I love a good urban legend. Whether it’s the Bunny Man, the Sultan Murder House, the Green Man, or any number of other unsettling mysteries, I will charge headlong into that rabbit hole and go spelunking for answers. So, naturally, when I heard about Pigman, I was aboard that train. However, this time, the rabbit hole was deeper, darker, and full of more twists than I expected.
Who is Pigman?
It depends on who you ask. Let’s start with the legend. Though descriptions vary, Pigman is a monstrous figure, often depicted with a grotesque pig-like appearance. In some versions, he is said to have a pig’s head, while in others, the pig’s face is a mask or the result of a deformity. Either way, Pigman is a chilling presence—lurking in the shadows of dark, isolated places like lovers’ lanes, abandoned bridges, and desolate roads. A brooding, murderous figure, he is notorious for his violent tendencies, often preying on unsuspecting travelers or trespassers. His actions are brutal, with accounts of him maiming, mutilating, or even decapitating his victims, sometimes replacing their heads with those of pigs. His behavior mirrors that of other classic boogeymen in folklore—territorial, violent, and driven by his hatred of strangers and teenage make-out sessions.
Confounding the issue, there are numerous variations, each claiming to be the true Pigman origin story. In Northfield, Vermont, Pigman is connected to a location known as Devil’s Washboard. Here, He is said to wear a rotting pig’s head, terrorizing anyone who dares to approach. In Texas, particularly near Bonny Brae Bridge, the tale splits into two variations: one version speaks of a hunter who was transformed into a half-man, half-pig (werepig?) after an attack by a wild boar; another recounts the story of a man whose face was mutilated by a motorcycle gang, leaving him a monster who hides in the woods.
Pigman’s Bridge of Hawkinsville, Georgia, also has multiple versions. In one, Pigman is a murderous recluse who stakes pig heads near the bridge as warnings to trespassers. When a group of brazen teenagers ignores these grim totems, Pigman stakes their heads in vengeance. In another, more spectral account, he is described as the vengeful ghost of a “circus hog trainer,” whose life ended tragically when he was killed—some say devoured—by his own swine. Unfortunately for the legend, there is no historical record of a train wreck near Hawkinsville in 1888 or any other time.
The small village of Angola, New York, is steeped in local lore, much of which ties back to the tragedy known as the Angola Horror. In December 1867, a Buffalo-bound train derailed just outside the village, causing one of the deadliest train wrecks in U.S. history. Nearly 50 people perished in a fiery disaster when the passenger cars plunged into a gorge, and the event left a lasting scar on the community. Decades later, the Angola Horror remains a grim touchstone for the region’s history—and the perfect backdrop for the chilling legend of the Angola Pigman.
The Angola Pigman is said to haunt the secluded stretch of Holland Road, also known ominously as “Pigman’s Road.” According to legend, a butcher in the area once slaughtered pigs and displayed their severed heads on stakes, an act that became more sinister when he turned to targeting humans. Other versions tell of a disfigured recluse or the spirit of a man who died in the Angola train disaster. Visitors to Holland Road report eerie phenomena, from shadowy figures to the unsettling feeling of being watched. The Pigman’s connection to animal mutilation and the Angola Horror imbues the tale with layers of dread, making it one of Western New York’s most enduring urban legends.
The uncanny similarities between the Angola and Hawkinsville Pigman legends immediately piqued my curiosity. Both featured a shadowy figure associated with rural bridges, gruesome beheadings, and a sinister use of severed heads to mark territory. Each tale also wove in the macabre imagery of pigs—either as tools of vengeance or as totems of the Pigman’s violent tendencies. The spectral associations with tragic train wrecks, too, bound the two stories together, suggesting a shared origin or a cultural thread that wove these chilling elements into localized lore. These parallels convinced me I was closing in on the epicenter of the myth, with Angola’s layered history and vivid accounts pointing toward a deeper truth behind the Pigman’s enduring infamy.
So, which is the real Pigman? The truth was obscured by layers of intrigue and misdirection. I was leaning toward Hawkinsville, Georgia, especially after discovering the story of the Con T. Kennedy traveling circus train wreck in 1915. The tragedy involved the deaths of circus performers and animals—perhaps even pigs—evoking eerie similarities to the ghostly hog trainer of the Hawkinsville myth. Yet, the date discrepancy proved troubling; 1915 is decades removed from the 1888 date often cited in Hawkinsville lore. Also, the wreck occurred in Columbus, Georgia, more than 100 miles away. Still, show me an urban legend that doesn’t blur the dates and locations. I was pretty sure that I’d found the origin of the myth. That was until I found an online PDF by an Angola historian, M.C. Hageman. It changed everything.
The author, or “compiler” as they identify, focuses on the Derricks family, who, by misfortune, design, or curse, seem to be at the center of every Angola tragedy. It begins with Elisha Derricks, who in 1855 built his home on Holland Road, near the railroad tracks. He was married, had two children, and lived in relative poverty. Then, in 1867, things took a dark turn for the Derricks.
In December 1867, Loring and Henry Derricks, Elisha’s sons, were scavenging for coal along the railroad tracks near their home. Seeking materials to repair a fence, they removed two railroad ties from the tracks, a seemingly minor act with catastrophic consequences. At 3:11 p.m., a passing train hit the loosened section, causing the last two passenger cars to derail and plunge forty feet into a gorge. Inside, unsecured potbellied stoves tumbled through the cars, scattering burning coals, while kerosene lamps fed the ensuing blaze. The inferno claimed the lives of at least forty-nine passengers and injured countless others, marking what would become known as the Angola Horror.
As flames consumed the wreckage, residents of Angola rushed to assist but, according to some accounts, also worked to conceal the Derricks family’s role in the disaster. It was feared that blame would not stop with the Derricks but might bring ruin upon the entire town. Officially, the tragedy was attributed to a faulty “frog,” a device used to guide trains between different track gauges, avoiding the scrutiny that might have come with an alternative explanation. Despite the town’s efforts to move past the calamity, the shadow of the event lingered, and the Derricks family became infamous in local lore.
After Elisah Derricks’ death, his son Henry relocated to the village of Angola, while Loring stayed on Holland Road to renovate their family home. Around 1906, a mysterious fire destroyed several buildings, and suspicions again fell on the Derricks family. The pressure became too much for Henry, who left town permanently, leaving Loring behind to contend with their tarnished reputation.
In 1911, Loring found himself at the center of another calamity while volunteering at the town’s Independence Day fireworks display. A tragic accident resulted in a child’s arm being pierced by a rocket, and several others suffered severe burns. The $12,500 lawsuit further alienated Loring from the community, deepening his isolation.
Loring later married Betsy Crabtree, a woman ostracized because her parents were first cousins. On April 17, 1913, the couple had a son, William Derricks, who was born with frontonasal dysplasia, a severe facial deformity that left his nose split, eyes widely spaced, and lip cleft. The people of Angola whispered that William’s condition was a divine curse, a punishment for Loring’s misdeeds, casting an even darker shadow over the family’s already troubled legacy.
Loring and his family became increasingly reclusive, even as the town thrived. William received little to no education and had few friends. The one exception was a one-armed boxer who rescued him as a toddler from an oncoming train. This man eventually secured him an internship at a butcher shop and later introduced him to sideshow and circus promoters.
William spent much of the 1940s and 1950s touring with various circuses and sideshow acts, returning to Angola sometime in the late 50s. He married his first cousin, Mildred Crabtree, and together they had a son, William Jr. It is also rumored that they had twin daughters, though this is uncertain as there were no birth certificates. They all lived together in William’s ancestral home on Holland Road.
Sometime after, Ed Ball Sanitation opened near the Derricks House, serving as the town dump, and William became employed there. Throughout the sixties, residents spoke about the strange, hooded figure at the dump, who spoke in short, mangled sentences, directing them to where they were to pile their trash and how he was frequently seen rifling through those piles, even before the depositor had left.
In November of 1966, Mildred died and was buried illegally on the property. There are three graves on the site, the other two presumably belonging to Elisah and his wife, who built the house. It is unknown what exactly became of the twins, though rumor has it that they stayed with the Crabtree side of the family.
Things took a darker turn around 1969. The dump closed, leaving the area around Holland Road and neighboring Hardpan Road almost unvisited. This is about when the legend of the Pigman began to take form. As the area grew increasingly more isolated, it became an attractive spot for teenagers to throw parties or to park their cars for make-out sessions. William Derricks was not amused.
To preserve his privacy, he began posting dead animals along his driveway to deter trespassers. Reports of an angry man in a rusty Ford truck running kids off the road and chasing them away became common. Some, unfortunate enough to see his deformed face, were granted a deeper level of horror and Holland Road became known as Pigman Road.
In 1973, a utility worker, Harris Thompson, turned up missing, last seen visiting homes in the Route 5, Holland Road area, never to be seen again. During the search and investigation, authorities visited William Derricks’ house, finding him not home. A boy, presumed to be William Jr., was present, along with numerous animals. The investigators found the house to be filled with refuse, animal feces, and generally unfit for human habitation, subsequently contacting Child Protective Services.
However, before CPS could respond, on the night of October 31, 1973, the Derricks house mysteriously burned to the ground. While it was assumed that the Derricks perished in the fire, no human remains were ever found. As for Pigman, the matter is less clear. For years after the fire, small piles of neatly sorted trash could be found along Holland Road. In October 1978, fire claimed another nearby home while the occupants were on vacation. The owner returned to discover many of his possessions neatly sorted into small piles throughout the woods. Other witnesses report being chased out of the area by a rusty old Ford pickup, not unlike William Derricks’. Then, of course, there are the persistent sightings of the Pigman himself, bringing us nearly full circle.
So, there it was, I’d found my Pigman. Or did I?
It was a good story, but was it true? At the beginning of the account, M.C. Hageman claims that many of the names had been changed out of respect for the families. They went into great depth and detail regarding the history of Angola, providing a wealth of contextual information that would be easy to verify. The obvious place to start was the Angola Horror.
Something didn’t sit right in the author’s account. I am not a railroad historian, but it seems unlikely that two young boys would have the strength and gumption to pull a pair of railroad ties out of the ground. The effort is far too great for something as mundane as repairing a fence when something like a fallen tree or some other source would be more appropriate. Unless, of course, it was a malicious act, but even then, it would be difficult and time-consuming. Furthermore, that train wreck was one of the most extensively investigated accidents in railroad history, leading to numerous new safety regulations. Two missing ties would be extremely obvious. It’s beyond the pale that any investigators would miss it or that some ad hoc conspiracy council could pull off a coverup. I can safely say it did not happen. Strike one.
As for the other clues, I did find a story about a one-armed boxer rescuing a child around 1915. However, the boy was not deformed and did not apprentice as a butcher. He also moved to California and lived a life free of haunted roads and homicide. Though interestingly, there was a butcher who was murdered in Angola in 1931. Allegedly, the crime was committed by a local businessman named Antonio “Tony” Amico. Amico was trying to get in with the Mafia in Buffalo, which apparently required him to prove himself by murdering someone. Considering he had beef with the butcher, who was one of his tenants, it was a kill-two-birds-with-one-stone scenario. The story made national news, but Amico was never convicted. He lived out his days in Angola, becoming an unsettling local legend.
I found nothing about a nefarious, Derricks-like family living by the dump. Nothing about a missing meter reader, Harris Tompkins. Nor could I find any fireworks fiasco on the 4th of July, CPS reports of a feral William Jr., or Halloween house fires. Of course, these things could just be beyond my lens and hard to verify without actually going to Angola and getting gum on my shoe. It seemed that I was at another dead end.
Then, while digging another rabbit hole in the wrecked circus train story, I found the missing piece.
Meet Wiliam “Bill” Durks, AKA the “Man With Two Faces,” AKA “The Man With Three Eyes,” AKA… “The Pig Man”! Bill Durks was born April 17, 1913, and suffered from frontonasal dysplasia, EXACTLY as our Angola Pigman suspect, William “Bill” Derricks. Durks also joined the circus later in life, at age 40, and had a wife named Mildred, AKA the “Allegator Skinned Woman.” They toured together in various circuses in the 1940s and 50s. Durk’s deformities gave him the appearance of having two faces, a feature enhanced by painting a third eye on his forehead. He and Mildred earned notoriety in the sideshow circuit and were voted “World’s Weirdest Couple.”
Unfortunately, this led to some obvious problems. Bill Durks was born in Alabama and, to my knowledge, never lived in Angola, New York. If there was indeed a deformed sociopath lurking about Holland Road, it wasn’t Durks. This revelation, coupled with the adaptation of the murdered butcher lore, all but confirms that M.C. Hageman fabricated the whole Pigman origin story; a fabulous fabrication, but a lie nonetheless.
Arriving here, I was left to piece together the remaining clues and develop a hypothesis. Perhaps Durks was our Pigman all along. Did he haunt train bridges or stake the heads of hapless trespassers? Probably not, but consider this: Durks was a well-known performer in the 1940s and 50s who used the Pigman moniker in his profession. Could his memory have endured, possibly evolving with other cultural phenomena to become the bogeyman it is today?
Then, there is the persistent mention of trains in the Pigman tales. In his era, circuses commonly toured by train, traveling to cities as distant and diverse as the many variations of the legend. Maybe someone caught a glimpse of his unsettling visage in a passing train window or even encountered him on some moonlit train track. It’s not hard to imagine how such an encounter could be misunderstood and, in its telling, become the seed of the urban legend it is today.
Finally, I’ve mentioned the 1915 Con Kennedy’s Circus train wreck, but it was not the only ill-fated traveling circus. There was also the Hagenback-Wallace Circus train crash in 1918 that killed 86 performers and employees and injured more than 100, eclipsing the Angola horror as one of the worst train wrecks in history. So profound was this tragedy that it led the Showman’s League of America to purchase land for the mass graves of the unidentifiable circus performers. The plots have grown to over 750 today. It is known as Showman’s Rest.
These two horrific accidents, less than three years apart, left a painful scar on the circus industry and America that still resonates today. Despite Durks’s being too young to have been present, these events undoubtedly influenced the Pigman mythos.
But what about the William Derricks story? I’ve debunked enough of it to doubt Hageman’s claims, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that Angola isn’t ground zero for the Pigman legend. Clearly, Pigman was established lore before his “historical account.” In my research, I’ve found countless podcasts, websites, and content creators retelling the Derricks version of the tale as if it were true. If Angola wasn’t the Pigman’s home, it is now. So sayeth the internet.
But it still begs the question of why. I withhold any judgment on M.C. Hageman’s deception; it’s too clever of a ruse to be anything other than impressed by it. Nor will I speculate too deeply on their motivations for crafting it other than to say with all the notoriety Pigman was getting from paranormal TV shows, internet bloggers, and even B-grade slasher flicks, maybe they wanted to take back the narrative and preserve that piece of folklore for Angola, who’s history they are clearly very passionate about. Long live Pigman…
Jason Roberts is a Seattle-based author noted for his acclaimed western horror series The Dead Wind Trilogy as well as other works of cosmic horror infused with historical fiction. His web-based series, Dark Distractions, examines paranormal mysteries, unexplained phenomena, and all things strange.
