Pig Man

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
While daddy travels for work, his little girl dreams of the Pig Man... He stands at their window watching the moon at night and waiting... but for what?

Submitted: May 04, 2010

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 04, 2010



Pig Man

“Mommy, who is the pig man?”

Holy shit, that scared the crap out of me! It never fails when I’m sleeping soundly, someone wakes me up. It’s lucky for this kid that she’s mine, and that she’s adorable or I would’ve jumped up swinging. It’s also a little creepy to wake up and see a child standing there just staring at me. Now, what did she say?

“What honey? Mommy was sleeping.”

“Who is the pig man?” She asks again like she just heard about this person on the news and she wants to investigate a bit. Mommy is the source of all information, right?  I thought maybe she’d seen a commercial for a new BBQ joint.

“I don’t know, was he in a book?” I put on the false look of dramatic interest to match hers still blinking the sleep out.


No more information, just ‘no’. I prod a bit more.

“Was he on TV?”

“No.” This was going to be a process.

“He was downstairs, right at the bottom where the window is. Just standing there looking out.”

She says these words as if there was nothing wrong with them making them that much more terrifying. My heart swells and begins to pound.

“When did you see him?” I say, starting out of bed and wondering what was handy that I could use as a weapon.

“Last night.”

That's slightly comforting. Cardiac arrest on hold for now.

“You were dreaming, honey, probably just saw Piggy in your dream.”

Piggy is her stuffed animal of choice. A floppy little guy with plastic bead eyes and a very cute expression. He’s been through the ringer, but has proven to be very tough.

“Piggy sure did look weird then, and he had a suit on.”

Spoken with the matter-of-factness only a child of six can muster as she bounds out of the room.

Ah, Sunday! And I’m up to get started at 6:30am. One crisis avoided and now on to the next one which should be coming along any minute.

Great weekend for him to have a business trip. I almost had to beat a phantom pig-man to death with an alarm clock.

I walk to the top of the stairs half expecting to have a heart attack and thankfully only the morning sun gleaming through the window is there to greet me. The dog follows lazily from his bed (his bed being our bed) and I hate him a bit. Then I think that he does make a nice warm snuggly feeling at my feet at night especially when hubby is out of town. Stupid dog never goes downstairs in the morning until someone goes with him.

Maybe he’s seen the pig-man too? 

I chuckle to myself on that one and set out to make some coffee. There’s some cleaning and then some laziness to be done around here and I’d like to get to it.


Morning again and I’m greeted with the grating electronic beep of the alarm clock. Its six o’clock and time for me to take a shower—the only time I get to relax alone.  I shoo the dog to go downstairs and hopefully outside to potty, but no such luck. He’s still house breaking and so I wander down the steps in the dark so he will go as well. Right before I hit the light switch to the kitchen I shudder.

Mommy who is the pig-man?

I flip the light on and whirl around surveying the land to comfort myself but can’t shake the feeling. Then I hear the noise of the dog-door flapping and am glad that the little shit went outside.  I put some food in his bowl and head back upstairs to shower and meet the little one who is just awake and rubbing her eyes.

“Morning, baby!” I say and hug her little footy-pajama-body still all warm and toasty from being bundled up.

“You sleep good?”

“Yep!” She says in mid yawn and then smiled with bright clear blue eyes.

“I’m gonna get in the shower and you can get dressed for school ok? Once you’re dressed you can watch TV in my room until I’m done and then we’ll eat breakfast.”

“Ok.” She says.

This is our routine and nothing new.

“Any dreams about piggy last night?” I ask, finally over my creep-out from earlier.

“No, I didn’t see pig-man last night. Not since the other night. Maybe he’s gone?”

She turns and waddles to the TV and turns it on, finding a cartoon suitable for morning viewing. I'm glad to have the noise in the background while showering.

The dog jingles up the stairs and I hear a little girl’s shriek of joy.

“Hi buddy! Gimme a kiss. Oh you’re such a good boy!”

Finishing my routine, I grab the kid, get her dressed and we eat breakfast before getting out the door on time for school.

As she's getting out of the care, she asks, “When’s Daddy coming home?”

“He’ll be home on Wednesday, but we’ll call him tonight.”  Travel is all too common and we've  learned to deal with it although she misses him more each time.

After work and school is a routine in itself. Homework is rare for a 6 year old, but we always have reading time, followed by dinner, bath, and some snuggling either reading or watching TV.

Then teeth get brushed, hair gets brushed and it's off to dreamland. She’s a good kid and tends to follow the order of operations I set forth without much hassle.  Tonight was no exception and at 8:30 she's tucked in and yawning.  I'll be out cold by ten.


I sit straight up in bed this time thinking something terrible had happened.  She's standing there so nothing's broken, but in the darkness I can’t tell if something else is wrong. The clock reads 02:46 at a glance.

“Are you ok?” I ask and put my hands on her shoulders. Then I pick her up to sit her next to me on the bed.

“I’m fine. I just wanted to tell you the pig-man is downstairs again. I saw him when I got up to go to the bathroom.”

My heart sinking, I reach for logic. It has to be a dream.

“Stay right here,” I whisper.

I walk to the doorway and stop. Nothing sounds out of the ordinary. No shuffling of feet or breathing.

No oinking.


Walking down the hall to the stairway, I muster all my courage and look down. I hope to see (and not to see) a shadow of something from outside that has pointy ‘ears’ and maybe looks like a person standing there.

Nothing but moonlight in the window, then the stretching beams of headlights as someone drives by.

I flip the light switch and head down the stairs listening in between each step for sounds of the intruder making its escape. 


I turn the corner at the bottom of the steps, turn on another light and look around.


I check the doors and windows. All closed and locked—everything is secure.

“3 AM and all is well.” I said.

Then I walk back upstairs leaving the lights on. They might stay on until honey gets home. Bastard.  Back in the room my baby is snuggled up next to the dog. Worthless fucking dog. I pat him on the head and give him instructions.

“If there’s a pig faced dude stalking us from the staircase, do me the courtesy of a bark, will ya?”

He sighs and goes back to sleep, if he was ever awake.  I let the baby and the dog sleep with me, partly for selfish reasons and partly because it feels nice and crawl back in bed. Tomorrow I’m looking up pig-man on the internet. Maybe it’s a common dream.


No more dreams, no more startling wakeups aside from the alarm clock and morning routine goes well. School drop off is a success, Honey will be home soon and I’ll send him shopping for swine repellant, and maybe some bear traps… and a shotgun…and some valium.

Research on the net yields little. Dream interpretation says a pig is a sign of overload. Feelings of ‘too much to do’ can lead to this creature visiting your dreams. Also feelings of chauvinism in your spouse can manifest as pigs in your dreams, but not much about pig-men or men with pig faces. It has to be her stuffed friend she sees.

Why would she feel she’s overwhelmed? She definitely wouldn’t know about chauvinism and although her father is a man, he’s not a chauvinist.  I am beginning to think that this is just her overactive imagination causing my overactive imagination to run wild. She isn’t scared so why should I be?

Surely if there was something in the house the dog would make a racket. He throws a fit whenever there’s a cat in the yard and you can’t hear that either.  The fact that he won’t go downstairs alone is just a coincidence of the fact that he’s lazy and spoiled.

Tonight we will go out to eat. Somewhere easy and inexpensive with food she likes. No fast food, maybe that place with the gift shop we can wander through that serves breakfast all day. There is nothing better than breakfast for dinner. She loves that place.

I can eat lots of bacon to exact some revenge on the thing that’s causing all this commotion. Soon poppa be home and all this will be funny and then she’ll go on to dream about something else.


School is out and I’m here waiting in line with all the other parents all sitting in their cars like some twisted assembly line. Children come from the school and get in their cars which then make sharp turns and peel out of the drop-off/pick-up lane like a stock car from the pits and then roll off to do whatever they do.

Finally out bounds my little bundle who hops in the car and says not hello, mommy  but, “Mommy. I’m starving.”

“Well that’s great because I thought we’d go out to eat tonight.”

I turn around with a smile to meet hers. She’s grinning ear to ear.

“Yay! Can we go to the pancake place?”

“We can, and we are. I think I’ll have pancakes too.”

She finishes buckling her seatbelt and we speed off for pancakes for dinner.  Checking on her in the rearview mirror reveals that she is busy with her stuffed pig making him dance on her lap and giggling at him lightheartedly.

Make that pancakes and bacon I thought.

In and out of the restaurant without much trouble. Love it! The bacon was crisp and salty and smoky and made me feel a bit better about life. The little one is full and sleepy.

Thoughts of this phantom pig dude are all but history and am relaxed after a nice outing.  We call daddy and then read a book and snuggle for about an hour. Then it's off to brush teeth, all but the one that's missing.

Tuck-in time is a snap and she seems like she'll doze right off.

I do my version of the same routine.  Check the alarm clock, think ‘daddy will be home tomorrow!’ and hold a little less contempt for him. Then I doze off.

I sleep restlessly for an hour or so waking up every so often to see that 10 or 15 minutes has ticked off the clock and finally find a comfortable position. The dog snorts and sniffs, obviously irritated that I keep changing position and I consider punting him across the room but decide it would take too much energy.  My eyelids get heavy and the yawns come larger and longer and finally fall back asleep.


The damn dog is growling. Sometimes he does that in his sleep like he’s having a little doggie nightmare. Sometimes he whimpers or runs in place, lying there sideways, legs going fifty miles per hour. Normally I laugh at him for a minute or two and then compassion takes over and I pet him until he calms down. This time though, it’s just growling.

“Hush!” I say thinking that will have some effect.

It does for a second but then the growling starts again.  I shuffle my feet a bit to get his attention and realize he’s not there. Rolling over, I switch on the table lamp and see him at the entrance of the room. His head is low, shoulders are braced and he is actually growling. 

I feel the blood drain from my face.  I cautiously stand up trying to be as silent as possible and walk to where he is kneeling slightly to place a hand on his back and calm him. He makes a slight whimpering sound and then cowers back behind me.  I walk toward the staircase and feel the hair stand up on my neck and goose bumps raise on my arms. Slowly and quietly, I pass without looking down the steps continuing on to where my little one is sleeping, at least I hope she is.

I hear the gentle sounds of snoring coming from the room in front of me and in the nightlight’s glow I can see her peacefully snoozing. The blanket rising and slowly falling as she breathes in and out and I shake off the feeling of doom.

“I guess you just heard a car go by or something, huh boy?”

I look down to see him standing next to my foot facing back at the stairs, tail between his legs. He changes his stance and then shifts to the other side, peering around me toward the staircase.

“Come on. Everything is fine.”  I pat my leg to call him and he follows me through the hall to the top of the staircase.  I flip on the light switch to show him that there is nothing there and suddenly I hear an ear piercing shriek.

It wakes me up and while I gather my thoughts to realize that this very vivid scenario I just lived through was only a dream, the scream comes again, louder this time.  I jump up and run to the doorway where the little one is there to meet me and she is crying.

“What’s wrong, baby?!”

I scoop her up in my arms and hold her and she starts to tell me through her sobs that he’s there again, but this time she saw him ‘for real’ and she thinks he saw her too.

“Usually,” she tells me, “he is looking out the window, but this time he was looking up at me.”

“It’s just a dream baby! There’s no one there. Come on, you want me to show you?”

I peel her hair back and look at her face to find she is terrified and shaking her head at me.

“Oh, it’s ok, honey, I promise. Come on, let me turn on the light and we’ll go down there together. You’ll see that you were just dreaming.”

She hugged me very tightly and I carried her to the top of the stairs and flipped on the switch.  Then I look back at her face and stroke her tear-soaked cheek and say, “You see! Nothing at all to be afraid of.”

She turns her head slowly as do I in a sort of mirror image of each other and we find that there is something there after all.  Through her screams I see a tall thin figure in a black suit.

It looks up at us with a face of a man but also of a pig. One ear looks as if it has been sewn down to the side of its misshapen head and the other flops like an old fat sow's.  The dog whimpers and runs to hide.

I can’t run, I’m frozen there watching this thing work it’s way up the staircase.  My daughter tightens her grip and turns her head away in hopes that maybe this is a dream. I pray to that effect. 

Up the stairs it comes, its nose flat against a human shaped head, but upturned revealing two moist nostrils which twitch as it takes in our scents.  The skin of the head is thick and pink and covered with coarse grayish hairs you can only see when the light is right. 

The suit it wears is tattered and threadbare with a thin tie. The too-short sleeves reveal it’s hairy bony wrists.  One hand is human with long dirty fingernails and the other appears to be a malformed hoof.  It grunts and I notice the jowls which hang down to the creature’s collar and flap as it speaks the last words I will ever hear.

“Your dog was wise to run.”


“The police today report the terrifying story of a local man who apparently murdered his wife and six year old daughter early this morning. Officers on scene say that the bodies were torn to pieces and were completely unrecognizable. Apparently he also killed the family dog in his fit of rage. The unnamed man, who is now under arrest and being held without bail claims he found them this way. He says he now has no memory of the events leading up to his alleged discovery and is in shock.  We will report further as the story develops.

Next up, the weather. Will you be able to take the boat out this weekend? Stay tuned.”

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