That is Some Pig! 
The source contributor for this story must remain anonymous.
The weather had turned cold and the days had grown short. We spent a lot more time indoors. I suppose that is why we noticed it. When the weather was good we were out more. The sitter had remarked that little Peggy was imaginative, but no one thought anything peculiar about it. We should have watched her more. Maybe we could have stopped it from happening? Now, I don’t know what we will do.
Peggy was five years old and a pretty girl with brownish-gold curls. She loved to be held. She had all sorts of dolls in her room, some larger than she was. Cartoons were her favorite television programs, particularly those with Porky Pig. Sometimes she would even try to talk like him. We thought it was cute. Then she started making oinking sounds. She made them all the time. It became downright irritating.
One night we heard a crashing in the master bedroom. Susan and I ran to see what had happened. We found an angel statue that Susan had prized smashed upon the floor. Peggy sat next to the many fragments. “Peggy! Look at what you have done!” shouted my wife.
Peggy looked at us with those beautiful blue eyes of hers and told us a boldfaced lie. “I didn’t do it, mommy.”
“Then who did?” responded Susan. It was not a real question, we all knew who did it. My wife stood there with her hands on her hips and waited for an answer. Peggy looked away from her and mumbled something. “What did you say?” asked my wife.
“It wasn’t me, mommy, it was Porky Pig.” I started to chuckle, but Susan did not think it was funny. She sent the girl straight to her room. I tried to get her to soften her tone, after all, Peggy was just a baby, but Susan loved her things and she remained upset for quite a while.
It wasn’t long after that, that Susan noticed someone had gone through her things. It was not hard to figure out who. Again the little girl blamed Porky Pig but the use of her mom’s expensive perfume and lipstick was a dead giveaway. Peggy seemed to become more reclusive and spent more time playing with her dolls in her room.
One evening, when I was returning from the bathroom, I heard sounds coming from Peggy’s room. I had come down with the flu and the medication made it hard to find my feet. Nevertheless, I paused to listen. It was late. My little girl should be sleeping, not playing with her dolls. The glow of her night light shown under the door. Peggy’s voice was little more than a whispher. “Yes, yes, but mommy would not like that. You know I like you, you’re my friend. Can I go with you some other time?”
It was a strange dialogue for a little girl playing. Usually, it was all about cookie time and tea and making up little songs. Then, my flesh prickled. I heard a heavy breathing, like that of a man. There was another voice, slurred and masculine. “You’re my friend too, come with me. I have an endless supply of candy, ice cream, and toys. They wont miss you. I’m the one who loves you.”
Oh my goodness, there was an intruder in the house! I burst through the door ready to kill anyone who threatened my baby. “Get away from her!” I screamed.
My little Peggy turned her head toward me with her eyes wide in astonishment. I froze in pure horror. There on top of the bed with Peggy was a monstrous pig, like the hogs you would find on a farm. It turned its head and grimmaced at me with a vile hatred in its eyes. It squealed loudly into my face as I pulled my daughter off the bed. Its breath stank and there looked to be dry blood on its short tusks. I felt for sure it was going to follow and attack, but I was able to get to the door and slam it. My heart was beating out of my chest. I started toward the master bedroom to awaken my wife.
“Are you all right?” I asked Peggy. I became disoriented. Where was my bedroom? The door to Peggy’s room was openning. The pig was coming out. It was going to get us. No, I would not let that happen. I looked into my little girl’s sweet face. I screamed and dropped her. Her small body clothed in pajamas was still there, but under her curls was the face of pig.
“Oink, oink, oink,” she muttered. Everything went black.
When I returned to consciousness, I was back in my bed with my wife beside me. The alarm clock was going off. It was morning. My experience the night before had been a dream. I was relieved, but troubled by how real it all had seemed.
I thought that would be that, but no luck. Susan called me at work. She sounded frightened and desperate. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Honey, you’ve got to come home now! I am calling you from the cell phone in the front yard. We’re afraid to go back in the house.”
“What’s going on?”
“You’re going to think I am crazy,” said Susan, “but I saw something that I can’t explain. I heard Peggy playing with her ball at the top of the stairs. The next thing I know, there is a crash. The ball hit the stand at the end wall where you turn to go down the stairs. It knocked over the frame with the family picture in it. There was glass on the floor and I was afraid Peggy would cut herself. Sure enough she held out one of her fingers and there was a drop of blood on it where a glass splinter had cut her.
“It hurts, mommy,” she cried.
“You’ll be okay, baby, here let me kiss it.” I reached down and kissed her finger. Looking up, I saw it peeking at me at the edge of her bedroom doorway. Worse, it saw me looking at it. It immediately disappeared back into her room.”
“What did?” I stammered.
“It is the craziest thing, but I know what I saw. It was a pig.” Hearing that, I raced home.
We investigated the house thoroughly, but there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary. We tried to talk to little Peggy, but all she would make were oinking sounds. She would move her head and look at us as if it were ordinary speech. The whole business was infuriating. My wife and I convinced ourselves that we were both working too hard. Susan wasn’t feeling well and there was no telling how the medicine I was taking was affecting my own mind.
A child counselor was called in but she could not help us with Peggy. All she would make now, were pig sounds. Do you want some milk? “Oink, oink.” Put your toys away. “Oink, oink” Good night, sweetheart. “Oink, oink.”
One day I came home and found a priest there. Peggy had started going back to church and had mentoned our troubles to the pastor. He suggested that he could bless our home. While I am not much of a believer, it certainly could not hurt.
After dinner the priest performed the ritual blessing and sprinkled the house with holy water. When he came to Peggy’s room, she went into a fit. She threw things and “oinked” repeatedly at him while twisting up her nose. The sound seemed to come from deep in her throat. Our little girl was normally so well behaved. This business was embarassing and troubling. She literally attacked the priest, and my wife and I had to tear her off him. She squealed and oinked. The priest was taken aback. My little girl had pressed her face within an inch of his and emitted a painfully high squeal. His eyes met hers and he stared back for a few moments. Then, he turned and left the room.
While Susan attempted to get Peggy back under control, I apologized to the priest downstairs. He put up his hand and stopped me.
“You don’t understand,” he whispered, I come from a large family and I know what misbehaving kids are about. This is something else.”
“What do you mean? “I asked.
“It was when she came after me and I looked into her eyes, instead of seeing my own reflection there I saw something else, the face of a monstrous grinning pig.”
This post seems a bit far fetched but it makes for a cool scary story. Maybe some kids spend far too much time watching television and even “Porky Pig” cartoons than learning their prayers and our wonderful stories of faith? By the way, the pig is a demonic symbol going back to ancient times. We recall the swine herd into which Christ sent the demons that had possessed a boy. The pig was unclean, according to Jewish law, but even the swine could not stand the foulness of devils and so they rushed to drown themselves.
