Capítulo 87: Chapter 87
The first thing anyone noticed about the pig was how hungry it was.
No one knew where it came from. No one cared, not at first. It arrived on a small, forgotten farm just outside of Hilo, a tiny piglet with eyes too wide for its face. It ate everything. The farmer, desperate, fed it scraps—old vegetables, rotting fruits, meat leftovers.
It devoured it all. Within days, it outgrew its pen. The farmer thought nothing of it, thinking pigs were just like that, always hungry. But it wasn't like the others. It ate everything. And it didn't stop.
By the time the pig's body stretched long and bloated, it had begun to move. It roamed the countryside at night, dragging its heavy belly through the streets of Hilo, consuming whatever it found. Garbage bins emptied. Fields were torn apart. Wild animals that ventured too close disappeared. The locals, then, noticed. The odd thing about the pig was that it never seemed to grow tired. And it always wanted more.
Jake was just another tourist passing through Hawaii. He didn't expect to stay long. The sun, the beach, the clear water—everything looked like it had been dipped in gold. But when he rented a car and drove around, he found himself in the outskirts, looking at the dying landscape. Grass was turning brown in patches.
Plants that should've been thriving curled up, withering into themselves. A strange dryness in the air, a faint sting at the back of his throat. People didn't talk about it much, but Jake felt it. He could taste it on the wind.
He stopped at a diner for breakfast, a greasy spot where the waitress didn't care what he ordered as long as he paid. He noticed an older man sitting by the window, hunched over a cup of coffee, staring out at the empty road. The man's face was scrunched in thought, or maybe worry. Jake didn't ask, but when he paid for his meal, the man spoke.
"Y'ever hear about the pig?" the old man muttered.
Jake frowned, unsure whether he was being insulted. The man didn't wait for a reply.
"It's the thing they don't want you to know about. It's killin' the place. It's the reason the land's so dry. You can feel it, right? The air's wrong. The water's wrong. Even the animals, they're gettin' sick. It's all because of that goddamn pig."
The old man looked straight at Jake, and for a moment, the noise of the diner faded into the background, leaving only the man's cracked voice and the strange weight of his words. The pig? Jake almost laughed it off, but the pit in his stomach didn't settle.
The weirdness of the island had been building in him, a heavy feeling he couldn't explain. Maybe he had been in the sun too long. Maybe it was the drink the night before.
But maybe, just maybe, it wasn't.
Jake rented a room at a small inn near the coast, trying to forget the odd conversation, the odd warning. But it followed him like a dark thought, hanging just outside the edge of his vision, every time he saw something in the distance move just a little too fast. A sudden ripple on the horizon. A flash of movement under the trees. He didn't sleep well.
It was a week before he really noticed the pig. He'd seen it from the corner of his eye, a large thing moving along the road at night, its massive frame blocking out the moonlight. Jake had been walking back to his room, and the sight of it stopped him cold.
The pig didn't look like any animal he had ever seen. Its skin was stretched taut over its body, its legs thick and uncomfortably long, as though they hadn't been designed for its size. It was ugly—hideous, in fact. Its eyes glowed in the dark, the whites too bright, as if they didn't belong to anything alive.
Jake froze. He didn't know what to do. He watched as it slowly dragged itself past him, one heavy hoof at a time. It didn't make a sound. And when it disappeared into the trees, he took a step back, feeling his heart race.
He didn't sleep that night, and he didn't sleep the next. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it. The pig, dragging its belly along the ground, tearing through everything. The thought of it ate at him. It was an unnatural hunger, something beyond just eating. It consumed, slowly but surely, in a way that left nothing behind.
The heat kept rising. It wasn't just the island. It was the air, thick with something that pressed in on him, suffocating him slowly. The landscape, once lush and green, was now cracked and dry. The water tasted sour.
There were no birds anymore, no animals, no signs of life. Even the tourists stopped coming, their faces drawn and sick, their eyes vacant.
Jake wasn't sure when it started. But he was certain now: it was the pig. It had been feeding off the land, tearing into the earth itself, devouring whatever it could find. And it wasn't just the land that had begun to fade.
The people, too, were changing. Some looked pale, too pale, like they hadn't eaten in days. Others stumbled around, lost and confused. But nobody spoke. They just went about their lives, as if everything was normal.
Jake tried to leave. He rented a boat, set out on the water, but the further he went, the darker the sea became. He could see it now, in the distance—the island, or what was left of it. A dark shape, like a bruise on the ocean. The pig, maybe, its weight pulling the entire place under.
He turned back. His hands trembled on the wheel as the boat cut through the water. He could feel it now, too—the thickening air, the weight of something slowly pulling everything down. He couldn't get away.
By the time he returned, the island was dying. There were no more people left. Just the pig. Just the hunger. It fed on everything—trees, fields, the remnants of human life.
It consumed until there was nothing left but a barren wasteland. Jake could hear the slow, soft sounds of it feeding, deep in the night, like the slow drip of a leaky faucet.
He wandered through the empty streets, the bones of the place rattling with a silence so complete it felt like it would swallow him whole. There was no escape. And there was nothing left to save.
When Jake found the pig again, it was just a mass of swollen flesh, too large to move, too bloated to care. But it still fed. Still ate. Its mouth opened wide, and Jake saw it clearly—saw that there was nothing left. Nothing that mattered. Nothing that wasn't part of it.
He collapsed on the ground beside it, staring at the bloated corpse of the island, the remnants of a place that had once lived, now swallowed whole. He reached out for it, just for a moment. A final, desperate pull.
And the pig ate him, too.
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