Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Uncovering the Dark Secrets of Stinson Beach and the Haunting Pigman Tape PART5 #77

Episode Date: October 7, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #stinsonbeach #pigmantape #darklegends #hauntingencounters #truehorrorstories  “Uncovering the Dark Secrets of Stinson Beach and the Haunting Pigman Tape PART 5” dives even deeper into the terrifying mysteries of Stinson Beach. With the Pigman Tape continuing to unsettle and frighten, this part uncovers chilling encounters, eerie phenomena, and hidden truths that were never meant to be revealed. The darkness intensifies, leaving a lingering sense of dread that proves some secrets are best left untouched.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, stinsonbeach, pigmantape, darksecrets, hauntedstories, creepyencounters, paranormalfear, chillingtales, mysteriouslegends, nightmarefuel, truehorrorstories, unsettlingstories, hauntedplaces, terrifyingmoments, urbanlegends

I swore to myself, as a kid, that I would never, under any circumstance, go near any playground ever again. At the time, that promise felt like the only thing keeping me safe, like if I avoided swings and monkey bars, I could somehow dodge the nightmare that had been haunting me. Years rolled by. Slowly, almost without me noticing, the nightmares started showing up less and less until they finally stopped. The pigmen, that awful, grinning, snorting thing for my

dreams, ended up shoved into the deepest corner of my mind. That's where he stayed for years, just gathering dust, until a few months ago. It happened on a boring Saturday. I was cleaning out my closet, looking for a bunch of old VHS tapes to donate to the local Goodwill. My plan was to make some space, maybe get rid of things I didn't even remember owning. I honestly thought my mom had thrown that tape away years ago. But apparently, it had been sitting there the whole time, hidden behind old jackets and a busted shoebox full of cassette tapes. At first, I didn't even think much of it. I barely remembered the tape. All I knew, or thought I knew, was that it had scared the living hell out of me as a kid. No plot, no characters, nothing came to

mind. Just fear. That was enough for me to toss it into the cardboard box marked, donation, and shove it back into the closet until I could drive it over to Goodwill the next day. The next morning, I woke up to music playing from the living room. It wasn't just any music, it was a song I knew. I couldn't place where I'd heard it, but something about it dug at the back of my mind like a fingernail on wood. I walked out to the living room and there was my son, Grady, sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, fully entranced. What are you up to, buddy?

I asked. That's when my eyes drifted to the screen, and my stomach dropped. The words where children play were plastered across the screen in big, cheerful, colorful, colorful letters, purple, teal, yellow, and pink. The colors didn't feel cheerful to me. They felt, wrong. And then I saw him. Mr. Piggyton.

Every memory came flooding back at once. The warped smile. The costume. The way his voice. sounded like it was smiling even when you couldn't see his face clearly. I remembered exactly how terrified I'd been of him. I told Grady to go make himself a bowl of cereal before school. He didn't argue.

As soon as he was in the kitchen, I sat down in front of the TV and pressed play again. It all came back to me, not just the general memory, but every single detail. The pacing of the scenes, the way the camera moved, the strange cuts that didn't seem to belong in a kid's video. Even the old nightmares I used to have came creeping back, frame by frame, like the tape had been burned into my brain years ago and was just waiting for me to hit, play. After I dropped Grady off at school, I kept watching. The last time I had seen the tape, it had ended with Mr. Piggyton standing in front of a mirror. His pig mask was splattered in blood. He stared at himself, tilting his head slowly, then turned and walked out of the room,

the camera following him. The next shots were inside a house. In the living room, a woman lay on the carpet, face down, with deep stab wounds in her back. She wasn't moving. She wasn't breathing. In the kitchen, there was a man, or what was left of one. His head was lying a few feet from his body, twisted in an unnatural position, mouth open. His torso and limbs were covered in stab wounds from neck to ankle. I realized, with a cold shock, that it was the same angry father character from earlier in the tape. Mr. Piggyton set the camera down, leaned over the headless body, and began stabbing again. Over and over, his knife plunging down, his voice screaming, more. His tone wasn't just angry, it was desperate, like stabbing was some kind of drug he

couldn't get enough of. When he finally stopped, he let the knife clatter to the floor, picked up the camera and hummed that same creepy little theme song as he walked toward the front door. The scene cut to him dancing alone in the middle of an empty street. Behind him, three ambulances sat parked, their lights off. This went on for over an hour, just him, twirling and stomping in silence, even after the ambulances drove away. The only sound was the faint, mechanical hum of the camera. Streetlights flickered above him, casting strange shadows across the pigments.

mask. When it was over, I ejected the tape, shoved it deep into my bedroom closet, and promised myself Grady would never see it again. That night, I went online to try to figure out what the hell I just watched. I searched where children play. Nothing. No record of it existing. I tried Mr. Piggyton. It took a while, but I finally stumbled on to an old Reddit post from a few months earlier. The username was Casey Brandon 09. There were no replies, just this chilling message. I'm not sure if anyone will believe me, and honestly I don't care if you do. If you've ever heard of someone called Mr. Piggyton, then you'll know I'm telling the truth. I first saw him when I was six. My mom used to take me and my brother to the playground in our town.

One day, he appeared, walking out of the woods by the park. He was dressed in a pig costume with overalls. At first, he seemed funny, maybe even nice. But he isn't. He's a nightmare you can't wake up from. Some kids can't sleep because of him. Others, are just gone. Missing.

I had nightmares about him until I was ten. They stopped for a while, but now they're back. If your kid ever mentions him, even just his name, take it seriously. He might seem imaginary, but he's real. And he's taking kids all over the world. Please, help me stop him. I replied to Casey's post, but never heard back. Months passed.

I tried to forget the tape, forget the Reddit post, forget everything about Mr. Piggyton. Then, one night, I heard Grady talking in his room. At first, I thought he was just mumbling in his sleep. But when I peaked in, he was sitting up, facing the corner. Who are you talking to, buddy? I asked. Nobody, he said quickly.

Is it Neil? I pressed. Neil had been his imaginary friend since he was three. I figured he was just going through another phase. Grady shook his head. He doesn't want me to call him that anymore. I followed his gaze to the closet door. He was smiling at it, a big, wide smile that made my skin crawl.

What's his real name? I asked. Grady's smile widened even more. He glanced at the space just behind my shoulder. What's his real name, Grady? His voice was quiet, almost reverent. Mr. Piggyton, the thing is, my connection to strange, unsettling footage goes back a lot further than I realized.

I grew up as an only child in a tech-heavy household. My dad was a broadcast engineer for KTTI in St. Paul. My mom was a computer programmer for a company that built dental record-keeping software. I took after my mom, became a programmer myself. We were close. My first job out of school was with a big aerospace firm in Maryland. That meant packing up my life and moving halfway across the country. Being a bit of a pack rat, I brought about ten boxes of old stuff.

My parents helped me drive the 16 hours to Clarksville, but couldn't stay long because of my mom's work schedule. As I unpacked that first night, I found all kinds of long-forgotten treasures, my high school planner, a notebook full of bad doodles, toys I'd loved and forgotten. At the bottom of one box, I found an old VHS tape. The label had scribbles like Michael playing, July 1994 and Michael's fourth birthday, October 1994. It had to be one of my dad's old home videos. He'd been obsessed with filming everything. I'd probably seen some of these tapes before, but with dozens of them floating around, I knew there were a few I'd missed. I didn't have a VCR anymore, so that weekend I went to a flea market to find one. Scored a brand new one for 10 bucks, some forgotten stock from a shipping container, according to the guy selling them.

I plugged it into my old TV and popped in the tape. Static, then the faint warping lines of an old recording. It was me, in my childhood bedroom, playing with a white teddy bear. I remembered that bear, when you squeezed it, it played a little tune and its plastic heart lit up in rainbow colors. My mom sat beside me. My dad was behind the camera. She kept offering me other toys, Mickey Mouse, Teddy Ruxpin, but I refused them all. I only wanted the bear.

Do you want to keep playing with him instead, she asked. I nodded, grinning, hugged the bear. The tune played. The heart glowed. And then, to be continued.