はてなキーワード: roadsとは
Hey everyone. I don't know where else to post this. I need to write it down before I convince myself I was just hallucinating. I’m a grad student in Japan, doing fieldwork on forgotten local folklore. That's why I was out in the absolute middle of nowhere in Gunma prefecture last night.
My plan was to visit a tiny, dying village called Yomi-touge (not its real name) that supposedly has some unique traditions. Of course, my phone lost signal hours ago, and my car's GPS, which I bought in 2015, decided to have a total meltdown. The sun went down. The mountain roads are narrow and winding, and a thick, soupy fog started to roll in. The kind of wet, heavy air that makes you feel like you’re breathing water. I was completely, hopelessly lost.
After what felt like an eternity of driving at a crawl, I saw it. A light. A single, brutally bright rectangle of light cutting through the fog. A convenience store. One of those big chains you see everywhere, a FamilyMart or a Lawson, I couldn't tell which at first. I’ve never felt so relieved in my life. I parked the car and practically ran inside, the little door chime sounding way too loud in the dead silence.
The inside was… normal. Too normal. The lights were humming with a high-pitched buzz that drilled into my skull. The shelves were perfectly stocked. The air smelled of cheap air freshener and something else… something sweet and hot, like ozone or burnt sugar.
He was a young guy, maybe my age. Pale, drenched in sweat, with dark circles under his eyes like bruises. He moved with a painful stiffness, like every joint was rusted. He muttered a "Irasshaimase…" without even looking at me, his eyes fixed on the counter. His arms were covered in these intricate, dark tattoos, winding from his wrists up under his sleeves. I figured he was just sick, or on a rough shift. I felt bad for him.
I grabbed a can of coffee and went to the counter. "Sorry to bother you," I started in Japanese, "I'm pretty lost. Could you tell me where I am?"
He looked up, and his eyes didn't seem to focus on me. It was like he was looking at a screen a few inches in front of my face. "We do not provide directional information," he said, his voice a flat, rehearsed monotone. "Will that be all for you?"
Okay, weird, but whatever. Maybe it's store policy. As he reached for my coffee, his sleeve slid up. The tattoos on his arm… they weren’t just pictures. For a split second, I swear to God, the lines of ink shifted. They writhed, like tiny black worms under his skin, and a patch of his forearm glowed with a faint, sickly red light. He flinched, a sharp intake of breath, and quickly pulled his sleeve down.
I just froze. I couldn’t have seen that, right? I was tired, my eyes were playing tricks on me.
The person who walked in… I don’t know how to describe them. It was a man, I think. He was tall and wore an old, soaked trench coat. But his face… it was like my brain refused to process it. It wasn't that he had no face, it was that my eyes would slide right off it. It was a blur, a glitch, a 404 error in human form.
The clerk didn't seem surprised. He didn't even seem to see him as strange. His posture just became even more rigid. The red glow on his arm pulsed again, brighter this time, visible through his sleeve.
The faceless man didn't speak. He just stood there. The clerk, without a word, turned. But he didn't go to the coolers. He kept his back to the man, and held out his left hand, palm up. I heard a soft, wet, squelching sound. From a small, dark slit in the center of his palm that I hadn't noticed before, a small carton of strawberry milk, the kind you give to kids, just… emerged. It was produced out of his hand. It was wet with a clear, viscous fluid.
He placed it on the counter. "Here is the requested product," the clerk said, his voice straining. "The transaction is complete."
The faceless man picked up the strawberry milk. He put it in his coat pocket. And then he just… faded. He didn’t walk out the door. He dissolved into the humming air, like heat haze. A second later, he was gone.
The clerk let out a long, shuddering breath and swayed on his feet. He leaned heavily on the counter, his face sheet-white. He looked utterly, existentially exhausted. He saw me staring, my mouth hanging open, the can of coffee still in my hand.
For the first time, a flicker of something real, something human, crossed his face. It was pure, undiluted terror.
"You… are not a regular customer," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Your… concept is too stable. Please. Leave."
I didn't need to be told twice. I threw a 500 yen coin on the counter and ran out of there so fast I think I broke the sound barrier. I didn't even take my coffee. I just got in my car and drove, I don't know in which direction, I just drove.
I'm at a service station now, about 100km away. The sun is coming up. I can't stop shaking. It wasn't a dream. I know it wasn't. Because when I was fumbling for my keys, I realized I had accidentally grabbed the receipt from the counter.
It’s not for my coffee. It’s for the other transaction. It just has one item listed. It doesn't say "Strawberry Milk." It says:
ITEM: CONCEPTUAL SALVATION (FLAVOR: CHILDHOOD NOSTALGIA) - 1 UNIT
PRICE: ¥0
METHOD: ANNULMENT
Has anyone seen a store like this? What the hell is happening in the mountains of Gunma? What did I see? And God, that poor kid working the counter. He isn't in trouble. He's a part of it. He's the machine.