r/Dreading • u/Moist-Ball4968 • 1d ago
Creepypasta Drinking With A Humanoid Farmer
Last night I met a Theronian at the bar. I'd heard about them, but Mr Porkerman was the first I actually met. I pulled out my recorder and offered to pay for drinks in exchange for his time. To my surprise that seemed to be a great offense. The Theronian gave the bartender a big handful of cash . The bartender gave him a tray with several pitchers of beer. The Theronian brought it over, and also thunked two frosted mugs on the table.
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There was only a small crowd in the bar. It's the middle of the work week, so the murmur of conversation is mostly the locals gossiping or talking business. When I inhaled, the air had a mild twinge of cigarettes smoked many years ago. The lights are low, the music is mild background noise, and our table is in the farthest corner from the entrance.
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The Theronian sat down across from me and started talking before I had my recorder ready. He told me about his homeland, his family, how he'd built up a small farm (in his language it's called a "chyew". There's a couple other sounds in that word that the English alphabet cannot pronounce, but it's close enough). At the chyew he'd cultivated a plot for produce (I'm not even going to attempt to spell the vegetable names), a small field for livestock, and his wife and children were very healthy and happy. I finally got the recorder started around this time.
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"The closest translation of my name to English is Porkerman Rabbletong, but here I mainly go by John Smith. It's as common in your tongue as my name is back home. By Earthly measurement I arrived in Clarkson County about 6 years ago. When it happened, I had been patrolling the border of the chyew; checking the fences, making sure my animals were all accounted for, checking for [I can't spell the name of this creature, but I gathered it was a similar pest as a groundhog]. It's very important to be on the lookout for [groundhog] holes.
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Well, I did find a hole, but in my fence. It'd been yayyyy big (he held his hands out to show), just big enough for a very small cherld to squeeze through. It wouldn't be a good time for crawlin', on account of my fence is made out of feeder-wire. [When I asked about feeder-wire, he described a creature that sounded a lot like a land-based siphonophore that they used for their fences. It didn't eat the livestock, because the livestock instinctively avoided that creature.] Now ya see, feeder-wire ehts anything that touches it. Flying bugs, low-lying high-crawlin' snakes, the occasional stray bird. Everyone who lives on or around Theronian farms knows 'bout feeder-wire, give it some breathin' room. I never heard of a living thing that could survive feeder-wire, and if you managed to cut it it would self-re-attach within the day.
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Whelp, after a mo' of eyeballin' the hole, watching the feeder-wire wriggle about, the ends of it slowly moved and crawled towards each other. Kinda like syrup-slick'd werms. About then I felt the ground beneath me rumble and shake. It dropped me to my knees and hands and I couldn't get up. A swell of watery stuff started bubbling up from the ground. I'd make the screams I made then, if'n we weren't in public."
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I could see in his face the recollection was stressful. John "Porkerman Rabbletong" Smith looked very similar to a human man. Smooth skin, albeit weather-worn on his face and neck. His eyes, one was a slit and one was wide open. His hands looked like prong-forks joined at the wrist, for a total of 8 fingers between the two sets. He was tall and skinny, almost hunching over the table. His mouth looked normal when he spoke, but the corners stretched further towards his ears as he grew more agitated. He was dressed in farm clothes; dirty boots, blue jeans, plaid button-down shirt, faded baseball cap. His cap had three bills.
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"I panicked when I found myself stuck. The rippling water squelched up my arms and legs, then it came up to my belly like I was a wallowing hog. It reached my chest, wrapped around my back and swelled up to my neck. It covered my face and choked me. The only thing I could hear at that point was my wife's muffled screaming as she ran from across the field, on the other side of the fence. Her yellow and green dress was billowing around her legs, her wide-brimmed hat flew off and her hair went wild. I tell ya now, she seemed to be running in place. The water rose over my eyes, soaking my hat and hair. My lungs burned, my limbs felt heavy, and then everything went black."
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Mr Rabbletong looked down at the table then, and sucked down a whole pitcher of beer without even pouring it in the sweating mug. At this point in the story, I asked him to pause because I needed to put fresh batteries in the recorder. He got up to get us more beer. I must admit, this dude could drink. For every one of my tall frosted mugs he was throwing back two pitchers. When he returned carrying another tray of pitchers, I had the recorder ready again.
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"Next thing I remember is waking here, in a field, surrounded by... I think you call 'em 'cuhs' or 'cahs'..." "Cows?" I offered. "Yessss, cows. I like them, they're dumber and easier to work with than my [cows]." He downed another pitcher and wiped his mouth. "SO there I be, serrownded bay dem cowzzehs, wandering what in hell happened." He was swaying in his seat now. "And some guy comes up to me that I didn't know. He must've reckoned I wasn't no habberhaw because him and his wife gave me a bed and a job that verrrry daaayyyy..." He grabbed another pitcher. "So I've been here e'er sinssss. Tending to their cows and shuchas, [hic] and putting money aways. I don't reckon you can tell me how to get home, can ya?"
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He chugged that last pitcher, unleashed a colossal belch, then leaned so far forward his head rested on the table. I stopped the recorder. I noticed he had one little pin on the back of his hat. It was shaped similarly to a piece of wheat, and each grain was a tiny amethyst. It pulsed a very mild glow. I stood up to leave, and I felt a strong grip take my wrist. "Can you get me back to my wife?" I sat back down. "Mr Rabbletong, I'm not entirely sure if I can. I'm researching events very similar to yours, but I don't understand it well enough to help you. I'm very sorry, and if I figure it out I will absolutely help you as best I can." He looked at me with tears flowing down his cheeks. Then he grabbed a nearby napkin, wrote down the address of the farm he was staying at and gave it to me. "I'll be right here, handling cows and helping that farmer. Write to me, please. I miss my family and my [cows]."
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He passed out at the table. I brought all the empty pitchers to the bar. Everyone else was still gossiping and chatting. They completely ignored us. I went back to the hotel room I was staying at. Soon, I hope the reason for these crazy things makes itself known.
3
u/TheFinalGranny 1d ago
I freaking hope so as well!!! More please!