I want to share my personal experience of the events that took place on my family’s property in the Spring of 2016. Let me start by telling you a little about myself. My name is Tanner, and at the time of the events, I was 20 years old (I am now 27). My family owned a significant amount of land in northern New Hampshire, including a hunting cabin nestled in a cluster of trees at the edge of a field in the southern part of the property. The property covers about 75 acres and is mostly made up of hardwood and birch forests, with several large fields scattered throughout the area.
The cabin is nestled in its own private space, with the nearest road being over 8 miles to the south, accessible only by a narrow dirt road that veers off from the main one. Unless you’re up for an 8-mile hike through thick forest, the dirt road is the only way to reach the cabin. Now, let’s dive into the events of that Spring.
Every year, my dad and I have a tradition of going on a turkey hunting trip to our family’s cabin in mid May. The area is prime for turkey hunting and we always have a great time. Our trip typically runs from Friday evening, when we arrive, until Monday morning. This gives us plenty of time for quality father-son bonding and two full days of hunting. We always leave home around 5:00 PM on Friday and arrive at the cabin around 6:45 PM. The cabin was not anything special, but it held much sentiment in my heart.
I’ll keep the details about the cabin brief - the cabin has a small porch, a single thin wood door that leads inside, a main area with a round table, a couch, a wood stove, and a cooking area with a counter and cabinets. There’s also a door leading to the back area, which is the bunk room. The only bathroom is an old outhouse about 15 yards into the trees behind the cabin. It’s not much, but we really cherished that place. Sadly, the events that transpired that weekend have forever tainted everything about that place.
As I was saying, we pulled up in my dad’s Ford Pickup around 6:45 PM on Friday evening. The sun was starting to dip below the trees, casting a warm glow over the cloudy sky. It was eerily quiet as we stepped out of the truck, and I could tell my dad noticed it too. There was a strange, foul smell in the air, like a mix of sour body odor and roadkill. It was unsettling, and we both had a feeling that something was watching us from the shadows of the trees. We didn’t speak about it, but I could tell we both had the same suspicion.
We retrieved our hunting equipment from the truck and ascended the porch steps, almost missing the gruesome sight at first. While my father was retrieving the cabin key from his jacket, he noticed three severed deer legs at the foot of the front door. They were still fresh, the exposed flesh appearing moist and bloody. “Oh my god, dad,” I exclaimed. “That’s some twisted hillbilly shit.” My father remained silent for a moment before simply attributing it to a trespasser playing a cruel joke. His genuine concern made me uneasy. We lingered on the porch, trying to make sense of the bizarre discovery, but came up with nothing. Eventually, my father decided to dispose of the legs in the woods for the coyotes to enjoy. After discarding the gruesome find, he unlocked the cabin door and we settled in for the night.
The rest of the evening was filled with unpacking, having dinner, arranging our sleeping areas, and chatting. As we lost track of time, 9:00 PM turned into 10:30 PM. We decided to call it a night since we had to wake up early for the morning hunt. The excitement for the first hunt was normally high, but the unexpected discovery upon our arrival had dampened my usual eagerness.
As the morning dawned, my father and I were filled with anticipation and a touch of apprehension as we prepared to venture into the woods. Our plan was to make our way to our respective hunting blinds, which had been constructed the previous spring. The blinds were situated about a quarter mile apart and approximately a mile into the forest from our cabin. Together, we entered the eastern section of the woods, knowing that we faced a somewhat challenging trek ahead, but I was excited to spend this time alongside my father.
As we trudged through the dense thicket, I recall my father making a lighthearted joke about avoiding anymore deer body parts along our path to the blinds. It didn’t sit well with me, as the unsettling discovery from the night before still lingered in my mind. Eventually, it was time for us to split up and head to our separate blinds. As I ventured on alone for several more minutes, my 20 gauge slung over my shoulder, I made a conscious effort to push aside any thoughts of the previous evening. All I wanted was to immerse myself in the hunting experience without any negative distractions.
At that moment, I came to a halt and felt a sense of unease. I could see the blind but something didn’t feel right. It was a feeling reminiscent of what I had experienced the previous night outside the cabin. The foul, putrid odor lingered in the air, accompanied by the sensation of being observed from the surrounding trees. To make matters worse, there was an eerie stillness, devoid of any bird songs or rustling leaves. I found myself holding my breath, clutching my shotgun as I cautiously approached the blind. As I drew nearer, the stench shifted to that of animal decay and death, a familiar scent to me. I cautiously opened the makeshift door of the blind, only to be met with a horrifying sight - the remains of the deer. It was a scene so grotesque and macabre that it left me speechless, to say the least.
The brutalized body of a doe was uncomfortably squeezed into my hunting blind, missing three legs, with the hide of her back ripped off, her face appearing as though it had been chewed on, and numerous lacerations across her body. Most shockingly, her fourth leg had also been snapped off like the others, but this one had been forcefully shoved down her throat.
I stood in the doorway of the blind for several moments, trying to figure out my next move. Should I take it out of the blind? Should I find a different spot to hunt? Maybe I should go get my father? I was completely clueless. Eventually, I decided to go get my father. I reached his blind in no time, almost running the entire way and stumbling over the forest undergrowth. I was in good shape then, but I admit I was out of breath when I got to my father’s blind.
I recounted to him the gruesome details of what I had discovered inside my hunting blind, and if we hadn’t already experienced some strange and unsettling things, he probably wouldn’t have believed me. However, he did believe me. The anticipation of showing him was almost unbearable as we both returned to the horrifying scene which took several minutes. So you can imagine how horrified I was when we arrived and the FUCKING DEER WAS GONE. All that was left was the faint smell of decay and some rough drag marks on the ground leading from the blind’s entrance, strangely enough, in the direction of the cabin.
Together, we decided to go back to the cabin in case the person who maimed the deer had in fact gone in that direction. Both my father and I sensed that something was amiss. With our shotguns in hand, we walked back through the forest towards the cabin. “Look over there,” my father pointed out. I followed his gaze and realized that we had unintentionally stumbled upon the trail of the drag marks. A few minutes later, we arrived at the cabin, following the drag marks the rest of the way. At this point, we knew what we would discover - the dead deer was placed deliberately at the cabin’s front door. My father was growing angry, while I was becoming increasingly anxious and fearful. He passed me his shotgun and forcefully dragged the deer’s body towards the treeline, where he had previously discarded its severed legs the night before.
“Dad, can we please just go inside?” I muttered, “I don’t feel like spending time in the woods anymore.” He nodded in agreement and we spent the remainder of the day indoors. It felt like a never-ending afternoon, with nothing but Heinikens, card games, and conversation to pass the time. Despite it being a long day, it was still nice to simply hang out with my father, whether we were hunting or not. It was definitely a more preferable option than being out in the woods with whoever butchered that deer and left its body parts around the cabin and woods.
As the sun began to set on that Saturday evening, my father had just started to prepare dinner on the wood stove when a strange sound interrupted our peace. It was a low, eerie squeal accompanied by what seemed like laughter coming from the darkness outside. It was as though a gigantic pig was mocking us from a distance. My father and I quickly moved to one of the cabin’s front windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of the source of the unsettling sounds. And there, in the dimming light beyond the open field on the darkening treeline, we saw him - a colossal figure with the head of a pig. He looked easily over 300 pounds, probably 7 feet tall, and his body was an unsettling blend of man and animal. He had the head of a pig, complete with tusks, and the body of a hairless, bipedal creature with massive legs and hooves, but had a human’s hands. It was a sight unlike anything I had ever seen. I could go on and on about how uncanny he looked.
Frantically, I reached for my backpack to grab my binoculars and get a closer look at him. When I finally had him in my sight, I noticed that he had very human-like eyes, sending a shiver down my spine. As he coldly stared back at me, I could feel his ability to sense my unease and growing fear. As I continued to observe him through the binoculars, a wide grin spread across his face, revealing all of his teeth in a way that made me feel his wicked and vile intentions. I had to look away. Passing the binoculars to my father, he reacted with the same disbelief and horror as myself. My father watched the Pigman bend down to retrieve the torn deer hide from the forest floor and drape it over his massive shoulders. “Sick fucking thing” my dad whispered as he continued to peer through the binoculars. The Pigman then slowly backed away into the forest, disappearing from sight.
Seizing the opportunity, we quickly packed our belongings, grabbed our shotguns, and rushed toward the truck, all while keeping a vigilant eye on the dark treeline. “What an absolute joke!” my father shouted in frustration as he discovered that all four tires of the truck had been slashed in multiple places. “How did we miss this?” I gasped, fear creeping into my voice. “I don’t know,” my dad replied urgently. “Let’s just get back inside the cabin.” We hastily retreated back inside, locking the door behind us. I quickly made sure all the windows were shut and secured. As my father laid out the plan, I could sense his mounting stress levels. Unfortunately, we had no choice but to spend the night in the cabin. The sun had pretty much set and the 8 mile hike to the main road was no longer an option. He suggested that we take out our LED lanterns, since the cabin had no electricity, and place them around the main area for light. He proposed that we stay up all night, armed with our shotguns, and sit at the table in case the Pigman decided to visit us during the night.
I glanced at my watch and saw that it was 10:01 PM. It had been a few hours since we had seen the Pigman, and the quietness around us provided some relief. As the time neared 11:45 PM and we still hadn’t heard or seen anything, I decided to crack open a window to listen for any signs of activity outside. However, all I could hear was a faint breeze and smell that familiar unpleasant odor. The Pigman was lurking nearby at that point but we were clueless to that fact at the time. I closed the window and returned to the table, where we waited in the glow of the lanterns. I eventually dozed off at the table, but my father remained vigilant, ready to react to any noise.
“Tanner, Tanner get up” I was roused from my slumber by my father shaking me awake. With a groan, I glanced at my watch - 2:00 AM. My father moved to the window and silently gestured for me to join him. I moved to where he was crouched and as I peered outside, I saw that he had lit up the front portion of the field with two of the LED lanterns placed in the front windows. I scanned the area, but couldn’t spot anything. My father adjusted my position, then I finally saw what he had awakened me to see. The Pigman was standing just at the edge of the lantern light, his face hidden in darkness, with only his eyes glowing in the dark. We stared back at him for a solid minute, not daring to look away. Then, just like before, he backed away and disappeared into the blackness.
For the next 25 minutes, the Pigman stayed nearby, making a variety of low grunts, squeals, and chuckles as he circled the cabin. My father and I held onto our shotguns, anticipating the Pigman’s potential breakthrough at any moment. However, the expected crash never occurred. The noises gradually faded away, leaving behind a lingering stench in the air.
My father and I were unsure of what to do next. We needed to wait at least another 3 hours before daybreak. We would not attempt the hike to the main road until we could see without the use of lanterns. So we waited in silence, our ears tuned to detect the faintest of sounds. A sudden crash of breaking glass coming from the bunk room broke the silence. My father instantly jumped up from the table and responded to the sound. I was not far behind him. We charged into the bunk room with our shotguns and located the broken window. A rock the size of a softball lay on the floor. The Pigman’s low chuckles reverberated from just outside the window, somewhere in the dark. My father rushed to the window, stuck the barrel of his shotgun outside, and fired a thunderous shot. We heard the Pigman laugh even louder. We still could not see him. I heard him run around the cabin’s right side towards the front door. “Dad! It’s heading for the front door!” I screamed. Before we could even make it to the bunk room door, we heard the Pigman smash the front door to splinters. He was inside.
Thankfully, the bunk room door had a lock on it. We took a few steps back, pointing our shotguns directly at the locked door. The Pigman was walking around the main area of the cabin, his hooves creating eerie knocks on the wooden floor. Then a whirlwind of destruction ensued, accompanied by ear piercing, high-pitched squeals that sent shivers down my spine. Although I wanted to cover my ears, I didn’t dare drop my gun. We could hear the Pigman causing chaos, with loud crashes, the sound of things breaking, and what seemed like the table being hurled across the room, all accompanied by his gleeful squeals. Suddenly, he stopped and approached the bunk room door. We both saw his large shadow beneath the door frame. “The moment he breaks the door down, you shoot,” my father whispered.
The Pigman muttered something to himself behind the door and then retreated. He continued to pace around the main area for a few more minutes. We stayed where we were, holding our aim at the door. The cabin fell silent once again, and after what seemed like an endless wait, my father finally approached the door. I watched as he unlocked and opened it, still holding his shotgun. With his weapon pointed ahead, he stepped out into the main area. I waited for him to call for me before following. Unsurprisingly, the cabin was in disarray, as if a tornado had ripped through it. The table was in the far corner, chairs scattered, windows shattered, cabinets torn from the walls, and everything else strewn across the floor.
While my father rearranged the table and chairs, I kept my shotgun pointed at the broken doorway. Once everything was back in place, we sat down at the table again. Glancing at my watch, I saw it was 3:15 AM and asked my father how much longer until we could leave. He replied with tired eyes, saying it would be another hour and a half. So, we sat and waited. By 5:00 AM, we were exhausted and the thought of the 8 mile hike down the rugged dirt road seemed daunting, but it was our only choice. We packed our things and stepped out onto the front porch, greeted by the chilly morning air and the rising sun casting a soft light over the trees. Suddenly, a loud, eerie squeal echoed across the field, reminding us that the Pigman was still out there somewhere in the forest. However, with the morning approaching, we knew he wouldn’t come for us.
My father and I sat on the porch, basking in the sun as it rose higher in the sky. “You doing okay, son?” my father asked, a look of concern on his face. “I’m fine, just ready to get home and hug mom,” I replied. He gave me a small smile and placed his hand on my shoulder before standing up. “Ready to go?” he asked. I nodded and stood up, and together we crossed the field to the start of the dirt road. After a long trek, we finally reached the main road and managed to hitch a ride with a kind stranger. He even let us use his phone to call my mother before dropping us off at the nearest gas station. We waited there for over an hour until my mother arrived to pick us up.
No one in our family has ever returned to the property after hearing about our experiences over those two days. We even left my father’s truck there to rot. Nothing would get us to go back there. My father sold the land in late 2019. We have no idea what the new owner did with it. I still think about what would have happened if the Pigman had broken down the bunk room door. Would our shotguns have been enough to protect us? Or would he have killed us? Would he have defiled our corpses like that deer?. I guess it doesn’t matter now. It’s taken me many years to tell my story, but it needed to be told. And to anyone hunting in the forests of New Hampshire, especially up north, please be careful. And keep an eye on the treeline. He could be there, watching.