Stonehill Police Department

Witness Statement regarding local string of disappearances

Suspect goes under the alias “Pigman”

It all started out on a road trip my sister and I took for the summer. I had turned eighteen the month before, and my sister was fifteen. I had lived in the sleepy town of Dayton, Ohio my entire life. This would be the last time I would see my sister before leaving for college, so this was a big deal. I wanted to go out with a little fun.

Our plan was to travel through Illinois, go east through Washington, D.C, then travel through all of the southern states. We had planned to be gone until the twentieth of July, which would give me plenty of time to do anything I needed to for college. We had our bags packed and cash in our pockets by the day after school ended.

We passed through the first states without incident. Saw all of the little side-of-the-road tourist traps on the way. Ate repulsively unhealthy but irresistibly good foods that were fried, boiled, sautéed, and any other kind of –ed you could possibly think of. But as we passed the West Virginia border, we had a different sort of craving.

Now given our hometown, we were novices when it came to southern food. Hours of daytime T.V enriched our knowledge to an extent, but the real thing had to be tried. From the time we spotted that next exit sign to the time I write this, I have learned one lesson the hard way: Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.

The first red flag should have been apparent to us when the sign was barley legible, tarnished by dirt and rust. It read: FOOD EXIT 318. Uncle Piggy’s BBQ. There was a Subway a couple miles ahead, but we wanted southern food the first chance we got. Our stomachs tired of gas station beef jerky, we turned into the dark stop.

We didn’t need any sort of navigation. The first thing we noticed was an ominous looking plume of smoke, towering high in some dense forest brush. Immediately in front of it was a small clearing with a diner-esque restaurant titled Uncle Piggy’s BBQ. The best BBQ you’ll find on I-95 or my name ain’t Uncle Piggy! That sounded promising enough. Well, at least until we pulled in and stepped out of the car.

The smell was overbearing. It was like feces, but worse. Burning manure, perhaps. We walked in to complain about the suspicious smell. We were then greeted by a kind-natured old woman. I couldn’t tell you her exact age, but she looked to be in her mid 70’s.

She was overweight, and had a distinct southern drawl. “Sorry about that shug. When the place built, some rowdy group o’ kids decided it’d be funny if they dropped by an’ put cow manure in the factory. They’ve done it every week ever since, and we haven’t caught ‘em yet. Meanwhile, we’ve had no choice but to burn it.”

There was no time left to quarrel about suspicious odors. It was going on 7, and if we wanted some BBQ we needed to get it here. While we took our seat and prepared to order, however, we weren’t exactly greeted with southern hospitality.

Every single patron in the restaurant was glaring at us. We didn’t know how these people could be locals, but they sure didn’t like the look of us. The waiters and waitresses all smirked and whispered to each other, glancing at us every few seconds or so. My sister suggested we leave, but I wasn’t going to waste our cash on fast food. We’d probably find no vacancy in any of the motels, and neither of us would sleep in the car. We settled for the house special.

They served BBQ’d ribs with seasoned mashed potatoes and cole slaw. Nothing was wrong here, all of the above was a southern staple. The meat however, was quite peculiar. It was soft and red under the sauce. It looked like corn beef, but had the consistency and taste of chicken. Nothing was wrong there either. Everything tastes like chicken these days.

I asked the chef to come out and tell me what meat this was. It was undoubtedly unique, and I would certainly ask for it by any chance a nearby restaurant would serve it. The chef quickly offered to give us a tour, and then give me some to take home for free. My sister and I were good-looking girls, and we were suspicious until the lady who had greeted us served as an assistant guide.

We were led into a kitchen. Men clad in bloodstained aprons laboriously chopped at ribs, sides, and other sides of the same meat we had earlier been consuming. A grill sizzled with the same we had eaten also. My sister asked why they always served only one type of meat. The chef locked the kitchen doors while the woman replied with a sinister grin.

“Congratulations shug. You and your little sister there are the last catch of the night. You get to become the BBQ. That’s right, that special meat is human flesh. You girls got some meat on yer bones. You’ll make a fine meal.”

Two men grabbed us. We kicked and screamed to no avail. The only people that could hear our screams were the kitchen staff, hooting and laughing. That was the last thing I remember, until about fifteen minutes later. My sister and I woke up. We were both completely naked, our clothes tossed in a heap on the floor below. There was no use in trying to get them as we were chained up on a table. When I took a look around, I saw unspeakably horrible things. Things that could be happening at this very second.

It was definitely not cow manure they were burning. It was nothing other than human flesh. Not everyone was burning, however. People hung from hooks, screaming and crying. Apparently they didn’t discriminate as there were men besides women in this sick human abattoir. Unnecessary organs were discarded in a pile, seeping and festering. My sister was escorted out of her chains and into the hands of one of the sickest men I have ever met in my life.

His face was obscured by what appeared to be a pig’s mask. However, his body made him look like he was in his thirties. Two vein-riddled, blood spattered arms lied at the sides of a bronze torso. He wore overalls with no undershirt. He then bellowed a twisted laugh followed by a southern-accented diatribe.

“Looky here! I usually have my boys take care of the dirty work, but this little one deserves special treatment. How rude of me, I forgot to introduce myself. The name’s Uncle Piggy, but ya’ll can just call me Pigman. I run that neat little restaurant you girls just took a sample of. Speakin’ o’ which, I think I’ll take a sample out o’ you.”

He sexually molested her right in front of my eyes. She cried out in pain, but everyone else was hooting and hollering. It was too painful to watch, but after a couple minutes one of the men grabbed me by the chin and forced me to look. That was my baby sister, her innocence being forced from her right in front of my eyes. Her pain and somber expression continue to haunt me, and will never be erased from my mind. But the dejected little show of horrors wasn’t finished yet.

“Alright. We’ve had our fun boys, time to do some cookin’.” He barked out orders, and the men quickly went to different stations. Taking out a decent-sized machete, he laughed as he said these final words to her: “You’re gonna look real good on my dinner plate tonight, darlin’.” She joined the song of screams and splitting sinew as he cut off her breasts. He then tossed them to the guards, who ate them eagerly. His laughter added even more to the madness as he ended her life with a steady slice of the machete and a few tosses of her entrails to the floor.

“I’ve had my fun for now. Get me out of my office when you start with the older one.”

Oh god, I thought. I don’t have much time. I need to think of an escape plan before it’s too late. I spotted a knife that was carelessly left within my reach. That night may have been the one of his demise, because it seemed no one else had escaped this place and lived to tell the tale. I intended to do just that.

I was restlessly cutting at the rusted portion of the chain links. The guards were too preoccupied with my sister roasting over an open fire, a pole going in her mouth and through the rest of her body just like any other farm animal. I finally broke free. By the time I was off of the table, they noticed me. They chased after me as a mob, and after about a mile and a half I managed to hide from them. I didn’t want to risk being found, so I slept in the woods last night and continued walking until I stumbled across this police station. I have every intention of going back to kill every single last one of them if the police don’t catch them first.

COMMISIONER’S REPORT

The Police department of Stonehill, West Virginia will use the witness as a guide to the hideout of the described suspect. Her statement will be used as eviiiufighujjjjjjjjjjj

Flippin' pigs. Got to kill them before they make a mess out of my business. But I suppose by now the news has spread like wildfire, so it’s about time I spill all. It’s not like I’m gonna get caught. This girl? She’s just is one of the lucky ones.

And you don’t have to drop by my little restaurant to get a taste of my creation. I’ve had talks with some of those high follutin’ rich folk, and they’ve agreed to use my “specially processed beef” in stores. Whatever you think is cow is most likely nice old Mr. Jones next door. That’s right, every person who buys meat from supermarkets is a cannibal. And I’ll create the supply to meet the demand. Maybe it’ll be you.

-Pigman

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