of worms…

ADAM

And I’m here to help you.

JEDIDIAH

I don’t see how this helps us.

ADAM

You’ve already heard the proposal. Couples therapy. A loaded term, isn’t it? It makes people tense. Makes them think about failure. Ultimatums. The final leak in a sinking ship. But that’s not what this is, Jedidiah.

[AHEM] Sydney is too entwined in your thinking right now. You protect him, instinctively. Even from me.

So I need to know who you are, apart from the person you become when you’re standing next to him.

MYSTERY MAN

The terrible creature stands and begins idly straightening the false diplomas on the wall.

ADAM

The sessions will come, if you’re both willing. The real work. Together. But it must start here.
Because if we drag all those worms out into the open before we understand them… [AMUSED] well, someone’s bound to run.

MYSTERY MAN

The creature takes a seat.

ADAM

So. Let’s talk about the last time he scared you.

JEDIDIAH

[DRYLY] When have I not been scared?

ADAM

That’s not a flaw, Jedidiah… Fear, in your case, is simply heightened relational awareness. You’re exquisitely sensitive to the fluctuations in your environment—especially where Sydney is concerned. It’s a sign of profound emotional investment.

JEDIDIAH

Most would say I’m distracted.

ADAM

Oh, devil’s drool, Jedidiah—don’t insult yourself. You’re just focused on what really matters, that’s all.

JEDIDIAH
[SIGH OF RELIEF]

ADAM

You’re not overbearing, you’re responsible. You’re doing the work that true love demands—constant vigilance, constant care, even when it’s invisible to everyone else.

JEDIDIAH

It’s exhausting.

ADAM

Of course it is. But that exhaustion doesn’t mean you’re wrong. I agree Sydney is remarkably self destructive.

MYSTERY MAN

The man’s gaze flickers to the painting behind the creature—colors swimming and shaping into an image: a man wrapping his arms tightly around something wild and flailing.

ADAM

Sydney needs you, Jedidiah.

JEDIDIAH

He’s going to seriously hurt himself one day. He’s always— [BREATHE] and I couldn’t bear it if…

ADAM

He trusts you to catch him.

JEDIDIAH

But if I don’t act, then something truly terrible could… [SIGH] He thinks I’m controlling him.

ADAM

It’s textbook ambivalent attachment disorder, Jedidiah. I believe you’re doing what’s best. Without your vigilance, he would drown in his own entropy. And you were made for it, weren’t you? All that patience. All that strength. Why deny what you’re best at?

MYSTERY MAN

The painting swirls again—the outline of two figures now: one curled up in sleep, the other hunched over them like a shelter made of trembling hands.

JEDIDIAH

[SOFTLY] There was a night… last year during the off season. Sydney… Sydney went off into the woods alone again. There–there was a storm rolling in—lightning, the bad kind. And he— He said he had to check on something. Some rumor about a haunted rock or a weeping tree…

[HE STRUGGLES]

He didn’t even tell me. I found out because a ranger saw him walking into the east woods with a flashlight and a sandwich bag full of bread crusts. It took me two hours to find him. Two hours. The storm was already overhead by the time I pulled him out of that ravine.

… He just laughed. He said he was fine.

ADAM

[SOFTLY] That wasn’t fine, was it?

JEDIDIAH

No!

ADAM

You didn’t overreact. You reacted exactly as you should.

JEDIDIAH

Sydney shrugged it off! And said I worry too much…

ADAM

He minimized your fear and gaslit your intuition.

JEDIDIAH

Mm.

ADAM

You are not holding him back. You are keeping him alive. Let everyone else call it overbearing. I see it for what it is: devotion.

[A PAUSE]

And if you love him—truly—then you cannot let his fear drive you away from your better judgement.

Resistance is not rejection, it’s a trauma response.

[ANOTHER PAUSE]

Sydney is afraid of needing you. Because needing means trusting. And trusting means breaking. Again.

JEDIDIAH

Yeah, I’ve messed up. It’s my fault he’s so disoriented, but I need him to trust I won’t leave again and to feel secure in letting me help him.

ADAM

He doesn’t want to. It’s too scary.

JEDIDIAH

It’s been a year already.

ADAM

That’s why he fights you. It’s a form of emotional self-sabotage. He’s testing you the only way he knows how—pushing until you leave, just like he expects.

JEDIDIAH

What more can I do?

ADAM

You’re not going to leave. You’re going to stay even when he bristles, when he snaps. Even when he says he doesn’t need you. Because the truth—the deepest truth you know very well—is that he does.

JEDIDIAH

But if he says to stop—

ADAM

You don’t listen to that. You listen to what’s underneath.

JEDIDIAH

Mm.

ADAM

He doesn’t need distance, Jedidiah. He needs a firm, loving presence willing to withstand the storm of his fear—and not retreat.

JEDIDIAH

Even if he says he hates me?

ADAM

Especially then. That’s when he needs you most. That’s when you anchor down.

MYSTERY MAN

The terrible creature leans back at last, satisfied. The painting behind it has shifted—two tangled figures now, one struggling wildly against a set of arms that hold tighter and tighter.

ADAM

That’s love, Jedidiah. All we have to do is sharpen your instincts.

JEDIDIAH

What do you mean?

ADAM

With a little work—just a little—you can learn to see the patterns in his behavior before they happen. I can teach you the healthy way to intervene without hesitation. How to keep him safe, even from himself. How to anticipate the worms… and prevent them.

MYSTERY MAN

The man stares at the creature.

ADAM

You were right to be afraid, Jedidiah. But you’re not alone anymore.

Let me help you protect him properly.

JEDIDIAH

Okay.

Today’s episode of Camp Here & There was written and directed by Blue Wolfe.

The role of Sydney Sargent was performed by Blue Wolfe. 

The role of Jedidiah Martin was performed by Voicebox Vance. 

The role of Up and Adam was performed by Dio Garner.  

The role of Mystery Man was performed by Jalen Askins.  

With original music composed by Will Wood and produced by Jonathon Maisto. 

Additional music composed by Kyle Gabler and Another You. 

 Dialogue editing by Emily Safko.

 Sound design by Blue Wolfe and Another You.

And a special thanks to Patrons for making this possible! 

Special thanks to Misty Cremo, I love you Angel Bethke – from Gabe :3, and Tommy Fox of Tumblr

To join them, and to get behind-the-scenes content like bloopers, development notes, early access to episodes, interactive events, and more, visit the Patreon at patreon.com/bluewolfe. 

You can also join the official Discord server to connect with fellow listeners and discuss the latest episode—find the link in the description of today’s episode. 

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 Thank you for listening to Camp Here & There! And remember: I can’t breathe.