The year is 1979 and out on Highway J in southern Lincoln County sits a little pig farm. Here on the pig farm, in a small house live a farmer named Frank, his wife, Betty and their daughter. Their daughter met a young man from Troy named Benjamin. It wasn’t long before the two were madly in love, and not much longer still before they were married. Tragically only a year after they had said their vows the young woman was killed in a head-on collision not far from her childhood home on Highway J.
Frank was devastated at the loss of his only child. It was as if when she went she took his will to live. He fell into a deep depression and let everything around him slip past, ignored. Now, Betty could take a lot of things, but being ignored was not one of them. She might let Frank slide on the farm, but she was an entirely different matter than a few pigs.
When Betty couldn’t bring her husband around she began to look elsewhere for attention, and of all places she got it from her daughter’s widower, Benjamin! As the time passed Betty and Benjamin became more and more involved with each other. And Frank either didn’t notice or didn’t care, he just continued to be more lost to the world every day.
How Betty wanted to get away from Frank, but she knew that she could not, he had all the money and she had nothing. So she and her lover came up with a plan. She would convince Frank that she was truly worried about him and that maybe getting away from home might do him some good and get his mind off his beloved daughter. Now it was Benjamin’s turn. Benjamin told Frank that they were going to go to Las Vegas and do some gambling, and somehow he even managed to trick the distraught man into thinking that he would need to withdraw his entire savings from the bank to take with them. And then he sent Frank on his way to the bank.
When Frank came home there in his living room sat his wife and his son-in-law. Benjamin had a shotgun in his lap pointed at Frank. Betty came over and snatched the briefcase he held away from her husband knowing that it contained their entire life savings. Her lover came behind her as they led poor old Frank out to the barn where they had laid sheet plastic over everything they could reach. Frank was standing on the plastic, a look of confusion on his face when the gun fired and he drew his last breath.
After they killed Frank they spent the next week grinding him up and feeding him to the pigs. When two weeks had passed after his death they called the police and reported him missing, stating that he had never returned from Las Vegas.
Everything was looking good for the two as the police bought every word they said. That was for about the first year, but soon Betty began to tire of Benjamin too. Benjamin felt guilty about what they had done to Frank. He began to become agitated and say that he could not live in the farmhouse any longer, Frank’s ghost was haunting the place and driving him mad. She was able to tolerate his crying for another year before deciding that she’d had enough, it was time for Benjamin to join Frank. Benjamin saw what was coming as she began to take him to the barn one day. Somehow he was able to wrestle the shotgun from her hands and turn it back on her.
When the police arrived Benjamin was beside himself. He told the whole tale to the detectives, the entire time Frank’s ghost stood to the side watching him. They arrested Benjamin and a short while later he was sent to an institute for the criminally insane, where he spent the remainder of his life.
Maybe with Benjamin’s passing Frank’s soul was able to rest, but then again maybe the restless spirit of a lonely heartbroken pig farmer still walks the grounds of that little farm. Believe it or not the choice is yours, some legends are real and some are just that, legends.
“To me belongeth vengeance, and recompence; Their foot shall slide in due time: For the day of their calamity is at hand, And the things that shall come upon them make haste.”
If you know a story that you think I might be interested in give me a call (636) 233-6878, ask for Norm. For more works by Norman McFadden visit polstonhouse.com.