"Wild Duck Country"

The lights in the convenience store were pure white, but because of that, they seemed even emptier. Everything in front of me seemed fake, like a still painting.

I lowered my eyes and said nothing, watching the person in front of me reading my manuscript, suppressing my uneasiness and anxiety.

This is a story that has just been completed. At this time, I clearly realized that my only weapon was to let a stranger comment on my pursuits and my interests, which would either be praised or worthless.

"So even if you deny it, please be gentle, because in order to maintain the meaning of its existence, it is forgivable to do anything."

"It didn't come into this world to be laughed at."

I whispered in my heart.

I don't care, I've never been praised, and there were a lot of people who praised me in the past. But now I have to think about things that reduce my sanity day and night. I love horror, but except for the first day when I was super excited, now I'm just living the life of a company slave - no, which company slave stays up late at night?

If no one comes to support me, I'll go and play with Nakajima Atsushi!

"It would be a good story, but something is missing."

After a long time, he put down the manuscript in his hand, his face was very calm, and he didn't even hide the smile that had been hanging on the corner of his mouth.

OK, I understand. I will contact Nakajima Atsushi right now. So where does Nakajima Atsushi live? Is he from the Armed Detective Agency?

"If you change the name of a human to a duck, you can put it on the table. Using ducks to sacrifice to the duck god seems to be a very unbearable thing, but it seems reasonable when it is applied to a human."

He remained calm under my gaze of "see what you can say" and continued, "Come to think of it, the part about the sacrifice is very convincing, as if it really happened."

The singing and dancing, the rituals and music, and the solemn etiquette all fit the scene at that time and are extremely realistic. The duck farm that keeps humans in captivity and the pig-raising operations bring people not only fear, but also a kind of ancient, indescribable awe.

"It's just a sacrifice. You can see it everywhere."

I answered casually, only caring about one thing.

“Is the horror atmosphere well rendered? Is it scary? Don’t you feel like a lamb to be slaughtered?”

I had just been pretending to be calm, but now I couldn't help but feel anxious. I leaned forward with my hands on the table, staring at him with squinted eyes.

Think it over first. Are you sure you have made up your mind?

"If all these things come true, and the meal from hell really happens, you still don't feel scared at all?"

He shook his head, the curve of his mouth was official: "I'm sorry, maybe it's because of me that I'm not scared at all, even if it's true. Because no matter what happens, it won't hurt me."

"You must have had this feeling too, young lady. Because of your own abilities, you feel at ease, just like at home."

"The story is good, but it doesn't bring a sense of immersion to people. If such a thing really happened, it would at best cause a little trouble. I can only say that this is an interesting story and I hope it won't offend anyone."

The girl opposite him suddenly turned cold, as if she was looking at a dead object.

“It’s just so arrogant.”

Is it because it has not yet materialized that you look relaxed and think you can say whatever you want?

"Is it all because you are too strong?"

There was a hint of indifference in my words.

"It really caused offense."

He blinked and thought for a moment, then nodded with a smile.

"I think everyone is like this. This is a dangerous world after all."

An attitude of "I'm sorry, I'm too strong to entertain you" successfully made me start writing.

If you really see cannibalism in real life, boiled, steamed, braised, or grilled, how could you not be able to show even the most basic empathy? This is an innate ability of all species, as a warning in the face of danger. And fear is always a common language and is the easiest to convey.

He was deliberately provoking me, or maybe he himself would make others want to beat him up, it shouldn't be that there is something wrong with this world. But even so, I still had a little bit of rationality to reflect.

Since it's a duck, you won't be afraid at all?

.

Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky, or Dostoyevsky, smiled as he watched her revise the manuscript that would only be known to the world after the dust settled. A man who had been unconscious for a long time lay on the counter at his feet.

Look, what a magical and beautiful power, just like a flower of evil blooming in the ruins, born to ask people to give her despair and fear. With a little cultivation, this flower that has not yet been found by the world will grow into what it looks like.

However, she was simply too immature and arrogant. People could not see her through the screen in the image data. Although it was processed vaguely, they could still clearly know that she appeared. It was not originally for the purpose of hiding it, but for people to come and see it in person.

"Tonight will be yours."

He said this in Russian, not expecting anyone to pay attention.

The moon was tilted a little, and the thin clouds sometimes covered it, making it difficult to see its appearance. The pendulum clock was shaking, the hands were moving slightly, and everything was silent. Everything was gathering strength, waiting for something to come.

It was very late at night, with only a few houses still having lights on.

[In a rural place like this, you can always see the stars. The old woman leaned on a cane, hunched over, as if she was gazing at the sky.

Life will not be more peaceful than this, as long as tonight goes by again, she thought, looking away and looking at the stranger beside her.

The stranger was still talking about the benefits of connecting to the outside world, which were nothing more than the convenience of technology and endless wealth. If such delicious ducks could be put on the market, there would be no worries about not making profits, and this small village would definitely make a lot of money.

The old woman glanced at the people gnawing at the duck thighs, not only strangers but also people from the same village that she knew well, and curled her lips: "You think this village is isolated, but it once produced a scientific scientist."

The stranger was stunned, not knowing why the topic had turned to this.

"So by communicating with the outside world, the children can also get better teaching resources. We can't just keep raising ducks here for the rest of our lives..."

He muttered, and he felt that the old woman's expression was a little weird, as if she had finally straightened her back, and even her figure had grown taller unconsciously.

"Mrs. Fujiwara, please consider this..."

The old woman didn't give him a chance to continue describing his blueprint, but interrupted him directly.

"After a long study, the scientific researcher discovered a secret."

"Every other week, I take one of them away and they never come back."

The stranger's face suddenly looked a little ugly.

This person must be sick.

"Finally one day, they saw me killing a duck."

The old woman smiled.

"Turn back, stranger."

He suddenly felt that everything in front of him suddenly became larger, even the stooped figure of the old woman seemed majestic. After turning his head in confusion, he found that the host and the guest were reversed, and a group of ducks were sharing a huge, crispy, deep-fried animal with five senses and four limbs.

What a nice smell! He flapped his wings and rushed over to join the eating army. He stuck his sharp beak into the eye holes and sucked the juice until it was covered with oil. The whole duck lay in the belly after removing the dirt. The delicious taste made him forget everything in the world.

Suddenly a hand lifted him up.

"Send it to the duck farm."

An old voice sounded.

......】

"I should thank you so much, kind man!"

The girl sighed, and the crisp sound of clapping awakened the sleeping night.

"The life of a strong person must be hard. He has been isolated from the public for too long and has almost forgotten the empathy between races."

"So how do you feel now? Want some duck?"

I was not surprised to see the man across from me disappear, replaced by a quacking sound under the counter. I walked around the counter and saw a white duck with a furry hat lying there stupidly, not understanding what was going on.

Of course, the silly head was added by me. The strong contrast between the before and after is so funny that it slightly dispelled the gloom in my heart. The hat is a bit too big for it now, almost covering its entire duck head, leaving a curved duck neck, like a soft white mushroom.

He started shaking his duck head, trying to take off the hat, but because it was his first time being a duck and he was not very experienced, he just turned in circles in vain. I touched his head through the hat, and then he put his duck wings on my hand, but he just touched it and didn't push it away.

I didn't care what he meant, and even grabbed his feathers and shook his hand like a circus act, and then burst out laughing. Although this seemed like bullying, it was his own request, so it was not my fault.

"Yeah, yeah, strong one."

I tutted a few times.

"This is the first time I've felt funny since I came to this world. Sorry. I'm actually a serious person and I don't laugh easily unless I see something really funny."

I was talking nonsense in a serious manner, and he just raised his head slowly and looked at me. Although there was a hat between us, he seemed unusually calm, which made me believe what he said a little.

Maybe he has his own support, but he is just a duck, and it is difficult for him to learn to control the body of a non-human creature. Even if he is strong, how much power can he exert? Can he crush a tram with one foot?

Ah, yes, my train, the tragic train. If they all hold the concept of "being strong and therefore fearless", then as a duck, is he able to escape the fate of being put on the dining table?

Let's go, it's going to be super fun! I'm a genius at turning into a duck or something!

"Then let me introduce myself. I'm an unknown horror writer with the special ability [Sleepless Night]. My goal is to share midnight horrors with everyone. It's just a large haunted house, no one will be hurt, so please don't hit the staff."

I said with a smile, squatting down and trying to pick him up.

Alas, he is just an off-site consultant after all, and now he is a duck in my duck farm. Resistance is futile.

Originally it was just a cannibalistic ghost story, the kind without blood, but he turned it into a duck story with his constant "I'm too strong, I'm not afraid, this place feels like home". Maybe from the duck's perspective, everything will seem more bizarre and unreasonable?

In fact, I was still a little annoyed by his calmness and wanted to take him to see the real duck farm in my mind, until I tilted my head and the smile froze on my face.

There was a dead man lying on the counter, foaming at the mouth and with a pale face.

!!!