Ralph's chest heaved as he sighed like the weight of the world was upon his shoulders. At only twenty three years old, he was stuck with a boring life. He had a boring life, a boring job, a boring wife, a boring little house in a boring little town half a kilometre from Kidsgrove. His boring wife had become pregnant with a son, who turned out to be as boring as everything else in Ralph's life.

Daddy!"

Ralph bent over, lifting his son.

Yeah?"

"I drew you a picture!"

A smile threatened to appear on Ralph's face. The one thing different about his son was that he enjoyed drawing, the talent he had in the way that the colours of his crayons on a piece of paper blended into a picture of the sunset or the neighbour's dog at only four was truly the only that he found to be interesting in his life./span/p

What'd you draw Pigs?"

"I'll go get it!"

The small boy wiggled out of his father's arms, dashing off to his room as Ralph sat on his armchair, rubbing his hand over his face. He had specifically named his son to avoid thinking of his time on the island, but the small lad had always insisted on being called "Pigs" since he was able to speak.

Ralph absolutely detested it, just as he detested anything that reminded him of that wretched island that he had nearly lost his life on. Every night, it invaded his dreams, and he awoke in a cold sweat, unable to breathe, vision overtaken by memories of how the island looked. How it had been a beautiful paradise, untouched by man, teeming with green plants and fat pigs, happily living their lives.

And then everything had gone wrong. Simon was murdered, then Piggy was murdered, then it was nearly him.

Ralph's head hit the back of his armchair as he closed his eyes, chest heaving in a sigh once more. The sound of tiny feet pattering towards his direction made him lift his head, and Pigs scrambled into his lap, handing his father the picture he'd spent all day drawing, a proud grin etched onto the four year old's face. However, Ralph's blood ran cold as he stared at the picture.

"Pigs. Why did you draw this?"

"Because the fat man told me to."

"The fat man."

"Yeah. He said he knew you. Really big fellow, he had glasses and a big scar on the side of his head and he breathed real heavy. Went out my window when I finished. He's a strange man, he didn't even open the window. Isn't that strange Daddy? Daddy?"

Ralph lifted the paper up closer. It was an island on fire, but more specifically, it was the very island he hated with a passion on fire.

"Daddy, what's wrong?"

"Pigs, be quiet."

"But why?"

"Listen to me, if you ever see that man again, you find your mother and you stay with her, you ignore him."

"But why?"

A familiar voice sounded from the other side of the room.

"Because I've been dead for ten years. How are you Ralph?"

Ralph turned his head, took one look at Piggy, and went mad. He set his son down, stormed out the door, and wasn't seen for five more years. By that time, there'd been a chain murder of men, all with one thing in common.

During World War II, they'd been trapped on an island for several months. The primary suspect, Jack Merridew, had just been found brutally murdered in the home of his mistress, and Ralph was seen wandering down the street, cackling to himself and covered head to toe in blood. It was all the police needed to take him in.

He may have stayed sane ten years ago, but that only lasted for so long. Eventually, the Beast inside of him took over. Just with a little delayed start.