Pink Pig

Published Dec 21, 2022, 8:01 AM

A memory of childhood; a woman in the shadows; a large pink pig makes a very large sound. Featuring the voices of Malcolm McDowell, Gina Rickicki, and Pat Young. Written by Benji Carr.

M twelve Ghosts is a production of I Heeart three D audio and grimm and mild from Aaron Manky Headphones. Recommended listener discretion advised. Blow blow thou winter wind. Thou art not so unkind as man's ingratitude. Thy tooth is not so keen, because thou art not seen, although thy breath be rude. When I was a boy, my father had a large velvet wingback chair in his study. I would sneak in sometimes, specially in midwinter, when the darkness and the cold crept in early, and I'd curl up in that chair. The warmth of it, the comfort a cocoon holding a little boy waiting to transform. That is what we seek in the midwinter, a cozy spot to wait in while we transform ourselves. Did it work after a fashion? It's not true. You know that people can't change, They just do it very slowly. We change inch by inch over the course of years. The wild passion of youth mellows into a sort of patience. We don't notice the slow change in others because we travel at the same speed, all of us, over the course of a life, and so we just assumed that people are static, immovable, when I picture myself as very young, I do not recognize that boy. He's as far gone as anyone I've lost. What of grief? Does that not change us? In one great motion? Mm hmm, oh, mine the time, the time? Hello, young man, we've been expecting you. Hi. I'm I'm not sure I'm in the right place. I think I'm lost. Oh, I think you're right where you need to be. Come have a saint with Annabelle. H What is it, Lad? You look like you've seen a ghost. It's just I'm sorry. I thought she was someone else for a moment. I'm just me sit, have something to drink, warm up. I'm sorry you look a lot like her who It's kind of a long story. You seem to be in the right place. She's right, glad, we have nothing but time tell us about her. I was ten when she first came to me. She was just there when my mom put out the lights one night, leaving my room after tucking me in. I first I thought it was a trick of a light. You know, the neighbors next door they had these Christmas lights and they'd blink. The stripes of her dress were all black and white. I thought it was just the shadow of the blinds flashing on and then off, on and then off. But when the lights disappeared, she didn't. She lingered watching me, and I just stared at the shapes of her, the parts I could make out. She wasn't fully there. It was like a double exposure photograph or a bunch of slides that get jammed in the carousel. Flash of light and I made at her chest. Lights go off, She's still there, gangly arms blink again. She has a frown. Those eyes and their running mess care that didn't drip or move. I'd look from the window to her. I wasn't scared of her at first. I was just trying to make it all out magic eide view master. Her hair was like Peter Pan or Dorothy Hamill. When Peter Pan comes to your window. You're not in danger, you're not haunted, you're not cursed, You're just special. Stories taught me that the world just opens its magic to you at some point, and I thought this was my turn. Looking back, I guess it was. The stripes were kind of cool on her, like these diagonals. I love diagonals. I was just frozen in my bed watching her. I kept waiting for something to start. I didn't want to talk first. I didn't want to be the one to interrupt what was happening. I was scared she'd disappear and never come back, that this was all I'd get. And I was also so eager. I was shape a king. Her mouth opened just a little bit, but instead of a whisper, there was this screech, a metal on metal scraping, like like school bus breaks. It rang in my ears. It shook my spine, and I closed my eyes to shut it out. I opened them again, and I was in a big, old department store. The lady was with me, smiling and holding my hand, and we were rushing past all these toys, train sets and stuffed bears and Christmas trees. She wouldn't let go of my hand, and I couldn't keep up with her. For heels clicked fast on the tile, past the crowds, other families sorting through red dresses, points set us ladies spritzing passers by with perfume. I could smell it. It hung in the air. I wanted to sit down, I wanted to stay still. The lady and the stripes wouldn't stop for me, though she just kept tugging. I planted my feet. She opened her mouth again. This time she had a voice, a normal voice. We're going to miss it, she said, you need to get in line. I didn't feel like moving. The lady just picked me up like it was nothing. Click click, click, and everything in the place moved past me. I closed my eyes again, hoping to will myself awake. If I was dreaming, I wanted it to stop. I just like I wanted to be where I wanted to be, only that I wanted to rest. I didn't want to hurry. I opened my eyes and I saw this pigs face. It had eyelashes, and it was flying in the air above me. No, I swear a giant pig was smiling at me, and it squealed and squealed that same metallic noise. It was morning then, and I jumped out of bed. I ran to my mom's room and I told her about my night. It sounds like you had a really bad dream, she said to me, rubbing my shoulders. Didn't you watch the Muppets last night? This wasn't a muppet, mommy. This was great, big and it could fly. Miss Piggy can fly, she said to me. Teasing. No, she doesn't. Miss Piggy doesn't fly. Yeah, huh, she does, she said back to me. Miss Piggy flew and she was on that motorcycle and went through that stained glass window. It wasn't like that, I said, that was just a movie, and she flies all the time when she's in space. I just sighed and went to the kitchen for some cereal. I hated when adults wouldn't listen. The only thing she said about the Black and White lady was that we should maybe start using my night light again. My mom never took me on adventures. She never took me shopping much, not that I can remember. She'd go for groceries while I was in school, or she'd just leave me in the car. If she needed to run inside to grab something, she just cracked a window. You could do that back then. We lived in a small town outside Birmingham. I'd only seen stores like the ones from my dreams in the movies, but there was never a flying pig. The next night, I was pretty much home alone. The neighbor girl would occasionally come by and check on me, make sure the house wasn't on fire. Mom had arranged it. I think Mom was working. I don't know. I was watching TV, and you know, I was laying right in front of it, between it and the Christmas tree. There was no one around to tell me i'd go blind. Oh wait, Before I watched TV, I did check my room to see if that lady was standing there, but she wasn't there anyway. So the only thing on was the Andy Griffith Show, so I was only half watching it and doing a word search. And then I wanted some coke, so I pushed myself up by my elbows and I rolled like accidentally into the Christmas tree. Like five ornaments just crashed down off of it. Aluminum balls and glass stars just raining down on me, and I flinched, bracing for the whole tree to come down, but it didn't. I stood up more carefully and I checked out the damage. Most of the ornaments were fine, so I put them back on the empty branches except one of them. One of the glass stars had shattered into little red shards all over the tile by the front door. I don't know how it got that far from the tree. I went to the kitchen, grabbed a dust pan and a broom tried to clean up the mess. I even put it in the garbage outside. That way, I left no trace for mom to find. I was nervous, but the neighbor girl didn't see me run out her back. She wasn't watching. Then I went into the hall closet to get a replacement ornament from out of the box of Christmas stuff, but there weren't any more red glass stars in the box. As I tugged through it, I reached down into it and I felt something cold and a little heavier. Taking it out of the box. It was a ceramic ornament. It was that pink pig, its eyelashes painted on its ceramics, snout and mouth molded into a smile. A name was painted on a jingle bell collar around its neck, Priscilla. The door to the closet shut behind me, and I was in the dark. I heard that squeal again, and I was back in that dream. The black and white lady was watching me, smiling, but I was away from her this time. I had a slip of paper in my hand. Hi Jacob, she said, Wave Jacob, but that's not my name. I was being crowled with a bunch of other little kids into this. It was like a dangling cage someone took the paper from me and just shuffled me into this metal tube. Around me were all these toddlers wearing red coats and bows, and there was this piped inversion of jingle bells. All the grown ups were just watching us, and the black and white lady waved at me, and they slid closed the doors to the cage, and I grabbed onto the grates on the windows. Everything was pink. I looked in front of me and I saw the side of that pink pig's face, those eyelashes. Me and the other kids were just inside of her metal guts trapped. And then we started moving. We were dangling, flying. I looked out the window and we were flying over all of these toys. At first, there were train sets. There were painted clowns all along the walls. There were signs with the pig's face on it, Priscilla, the pink pig. Priscilla the pink Pig. All the other kids seemed fine. As we flew around the room. I closed my eyes again. I tried to make it stop. The squeal of metal hit my ears, though, and I felt this chill. Either it went down my spine or it was in the air. I opened my eyes and I put my hand on the metal grate. We weren't flying over toys anymore. Some kids were yelling. We were outside in the chilly air, flying around a giant Christmas tree. I looked all around me, and I saw all these buildings and the sky. I'd never seen these buildings before. It wasn't burning him. Nothing was familiar. As far as I could tell. We were so high up, dangling inside this pig. I know it sounds crazy. I looked down and I could see city streets below. People looked smaller than ants. And then that horrible squeal happened again. And then the door to the closet flew open, and my mom asked me what I was doing there in the dark. Why would you sleep in the closet, She asked me, come out here. I let go of the pig ornament, leaving it on the floor, and I crawled out of the closet. I'm sorry, I don't know what happened. I said to her, when did you get back. I've been looking for you all over the house for ten minutes. She said, I need your help getting the groceries out of the car. The next morning, Mom told me to get dressed. She had library books to return. If I hurried, I could go with her and get some chapter books. I liked Beverly Cleary, the Henry Huggins stuff. I was looking through the kids department. The staff knew me there. Mom went to look at the newspapers and the Mr. Books. I asked the librarian if she had any books about Priscilla the pink pig. You mean Petunia, she asked me, No, ma'am. I said, Priscilla the pink pig. I think it can fly or something. She looked at me, weird, you mean that Dumbo looking thing in Atlanta. I don't know. I guess that ain't a book, she said. Did you all go to Richards or something to see Santa Riches? I asked her the fancy department store over in Georgia. Librarian lady said, the place with the coconut cake and the big tree and that kid's pig train that glides on a rail every Christmas. My husband took me to see the tree lighting last Thanksgiving. It was crowded, but the choirs were good. I've never been to Atlanta, I told the lady. The train has a face like Dumbo, except with a snout instead of a trunk. She said, because we're Southern. I guess what do you mean a rail? I started to ask her does it chug or does it fly? That's when I noticed Mom was standing over me. She told me it was time to go. I told her I hadn't picked any books out yet, but she told me we had to go and that I should make decisions faster. Mom didn't have any books either, but she headed to the car. Her whole mood had changed. She put me to bed early that night, but in the dark of my room I could still see the black and white lady watching me as the Christmas lights would flash through the blinds. My name isn't Jacob, I whispered to her, My name is. Outside the door, I could hear my mother talking on the phone. Mom had that tone she gets, the one where she acts like nothing's bothering her when something is. The black and white lady raised her arm. She pointed her finger at my bedroom door. I got out of bed and put my ear to it. I listened to what Mom was saying. She was talking to my aunt Carol, but I could only hear my mom. Did you see that she killed herself this weekend. Oh but it was in yesterday's paper. I ripped out the whole page. The library gets it here. They declared Jacob legally dead last week, seven years without a trace. I guess no, I don't feel bad about it, Carol, He's mine. She wasn't even watching him that day. She was shopping for purses. We walked out of there before she even noticed the train was back. She did it to be with her sons, supposedly reunited in heaven. I heard my mom laugh, like actually laugh. Good luck finding him there. I turned away from the door. The black and white lady just stared at me, and I stared back. Some nights, even now, especially this time of year, I see the black and white lady. She still tries to touch me, but I'm out of reach. Oh oh no, you've felt a pull towards her your whole life, haven't you. You've come a very long way this night, lad. Perhaps you would like to rest, Yes, I think I would. Eight room on the left, just up the stairs there. Perhaps you'll see her in your dreams, Yes, that would be nice. Good night, Annabelle, Good night, sir, good night. Sleep well. Has she passed through here? M hm, not that I've seen, but that doesn't matter. They'll find each other. Love finds her way. Twelve Ghosts starring Malcolm McDowell as the Innkeeper and Gina Rikiki as Annabelle. Episode eight, The Pink Pig written by Benjamin Carr with additional writing by Nicholas Takowski, editing by Chris Childs and Stephen Perez, featuring Pat Young as Jacob. Directed by Nicolas Takowski. Original score and sound design by Chris Childs. Executive producers Aaron Mankey, Matt Frederick, Alexander Williams and Nicholas Takowski. Supervising producer Josh Staine. Producers Chris Childs and Stephen Perez. Casting by Sunday Bowling c s A and Meg Mormon c s A. Production coordinator Wayna Calderon. Recorded at Lantern Audio in Atlanta, Georgia, engineered by Chris Gardner, Aeros Sound and Recording in Ojai, California, engineered by Ken Arros. Twelve Ghosts was created by Nicholas Takowski and is a production of iHeart three D Audio and Grim and Mild from Aaron Manky. Learn more about the show at Grim and mild dot com and find more podcasts from I heart Radio by visiting the I heart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to your favorite shows. H

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