Short story: Chops

Artwork by Tee Wood

Back in 2022, I co-produced an event called Campfire Tales for the Featherston Booktown Karukatea Festival. Co-producer and actor Ricky Dey and I commissioned 4 original horror stories to be read in a dimly lit setting at a late-night Booktown event. We created a zine that included all four stories that audience members got to take home with them.

We featured stories by New Zealand authors Cassie Hart, Tee Wood (who also created the amazing artwork for the zine) and Daniel Eady. I also wrote a short story for the event and have published it here for you to have a geez at.

The premise of the story (hunter rescues wild piglet / pig grows huge and takes over his property) was relayed to me by a local hunter and took place right here in Featherston, so it seemed more than appropriate to use this for Campfire Tales. I tried to write it in the voice of a fellow hunter as if it were a yarn being told in a pub one night.

So, without further ado, here is my little Feathy horror story, Chops. Hope you dig it...

CHOPS

Alright mate? How’s tricks? Yeah - fair to bloody middling to be frank. Nah, the farms alright. It’ll keep the banks away for another year or two.

I suppose you heard about what happened to Bryce? Bryce Thompson. Bloody shame, I tell ya. He was a good bloke.

And he was my mate.

Not the smartest tool in the shed. Nah, he was dumber’n a sack of hammers. Flipped that quad bike of his one too many times if you ask me. Took a couple too many knocks to the old brain box.

But he was a good bloke nonetheless. With a big heart. In the end though, it was that big ol’ heart of his that did him in.

He loved his pig hunting that boy. Ever since my old man took us on our first hunt when we were kids, he had the taste for it. And he was a damn good shot, a natural marksman, even back then. I used to tell him he should go be a sniper for the Marines in Iraq or somewhere with those skills.

Anyways, it all started about eight months ago. Me and him were pig hunting up the back of the Akatarawa ranges. My family has an old lodge out that way so we’d head up there whenever we got a spare weekend. Take the bikes up. Some shooting. Some beers. Good times.

So we were deep in the bush and the dogs started going off, getting all horny for that hog like they do. They took off barking and growling. There was that high pitched squealing sound you hear when they’ve bailed up a pig. Bit of an ear sore, but pretty exciting at the same time.

Bryce and me rushed in to find the dogs had latched onto this piglet. They were giving it a good bite. The mother and the rest of her brood must’ve scarpered and forgotten about the poor little runt.

I jumped in there and pulled the dogs off and held them back. Bryce picked the piglet up. Must’ve only been a couple weeks old at best. Tiny little fucker, wriggling like crazy. Got a bit chewed up by the dogs. One of its ears was half torn off.

I told Bryce to just leave it be, let nature take its course. He looked at me like I was mad. That’s when I saw that look in his eyes. The guy was smitten. Last time I saw that look was in Year 11 when he had that hopeless crush on Tania Ngatai. It was plain as day he was taking that pig home with him. No point arguing with him. Stubborn as a mule and twice as dumb he is.

Was. Shit.

So he wrapped that little squealer up in his jumper and put it in his pack all cosy like. We were about to head out, when the dogs started growling again.

Another pig was close by.

There was a squeal, but deeper and real angry like, and the bushes started rustling and shaking. And wouldn’t you know it, old mother pig came barrelling towards us, tusks gleaming like spears. Quicker’n you can blink, Bryce whipped his rifle down and put a bullet in the middle of its head. Down she went in a huff of leaves and blood. Deader’n disco. The piglet began to hoot ‘n holler then, wriggling away in Bryce’s pack like its ass was on fire.

“It’s alright girl, I’ve got you now. I’ll take care of you,” Bryce said. I tried to tell him it was a wild boar and he wouldn’t be able to tame it, but it was like talking to a brick bloody wall. He’d made his mind up, and that was that.

So I got myself a side of wild pork and Bryce got himself a new pet.

A month or so later, I went over to Bryce’s joint to sink a couple of brews. I go in the house and say, ‘alright Bryce? How’s that pound of bacon looking?’ And knock me down, there he is sitting on the couch with that wee porker on his lap. And he’s stroking its back like it was a goddamn cat! I just about dropped my box of beers right there on the floor.

“Sssh,” he says. “Chops’ll hear you.”

“So what if she does,” I said. “She’s a wild pig. Not a house pet, you plonker.” I was right annoyed now. “And you called her Chops? Fuck’s sake, you’ve invited trouble into your house son and it’s sitting in your bloody lap.”

He just smiled at me and fed the piglet some pellets out of his hand. I told you he wasn’t too sharp, didn’t I?

A couple of weeks later, I’m driving through town and this bloody piglet comes running out in front of me, going hell for leather down the main drag. I had to chuck the brakes on so’s not to hit it. Other cars were swerving and braking. Then, lo and behold, who should come sprinting down the road after it, with a dog leash in his hands? Yep. Bryce the ‘Pig Whisperer’ Thompson. The egg was taking it for a walk, wasn’t he? This pig had sent him round the bend.

We didn’t see each other for a while after that. Work was busy. But then again, when isn’t it? I think maybe I was avoiding him, truth be known. Something irked me about that pig.

Like I said, it’s a wild boar. It had no business being in someone’s pig pen for starters, let alone inside the house sitting on Bryce’s lap like a kitty cat. And more importantly, Bryce killed that pig’s mother right in front of it. It could remember. They always say how smart pigs are and all that. Like Animal Farm. You read it? Nah, me neither.

More time went by and I was itching for a hunt. So I gave Bryce a call to see if he was up for it. He answered the phone all in a fluster. There was a racket going on behind him. He reminded me of my mum during the school holidays when me and my brothers were all home and driving her up the wall. He tried to tell me the dogs were playing up. But that wasn’t dogs barking in the background.

It was squealing.

That damn pig was inside again and kicking up a right fuss by the sounds. Told him he was a flaming idiot and hung up. Took another mate hunting instead. He wasn’t as good a shot as Bryce, but he didn’t fall head over heels in love with the wildlife neither.

Bryce was nowhere to be seen around town after that. He was never down the pub. Didn’t see him up the lake with the dogs. It’s like he’d dropped off the face of the earth. And I knew it had something to do with that accursed pig.

So, reluctantly, I called him up. No answer. Not necessarily cause for alarm. But I decided to mosey on over and see what’s what. And I tell you now I wish I hadn’t.

It was about 8 pm and the night was already darker’n Satan’s knackers. There were no lights on in the house. Usually, when I’d walk in the gate, I’d be welcomed by the dogs. They would jump up and slobber all over me.

But this time. Nothing. Must be in the kennels, I thought.

The front door of the house was wide open. “Bryce, you in there?” I flicked my phone torch on and shone it into the hallway. The air reeked of pig shit and rotten food. Like a pig sty, but inside the house.

And lo and behold, that bloody pig was standing there in the dark, grunting at me. The thing was much bigger than I remember it being. It was well on the way to fully grown only after eight months or so. It was a big, solid beast with thick black hair running along its back like some sort of mohawk.

“Alright, Chops,” I said, stepping inside. The pig started snorting and lowered its head like it was fixing to charge. Its front hooves were scratching on the polished floorboards, all the while staring at me with its beady, hateful eyes.

And then she charged, barrelling down the hallway like a miniature bull. I stepped back and slammed the front door. The boar’s head slammed into it with an almighty thud, splintering the wood.

I stumbled backwards, a little shook to be honest. I turned away from the house and walked straight into Bryce. Just about shit my pants and my boots.

“Christ! What the hell are you doing lurking in the dark like that?”

“Sorry mate.” Bryce’s voice was thin and weak. In the low light, he looked pale, like the bugger hadn’t slept in a month. He’d let his hair and beard go and didn’t smell too flash neither. If it wasn’t for the fact I was standing in his backyard, I could’ve mistaken him for a homeless man.

“What’s going on, mate? That bloody pig of yours just had a go at me. Wouldn’t let me in the house. Which stinks to high heaven, I might add.”

“Uh, Chops is pretty particular about who she lets in the house these days. She’s kind of taken it over.” He looked at the ground, all ashamed like.

“You kidding aren’t ya?” I was fair fuming and this close to slapping him round the cheeks. Knock some sense into the bugger. But he didn’t look too flash, so I put a hand on his shoulder and was gonna invite him back to my joint for a beer, when I felt something wet and sticky. He was drenched in something. I held my phone up to get a better look at him.

His clothes were covered in blood.

“Bryce, whose blood is this?”

His voice was all tearful-like. “The - the dogs. They had a go at Chops. Didn’t like her being inside when they weren’t allowed. So they jumped her when she came outside. But she’s a tough hog. She gored them before I could get the leash on her.”

“Get the leash on her? You shoulda put a bullet in her head. Just like you did her mum,” I yelled at him.

“Sssh mate. She’ll hear ya. She’s got good ears and a memory to match.”

“You put that hog down or I will,” I told him. He just stood there, covered in blood, all flummoxed. I knew he kept his guns in the back shed. When he saw where I was headed, he started sobbing and begging me not to hurt her. I grabbed his rifle off the wall. Thankfully, Bryce had left it loaded. Bit irresponsible, but good for me.

Behind me, the front door exploded.

Back outside, Bryce was on his knees, sobbing. Chops was snorting and scratching the dirt with its hooves.

“Chops. I forgive you,” Bryce said.

“Get outta the way Bryce,” I yelled.

Chops looked at me and smiled. I shit you not, that goddamned pig smiled at me. Then she lunged forward, goring Bryce through the chest, lifting him up off the ground. He cried out at the betrayal more than the pain, I reckon. Chops threw him aside like he was nothing.

I fired. Missed! Chops spun around and hoofed it back into the house.

“Bryce, you alright mate?”

He was gushing like a stuck, well, pig for lack of a better term.

“She didn’t mean it,’ he sputtered at me with his final breath. “Make it quick.”

“I will, mate. You just hang in there, pal.” But he was already gone. My mate was dead. And that pig was about to join him.

I checked the gun and ran inside. The stench made me gag. I just about slipped over in all the pig shit and food on the floor. I stuck my head in Bryce’s bedroom. His bed was covered in straw and muck. Chops’ bed now by the looks.

I moved on down the hallway. There was a thumping sound to my left, and the pig came charging out of the bathroom and blindsided me. Knocked the gun out of my hands and me into the opposite wall. Chops was on me like a flash. Her tusks rammed into my thighs. It should’ve hurt like buggery but I must’ve been all hopped up on adrenaline.

She was throwing me around like a rag doll now. Any second and she’d have me guts out. I jammed a thumb into one of her eyes and pushed until I felt a pop. She squealed like a bloody banshee and fell back off me.

I crawled into the kitchen. It wouldn’t be long before she was on me again. I made it to the bench and tried to grab a knife, but my legs were dead weight now. I tried to pull myself up, but the pain began to throb now. I slumped back down. Then I saw the firelighter on the ground. Bryce had a gas stove, you see. I had one chance. I heaved myself up again and turned on all the elements. Gas started hissing out. I grabbed the firelighter and crawled back into the pantry. Chops’ squealing was getting closer.

I just hoped the gas would be enough to fry that hog before she got to me.

Chops lurched into the kitchen. Blood was streaming out of her eye socket. Her tusks were dripping. She smiled again. I’m telling you, she did alright, mate? Pigs can bloody well smile when they want to.

She was gearing up to run me down again when I struck that fire lighter. No spark.

Shit!

Chops charged.

I struck it again. A spark leapt from the end of the firelighter, and the room exploded. I jerked my arms up to cover my face from the flames. Chops was shrieking in pain. Her whole backside was on fire. She ran into the lounge blindly, slamming into the coffee table. She rolled over and set fire to shag-pile rug. Within seconds, the flames had spread to the floor-length linen curtains and raced up towards the roof.

I crawled army-style out of the kitchen, down the hall through all the blood and shit. I grabbed my rifle and slipped out into the cool night air. The house was ablaze now, roaring and spitting.

I lay there with my rifle trained on the house just in case Chops had more go in her. And lo and behold, she burst from the house, like a bat out of bloody hell. I fired off a couple of shots, but she streaked off into the bush behind Bryce’s property, smoke trailing behind her.

Gone.

Before long, the fire engines and the police arrived and soon after an ambulance. Once they’d patched me up I told them the whole damn story I just told you.

Coroners said the holes in Bryce’s chest seemed like they could have been pig tusks, but couldn’t make up their minds either way. Ongoing investigation and all that.

I can tell by the stupid look on your face, you don’t believe me neither. I could drop me trou, show you the pretty scars that pig gave me? No? Well, you’ll just have to take my word for it.

A word of warning, though. Keep your wits about you when you head up the bush.

Cos Chops is out there. I know she is. And she’s not afraid of us, no she ain’t.

She sure as hell ain’t.

Copyright Denver Grenell 2022. Artwork by Tee Wood.