Creepy - Foie Gras

Episode Date: February 22, 2021

Have you ever thought about where your food comes from?***Content warning: sexual assault, torture, kidnapping, child death, incest***Written by Kaylean Lindell and narrated by Tonia Ransom***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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Written by Kailene Lindel. Narrated by Tanya Ransom. And produced. by Steve Blisson. I guess I should start by explaining what foie gras is. For those who are unfamiliar, foregraw is a delicacy in French cuisine made from a duck or goose's fattened liver.

These animals are typically force-fed grain and fat with the help of a long tube that extends down into their neck. This is possible because the animals do not have a gag reflex. The livers get very large, and when the time is right, the liver is harvested and made into a fine treat for the most privileged. In the U.S., the cell is,

of foie gras has been argued against in court and banned and unband multiple times. As you can imagine, there have been hot debates on whether this practice is inhumane or not. As someone who grew up on a human foie gras farm, I'd have to say it is cruel beyond human comprehension. If you are unfamiliar with the U.S. state of Nevada, it's mostly covered by desert and around 80% of the land belongs to the federal government. The remaining 20% is privately owned. I was born within that 20%. With such a low population compared to other states and so much room, people were able to get away with much more. The result was a horrible business of selling fatty human livers in place of duck livers. The consumers had no idea this is what they were purchasing, a human organ to

consume. You see it all started when the production of foie gras was banned in California. The men who were originally duck foie gras farmers were laid off. The stress mixed with unemployment caused them to turn to drugs in order to feel in control of their situation. The drugs, as they do over time, began to erode the minds of the farmers. They concluded that human livers would actually be more profitable than duck livers due to their size. People would pay more for these livers because with production being illegal, they were hard to come by. Their sick minds came together for a business plan. They would buy a property in the neighboring state to hide the true business, and when the time was right, they would test their hypothesis.

This first person who was murdered by the farmers was captured and fed the same grain as the ducks were. After a few months, they had grown considerably in size. I am not sure if they killed the person first or just cut out the liver while they were alive, but the liver was taken and eaten. To the drug-fueled farmers, the human-made foie gras was a success. They collected more people and cooked the livers, no customers complained. The people who were targeted for kidnapping were the homeless. people of California, the ones people wouldn't miss. The farmers even got support from the local

police for cleaning up the streets. The California police, at least the ones who started asking too many questions, were paid handsomely to look the other way. The luxury product sold for good money that would continue to fund the bribery as well as the supplies needed to feed the livestock. I was young when I lived through this, and what I'm about to tell you is not for the faint of heart. I wanted a space to tell my story free of judgment and perhaps warn others of a horror taking place in Nevada and a product being sold in California that doesn't pass the Food and Drug Act. The beginning is not easy to remember as I was very young. I would first like to describe the barn to you and the hopes that you can better understand the conditions I lived in.

When the barn is seen from the outside, it appears like a normal old run-down barn. It had chipped red paint peeling off the sides and a great, tall fence around the outside perimeter. The fence was lined with a high-voltage wiring, which would appear normal to keep livestock in, to keep us in. As you came closer to the barn is when you would notice something was wrong. The outside of the barn had great big metal locks to keep us in. You would start to hear voices, many of them. You would hear children, women, and men of all ages. Then the smell would hit you, because inside the barn were many people with no room to move around. The smell was rancid like decay, sweat, and the waste of tens of people,

because that's exactly what it was. The people inside simply had nowhere to separate their bodies from each other. When you stepped inside, all you could see was a mass of the most putrid, rank, and vile naked flesh. The feeders, as they were called, were the product. These people were morbidly obese beyond what could be imagined. They were so grotesque and fat that the fat had nowhere else to go, so it simply created masses anywhere possible. This included forehead fat, so large it sometimes covered the eyes. The skin folds reeked of foul odors as feces, urine, and menstrual blood filled their surfaces. The dirtiness of the folds made the crevices so dark they appeared to hold endless space deep

within. All the feeders had yellow skin and milky eyes. This was a byproduct of their enlarged livers. The skin always seemed to be shiny. I guess this is due to the Nevada summer heat and all the oils built up over time. I gag any time something triggers the memory of those poor creatures. I was a part of the breeders, or rather I was supposed to be. The purpose of the breeders is to provide children who would become feeders.

I escaped before I became pregnant. The farm was run by multiple men. The attractive females were chosen at a young age to become breeders. We were not made obese or harvested. As long as you could have children, you were kept alive. The farmers would begin the process as soon as the girl's first blood appeared. The mother breeders would claim the blood as their own for as long as possible, but with everyone's body barren of clothes, this strategy was not useful for long.

The girls were taken, raped, and eventually became pregnant. Incest was a problem. They raped the women to have a baby. Then when the child was old enough, she was raped by her grandfather, and so on. The children eventually bore the effects of incest. Think of the hills have eyes type of appearance. The faces began to become asymmetrical. Their abilities would become limited as they grew.

The adults would become smaller, even when made obese they were shorter than before. It got so bad the babies would die right away, looking horribly deformed. Many adults had brain damage. The inbreeding seemed like a family tradition to the farmers. They grew old and showed their sons who showed their sons. The only reason the breeders reached adulthood was because babies couldn't produce large livers. But adulthood takes on a new meaning, with the grossly overweight people full of failing organs,

and problems due to incest, they did not have a long life. Adulthood was reached at 17 roughly. When the incest was too great, freshies were hunted and brought in to add new blood to the mix. Usually, this meant troublesome young woman offered up by the cops. My mother was afreshie. They caught her hitchhiking along a road I can't remember the name of for reasons she couldn't recall worth it. She was beautiful. She had dark skin and a large afro she did her best to brush out with her fingers.

She had kind, honey-colored eyes. I happened to be her first child produced for the farm. I realized how young she was only after. The thing I remember most about her was, as time passed, she slowly stopped. smiling. She had roughly 14 children before I left. She loved all her children, but I knew as the first I was special. She often told me about the outside world and how much she missed her family. I even learned how to read in all the chaos because she knew it was important to learn for the outside world. We would trace letters and write words in the dirt with the sharp bones left by the

dead. Despite it all, she kept a sharp mind and was always so strong. I don't pretend to understand how she stayed so optimistic. I remember the last day we shared together. It started out how it always did. The sun started to rise when the main ancient farmer shuffled to the barn with large sacks in his hands and the feeding tube thrown over his dusty overalls. The feeding tube was long and had a funnel at the top so he could easily pour in the food. The food was alternated between things like grain, corn, lard, and sometimes vegetables that had been put through a blender. The man was silent most of the time. He used his wrinkled hand to place the tube into one of the feeder's mouths. She gagged and her eyes started to well up with tears. It's hard to breathe almost. Impossible with a tube

inside your throat extending so very deep inside. If you were unlucky, you would cause bleeding on the inside, which would result in infection or more likely death from internal bleeding. The tip of the tube was sharp. The old man gagged at the smell of the woman. Everyone who lived in the barn was used to it, so it did not bother us. He slowly walked from person to person, occasionally leaving to gather more sacks of food. The reason the old man could not be overpowered even when alone is that simply the feeders cannot move well. They are so heavy that walking around is not an option. Their feet are full of infections as well as their lower bodies due to the rats feasting on them during the

night. The rotting infected flesh is home to hundreds of maggots. would always shiver when I saw them crawl in and out of the greasy skin folds. The old man would also do around to see if any inventory could be collected. Sometimes a feeder would die of some horrible health condition before morning. The rats would occasionally eat through the stomach flesh. If they got to the liver, well, that was a bad day for everyone. Most of the time, the bodies are too heavy to move if they pass before harvest, so the farmers cut open the body and take the liver, leaving the body to rock.

An important fact to know is on a rare occasion the breeders were taken out of the fence to bathe while the feeders were pressure washed. The farmers assumed the pressure washer would make us lose our babies and did not want to lose one cent of profit. My mother's worn face would show determination and more importantly hope when she talked of escape plans. She would rub her large belly and draw the layout of the house in the dirt with a pointy bone while explaining her ideas. She was very observant and learned the routines of her pressure-wash day. There were two women who could not enter the barn, but they were in charge of helping the breeders bathe when allowed. She explained to me over and over that the next time a bath was offered,

we would escape together. The women would take us to the house in a roped line. We would purposely be at the end of the line, and went out of sight, used the sharpened bone hidden in my mother's dense hair to cut through the old cracking rope. The house had windows facing away from the barn where all the men would be. My mother and I would escape and run to freedom.

At least this was the plan. That same night, the old man fed the feeders, and my mother knew the next day would be the day. My mother, the baby inside her and I would be free. I decided to take one more lap around the inside of the barn. I mentioned earlier that they locked the barn from the outside, and with no windows, there was no way to escape. This was the only life I had ever known. The walk around the barn is one forever ingrained into my memory. There was one single overhead light that was kept on all through the night.

It cast a yellow color on everyone, or maybe that was just the color of their skin. It was hard to tell. I saw rats scurrying around. My feet began to get caked with mud more so than usual. My mother usually made me walk laps around the barn to stay somewhat fit. As long as the farmers didn't see us leave the small section to which we belonged, there wasn't a problem. The filth made squelching noises as I walked on top of it. Indeed, it was time for a pressure wash to get the muck and decomposing flesh sprayed out.

I saw multiple dead bodies lying on the ground. This included adults and some children who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, crushed by the massive bodies. In death, they became even more bloated. Many flies swarmed by my ear, making it hard. to think. I swatted them away the best I could. The combination of flies and the bloated look of the body made me dizzy, and I puked on the ground. I was so scared of the unknown. The understanding that I had no idea what life was actually like frightened me to my core. Too many what-ifs swirled in my mind making me so nauseous. I walked back to the small breeder area and laid with my

mother, who stroked my hair lovingly as she softly hummed a slow song. The night was cooler than the day, but her hand was warm and comforting and lulled me to sleep. I only remember having anxious dreams. The next morning we found out, just as we predicted, it was pressure-washed day. Multiple of the farmers were at the barn early in the morning. My mother and I, as well as the other breeders, were tied with rope. Then, just as planned, we took the last two spots. I am not good at determining distance, but the house was a decent walk away from the barn.

Once we reached the house, it was the younger woman who took us one by one to be bathed, while the other stood outside with a gun. The first few had the privilege of warm water. Eventually the water would turn cold. After all three breeders were bathed, the water was drained and the tub refilled. Since we were out of sight from the bathroom, she decided it was time to start the escape. She started with me since I was the very last one on the rope. From her beautiful afro, she pulled the...

the pointed bone and began to saw away at the rope. A few would be washed and the line would inch forward. Thankfully, there were a good bit of us, so we had time to work. I took the time to look around the room. It was always interesting to imagine myself living in a proper house, a soft bed replacing the hard ground, maybe even the simple pleasure of not having mud and blood caked feet. My daydreaming was interrupted when a sudden warm wetness dripped on my bare foot. This next part haunts me every night when I close my eyes to sleep. I met the wide eyes of my mother as she bent over slightly and put a hand on her large stomach. My heart got caught in my throat. A clear but slightly yellow liquid was dripping down her legs onto the floor. She covered her mouth to try and

muffle a groan. The rope was about to be severed. I was starting to sweat. She furrowed her brow before continuing to saw at the rope desperately. After a few moments, she would wince, and eventually the tears that were welling in her eyes would fall, breaking my heart in the process. Soon the contractions were too much, and she let out a wail that could not be ignored. In a rushed tone, she said it was up to me to escape alone now. She broke the last strand. Sweat dripping from her forehead, my mother pulled my face inches from hers and told me she loved me.

At first, I refused to move a muscle. When I heard quick footsteps heading towards us, I don't. darted for the window. I was headfirst out the window when the woman started yelling at me, alerting the other woman standing guard at the entrance. My mother screamed in pain behind me, and I turned around not able to control myself. The woman was about to reach me when my mother took the sharp bone and plunged it into the back of the woman's neck. It did not kill her, because she screamed as she fell. My mother also screamed in agony, before composing herself enough to demand I run and never come back. She fell to the floor crying, still demanding I go.

So, I did just that. With all the adrenaline, I could not tell how long I ran for. I ran and ran until my feet bled from the lack of shoes. I ran until my mouth dried from the lack of water, and I ran until I couldn't anymore. When you are alone and scared, time doesn't seem to make sense. It could have been a night or two, I really can't recall. What I do remember, member was eventually finding a diner. I didn't know what that was at the time, but I approached cautiously. I walked in and smells I had never smelled before pierced my nose making my stomach clench. The small chatter stopped as the customers all looked at my naked, dirty and bloody body. The kind waitress immediately ran from behind the counter with an extra work uniform in hand.

She gagged slightly from my smell, but tried politely to hide it. I collapsed and cried in her arms. I was exhausted. The waitress took me to the bathroom and helped me clean myself up the best we could. The cops were called and eventually showed up after she fed me the best food I had ever had. I couldn't explain to them where my home was. I only knew it was a farm property.

The exhaustion and confused running simply had me baffled as to where I came from. The description of the feeders and breeders was shaken off by the cops as a child's wild imagination. It didn't matter how much I insisted because they never listened. Not surprisingly, I was still young enough to be placed in the foster care system. There was simply no other option. No one knew where I came from, and I could only remember empty desert.

With no other family, I just tried to do what the system wanted me to. I had a few years of constant reflection. I cried almost every night for my mother. Did they kill her? Did she get a different fate worse than death? What punishment could they have given, if not death? I missed her. I dreamt of her when I did dream.

No number of therapists could help me. I hate to say it, but I had never settled into a family. I was one of those kids who aged out of the system just to become not only homeless, but hopeless. Bad influences turned me to drugs in order to dull my mental turmoil. I did end up hitchhiking to California in the hopes of more easy access to drugs. I have been selling my body just to get that small fix to hold me over. I have accepted that I will never have a real connection with anyone else. What I do is dangerous, getting into cars with strangers just for a small amount of money.

I filled these men's needs in order to get high enough to get myself off the planet. A disconnection from my mind. I deserve it. I left my mom to die. I didn't even look back. I do not deserve it. a better life. I tell myself that, so it must be true. I'm currently inside a library I use to get out of the heat. Usually this isn't a problem. I come in, wash up in the bathroom, and fill my plastic water bottles

with the fountain. Sometimes, like now, I use the computers to browse the internet to keep up with current events. The problem is, this same cop car has been following me around. I have seen him maybe three times now. At first, I assumed it was because the prostitution of my body, but I don't think so. The homeless people in my area have been disappearing one at a time. I remember now, maybe too late, that the farmers have the cops on their side here. There are no back exits, and he's just waiting right on the road in front of the library. I fear I will be taken back to the farm. The drugs have deformed my body so horribly that I would never be a breeder again. I just needed this chance to tell my story. I wasn't strong enough to expose the farm myself. My hopes are in you.

Somewhere in Nevada is a foie gras farm harvesting human meat. I am someone who won't be missed, but there are children there who might have actual lives ahead of them. I have no more to write, as I am only thinking of that cop watching me through the windows. This is what dread truly feels like, and there is nothing more to be said. I must leave at some point. I guess this is my suicide letter to you before I leave. Please, save the children. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, please visit creepypod.com. If you'd like to submit a story for consideration or recommend a story, please see our submission page at creepypod.com slash submissions.

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