It started as an ordinary hike—me and my buddies, joking and trudging through the woods, our packs loaded with snacks and stories to share. We’d been hiking for hours when we heard it: loud, thumping music echoing through the trees. It wasn’t just any sound; it was electrifying, like a concert or a festival. Naturally, curiosity got the better of us, and we decided to check it out. That was the first mistake.
We followed the sound until the trees began to thin, revealing a clearing. What we saw next froze us in our tracks. There was fire—huge roaring firepits—and a crowd of people, mostly women, dancing and laughing in a frenzy. But it wasn’t the music or the fire that held our attention; it was the meat. Human bodies—or what was left of them—were roasting on spits, their flesh glistening in the firelight. Some of the women were tearing into chunks of meat with their teeth, their faces smeared with grease and blood. It was horrifying, primal… yet somehow mesmerizing.
We panicked. My heart was pounding, my legs trembling as we silently agreed to turn back. But when we spun around, we found them: women standing there, blocking our retreat. Their eyes gleamed in the firelight, and they grinned as if they’d been waiting for us. They were armed—not with guns, but with knives, ropes, and a confidence that made resistance seem pointless. Before we could think or act, they had us tied and dragged toward the clearing.
The Pigpen
They didn’t kill us—not immediately, at least. They threw us into what could only be described as a pigpen. The stench of sweat, fear, and despair was overwhelming. The floor was covered in straw, and there were shackles bolted to the walls. The women tied us to the posts, making sure we were secure, and left us there to watch.
From the pigpen, we could see through a grimy window into the main area where the show was happening. The firepits glowed brighter as the music got louder, a mix of drums, heavy bass, and haunting vocals that seemed to echo through the night. Women in dark leather outfits danced and laughed, their movements hypnotic and commanding. In the center of it all, three pig-like men—longpigs, I realized with horror—were roasting over open flames. They were basted and rotated slowly, their skin crackling, while the crowd cheered and sang.
The Show
The women were relentless, devouring flesh with a primal hunger that terrified and fascinated me. Every bite they took was accompanied by laughter and cheers, as if this was the most natural and joyous thing in the world. I couldn’t take my eyes off them, even as my friends begged me to look away. “Don’t watch,” one whispered, his voice shaky. But I couldn’t help it. It was horrifying and captivating at the same time.
I noticed something strange: some of the piggies were smiling. Even as they were basted, tied, and roasted, they looked… proud. As if this was some kind of honor. That thought chilled me to the bone. Would I feel that way? Could they break me to the point where I’d accept this fate? I didn’t want to know, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
The Fear and the Wonder
The night stretched on, and the more I watched, the more questions filled my mind. What would happen to us? Were we next to be roasted? Or would they toy with us first, breaking us down until we begged for the fire? I could see the excitement in the women’s eyes when they glanced at the pigpen. They were sizing us up, deciding who would go first. My skin crawled, but a small part of me—a part I hated—wondered what it would feel like to be chosen, to be part of their ritual.
The firelight flickered through the window, casting shadows across the pigpen. My friends were quiet now, their faces pale and their eyes wide with fear. We were helpless, tied and trembling, watching as the night unfolded in a mix of terror and twisted fascination.
As the music thundered and the women danced, I realized one thing: we were no longer hikers or explorers. We were pigs in their eyes, and our fate was in their hands. What would happen next? Would we be broken, basted, and devoured like the others? Or was there some other horror waiting for us? The unknown was the worst part—terrifying, yes, but also thrilling in a way I couldn’t explain.
The fire burned on, the music roared, and the women feasted. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but think: is this how it ends?
