In celebration of the fourth (or maybe it was the third) anniversary of our first date, my husband booked us a room in a fabulous Bed & Breakfast, Inn by the Mill*, in St. Johnsville, NY. He called me at the office that morning to ask if I was okay with the room he chose. He had booked the Hog’n Haus cottage, a renovated 1888 hog house. He was well aware by then of most of my freak-like tendencies and my irrational fear of pigs was right up there on the list. He warned me the room was full of piggy bric-a-brac. I was so excited to get away for a few days that I didn’t care.
That was until the middle of the night when I woke to see the four foot plus pig statue with tray staring at me from across the room. It was my nightmare come to life.
Sometimes it’s hard to pinpoint exactly when and why a fear or phobia takes hold. I can tell you exactly when, where and why my swinophobia began. I was fourteen. It happened on summer break. The culprit was a battered and slightly musty copy of the Amityville Horror that I picked up at a flea market the week earlier.
Jodie, Missy’s “imaginary” piggy friend, was the only thing that scared me in that book. I tossed the book away years ago but I can still remember the pencil drawing she did of Jodie distinctly in my mind. I still get chills remembering the father, George Lutz, looking up at the house in the middle of the night and Jodie looking back at him from his daughter’s bedroom window and Jodie looking in the window at the family from outside the house with its red eyes. I can almost feel the horror the father must have felt looking at the pig tracks in the snow after Jodie (or something) had ripped the front door off its hinges. Jodie scared the hell out of me.
I’m pretty sure I wasn’t afraid of pigs until that book. I’m not the only one scared by demon pig-like creatures.
In areas of Brazil and Uruguay, residents are afraid of a local legend called the Lobison. The Lobison is a werepig (but sometimes a werewolf, but that doesn’t scare me) that devours local residents. In the Entre Rios Region, the Lobison is human by day and werepig by night. Young women won’t date men that leave near the stockyards in fear that they are a Lobison. Talk about a cock block.
On the Isle of Man, Jimmy Squarefoot roams free. He’s not dangerous, but rather his appearance is off-putting. Man with a pig head. Takes a new meaning to the term pig-faced. Poor, Jimmy Squarefoot, all by his hideous self on the Isle of Man. Don’t feel too bad for him. When Jimmy was a human, he was a rock thrower and his wife was usually his target. Maybe he deserves to be lonely and ugly.
Okay, I’ve shared my embarrassing phobia. What about your phobia’s and fears? But a pal and tell me about it. Pretty please?
*Just as an aside, the Inn at the Mill is an awesome place to stay. I would even recommend the Hog’n Haus. We have stayed there twice and I hope to go back next year for the ninth anniversary of our first date! Check it out: http://www.innbythemill.com/hoghouse.htm