Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#102Reader Mode

#102

Tim swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a buoy in a storm. It was a dead giveaway that he was nothing like the vengeful ghost, Timothy, from his made up story. Johan’s words tightened around his throat, choking the air from his lungs like an invisible hand.

“This persistent hitchhiker refused to take no for an answer, begging for a ride as if his life depended on it. The killer probably thought, ‘I can’t risk a witness. One less person breathing means one less problem.’ The thought of getting caught can be pretty terrifying… for the killer, that is.” Johan’s piercing blue eyes flicked towards Tim, a hint of amusement in their depths. “So, in that situation, what should Tom have done?”

Tim’s voice cracked, a barely audible tremor betraying his fear. “Me? Uh… I guess I’d keep driving,” he blurted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. His eyes darted nervously to the rearview mirror, then back to the road ahead, as if expecting to see something sinister hidden in the trunk. It was an instinctive reaction, one he immediately regretted, squeezing his eyes shut before forcing them open again. His tongue darted out, trying to moisten lips suddenly dry as sandpaper, tasting only the bitter tang of fear.

“Picking up hitchhikers is never a good idea, anyway,” he added, attempting a casual tone, but the tremor in his voice lingered.

The words hung in the air, and then it hit Tim. Johan had called him Tom. But fear, a cold and paralyzing dread, held him captive, silencing any attempt to correct the mistake. Johan hummed in agreement, his tone still light and conversational, unsettlingly reminiscent of the moment Tim had first shared his haunting story.

“At first, the killer thought so too. Went so far as to consider something drastic, like just running him over. But then…” Johan’s voice lowered, a playful hint creeping into his tone. “He came up with a better plan. Tim in the trunk—oops, my mistake. Tom, of course. The dead guy’s name was Tom.”

The way Johan said “Tom” sent a shiver down Tim’s spine. It was too casual, too familiar, like he was reminiscing about an old friend, not a man who had been brutally murdered.

“Tom and the killer didn’t know each other, just two strangers who happened to cross paths at a gas station.”

“A gas station…” Tim repeated, the words heavy with a sense of foreboding. And then, like a switch had been flipped, a vivid technicolor scene burst into his mind. A bright yellow Beetle pulled into a deserted gas station, its headlights slicing through the darkness. Johan stepped out, his blond hair practically glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights. His smile was disarming, his voice mesmerizing—tools of manipulation honed to perfection, designed to lure even the most cautious individuals into his orbit. The scene felt so real, so incredibly vivid, that Tim felt like he was actually there, witnessing the fateful encounter firsthand.

“Yeah…” Johan nodded, his eyes darkening like a storm brewing on the horizon. “The perfect place for a murder—no security cameras, just a couple of burnt-out employees and a dingy smoking spot where shadows clung like secrets. That’s where the killer and Tom met. They leaned against the wall, exchanging meaningless small talk, their words hanging in the night air like smoke…”

As Johan spoke, Tom began to materialize in Tim’s mind, evolving from a nameless victim into a flesh-and-blood person. He pictured a middle-aged man, a bit worn around the edges, his shirt stretched tight over a protruding belly. His cheeks were flushed, his nose red, and his eyes held a desperation that felt achingly real.

Johan’s voice, smooth as velvet, was intoxicating, drawing Tim in like a bee to honey. “It was just casual conversation, but in that moment, the killer sensed something. Tom was…. very, very lonely.”

Tim immediately understood. Lonely meant isolated, vulnerable, invisible. No family to report him missing, no one to wonder where he’d gone. A chilling fear crawled up Tim’s spine, raising goosebumps on his skin. Every hair on his body stood on end, a thousand tiny alarm bells screaming a silent warning. The killer had struck gold with Tom. He’d found the perfect prey.

Tim shrank back in his seat, wishing he could disappear into the darkness like a terrified insect trying to escape the clutches of a spider.

A hair-raising suspicion wormed its way into Tim’s mind, coiling around him like a serpent. Was Johan playing him? Was this some sick game, the kind Tim knew all too well? Beneath Johan’s enigmatic smile, Tim thought he detected a whiff of something foul – the stench of deceit and hidden truths, like a rotting corpse hidden beneath the floorboards.

Had Johan killed before? Were his hands truly as clean as they seemed, or were they stained with the blood of his victims? Could those strong, thick fingers, capable of crushing bone, really be innocent?

Tim’s mind flashed back to their initial encounter, before he’d even gotten into the car. Johan had been so damn reluctant to give him a ride, even after he’d pleaded… almost as if he was hiding something. And hadn’t Tim caught him glancing at the trunk? What the hell was in there? A jolt of pure terror shot through Tim, making him tremble.

Memories began to twist and distort in his mind like a poisonous web. Tim couldn’t shake the feeling that Johan had deliberately looked at the back of the car when he had climbed in. Tim’s face drained of color, his skin clammy with cold sweat. The veins in his forehead pulsed, like tiny, writhing worms, as fear tightened its icy grip around his heart.

Tim finally saw what he’d been waiting for – the third crow, a dead omen sprawled on the road, intended to instill fear in his victim. But his face remained impassive, showing no hint of satisfaction or victory.

“Oops,” Johan murmured nonchalantly, driving right over the crow without even flinching.

Johan hadn’t been paying much attention to the road anyway, so he casually brought the yellow Beetle to a halt. But Tim’s heart hammered against his ribs. A dull thud echoed from the trunk, and he could practically visualize something heavy and lifeless tumbling inside, colliding with the metal walls. The sound was like an icy hand gripping his ankle, dragging him down into the darkest depths of his fear.

Tim’s scream ripped through the silence, his usual composure shattering in an instant.

“Aaaah! Aaaaah!”

Johan’s head snapped around, his eyes widening in surprise at the bloodcurdling shriek that seemed to drain the air from Tim’s lungs. Tim’s eyes were wide with terror, his lips trembling uncontrollably, his skin an unhealthy shade of pale. His expression was one of pure, unadulterated panic, like a cornered animal desperate for escape. Johan could no longer contain himself. He threw back his head and roared with laughter – a deep, booming bellow that was both infectious and terrifying. If he hadn’t been gripping the steering wheel, he might have slapped his thigh hard enough to bruise.

“Haha, hahaha! Tim, relax! It’s just a story, a spooky tale! Did you actually believe it?”

Johan was still doubled over with laughter, tears welling up in his eyes. Tim looked dazed, his eyes wide with confusion, as if trying to process what had just transpired. But as he observed Johan’s shaking shoulders, his own fear began to recede, replaced by a growing sense of bewilderment.

Finally catching his breath, Johan wiped his eyes with a chuckle. “I didn’t think you’d freak out that much! Since you’ve been telling all these scary stories, I thought I’d give it a go too. I didn’t have anything particularly terrifying in mind, so I just improvised. Looks like I’ve uncovered a hidden talent, huh?”

Tim’s face burned with shame, his cheeks flushed crimson as mortification washed over him. Just moments ago, fear had drained the color from his face, leaving him pale and lifeless. Now, his skin was ablaze with humiliation, as if his pride itself had been set on fire. The adrenaline-fueled urge to kill Johan, a desperate attempt to jumpstart his stagnant creativity, had evaporated, leaving only ashes and shame in its wake.

Johan was a walking contradiction, a jarring blend of gentle and aggressive that was deeply unsettling. And then there was his physique – ripped and athletic, radiating the aura of a fitness enthusiast. The thought of going up against someone built like that made Tim’s killer instinct shrivel up and die. It was a suicidal notion, plain and simple, a recipe for disaster.

The sting of his first failed attempt still lingered, leaving Tim deflated and second-guessing himself. He couldn’t help but picture his previous target… a tall, gloomy, slender guy with broad shoulders, but a psyche so fragile he’d seemed like easy pickings. That failure still gnawed at him, but…

Johan mumbled something under his breath, “Just a toolbox in the trunk… a friend gave it to me. Gotta remember to grab it later.”

Tim’s eyebrow shot up, skepticism written all over his face. He didn’t buy Johan’s casual explanation for a second. His grip tightened on the backpack in his lap, a telltale sign of his creeping anxiety. He knew he couldn’t take Johan in a fight, and the thought sent a jolt of fear through him.

He forced a smile, trying to act casual as he rubbed the sore knot on his forehead. Luck had always been his best friend, but when it came to brute strength, the universe had dealt him a lousy hand. Not that it mattered much anymore. These days, Tim relied on his brains and his cunning to get what he wanted. He was a strategist, a master of outsmarting the competition.

Johan’s voice cut through Tim’s thoughts. “Hey, Tim, mind grabbing me a water from the back? Kinda hard to reach while I’m driving.”

Tim hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face, but he nodded. “Sure thing.”

It would’ve been a totally normal request if Tim wasn’t starting to feel uneasy around Johan. The guy was giving him a ride, though, right? tucked his backpack under his arm and leaned over to grab the water bottle from the backseat. Johan’s bag was open, the bottle practically begging to be taken.

As Tim reached for it, Johan’s bag shifted forward, and something small tumbled out onto the floor with a soft thud. Curiosity piqued, Tim glanced down to see what had fallen.

At first glance, it looked like just a beat-up old wallet, nothing out of the ordinary. But when it flipped open, revealing its contents, the apology Tim was about to utter died in his throat. His eyes were glued to the car floor, his mind racing.

It wasn’t money or cards that spilled out, but a tightly rolled strip of cloth, stained a deep, rusty brown. A color Tim knew all too well. His mind flashed back to the vivid red of fresh blood, now dried and faded to a chilling brown.

Tim’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding against his ribs. He tried to play it cool, fiddling with his backpack zipper, but the movement only amplified his rising panic. He was used to being in control, the predator, not the prey. Except, of course, when his illness took over. But trapped in the suffocating confines of the car with him, his dread twisted into a raw, gut-wrenching terror. His eyes widened, blood vessels exploding in the whites, turning them a terrifying red as fear finally consumed him.

Violence was nothing new to Tim. He was a man of action, always ready to strike first. It seemed Johan wasn’t the only one who understood the power of making the first move.

“AHH!”

Tim’s strangled yell echoed through the car as he swung the water bottle at Johan’s head with all his might. His thin arms trembled with the effort, but the bottle just bounced off Johan’s skull with a dull thud, like a rubber ball against concrete.

“What the… ?” Johan grunted, more irritated than scared. “Are you trying to get us both killed?!”

Despite the pathetic lack of impact, Tim’s desperate attack wasn’t entirely useless. Normally, Johan could have easily snapped Tim’s wrist like a twig. But the sudden, wild swing caught him completely off guard, throwing him off balance.

Johan’s hands slipped on the steering wheel, his eyes widening in surprise. The car swerved violently, the world outside blurring into a dizzying mess of green and brown as they spun out of control.

“You think I’m going down without a fight?!” Tim shrieked, his voice cracking with desperation. “I’ll take you with me, you son of a b*tch!”

His body was tossed around the car like a rag doll, slamming into the door with each violent swerve. Tears streamed down his face, whipped sideways as the car fishtailed down the road, hurtling them towards disaster.