Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#076Reader Mode

#076

3. The Devil at the Crossroads

“What a sight this late at night,” Seojun muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the hum of the truck’s engine.

The night was pitch-black, engulfing the lonely road like a suffocating blanket. The only source of light came from the twin beams of Seojun’s truck, slicing through the darkness. His exhausted face was reflected in the windshield as he drove away from the chaos at the gas station.

Just a short while ago, Seojun had been caught in a heated debate with the police about the murderous family at the gas station. Suddenly, a call had come in, reporting a fire. The dithering officer had snapped to attention, demanding information about “a dog with its tail on fire,” as if the concept was too ludicrous to believe. Seojun had barely managed to get a word in before being dismissed like an irritating fly, left to contemplate the disturbing incident on his own.

Looking back, Seojun realized that a swarm of firefighters and cops would soon descend upon the scene, making his presence unnecessary. His conscience was at ease, knowing he had done his civic duty by reporting the crazy place. Although a lingering sense of unease and curiosity remained, the idea of returning to that den of horrors where lives were traded for oil held no appeal whatsoever.

The relief of having reported the incident had initially lessened the weight on Seojun’s shoulders, but the urgency to escape the place had consumed him. It was only an hour later that the reality of his situation hit him. He had been starving all day, his energy drained from fleeing the terrible gas station. His body felt like a lead weight, as if gravity had a personal vendetta against him, and his empty stomach growled in protest. Fatigue clung to his eyelid, throwing a tantrum like a spoiled child.

The problem was that he had impulsively grabbed the steering wheel and started driving aimlessly, lost in thought. The road stretched out before him, arrow-straight, flanked by dense rows of poplar trees. There were no inns or decent houses in sight. Of course, the cozy confines of his truck meant he didn’t have to worry about sleeping outdoors, exposed to the night dew. He had been prepared to park the truck in a suitable secluded spot and catch some sleep when conditions didn’t allow otherwise. However, at this moment, he yearned for the comfort of a soft bed and the rejuvenating power of a hot bath.

If I sleep in the truck, my body will ache all over…

Moreover, the thought of camping out in the truck, with the wind tapping on the windows and the sounds of animals howling in the distance, filled him with dread. What Seojun needed now was a comfortable place to rest, not some cramped driver’s seat where his mind could run wild all sorts of ominous delusions. With his shoulders tense from the stress, Seojun hastily unfolded a map he’d grabbed from the glove compartment, hoping to find some reassurance in its well-worn creases.

“Let’s see, Salt Lake City is still a ways off. The only potential pit stop that stands out is Snowville. No wait, do they even have the facilities to accommodate tourists?”

After being cooped up in the isolated town of Wraithwood for so long, all the endless roads started to look the same to Seojun. Mile after mind-numbing mile flew by, each stretch of asphalt blending into the next. His tired eye scanned the blurring landscapes until a flashing neon sign caught his attention, its red and green bulbs pulsing obnoxiously. Squinting against the dazzling light, he made out the puzzling letters.

“Welcome to… Utahpia?”

Utahpia? He blinked, sure he must have misread the typical “Utopia.” But no, the spelling was definitely a quirky play on the state’s name. It was almost comical that there was another town besides Wraithwood that made puns with its name. Still, it represented an unexpected lifeline in the midst of his lonely journey. Seojun gladly steered his rumbling truck through a grove of towering poplars toward the eccentric promise of Utahpia.

Maybe because it was so late, Utahpia was pretty quiet. Except for one rowdy spot.

Raucous laughter and chatter spilled out from a pub emblazoned with a neon [B.Y.D] sign – whether it was an acronym or just a weird name, nobody could tell. Kaleidoscopic lights blazed not just from the sign but from the walls themselves, casting a wild glow that must have driven the neighbors crazy. And the rich, mouthwatering smells wafting out… Seojun’s nostrils flared involuntarily. He was dead tired, but that tantalizing aroma sparked a primal hunger.

Gulping, powerless to resist, he parked his truck right outside, as if pulled in by some invisible force. Shoving his wallet and phone into his denim jacket pocket, Seojun approached and pushed through the saloon doors, stepping into the chaotic din.

The young man with a decent physique stopped dead in his tracks, completely stunned.

Stepping across that westerner’s threshold was like being transported into a wild scene straight out of a movie. Windsor chairs and beat-up tables filled every inch of space, while mounted deer and bear trophies watched over the room with glassy stares. The place was pure chaos – gamblers hunched over their cards, drunken patrons singing folk songs at the top of their lungs, and barflies cheering them on. The air was thick with the mouthwatering scents of charred lamb, mustard-glazed sausages, and steaming baked potatoes.

A friendly waiter, navigating the madness with ease, threw a playful wink at the awestruck newcomer. “Quite a sight, huh?” he grinned, sweeping his arm in a grand gesture. “Victorian-inspired hospitality! We even raise our own goats out back if you come during the day. The owner’s family immigrated here during the Victorian era.”

With another wink, the waiter sauntered off, his tray of beer glasses teetering precariously. Seojun blinked slowly, still in a daze, before finally coming to his senses and plopping down in an empty seat at the bar. A drunk patron randomly pounded on the piano keys, creating a discordant melody, while another guy shouted “Full house!” and sneaked a peek at his cards – only to slump forward, holding nothing but a measly straight. There were no life-or-death stakes here, just the lively rhythm of good-natured fun. A kind of infectious energy that could make you forget all your worries. Seojun’s tired eye suddenly sparkled with renewed interest, a hungry light reignited.

As the bartender handed him the menu, he mentioned casually, “Oh, and just so you know, it’s pay first.”

Seojun, a newcomer to the town with a distinct air about him, gratefully took the menu. He decided to enjoy a hearty meal before asking about a place to stay. As he savored his first sip of water after placing his order, Seojun’s ears perked up at the sound of a lively conversation nearby. The culprit was a middle-aged man sitting right next to him, his voice booming with excitement.

“Listen up, everyone! I’m telling you, there’s a crossroads near here where the devil himself shows up!” the man exclaimed, his words slightly slurred from a few too many drinks.

His friend, clearly used to these kinds of outbursts, shot back, “Oh, come on. Now he’s onto devils? Last week, it was magic. What’s next, an angel’s five-way intersection?”

The middle-aged man wasn’t about to back down. “You’re just blind to the truth! Remember the hardware store owner’s second son? The one who won the grand prize at the city art competition? There’s no way he could’ve pulled that off with his skills alone. I bet he made a deal with the devil at that crossroads!”

The friend, getting more and more fed up, countered, “Really? That’s easier to believe than the mysterious disappearance of my daughter’s gold-plated doll wedding ring, which magically showed up at the hardware store after your visit?”

“Ahem, ahem!”

The middle-aged man, his face flushed and his brown hair receding to the back of his head, let out an unnecessarily loud cough, making Seojun sway slightly from the man. Grumbling to himself, Seojun discreetly inched away from the drunk storyteller.

Not even a little embarrassed, the man kept going with his story. “You think I’m making this up because of that? I overheard the hardware store owner’s son telling his friend about meeting twins at the crossroads in the middle of the night. They granted his wish to win the art competition in exchange for a request. And wouldn’t you know it, he won the grand prize!”

“Are you sure you heard right? Besides, the kid’s painting wasn’t half bad. The judges even praised its avant-garde style. More importantly, should you really be drinking here like this? I thought your family didn’t approve.”

The middle-aged man scoffed, “Hah! My wife? She went back to her parents’ house last week, said she couldn’t stand the sight of my face. Can’t a man have a little fun now and then? Thanks to someone’s lack of understanding, my house is a mess.”

Although devils often showed up in the movie genres Seojun enjoyed watching, his Korean cultural roots made him feel a bit disconnected from the concept. Still, he found himself half-listening to the conversation nearby, even though the topic wasn’t particularly to his taste.

Being stuck so close to the conversation meant that Seojun couldn’t help but overhear all sorts of random details. Luckily, the middle-aged man’s friend had a knack for summing up the rambling story and making sense of it all.

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” the friend said. “If you do what the devil asks at the crossroads, the devil will grant your wish in return?”

The middle-aged man, his cheeks flushed with excitement, slammed his hand on the bar, making Seojun’s water glass rattle. “Exactly! You were acting like you weren’t listening, but you were paying attention after all, weren’t you?”

The friend clicked his tongue, not impressed. “Sounds more like a wish-granting fairy than a devil to me. Why even call it a devil if it’s out here granting wishes? At least make it make sense.”

“Ah, but here’s the catch,” the middle-aged man continued, not missing a beat. “If you don’t fulfill the devil’s request properly, you’ll suffer a terrible fate at its hands! The devil’s got these peculiar snake eyes…”

“Snake eyes? Like the worst roll in craps? Could be a fun gambling game. If we actually roll snake eyes, I’ll even buy the next round!”

Some random man playing cards chimed in, leaning sloppily against a pillar with beer foam clinging to his mouth. The middle-aged man’s buddy nudged him, trying to get him back on track with the story that was derailed.

“So, what’s this terrible fate you’re yapping about?”

The middle-aged man let out a big, hearty laugh, entertained by his pal’s abrupt curiosity after pretending not to care. “Well, I don’t know the specifics! The point is, the devil’s always got some sneaky traps hidden in the fine print.”

At long last, Seojun’s eagerly awaited feast arrived. The waiter deftly arranged the spread before him: juicy grilled sausages sizzling on the plate, a heap of spicy braised beans, a mound of crisp cabbage, tangy pickles, a trio of savory sauces, and a tall, frothy beer. Seojun’s mouth flooded with saliva, his stomach rumbling impatiently.

To hell with the devil, Seojun thought, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Let’s eat first.

His hands trembling, though whether from hunger or the tantalizing aroma of smoked meat he couldn’t say, Seojun snatched up his fork. As he speared the plump, elastic sausage with the utensil’s sharp tines, his belly clamored for the greasy goodness. But just as he was about to cram a hefty bite into his watering mouth…

THUD! The bar jolted again, sending Seojun’s precious meal momentarily airborne. Instinctively bear-hugging his dishes, Seojun whipped his head around. Two seats over, a grizzled old man had slammed down an empty glass with gusto.

The man had a round, protruding beer belly and a meticulously groomed white mustache with a sheriff’s star gleaming on his chest. Wide belt cinched around his green trousers, long dark green necktie against a white shirt, black duster and cowboy hat to complete the look – he was the very image of a Wild West lawman. Ruddy-nosed and vocal in his irritation, the sheriff griped loudly.

“Youngsters these days think rules are a joke!”

As fate would have it, the sheriff’s gaze landed squarely on Seojun, who’d just stuffed a generous bite of sausage into his mouth. The man’s bloodshot eyes glinted like a bird of prey homing in on a tasty mouse.