We all thought Pigpen was harmless.

He was our local homeless man, an elderly gentleman who lived in a shack of rotted wood and corrugated aluminum panels at the border between our town and the forest.

He was called after the Charlie Brown character Pigpen for two reasons: one, he was always covered from head to toe in dirt, and two, he never spoke, so nobody knew what his actual name was.

The uninformed of the town thought the name was an insult, but Pigpen himself loved it. He knew he was filthy, and he looked with a mix of pity and amusement at people he deemed to be too clean.

The day that I discovered Pigpen was actually dangerous was the day I ran away from home. I was eight years old, and my parents and I had gotten into a fight over the proper timeline on which to do chores. I espoused the viewpoint that ‘never’ was the ideal time.

My parents disagreed, and, as too often happens, a minor issue escalated into a screaming match in which neither side was willing to give up any ground. And so, dreaming of a world in which I would never have to do laundry because I would just never change my clothes, I decided to run away.

The sun had already begun to set when I slid my window open, popped out the screen and hopped down onto the soft grass below. We lived in a small rent-house on a large country property, so there was no fence to worry about, and I was soon on the road.

I decided the logical first place to go was Pigpen’s shack—after all, he was the only person I knew who lived outside, so he was therefore the foremost expert on the matter that I knew.

It was full dark before I reached the shack, and I had to make the last half-mile of my journey by the light of the moon.

When I got to the shack, though, I was disappointed to find that Pigpen was nowhere to be seen.

Looking at the dark silhouette of the forest limned by the moonlight, my courage suddenly deserted me.

I was about to turn around and run back home when I heard the sound of a car driving over the leaves behind me. I turned around, shielding my eyes from the painful glare of the headlights.

The door opened, but the headlights and engine stayed on, so that when the driver stepped out I couldn’t see who it was.

“I thought you looked like you were headed this way,” said the man. His voice seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“Have you seen Pigpen?” I asked.

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “Pigpen goes into the forest at night. It’s just you and me now.”

Something about the way he said this last part made my flesh crawl up into goosebumps.

“Oh,” I said. “I guess if my parents are worried about me, I’d better go home.”

“Oh, yes,” said the man. “Get in. I’ll drive you.”

“I uh, no thanks,” I said, not sure why I was refusing. “I’m not supposed to get in cars with strangers.”

The man said nothing for a moment, he simply looked left and right.

“It’s a pity,” he said, “that children don’t respect their elders anymore.”

He took two quick steps towards me and seized my arm in a painfully tight grip. I was sure that if he held it any tighter, the bone would break.

I tried to jerk free, and I felt a hand collide with my face, leaving my ears ringing. My mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.

My feet skidded across the dirt as the man dragged me to his car. Just before he tossed me inside I felt his grip on my arm relax.

I heard him say “What the fu—” and then I heard nothing at all.

After a few seconds of cowering on the ground, I opened my eyes to see a huge bearlike creature standing over me. Its eyes were the size of milk saucers and the color of clear blue sky, luminescent in the darkness. It had a huge round belly, and it was covered head to toe in coarse brown fur. It had a snout like a panda and on either side of its mouth was a large circle of white fur.

“Hello, Johnny,” it said. Only it couldn’t have actually said that because it’s mouth didn’t move.

“H-hello?” I said. “How do you know my name?”

The creature cocked its head to the side and scratched behind one of its short, round ears.

“We’ve met before,” it said. “It’s me, Pigpen.”

Again, the creature’s mouth did not move when it spoke, but I hardly noticed.

“You’re Pigpen?” I asked in disbelief.

“Sure am,” it said. “Hold on.”

There was a pop, and a cloud of white smoke obscured the creature. When it dissipated, Pigpen was standing before me, his wide grin showing all three of his teeth.

“Whoa,” I said. “How did you do that?”

“Oh, it’s easy for me,” he said, mouth unmoving. “As easy as doing laundry.”

“Oh. Hey Pigpen?”

“Yes?”

“How come your mouth doesn’t move when you talk?”

Pigpen smiled.

“Mouths were made for eating,” he said. “Talking is just extra. And to be frank, I’ve never gotten the hang of flapping my tongue around to make noises. I’d much rather just use my mouth to eat. Now, you’d better hurry home, but come and visit me again sometime.”

“Oh-okay,” I said. I looked around. “Did you see what happened to the man who was here?”

“You mean your neighbor Gerard?” he said. “I wouldn’t worry about him.”

“Oh, alright.”

Not knowing what else to say, I simply turned around and ran home. My parents were so relieved when I got back home safe, they even forgot to be angry, and that suited me just fine.

It’s been many years since that day, and though I’ve long since grown up and moved away, I still make sure to visit Pigpen whenever I am in town. He’s never told me what happened to Gerard, but I’m pretty sure I know.

After all, mouths were made for eating.

LIS