Tacos De Venado
| Published on Creepypasta.com | March 2009 |
|---|---|
| Length | 819 words · about 4 minutes to read |
| Story level | Short |
| Reader rating | 8.2/10 from 333 votes |
| Category | Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances |
I was born in Mexico, my father was a goat farmer, and my mother used to weave baskets so that we could have at least two meals per day. We were very poor, and me and my siblings had the misfortune of being born in extreme weather, my oldest brother was born on the coldest day of winter, my elder sister in a spring deluge, and I was born in the thick of summer, and despite the fact that the 80’s had brought advances in the standard of living for the world’s citizens, it seemed to have forgotten us, in our tiny two bedroom cabin. So when my father heard about the H1-B Visa program through my uncle, he eagerly signed up. Every spring, he would go to work as a laborer on a pepper and tobacco farm in Texas. The work was hard, but the pay was good, and he was always home in time for Christmas, so he didn’t complain. He was saving up money so that we could emigrate to the United States, and so he worked from 1988 until 1991, saving what he could. He made sure not a penny was wasted, on the long winter bus ride from the farm to Mexico, he would sleep, so that the hunger pangs would not bother him.
He doesn’t usually talk much about his days as a migrant worker, but he did tell us that one day, in the winter of 1989, I believe, he could not sleep. The bus had made a rest stop near a small taco stand. the tacos smelled wonderful, and everyone on the bus formed a long line towards the taco stand, eager and salivating. The man behind the small dirty counter was very friendly, he said, but there was something that was a little “off” about him. The man scooped out the steaming, spiced meat onto fresh, piping hot, flour tortillas like a machine, taking the money in one hand and serving up a big loaded plate with the other.
“Tacos De Venado!”, His voice rang out. Apparently he was selling venison tacos, or deer meat. “Compren sus delicious’s taquitos de venado!”
My father debated whether or not he should risk spending 2 dollars of his hard earned money. Fortunately my father is quite impatient, and detests long lines, so he went back to the bus, and quickly fell asleep.
The next winter the bus again made a rest stop at the man’s taco stand, and again the passengers formed a long line along with other people, they had become addicted they said, every year they waited impatiently to return to this small, dingy taco stand. My father of course, stayed on the bus. He was used to the feeling of hunger, he lived with it throughout his childhood, he would surely survive. So again, he slept, dreaming of a big bowl of my mother’s chicken soup, with a side of hot corn tortillas (which we could afford by then).
Also read: I Investigate Disturbing Cases: Here Are My Stories – Hammerhead
The next spring, he left again, it wasn’t a very good year, the weather was horrible and so the crop yield was low, the farm had no choice but to let the workers go home a month early. My father said that the fellow workers were abuzz with excitement, they didn’t have to eat their tacos in the cold this year! The men eagerly counted the number of miles, their excitement mounting as they drew closer to the rest stop. Three more miles, two more miles, one more mile, until they finally reached the spot where the man had his taco stand.
But then, nothing. There was no sign of the stand, or the man with his big steel pot of delicious, sweet deer meat. Just and old woman selling papier-mâché frogs and piñatas. The workers demanded to know what had happened to the man with the deer tacos. Had he moved to another location? Did he open up a restaurant? What happened, what?
The old woman raised her hand, and the men fell silent.
“He was arrested just two months ago. A lot of the local farmers and various other men started to go missing in his village, and the police were completely dumbfounded. A small rumor was going around that the local butcher, or the taco man as you know him, could be involved. The police had no other leads and so decided to follow up on that. What they saw shook them beyond beli-” she was cut off by a man asking, “And so what about the deer tacos? When he gets out of jail will he start making and selling them again?”
The old woman chuckled and said,
“Oh he won’t be leaving his cell for a long time, boys. You see, he wasn’t very well liked in his village, and venado was a nickname that he used to refer to his enemies.”
—
Credited to Lola.
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who comes up with this stuff
I read it cuz TACOS MAN, IT WAS FOR DEM TACOZ.
Tacos De Venado means Deer Tacos ._.
Very very predictable. Followed the equation of every cannibalism story ever. If, in a story, a food place sells exceptional, addictively delicious food, it’s most likely human meat or something else you wouldn’t want to be eating, such as embryo.
That said, predictability aside this was a very well prepared pasta. Also I like it in the sense that the reveal is not the main character being like “Oh noes I’ve been eating humans, I’m a cannibal!”. Those get old.
I saw it right from the start!
Human flesh is actually addictive to other humans, little morbid fun fact.
Mexican Sweeney Todd!
This made me chuckle :)
Yummy. Sounds DELICIOUS!
oh how predictable
This made me soooo hungry
It’s made out of people !!!!!!!!!
*giggles* people taste better in a taco :D hahaha!
BUT THEN WHO WAS TACO
PERO QUIÉN ERA EL HOMBRE TACO?
Mmmm i want some!!!!
“heap of meat” give a way = dumb and typical and generic.
Predictable pasta is predictable.
I still like the version where the cop finds out he was eating hobo hamburgers
No offense, your story is great, but come on, hobo hamburgers beat tacos hands down
Now I’m hungry. Tacos anyone?
>there was a small taco stand
My instant thought: “Great, a story about eating people.”
GAAAAHHH.
I have stayed up all night and I am reading creepypasta. During the night I ate ice cream and popcorn. I just ate cinnamon toast. NOW I AM EXTREMELY HUNGRY, THANK YOU.
I’m also surprised at myself. When I read the ending I thought “lolstereotypicaltwist”, not even “SWEENEY TODD OMG MY TIM BURTON FANDOM PAYS OFF”, or “…Hannibal?”. And that’s surprising. I’m reading that book right now. D:
“The bus had made a rest stop near a small taco stand. the tacos smelled wonderful, and everyone on the bus formed a long line towards the taco stand, eager and salivating”
i lold because i thought that was supposed to be racist
Refound old pasta.
Tacos… taquitos…
Little tacos?
Literal translation,”Buy your delicious little venison tacos”.
HAZ LO! Buy them NAOW.
Jk, jk
Never thought i would be creeped out by a story with the word taco in the title.
The scariest cannibals are the real ones, like that German fellow, his name has slipped my mind. He found a man on the Internet, brought him to his home, performed painful sexual acts upon him; for example he cut off his penis and fried it, then left the man to bleed out. Then he butchered him and ate half of him before the police found him. The Internet is an amazing thing, isn’t it?
Fear the Darkness
-Nex
THEY’RE EATING HER.
AND THEY’RE GONNA EAT ME.
…
OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOO-
Mistaken cannibalism is probably the oldest creepypasta there is. Srsly. Well-written, but anytime there’s mystery meat, it turns out to be human. I can only assume that it must mean that most of the people alive today are ancestors of the tribes which didn’t eat people.
Just from the title knew what the outcome would be. Very good though, need to work on being less cliche’ though.
Farm laborers aren’t eligible for H-1B visas. Immigration law pasta fail.
Hmmm now I’m having an intense craving for tacos….