AT THE BEGINNING

We heard about it on the TV news. We were all at my place on this night: me, George and Tommy. We were always together. We had known each other for years, since we were very young boys. At school we called ourselves the Three Little Pigs. From those early days we always said we were like the Three Little Pigs in the fairy story. The bullies were the wolves, but we always got away. Most of the time anyway. All three of us would receive a punch or four in the face from time to time. The wolves huffed and puffed, and they got us. Eventually we learned to escape and find our place of sanctuary: the school library. We learned a lot in there, history, geography, science, but mainly it was a place to hide.

‘Three more people have been found dead,’ said that pretty dark haired woman who reads the news at six o’clock. ‘And their bodies were terribly mutilated.’

‘Have you seen this? This is horrible,’ I called to George and Tommy. But they weren’t watching the TV screen; no, they were looking at their mobile phones. Eventually George turned around with his hand on his chin.

‘I don’t like that one bit, Taki.’ He always called me that. He couldn’t pronounce my real name. My parents were from Japan. They named me Taraka, so George shortened it to Taki.

George Pigg, that was his full name. Tommy’s dad was a farmer, his surname was Pick. My second name is Hoga. In Japanese this word has nothing to do with pigs, yet there you are. Silly really. So we called ourselves The Three Little Pigs (Pigg, Pick and Hoga).

‘Nor me,’ said Tommy, who never called me anything really.

‘I know what this is,’ I announced. This felt like a confession and came to me as the other two were drinking beer.

‘WHAT?’ George and Tommy asked me together.

‘Do you remember one evening a few years ago- you know on that night?’

‘You mean, that night?’ said Tommy. He knew exactly what night I was talking about.

‘Yes,’ I said. That was the night…the night when we changed and earned a secret that we had to keep. And that was the night we met him, or rather crossed him and witnessed what he did. Now the secret was about to come out into the open.

‘That poor girl,’ mused George, his face almost twisting. He was on the brink of a full transformation. Tonight was a full moon. None of us pigs could ever forget that night.

‘He was killing long before that, George,’ I said.

‘If that is him,’ added Tommy, negatively and pointing at the TV. ‘If it is we may have the opportunity to finish him. End him like we always wanted to.’

‘It’s never been that easy has it?’ added George showing his hairy palms. ‘And why does he have to wear people’s slimy faces? What a freak.’

‘He doesn’t want to see himself,’ I informed him. ‘He doesn’t want to believe that he kills. And he always seems to survive. I’m not sure how but he escapes every time. Every single time.’

‘I hate him, Taki. I just hate him.’

‘I know, George. I know,’ I replied.

‘But we have never got anywhere near him, have we?’ said Tommy. ‘So where is he now, do you think?’ He kept his yellow eyes on the TV. Coarse hairs had begun growing up along his arms.

‘He could be on the other side of the country by now,’ I suggested as half a joke.

‘I reckon he is not too far away,’ claimed George, his rage mellowing a little, although the teeth had almost come through, and his snout protruding. ‘I can smell the fat pig.’

‘You may be right there, George,’ I conceded. But if that monster was near, he had no idea who we were. If we, the Three little Pigs were to defeat him, our mission may have to come about by chance. Just like that attack happened to us. Just by chance. We were all ready for our monthly night out. We looked nothing like Three Little Pigs, either.

BEFORE

This hefty figure grunted. That’s what I remember about him. I have heard that horrible sound a couple of times now. And the stench…the stench was so powerful, like sour milk and motor oil. I confess not to know much about the background of the face-wearing creature. I can only guess about his childhood…

…His mother and father were brother and sister, there is no doubt about that in my mind. If not that then he was created by some other diabolical means: by a deranged scientist, formed by lightning, spliced with a dog, or bear or monkey or…devil.

He was not a good looking child; pig-like, his nose pointing upwards towards the sky. And two dark eyes that stared out at nothing. Orbs black and empty. A drooping mouth, always drooling with a horrible twisted half smile. He had seen himself in the mirror probably no more than once in his whole life. That was enough for him, never again would he stare at that grotesque image. This was probably the reason why he enjoyed to kill. Or maybe his dad-uncle taught him how to hunt, to cut open a pig’s guts, or deer or maybe a little brother or sister. He learned to endure or enjoy the screams, while becoming accustomed to the smell of blood. Once the taste was on his tongue, there was no chance of turning back.

I doubt very much that this creature has genitals, probably not. His behavior shows there is a lot of frustration in that area. Any pleasure he has ever received has been purely from killing. This is my view anyway.

The other pigs and me hadn’t spoken about that night since. I saw him, but I wasn’t sure if they had. We could only have heard him grunt or perform a horrible song on that thing; that sound of the chainsaw he possessed, the ghastly weapon he used for playing out his horrid desires. The Three Little Pigs were all very preoccupied with what happened to them on a cold, still, winter night when we all changed. When all our life’s changed.

CRY WOLF

George was drunk that night, the night we changed, but Tommy and me had just sipped a couple of beers. Pigg had been drinking whisky all night. Not sure why, he’s mother died about a month before, maybe that made him drink. However he doesn’t drink much now. As we walked home from our Pigs Night Out as we called it, Tommy made an observation.

‘That moon is very bright tonight.’

‘It’s a full moon, Tommy,’ I informed him. ‘That’s why.’

‘It’s really big, like the sun.’

‘It’s a full moon,’ I told him again.

‘But it looks very big,’ Tommy went on. ‘I know it’s a full moon. But it seems really close.’

‘Yes, it is big tonight.’ I’d decided to actually lift my head to look at the ancient satellite this time.

‘You’re right Tommy, the moon is big tonight,’ I confirmed for myself. ‘I can almost touch it.’

‘It’s a full moon, you know,’ Tommy laughed. ‘Where’s George?’

‘I don’t know, Tommy; it’s a bloody full moon!’ I answered. After this we heard a gargling sound. A low, deep sound about 100 yards from us.

‘He’s over here,’ called Tommy, who was shouting from somewhere near a tree on the far side of the park next to the woods. I didn’t really see anything else, for the very next moment I felt something strong strike me from behind, and I was out for the count. What followed was a type of dream.

I felt myself being thrown into the air with great force. I landed on the road in the middle of nowhere, which really hurt. In my groaning something heavy grabbed me. This something had sharp teeth that bit my arm hard. I called out again while the fangs kept biting and chewing, then I was hurled into the air a second time. I hit the ground with a crunch, but this time the pain was unlike a few moments previously. What happened next was strange to say the least as my two friends tumbled on top of me with groans and screams. Somehow during the following seconds I caught sight of another figure in the corner of my eyeline. Any other night in this darkness and mist there’s no way I would have seen this person except that the figure was dancing and wielding a chainsaw around his head in a display that was a celebration or simply a mad frenzy. The sight was simply unavoidable. He was laughing or roaring, I couldn’t tell, the sound was kind of muffled and mixed in with the cold wind. Our attacker was not near us, for a reason I discovered later, I sensed his absence. All went black now. Yet the lingering memories of my dream has persisted as I, with the urge to run on all fours, chased the chainsaw wielding individual away into that chilly and foggy night.

The following day I was in my bed, not able to remember how I arrived there. But one thing was certain, I felt very different. I became stronger, more alert. I could hear tiny crawling insects from a mile or so away. New aromas too filled my nostrils and a great feeling of hunger for raw meat. When I met with George and Tommy a few days later, they explained that they felt exactly the same. And we all knew why.

DIE

I thought I had died that night. George and Tommy thought so too. Actually we did die, in reality. Something killed us, but it didn’t devour us. He, Badpig, as we called him, scared the unknown beast away. So we survived the bites we received. You must know what George, Tommy and me became that night by now. That’s right werewolves. It’s obvious really. Unlike in films, where if someone lives after being bitten by a werewolf, they become one, however in the real world- if you die, but the wolf doesn’t, for some reason completely consume you, you will come back to life and become a werewolf, changing when the full moon is bright. Actually, it’s not quite as simple as all that.

The head wolf and Badpig saw one another then slithered away into the night. They were still out there somewhere. We were not interested in the beast who changed us, we only wanted him, that monster, who killed an innocent person that very night and cut them to pieces with a chainsaw then wore his victim’s face. I was certain he had been killing ever since, and long before that too.

We saw him that night. We didn’t talk about it, not until one night before a full moon, when we heard that sound. The sound of the motorized cutting machine. A couple of girls had gone missing, and I knew one from school- Jennifer Harris. Very nice girl. Not like those other mean girls. That bastard killed her and wore her face. I had hoped we would get Badpig the following night, but we can’t control what happens. We couldn’t remember what happens when we were complete monsters. The next morning we woke up full from eating deer, rabbit, badger, or fox meat. My hope was that we didn’t eat any humans. Unfortunately, we could never be sure of that.

I would’ve known if I’d eaten him. I would’ve vomited up the evil son of a… there are no words for him. Then there were three other horrible murders, and I knew he was still alive.

After these recent killings, I had to talk to George and Tommy about Badpig.

‘I know who committed this latest murder,’ I told George and Tommy. They knew what

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 05.10.2023
ISBN: 978-3-7554-5516-5

Alle Rechte vorbehalten

Widmung:
This short novel tells of the three men who has been friends for years embark on a journey of discovery and horror. Taraka Hoga, tells the story as it unfolds from that night when their lives changed forever. Three pigs become the three little wolves.