The Pig

Posted: 30 August, 2010 in Blogging by GWT, Short Story
Tags: ,

Today, I met a pig.

A large pig, in fact. Maybe even a hog. He was large enough to be a hog at the least, though I don’t know if there’s a recognizable size where a pig ceases to be a hog.

But sure enough, as I stepped out my house this morning, a pig greeted me. A large pig who sat outside my door, staring as I stared back.

At first, I was taken aback. What was it doing there? Why a pig? Was this some sort of strange metaphor of sorts? Maybe it was a god in the form of a pig.

That was before the pig righted itself on two legs, sauntered inside my house, and took a seat on my couch.

“You don’t mind me sitting here, do ya son?
His voice rolled out in a strange, lazy southern drawl. Somehow I expected this, but at the same time a pig speaking is something that you never can prepare for.

So, of course I didn’t mind. In fact, I offered him a drink.

“Sure thing, good boy,” He replied. “A little thing of Jack and Coke, hold the coke. Do ya mind if I smoke?”

At the word smoke, he had already pulled out a comically large cigar and lighter. God only knows where he stored it, and I was quite content to not interrogate.  By the time I gave my approval, he had already lit the thing, spreading a haze of smoke as thick as london fog through the living room.

Navigating through this miasma to deliver the drink, the pig gave a cheery “Thank ya,” before motioning I sit down. Taking a long drag and expelling another cloud over his shoulder – do pigs have shoulders? – he gave me a long hard look, one a father would give to his son at his death bed or before a long speech.

“Listen here boy, this is about your destiny,”  Try to not laugh at the idea of a cigar smoking, whiskey drinking pig talking about destiny. “Things are coming, things that mean you ill will. You have to defend yourself, Charlie.”


“My name is Liam,” I said slowly, trying not to breathe in the smoke. “Are you, uh, looking for Charlie Perez?”


“He’s next door, Mister…uh…pig.”
“…I see. Carry on then, boy. This didn’t just happen.”
And with that, he picks up, gives a little bow, and makes his way to the door. Looking back to me as I fan the smoke around me, the pig chews on the back of his cigar one last time.

“…Thanks for the whiskey. If you hear monsters next door in the next week, just move along your day.”

One last gout of smoke and the pig is gone. I scratch my head in confusion.

“Maybe I should stop hanging out with people
who read eldritch lore.”


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