Chapter 1

The young couple next door.

They kept me up every single night with their loud moaning and yelling.

I tried asking nicely, screaming at them, even calling the cops. Nothing worked.

So, I started hitting on the wife.

On Valentine's Day, I specifically slipped a note into a bouquet of roses:

Your husband hasn't found out about us yet, has he?

And then, her husband absolutely lost it.

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I’d just moved into my new place. My neighbors were a middle-aged couple.

I hadn't even met them yet, but I knew their relationship had to be rock solid.

How did I know?

I heard it.

Every night, usually around midnight, they'd get up to some activities that perfectly aligned with biological spring mating rituals.

My apartment building has paper-thin walls.

Afterward, I could hear the man light his cigarette, the click of the lighter as clear as day.

I really didn’t want to be in a position years from now, looking at their future second child and saying:

"You little brat, I practically heard you grow up."

Even worse was the woman. Her voice was incredibly hoarse, and when she got going, she sounded just like a duck.

And her vocal cords? Pure sonic penetration.

Every night, I’d be treated to her demonic, 3D surround-sound duck quacks:

"QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK HA HA HA HA QUACK QUACK QUACK HA HA HA HA!"

It was like being surrounded by a flock of Donald Ducks.

One time, I had a nightmare.

I was back in my high school final exam, less than a month before the big SATs. I grabbed the test, and holy crap, I couldn't answer a single question.

Cold sweat immediately drenched me.

My strictest teacher glared at me, radiating pure menace, and casually grabbed a chalkboard eraser, chucking it right at my head.

But as the eraser hit me, it turned into a duck neck.

My teacher opened her mouth and went: "QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK."

The whole class turned to stare at me, and they too started "QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK"-ing.

The classroom transformed into a giant duck pond, everyone rushing at me with their "QUACK QUACK QUACK."

I woke up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding like a drum.

Next door, they were still at it: "QUACK QUACK QUACK QUACK HA HA HA HA QUACK QUACK QUACK."

I stared at the ceiling, seriously considering writing a short story titled A Duck Pond Nightmare.

The last time I heard such an abstract sound was when my desk mate was watching some fantasy show during study hall. He’d mimic the villain’s laugh, cackling "hee hee hee hee" at me.

No, this couldn’t go on. If this duck-quacking didn't stop, I was gonna croak.

So, I knocked on their door.

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