Butcher

Dill was getting a new pig today.

At Mr. Dill’s Butcher Farm, the scent of fresh meat hung thick in the air—pork, ribs, lamb chops, and more. The farm had been in his family for over fifty years, but after his grandfather passed last month, it was time for Dill to step up.

The California sun was merciless that Sunday, baking the earth beneath his boots. He wiped the sweat from his brow as the black butcher truck pulled up, kicking up dust in its wake. Inside was his friend, Cony.

Dill approached the truck, peering inside.

"Hey," he said.

Cony waved back and stepped out, his expression unusually grim. Together, they unlatched the trunk and pulled out the caged pig.

The pig was scrawny, almost sickly-looking, yet something about it felt... wrong. Its beady eyes gleamed with something unnatural, and its breath came in slow, deliberate huffs.

Cony sighed, shifting uneasily.

"Listen, partner... you might wanna keep an eye on that pig. Little fella’s been to multiple farms, and... strange things happen when he’s around. Just be careful, alright?"

Dill laughed, shaking his head.

"How can a pig be trouble, Cony? You must’ve gone bonkers. Anyway, I’ll take care of him. He’ll be no trouble to me."

Cony just shrugged.

"Whatever you say, man. I gotta go—got plenty of ladies waitin’ for me."

Dill punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"You womanizer."

After Cony left, Dill took the pig into the barn, placing it in a separate pen. He patted its head, feeling its coarse bristles beneath his palm. The pig didn’t react—it just stared.

That night, Dill couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, his mind restless. Something gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, something unnamed.

He got up, slipped on his boots, and stepped outside. The wind whispered through the trees, and the crickets sang their eerie lullaby.

Then—a snort.

It was faint, but it was there.

Dill frowned, glancing toward the barn. The pigs were supposed to be asleep.

He shook off the unease and went back inside.

Morning came, and Dill went about his chores. He fed the chickens, the horses, and the rest of the animals before heading to the barn.

The moment he stepped inside, his stomach twisted.

Something was wrong.

The air was thick, heavy with the scent of blood.

He moved toward the pens, pouring feed into the troughs—until he noticed one pig was missing.

Dalia.

His first pig. His prized pig.

Dill’s pulse quickened as he searched the barn. Then he saw it.

His breath hitched.

Dalia lay on the ground, her body ripped open. Her insides were gone, devoured. Her snout had been bitten off, leaving a gaping, bloody hole.

Dill staggered back, his hand clamping over his mouth.

He had seen death before—he was a butcher, after all—but this? This was different.

After the initial shock, he forced himself to move. He picked up Dalia’s mangled body and carried her outside, dumping her into the meat processor.

As he returned to the barn, his eyes landed on the new pig.

It wasn’t eating.

It just lay there, motionless, its belly rounder than before.

Dill frowned. Had it gained weight overnight?

He shook his head. He reasoned with himself that pigs were hungry creatures—they ate anything.

Weeks passed.

Every morning, Dill found another dead animal.

A pig. Then another. Then a horse.

The horses were terrified, their eyes wild with panic.

One morning, he found his strongest stallion lying on the ground, whimpering, its body torn open.

Dill buried the horse, his hands trembling.

Enough was enough.

That night, he decided to stay awake.

At 12:00 AM, Dill slipped on his boots and crept toward the barn.

The night was silent. Too silent.

He opened the door softly, peering inside.

Nothing seemed off.

Then—a sound.

Not an animal sound.

A shrill scream, mixed with a snort.

It was wrong.

It was unnatural.

Dill’s heart pounded as he flicked on his flashlight, sweeping the beam across the barn.

Then he saw it.

And his blood ran cold.

The pig was standing on two legs.

Its stubby hooves twitched, malformed into monstrous hands.

Its eyes—black, soulless pits—locked onto Dill.

Its snout dripped with blood.

Its teeth—razor-sharp—sank into the flesh of a dying horse.

The creature devoured it, tearing muscle from bone, chewing with sickening delight.

Dill couldn’t move.

The pig sniffed the air.

Then—it turned to him.

Dill’s breath hitched.

The creature grinned.

Before he could react, it lunged.

The last thing Dill saw was jaws—wide, gaping, filled with teeth—closing around him.

Then—darkness.