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From: lsimon@phoenix.phoenix.net (the simon)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: Greater Than Three
Date: 18 Apr 1995 06:51:33 GMT
Organization: CTN
Message-ID: <3mvnhl$bt@gryphon.phoenix.net>

REQUIEM #31 - GREATER THAN THREE

He huffed and he puffed, but the brick house still stood. The Three 
Little Pigs weren't about to come out, so the Big Bad Wolf gave up and 
went back to Cleveland.

On the way home, he stopped by the cemetery and visited the grave of 
his brother, Stan. It had happened when he was much younger, and he 
recalled how tightly his father had held his hand while the police 
described the murder scene. A horrible death at the hands of a 
woodsman's axe, with an old lady and a little girl watching. The cops 
said that Stan had tried to eat the little girl and the grandmother, 
and on his split corpse he was wearing women's clothing.

And then came the reporters, badgering his family and prying into 
their personal lives. His father began drinking heavily, and one night 
he just never came home. His mother disappeared after a little 
shepherd boy kept yelling "Wolf!" and she decided to go out and shut 
him up. After her closed-coffin funeral, the Big Bad Wolf swore 
himself to evil and badness, and he went off to the woods to live.

Five long, awful years after Stan was killed, the Big Bad Wolf felt it 
was time for revenge. The grandmother was long dead, the woodsman was 
somewhere up in Canada, and the girl was in Duke or Princeton studying 
Physics. But the Big Bad Wolf couldn't let the past go. In under a 
week, the girl had turned up in Boston Harbor, stuffed into a picnic 
basket. The woodsman was harder to find, he after a month he was 
putting the finishing touches on him just outside a cabin in the 
Yukon.

"Pigs!" shrieked the woodsman. The Big Bad Wolf cut the power to the 
chainsaw and listened. "It was the pigs! The pigs put him up to it! 
They wanted the kid's picnic basket!" The woodsman babbled on for over 
an hour, dripping with sweat and fear.

Pigs... all this misery over three little pigs. Three greedy, hungry 
little pigs who took it upon themselves to tear an innocent family of 
wolves apart. With eyes of fire and hate, he sliced up the woodsman 
and went after the pigs.

They lived separately, but unusually close to each other. Perhaps 
they're gay... three little gay pigs, thought the wolf. He shook his 
head. Doesn't make it any easier, though. After knocking down two of 
the houses, the pigs had holed themselves up in the brick house pretty 
well, and they weren't accepting any deliveries.

Well, if I can't shake them out, maybe I can hit them somewhere else? 
thought the wolf. Hard enough to draw them out. The wolf grinned and 
went back to his living room to make some calls.

The pigs' parents were divorced, and the father lived in a rest home 
with poor security. All it took was a twenty-spot at the nurse's desk 
to get back to his room. After about an hour, the Big Bad Wolf wiped 
his chinny chin chin with a napkin and washed his hands in the old 
pig's sink.

The mother lived down in Florida, remarried to a retired insurance 
executive. The Big Bad Wolf saw that they had installed an alarm 
system on their home, but he found that it would be easier to get her 
on the golf course. When she sliced into the woods by the seventh 
hole, the Big Bad Wolf surprised her and ate her. Now that he thought 
about it, it had been foolish of him to finish out her round. But what 
else did he have to live for? His doctor had always suggested he take 
up a sport.

It still wasn't enough to draw the pigs out - the Big Bad Wolf watched 
at funerals from a distance, but there was an absence of three little 
mourners. He looked around to see where he could strike next.

They had cousins in the Denver Suburbs. They all had houses of straw, 
like the first Little Pig. He didn't feel all that hungry, so he just 
propped two-by-fours against the hut doors and set them on fire. He 
watched the huts burn down and a pig or two for help through the straw 
burglar-bars on their hut windows.

Halfway through his second iced tea, he got up from the lawn chair and 
called the fire department on his cellular phone. "There's been a 
horrible accident," said the Big Bad Wolf. "Simply awful." He hung up, 
folded the chair, and walked back to his rented Bronco.

The Big Bad Wolf went back to the brick house where the Three Little 
Pigs lived. He could her shouting and crying from inside the house, 
and the Big Bad Wolf did his best not to break down laughing. He crept 
closer to the brick house.

"Well somebody's got to identify the bodies!" shouted one of the pigs. 
"We can't just sit in here forever while he tears everyone apart we 
know and love."

"Can't you see?" said another pig. "He's trying to draw us out!"

"Why?" said the third pig. "Why is he doing this to us?"

The Big Bad Wolf clenched his teeth and hugged the side of the porch, 
out of the range of the glass on the front door.

"Well, somebody's got to identify the bodies," repeated the first pig. 
"So, we're going. Let's make it quick, okay?"

As he started to open the front door, the Big Bad Wolf kicked it in 
and sent the little pig sprawling.

"He's here!" shrieked the third pig. "He's come back!"

"For you, Stan," whispered the Big Bad Wolf, and he bore down on the 
three quivering pigs at his feet.

-- 
the   / CTN lsimon@phoenix.phoenix.net
simon / http://www.phoenix.net/~lsimon/