“That’s a lean pig you’ve got there, Len,” the barman said to the farmer.
“Aye. Not sure how it got to my farm. I looked out two days ago and there it was, on my doorstep.” Len sipped at his pint. “Don’t suppose anyone’s asked about a missing pig, have they?”
“Not heard anything. Stroke of luck for you, then.” The pig made a snorting noise. The barman continued, “did you hear about those two girls that went missing a couple of days ago? Police found a receipt for two pints of pig’s blood in one of their bedrooms.” The pig’s ears pricked.
“Real shame when that sort of thing happens,” said Len.
“They also found some weird occult manuscripts. Still no clues on their whereabouts, though.”
“Oh so that’s where,” Len mumbled, cutting himself short.
“What was that?”
“I said, that’s weird.”
The barman looked over. “Not that anyone minds, Len,” he gestured to an empty pub, “but why did you bring your pig?”
“Just in case anyone was looking for it.”
The barman nodded.
The farmer, the pig and the barman were quiet in the pub while Len drank his pint. Every so often the barman would think the pig was staring at him and a shiver would run down his spine.
After a while Len ordered some food, and a bowl of water for the pig.
“The pig not hungry, Len?”
“Oh y–” Len interrupted himself. “I’ll feed it later.”
With the water drunk, the pig wandered around the pub. It glanced at the barman. He felt uncomfortable. “Does it want to go outside or something, Len?”
“Dunno, Frank. Who can fathom the mind of a pig, eh?”
Frank looked back over to the pig. It was staring at him intently. Len looked over to Frank. “Looks like it’s taken a shine to you, eh?”
“I don’t like it. Could you take it away, now you’re finished?” Frank was transfixed. “More people will be in later, check back then.”
“You’re right,” sighed Len as he walked towards the kitchen. “Not as good as we’d hoped. Thought we might get a couple of tourists.”
“What are you doing back there, Len?” Frank’s voice trembled.
Len and the cook came out from the kitchen. Len was carrying a sharp carving knife.
“Carol! What’s going on?” Frank’s face was flush with motionless struggle.
“Oh! Hi, Frank,” Carol tried to sound innocent.
“Well, you know what they say, Frank,” Len interjected.
A puzzled look crossed Frank’s face. “Not really, Len.”
“Blood for the blood god, even if that blood is mine.” Len sounded entranced. Carol joined him in chanting. Frank’s body became prostrate in midair. He floated over the bar and down to hover eye to eye with the pig.
The chanting continued as Len bent down and slit Frank’s throat. The pig lapped at the blood as it flowed forth.
Afterwards the pig’s body rippled with power. But as it stood between its disciples it let out a blood curdling screech of frustration.
“Sorry master,” said Len. “Perhaps you’ll get a better body next time.”