100 Acres Wood at Halloween – Piglet and the Bacon Ghost

It was Halloween, and the toys had built a bonfire next to Eeyore’s tent. They had ginger beer and marshmallows to share, and they took it in turns to tell spooky stories and scare each other spitless.
They were having so much fun that the only person who went home to bed was Kanga, because she thought that if baby Roo ate any more he was going to be sick in her marsupium.
It was past eight o’clock before everyone conked out, and Piglet was lulled into sleep by the comforting sounds of Eeyore’s snores and Pooh’s tummy rumbling like a passing goods train.
Who knew how much longer it was when he awoke. The fire had died down to a pile of reddish embers and there was a breeze whispering in the tops of the aspen trees.
“Piglet, Piglet,” it called, “come and play.”
Piglet knuckled his eyes, and when he looked up there was a big, pink lady pig sitting on a log regarding him soulfully.
“Aren’t you coming to play? I’m so lonely.”
A tear lingered on her pale, bristly eyelashes and Piglet felt pity so he stood up and dusted down his onesie.
“Where shall we play?” He asked politely.
The lady pig beamed. “We shall play everywhere.”
Before Piglet had a chance to think that one through, she grasped his trotter in hers and he felt himself rising into the sky.
Not being the bravest and most stoical of toys, Piglet screamed loud and shrill but his friends around the dying fire slept on undisturbed.
“They can’t hear you. This is your adventure.”
Piglet looked down on his sleeping friends and wondered if he would ever see them again. But he was of a sanguine nature and this was, as the lady pig said, quite an adventure. He ventured a look at his companion thinking her a fine figure of a sow and wondering if that would be an appropriate thing to say.
She must have caught his glance because she frowned.
“Is there something wrong with my face, small pig?”
Piglet essayed his most charming smile. “No demoiselle. Piglet was just thinking how be-you-ti-full you is.”
The she-pig blushed and simpered. “That is very kind of you small pig. What is your name?”
“I is Piglet.”
“Yes, I know you are a piglet, but what is your name?”
“I doesn’t has a name. I is just Piglet.”
The she-pig shrugged her shoulders and Piglet was shaken to the roots of his teeth.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
But it came to Piglet that she didn’t sound a bit sorry. He was about to say so, but something warned him and his mind’s eye saw Tigger with a paw to his lips.
“Where is your mummy, little pig?”
“Piglet doesn’t know.”
“Your daddy?”
“Piglet doesn’t know.”
“There appears to be a lot you don’t know, small and ignorant pig.”
Piglet rather resented being called ignorant, but didn’t see what he could profitably say so he kept his mouth shut.
She-pig gave him a sideways glance. “Nearly there,” she said and her voice was as cold as the sky they were flying through.
“Where is there?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Piglet felt her trotter tighten about his own small foot and he understood that she wasn’t going to let him go.
They were quickly losing altitude and before Piglet had time to formulate a thought about where they might be they landed in a clearing beside a cottage that seemed to be constructed of cake. The door flew open and a bent old woman leapt out.
“What have you brought me?”
“Bacon mother.”
The she-pig let go of Piglet and he started to run, only to be stopped by a bony hand. He turned his head and sunk his sharp little teeth into the thumb that was pressing into his arm.
The old woman screamed, and dropped his arm. Her scream of pain was just as piercing as Piglet’s scream of fear and he ran as fast as he could. He thought he had made good his escape, but the old beldame muttered a word of power and his feet could no longer move.
The moon came out from behind a cloud and his captor saw what she had got. She turned on the she-pig in fury.
“This isn’t bacon,” she accused, “this is wool and felt and stuffing and boot button eyes.”
She leapt towards the she-pig with her hands hooked like claws and they fell to the forest floor biting and scratching and squealing.
A soft voice behind Piglet bade him come away, and he felt himself being drawn gently back to the campfire where his chums snored.
He dropped back into his body and for a second he thought he felt loving arms surrounding him. A prickly snout brushed his forehead.
“Bacon? Not my piglet.”
Then the presence was gone and he tumbled into a dreamless sleep.

Jane Jago

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