Tales To Distress Part 1 - The Big Bad Wolf
Raymond Daley
Copyright 8/2/12 by Raymond Daley
Once upon a time there were three little pigs. They were good pigs who listened to their mother.
She had told them to go out into the world and seek their fortunes then build themselves good homes.
The first little pig was a lover of colour and had planted a field of golden wheat. He reaped his rewards selling the wheat to make grain for bread and had used the remains to build himself a wonderful home of yellow straw which he loved very much.
The second little pig loved nature and decided to invest in a small Hawthorne plantation. He used some of it to sell to make baskets and the rest went into making himself a finely interwoven home of twigs which he too also loved very much.
The third little pig wanted to remain close to the earth and discovered a clay pit which he enjoying digging in. Some he sold and the rest he used to make a strong large house of bricks made from his clay. He studied the artisan crafts to make the bricks and built the house himself. He loved his home very much, just like his brothers.
Sadly this was not a stable world. This was a time of madness, the time of the reckoning.
The end of days.
Science had brought the plague. The dead walked. And hungered for flesh.
From the mountains of the north came a wolf. At least he had been a wolf. Now he was undead.
Yet instinct led him to hunt for food and hunt he must.
The wolf came across the house of straw and could smell food - PIG! His favourite.
"Little pig, little pig, let me in!" called out the wolf.
'Who's this crazy fool outside my house?' thought the first little pig to himself. 'I'm not answering this crazy' thought the first little pig, so he hunkered down in his beloved straw house.
The wolf hungered for flesh and started to smash at the walls of the straw house. Walls of straw were no match for a wolf, let alone a zombie wolf. The first little pig tried to run but the big bad zombie wolf was far too fast. The first little pig was easily caught as the zombie wolf dug his razor sharp claws into the pig, tearing at his throat.
Several bites satisfied the appetite of the undead wolf who then left the first little pig to die a slow painful death.
During that night as the wolf slept near by, another member of the army of the dead rose.
***
The next day the wolf rose with the hunger. After a short search he was unable to locate the body of the first little pig. The wolf inhaled and could no longer smell the fear of dying.
An evil smile fell across his face.
He could smell ..... something else. Something familiar.
Something newly dead.
Knowing this previous food source was no longer viable the wolf started to hunt again. After searching for most of the day he eventually stumbled through the Hawthorne plantation and discovered the house of twigs.
Despite his hunger the wolf appreciated the craftsmanship that had gone into the construction of this dwelling. There would be no blowing this house down.
The wolf called out "Little pig, little pig, let me in!"
"Are you on drugs? And get eaten? Get stuffed, fur face!" yelled back the second little pig.
The second little pig was confident in the strength of his house, he'd seen the hedges over one hundred years old that had lasted in all weathers, this was why he'd chosen Hawthorne.
The wolf decided to try his strength but no matter how hard he tore at the house of twigs it just shucked off his attacks. It was no good, he was never going to get that pig this way.
Fortunately for the zombie wolf the reanimating virus did not destroy the functions of the brain, it may have given him the urge to constantly feed but he was still a smart wolf. Thinking back he recalled something he'd passed a few hours back on his way here.
If he backtracked quickly enough he guessed he could be there and back in about an hour. He'd use the more direct route.
***
Time passed and the wolf returned to the house of twigs. Would this plan result in a meal? It was a sure fire success! The wolf had recalled seeing an abandoned camp fire still burning and had gone back for one of the bigger logs.
He threw the burning log onto the house of twigs and stood back.
The dry Hawthorne caught ablaze instantly. The wolf waited eagerly.
Inside the house the smoke was pouring in, the second little pig hadn't been expecting this. As the smoke thickened the second little pig struggled to the door and opened it, rushing out into the clean evening air, his eyes stinging and lungs gasping.
The second little pig rushed right into the waiting zombie wolf, he never stood a chance.
The wolf fed, no more than half a dozen bites. The reanimating virus may have infused its hosts with a ravaging hunger but it was a hunger quickly sated.
The wolf curled up a safe distance away from the burning house, eager to take advantage of its warmth and relative safety and went to sleep. He did not see the other diner emerge from the Hawthorne bushes to take its fill. He did not see the other zombie return to the darkness.
And he did not see the newest member of the army of the dead rise to join its ever swelling ranks.
***
Again morning bought hunger, the need to hunt, the need to feed. This time it was more difficult for the zombie wolf. The more hosts turned meant less food sources and more competition for them.
The wolf knew he himself had personally created hundreds of new hungry mouths. He sat resting for a few moments and recalled the day he himself had been turned.
His pack had been hunting. His father had been the Alpha male and he had hunted by his side. They had come across the rabbits who had not seemed afraid of them.
The wolf knew this was not the usual case of affairs but he and his father attacked anyway. But the rabbits were ..... different.
They had clawed back and bitten. And bitten. And kept biting.
That had been the zombie wolfs last living memory. His own blood dripping from the fur of the rabbit standing on his chest as the blackness had fallen upon him.
He'd heard the legends and had expected to awaken in the great cave, the wonderful pack home that wolves had told and retold each other over the generations.
When the darkness had lifted from him he was not in the great cave. He was exactly where he had fallen. This was not the afterlife the pack had promised.
It was .... something else. Something bad.
***
The hunt for flesh opened into another day. And another day.
The undead do not need to feed every day. But the hunger is there.
After two days of wandering the wolf fell into the clay pits more by accident than any use of hunting sense. As he struggled through the sticky clay he could smell his prey close by.
He also knew he was not alone. There was competition for this kill.
The wolf stumbled out of the clay pit and clawed his way up the hill to find his long anticipated meal.
The brick house of the third little pig stood before him.
'No time like the present' the zombie wolf thought to himself and yelled out "Little Pig, little pig, let me in!"
The third little pig hadn't just been smart in his choice of building materials. He had stockpiled supplies and had been ready for the end of the world. He was armed to the teeth, locked and loaded.
"Keep it down out there! Some of us are trying to relax!" shouted the third little pig.
'Cocky little shit!' thought the bad zombie wolf to himself. "Listen porky! I'm
hungry and you're dinner. Now quit jerking me off and get your bacon smelling butt the heck out here so I can have my feast". The wolf knew that even zombie strength wasn't going to break down the well built solid brick walls in front of him.
What he didn't know was behind those brick walls lay another course of four inch thick solid clay cubes offering a second layer of reinforcement and protection to the third little pig.
"Oi, fur face! Get stuffed, you ugly git!" shouted the third little pig from the safety of his extremely wolf-proof home.
Time passed.
***
The wolf was persistent. He stayed close to the brick house for the next few days but his loudness attracted unwanted attention.
The zombie wolf had known he wasn't alone and the unwelcome company eventually arrived. In the form of the first and second little pigs.
Little Zombie Pigs.
"Hello Daddy" the first and second little zombie pigs said to big bad wolf. He didn't correct them because he understood their point. The wolf knew he was no longer alone at this potential kill.
The three of them threw around ideas to storm the house of bricks. All of them were hungry and if any meal was going to come from this they all knew they had to work together to roust the third little pig from his seemingly impregnable fortress.
It was then that the wolf had his evil idea, psychological warfare.
"Call out to your brother" the wolf said to the zombie pigs.
"Little Pig, little pig, let us in!" called out the two undead pigs.
Looking through the spyhole in his front door the third little pig saw something that made his heart heavy with sadness. He had fully been expecting a call from a predator, wolves were not uncommon in this part of the world.
In this new world zombie wolves were rare.
However zombie pigs were unheard of. At least until today.
"Did you two Bacon-heads build rubbish houses then? Mum won't be happy you know, and muggins here is left to deliver the bad news. Thanks lads" said the third little pig, silently mourning for a moment for his fallen siblings.
"The house is strong, even with all three of you there’s no chance of you getting in here." The third little pig hit them with the bad news to try and end the conflict.
The wolf and the two zombie pigs tried everything they could think of from brute force to violence and everything in between. They even tried attacking the door, thinking it would be the weakest point of the brick house.
The third little pig had anticipated this thought and had cast the door as several solid blocks one behind the other. It was not a conventional door with ordinary hinges, instead it was a sliding door secured by a clever complex clockwork locking mechanism that the third little pig had designed himself.
His father had been an engineer and he had spent all his free time studying at his side whilst his two now undead brothers had frolicked outside, generally enjoying life. His father had always been fond of telling him "Work hard. Knowledge will be your reward".
How the third little pig missed him and his mother now.
***
The zombie wolf and the two undead pigs continued to attack the brick house over the course of the next several days. Each day they would pick a spot and focus their attention upon it. Each day they would go to sleep hungry.
The third little pig patiently waited inside. Perhaps they would get bored and go away soon? He knew he had sufficient supplies for at least three years but what he didn't know was how long an undead creature could continue to function without feeding.
After another day of relentless attack the third little pig decided he had to take action. The wolf had wandered off to sleep in a nearby glade whilst his undead brothers were sleeping together mere feet away from the front door.
The third little pig waited until they were soundly asleep, they had snored at home and he was surprised to hear that even now they were zombies they still snored. He armed himself and unlocked the front door, slowly and quietly rolling it back.
He left it open knowing if this mission failed he didn't want to carry on alone in his brick house that now felt more like a tomb.
The third little pig crept up on his brothers and levelled his shotgun, aiming for their heads. He released the safety catch as quietly as he could and slowly squeezed the trigger then quickly readjusted his aim and took a second shot.
"Rest in peace my brothers" he said as he quickly reloaded both barrels, now following the wolfs tracks to the leafy glade.
The third little pig found the sleeping form of the big bad zombie wolf easily.
He positioned the barrel of the shotgun less than an inch from the forehead of the zombie wolf and pulled the trigger. Then fired again, just to make sure.
He walked slowly back to his house and secured it for the night, restless in his sleep.
The following day he went out with a shovel and did right by his fallen brothers. It hadn't been their fault they had chosen the path they did, lived their lives for the moment. He didn't judge them for that for they were his family.
What he wanted to do now was go home and hug his mother and tell her he loved her and had missed her. He hoped she was still alive through this world of horror.
He took a moment and said a final silent prayer over the two graves.
The dead should rest in peace.
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Authors Notes:- Wow, where to start?
As an idea this one was really easy to develop on paper. Getting it off paper and into actual story form proved to be more difficult than I anticipated. Having literally just written the finish I am now in day 3 or 4 of working on the actual writing of this story.
To use a bad pun - It was a complete pig.
I thought doing this story but making it zombie horror would be a great new twist.
Then I used Google Images to try and find a cover to work with and discovered it wasn't a new idea (Google zombie pig).
There definitely IS a part two to this, it's just a matter of when or if I choose to develop it from the story outline I have written down.
There are a few messages in this story, about not judging people, about caring for others - especially your family members and about forgiveness.
People don't always make good choices in their lives and as flawed human beings can frequently make mistakes but as Billy Joel said in Second Wind "They're the only thing you can truly call your own".
Be kind to each other.