Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#070Reader Mode

#070

“Yeah Mom, I’m still pretty far from Georgia. This road trip is turning out to be a real marathon,” Johan said with an amused chuckle. Somehow, he managed to cram his tall, muscular body into the tiny car. It was like watching a magician perform an impossible feat.

He awkwardly jammed the phone between his shoulder and cheek, hands full – one gripping the gas pump nozzle, the other fumbling to find the fuel cap on the car. After filling up the tank, Johan pulled out the nozzle and wiped his hands on his strong, sculpted thighs, revealing a gnarly scar on the back of one hand – an old wound that had long since healed.

“Oh, and say hi to Jun’s folks for me,” he added, enjoying the cool breeze as he leaned on top of the car. “Don’t worry, I’m sticking to that route you mapped out, every turn and highway. Ha! I’ll do my best since you’re counting on me.” Johan’s grin got even bigger. “And of course, I can’t wait to catch up with him too. I promise not to speed too…much.”

Johan laughed as he thought back on the incredible journey so far: miles and miles of highway stretching out to the horizon, breathtaking golden cornfields whizzing by, that fresh, clean air once he’d finally got out of the crowded city. Johan was loving every minute of this chase after his beloved Seojun.

Johan’s smile turned almost shy as he yanked out the fuel nozzle with a satisfying click after topping off the tank. Screwing the cap back on, he went on in a slightly nostalgic voice, “Honestly, I’m already starting to miss home a little. As awesome as this road trip has been, nothing compares to your legendary beef stew. Where else could I get such a perfectly seasoned, low-sodium work of art?”

While he chatted, Johan’s bright, electric blue eyes – as vivid as the clear sky overhead – wandered over to the run-down gas station roof, obviously in serious need of some maintenance and repairs. His gaze then shifted to take in the beat-up convenience store next to the pumps. Looking back and forth between the crummy gas station and falling-apart store, a big grin suddenly broke out across Johan’s face.

“Hey Mom, I gotta call you back in a bit,” he said suddenly. “Yeah…love you too. Bye!”

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Johan walked into the empty convenience store, the deserted counter making it clear that the clerk had stepped out for a bit. As his eyes adjusted to the low lighting, he took in the familiar layout of the store, but it was pretty obvious that the place had seen better days. The walls were covered in stains and marks, each one telling a story of the countless people who had passed through over the years. Despite the dirt, the store wasn’t super filthy, and the bit of mold felt like a charming reminder of the imperfections of modern life.

Posters were stuck to the walls next to the grimy windows, their bold warnings about fire safety and local wildlife impossible to ignore. Johan’s eyes were drawn to the fire safety poster, obviously a must-have for a gas station, and he looked at it for a moment before his gaze wandered to the wildlife warnings. Rabies, a modern worry, was front and center, though Johann figured the culprits were probably just raccoons or stray dogs running around the area.

The convenience store was nothing like the spotless Hamon store where Seojun used to work. A skeleton model, probably left over from some event decoration, caught Johann’s eye. It sat in a glass box with a small copper plate that read something about the Blessed Melinda. The cracked ribcage added a touch of realism, but despite this, the model seemed out of place and failed to hold Johann’s interest for long.

Contrary to the stereotype of being all brawn and no brains, Johan actually enjoyed reading, though he preferred subjects in the humanities. Physics, science, and math weren’t his thing; he considered himself far removed from a scientific mindset.

Losing interest in the skeleton, he turned his attention elsewhere and easily found what he had come for. Despite the gas station and convenience store both having seen better days, the presence of CCTV cameras at the ceiling corners suggested that the owners were keeping a close eye out for thieves or robbers.

Johan’s heart raced with anticipation as he looked up, a hopeful smile spreading across his face. Highway 444 stretched out before him, seemingly endless with no turnoffs in sight. For miles, there had been nothing but vast wilderness all around. Johan couldn’t help but think this must mean Seojun had passed through here too. Feeling more at ease, he continued on his way.

Suddenly, a catchy tune grabbed Johan’s attention. It was coming from an old TV perched on a shelf by the checkout counter. Johan couldn’t tell if it was genuinely a retro CRT or just a trendy decor choice, but either way, he found himself unable to look away.

Some careless employee had left the TV on, and it was broadcasting a news report about a recent landslide that had completely buried a nearby road. Thankfully, no casualties had been reported, likely due to the road’s low traffic volume. The buried road in question was none other than Highway 444—the very same desolate route Johan and Seojun had been traveling.

The female news reporter, clearly bored out of her mind covering such a mundane event, delivered her report in a voice that could lull even the most caffeinated individual to sleep. Behind her, the camera showed the road completely obstructed by a massive mound of dirt and rocks. Though the camera’s focus was blurry, a police car could be seen arriving at the scene. The reporter occasionally glanced over her shoulder, her face brightening ever so slightly. As she made her way towards the police vehicle, the cameraman followed, causing the picture to shake.

The police officer who emerged from the cruiser seemed a bit flustered at first, awkwardly scratching his ear. But as soon as the overeager reporter shoved her mic in his face, he straightened up and put on his best stern, official demeanor. He started to say something about the situation, but the reporter cut him off, peppering him with rapid-fire questions.

“The police have arrived on the scene! Could there be a serious incident beyond this roadblock? What exactly happened here? Just look at that urgent expression on the officer’s face!” she gushed breathlessly into the camera.

However, the officer’s face, partially obscured by his mirrored sunglasses as he leaned in towards the microphone, actually looked remarkably calm and unflustered. He tried to adjust his position to finally get a word in, but the reporter yanked the mic away again. She tilted her head slightly, listening to a whispered prompt from someone off-screen, before nodding and lowering her voice to a grave tone.

“Oh, dear viewers, I’m afraid I have some bad news. The experts say restoring this blocked road is going to take quite some time! Any chance they’ll have it cleared up by the end of the day?” she asked with exaggerated gravity, completely ignoring the poor silenced cop next to her.

Before she could finish her solemn announcement, the back door of the police car flew open with a bang. The guy who stumbled out was clearly not under arrest, given how his limbs flailed wildly in all directions. He had a slender build with long arms and legs, but broad shoulders that provided a nice contrast. However, his sickly, gaunt appearance gave him a gloomy aura. And the bizarre things he was yelling only made the scene more surreal.

“What the hell are you doing? We need to leave quickly! What if some clueless person wanders in there?” he shouted with frenzied emotion.

Johan felt his eyes sting with moisture as he stared intently at the little TV screen. There was Seojun, frantically pulling at his own hair like he was losing his mind. His long hair fell over the back of his neck as his gorgeous face morphed into this dark, unhinged expression. Swollen red lips and a crazed, widened eye gave him the disturbing appearance of a mental patient on the edge.

The police officer, finally breaking away from the reporter’s relentless questioning, could only offer a helpless shrug in response.

“But what do you expect me to do when the road’s blocked off like this? I’m just trying to do my job here, man.”

“No, I’m serious!” the frenzied man cried out, hopping around like a dog with its butt on fire. “Squeezing people dry like wringing oil from rags! Ah, it’s driving me absolutely crazy!”

Seizing the moment, the reporter swung her microphone towards the agitated man.

“Well that’s certainly a…colorful expression! What does it mean to ‘hop around like a frog’ exactly?” She paused, tilting her head. “Oh? What’s that, producers? Listen up, viewers! We’ve got scorching hot news coming in – the world’s most famous influencer, Philly F. has just sold out a show in the tiny Texas town of Cinco! Stay tuned for the incredible exclusive footage hitting your screen in just 3 seconds. Don’t. Change. That. Channel.”

She counted down on her fingers dramatically.

“One…two…three! This is Evelyn Ward reporting live from this utterly riveting scene and signing off!”

As the quirky reporter wrapped up, static crackled across the old TV before the screen went dark. Johan turned to see a short, stout man holding the remote, having emerged from a metal door beside the counter.

Though not tall, the man’s build was undeniably sturdy. A dingy yellow undershirt was visible beneath faded rust-colored overalls cinched at his waist. Nearly bald, his prominent cheekbones and sunken eyes gave his face a harsh, aggressive look – accentuated by a hooked nose that protruded sharply.

But it was the man’s small, beady eyes that sent a chill down one’s spine. Restless and cruel, they hinted at an underlying brutality. The man grumbled under his breath, “A customer, huh?”

Johan responded with a polite smile, not wanting to stir up any trouble as he focused on his objective. But the man seemed to have a chip on his shoulder and remained sullen.

“Restroom’s out back,” he said gruffly, jerking his head towards the rear of the building without any warmth.

Johan watched as the guy roughly wiped his hands on a surprisingly delicate white handkerchief. The lace edging looked out of place against his rough demeanor. A bright red stain had soaked into the thin fabric, standing out against the embroidered logo stitched on thickly. Noticing Johan glance at the odd handkerchief, the man snapped at him harshly.

“Just spilled some damn tomato juice. Sh*t happens constantly with you picky vegetarian folks around here!”

He waved the handkerchief dismissively. Instead of a sweet floral scent, a heavy, pungent smell of grease and oil hit Johan’s nose. Johan barely quirked the corners of his mouth in a polite acknowledgment.

“I see.”

It didn’t matter much to Johan anyway. He kept the conversation going casually, his voice light. “By the way, have you seen a man around here lately? About my height but much slimmer, very good-looking despite his sickly complexion that’s been getting better recently. Honestly, his most distinguishing feature is just how adorably cute he is.”

After thinking for a second, Johan added, “He’s got jet black hair and wears an eyepatch over one eye – really distinctive. He likes wearing all black or all white outfits, but he’s been trying to add some brighter colors lately.” Johan couldn’t help smiling. “Cute as he is, it’s good he’s trying new things. I’d be thrilled if he exercised more too. Going on a triathlon together is actually on my little bucket list. Oh, and he might’ve come in to get some cigarettes.”

Even with Johan’s detailed description, the owner replied gruffly, “Nobody’s bought any cigarettes here today. I’ve been too damn busy chasing after those mangy stray dogs all day. Ain’t even had a chance to smoke one myself, can you believe that horsesh*t?”

He fished out a crumpled cigarette from his pocket, stuck it between his lips and chewed on it irritably while grumbling about ridiculous fire safety regulations. He’d been smoking for decades and never once started a fire at work. Defiantly, he flicked his lighter to life. Right then, a dog let out a miserable, chilling howl from outside – an eerie, piercing cry that stirred both pity and unease. Without a second thought, the man stuffed the delicate, bloodstained handkerchief back into his pocket.

Johan watched as the owner’s eyes flashed with anger at the pitiful howling of the dog outside. Reaching behind the counter, the man pulled out a bent but well-polished metal crowbar and gripped it menacingly.

“Stupid mangy mutt,” he growled under his breath. Then he pointed the crowbar at the metal door he had come out of earlier. “Hey, you just wait here a minute. Don’t go wanderin’ off, ‘specially not near that storage area back there. Employees only.”

Johan just gave a slight nod, unbothered by the man’s gruff, irritable manner. The owner shot him a suspicious look for a moment, but then the barking started up again, louder and more urgent this time. Muttering curses, he marched out of the convenience store, his steps heavy and purposeful, crowbar clenched tight in his fist.

It wasn’t hard to imagine the unfortunate fate likely in store for the poor dog at the hands of the angry manager, owner or ill-tempered employee, whoever he was. Johan tilted his head at the thought as the man left.

Now with no one to ring up his purchase, Johan passed the time trying to decide between sugar-free gum or a candy bar as he rifled through the plastic-wrapped items on display. The crinkling of the bags was the only sound in the quiet, dimly lit store.

But then Johan froze, the rustling plastic falling silent in his hands. A faint noise mingled with the quiet – a muffled groan, ragged breaths mixed with stifled sobs, as if someone was in too much pain to cry out loudly and was struggling to suppress it. The heart-wrenching sounds were coming from behind that old rusty metal door the man had warned him away from.

Moving with silent steps surprising for his large frame, Johan crept over to the storage room door. Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, he pressed his ear against the cold metal, the hard surface digging into the soft cartilage.

Through the door, the muffled words became clear – a desperate, pleading whisper:

“Please…save me.”

Someone trapped behind that door was begging for help.