Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie
#115
#115
The Wizard’s words clung to Seojun like a thick glaze of honey, sweet at first but quickly turning sour. “Lucky for you?” The words felt wrong. Seojun had never considered himself lucky, not even once in his entire existence.
From his innocent childhood to the reckless blur of his teenage years, and even now, in the chaotic mess of adulthood, bad luck seemed to be his constant companion. Even during moments that should’ve been happy, like those hazy baby days, something ominous always lurked in the background. Of course, as a baby, he’d been blissfully unaware.
It wasn’t like he chose to have misfortune tail him everywhere, but during those isolated years in Wraithwood, Seojun had let himself sink into a delusional pit of his own making. He’d watch others’ happiness from afar, like a child staring longingly at treats through a shop window, bitter and jealous that joy always seemed just out of reach.
Maybe this was always how it was going to end, Seojun thought, his mood darkening. Maybe getting kidnapped was inevitable.
For a moment, the sheer weight of it all threatened to crush him, pulling him back into that all-too-familiar pit of depression.
No, stop. He wrestled his mind away from the brink. It happened once. I’ve done my time. Lightning won’t strike twice. Right?
The knot in his chest began to loosen, like the relief that comes when a headache finally subsides. With the new year, he’d promised himself a fresh outlook, a chance to shake off the negative cloud that had followed him for so long. His mind, though still stained by dark thoughts, sparked with flashes of defiance. And those sparks ignited something—a tiny flame of resolve that spread from his head to his feet, pushing him to keep moving forward.
Seojun approached the door with measured steps. No rushing, no hesitation. His eye flicked between the blackboard and the door, searching the lifeless objects for answers that weren’t there. He should’ve felt relieved—it had finally opened. But instead, suspicion coiled tight in his gut. He hadn’t done anything to unlock it. If it opened on its own… it had to be a trap.
His gaze swept the room, landing on the gavel that had rolled across the floor. He crouched down, snatching it up. The cool, smooth wood felt reassuring in his palm. Small, but heavy enough to crack a skull if it came to that. Clutching the gavel to his chest, Seojun stood in front of the door, every muscle tight, bracing for whatever waited on the other side.
— Hurry up and open it.
The Wizard’s voice, icy and indifferent, prodded him forward. There was no warmth in it, no recognition of the fear twisting inside Seojun like a spring wound too tight.
“Ah, that bastard,” Seojun muttered under his breath, the words hissing out like steam. The Wizard couldn’t hear him anyway, so why hold back?
With a stubborn huff, he poked the door with the gavel and leapt back, every muscle taut, braced for anything—poisonous fumes, a flying projectile, maybe even the floor giving way to some hellish pit below. His mind raced, each imagined scenario more horrific than the last. He began to count, waiting for the disaster that felt certain to come.
One, two, three, four, five… Seojun counted all the way to sixty, heart pounding in his chest. But… nothing. The ground remained firm under his feet. No hidden walls rushed in to squash him like a bug. The room stayed maddeningly quiet, as if laughing at his fears.
The gavel quivered in his grip, a drop of sweat sliding down his cheek. He gulped hard and inched closer to the door, each step as cautious as a cat on thin ice. The handle looked so… normal. Just an ordinary doorknob. But Seojun knew better than to trust appearances.
“Is it really unlocked?”
Seojun stared at the door, his nerves on edge. No amount of intense looking could give him a definite answer. If it was truly open, there was only one way to find out. He’d have to turn the handle and confront whatever lay beyond…
Shouldn’t this be the moment where courage kicks in?
Seojun mused, but that surge of bravery never showed up, as if it had taken a wrong turn and gotten lost on its way. His hand, now resting on the doorknob, trembled like a leaf. Pathetic.
He felt nothing but disgust for himself.
Courage? What a joke. It’s all or nothing now!
Fueled by that bitter thought, the lanky young man—still looking like a discount scarecrow with his head and hands wrapped in burlap—yanked the back door open. Thud! The door swung wide, bouncing off the wall with a hollow bang.
“…Ha!”
A shaky exhale escaped Seojun as his head spun. His pulse raced, vision swimming for a moment.
It had been too simple. The door swung open as if it had never been locked at all. Seojun squeezed his eyes shut, then blinked, half-expecting the scene to change.
But it didn’t. The door stayed wide open, no traps sprung, no sudden peril. Instead, a long corridor stretched out before him. Nothing fancy, just a plain hallway, but it was real, and that was enough.
Just as Tim had described, the Invisible Man’s mansion was surprisingly mundane. Cream-colored walls, reddish-brown floors, a few scattered rugs that seemed more like an afterthought than a real attempt at coziness. Nothing about it screamed “mad scientist’s lair.” Not at first glance, anyway.
But maybe that was the issue. The eerie calm. It felt like standing before a blank canvas, the air heavy with tension, waiting for the artist’s first, chilling brushstroke. The silence pressed in, stifling, until the Wizard’s voice cut through it like a knife.
— Go on. You won’t discover anything just standing there.
What? Just wander into the unknown…?
The voice oozed amusement, taunting him, daring him to move. It was almost playful, like a hushed whisper right in his ear, intimate and enticing. Before he could think twice, Seojun took a step forward, his grip tightening on the gavel. It was as if the Wizard had a hold on him, pulling invisible strings he couldn’t see or break.
Creak. The floorboards complained under his weight as he entered the hallway. A slight draft slithered through unseen gaps, as if the house itself was taking a shallow breath. He flinched, his gaze darting to his feet, half-expecting the floor to disappear like some B-movie trapdoor, or for deadly spikes to burst out, cutting his adventure short before it truly began.
But nothing happened. The floor remained solid. The hallway stayed eerily quiet.
He licked his dry lips, tasting a hint of blood. Cautiously, he scanned the corridor. To his left, a blank wall. But something was off—he couldn’t see the front door to the courtroom he’d just left. It was as if it had simply disappeared.
Did they put up a fake wall on the left side of the hallway?
Seojun rammed his shoulder against the wall and rapped it a few times with the gavel, half-hoping his own might could crack it. But after a bit, it was clear he’d just wasted his energy on a pointless effort.
He backed away with an exasperated huff, massaging his sore shoulder and wrist. If only the front door had been unlocked. Maybe he could’ve darted out, straight into the entrance hall and away from this prison.
“……”
— I told you it wouldn’t work.
“Shut up…”
Maybe it was knowing the Wizard couldn’t actually hear him that made it so easy to snap back. Something about the lack of consequences made being rude feel a little too good.
Still clinging to a shred of hope, Seojun trudged back to the courtroom. He rattled the front door, already knowing the outcome—nothing. The door, just like the back one, remained stubbornly locked. The Wizard, of course, had been watching the whole sad show and clicked his tongue at the spectacle. Seojun could practically feel his smug stare boring into the back of his skull. His face burned with embarrassment.
Back in the hallway, Seojun’s eye darted around, hunting for any other way out. Anything at all. His gaze eventually landed on a security camera mounted high on the ceiling, and almost on cue, the Wizard’s voice crackled through the speaker. It was hard to tell if the tone was meant to be encouraging or just more mockery.
— So, you’re the stubborn type, huh? Always pushing even when it seems pointless? That kind of grit isn’t the worst quality to have. But since we’re short on time, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t waste any more of it.
Definitely mocking me.
Taking advantage of the burlap sack concealing his hands, Seojun glanced around, searching for a camera to flip off. As expected, their captor was meticulous, bordering on obsessive. He spotted another camera staring down at him from the wall near the speaker.
But something was wrong. The red recording light wasn’t on. It just hung there, lifeless and dark.
— Oh, hang on a second, Oz. I just realized I can’t see you outside the courtroom. Looks like the hallway CCTV is one of the cameras that’s gone out. Let’s see… that key you found earlier, wasn’t it for the storage room? Luckily, the storage room camera is still working. You’d better hurry up and get inside.
The Wizard’s voice crackled through the speaker at just the right moment—so perfectly timed, in fact, that Seojun almost didn’t believe him. For a second, he just stared at the nearest camera, dumbfounded, before flashing an obscene gesture.
So, it’s real. He can’t see me here.
His dark eye gleamed with a mix of hope and apprehension. This tiny bubble of freedom from the Wizard’s gaze was precious—a fleeting chance that demanded more cunning than he felt capable of. Seojun wished for a sudden burst of brilliance, for a clever plan to materialize out of thin air. But the harsh truth was, he wasn’t particularly bright or clever.
Nevertheless, he forced himself to focus, his gaze darting around the hallway, searching for anything that could help. His movements were careful and deliberate, his long legs barely making a sound as his heels skimmed the floor. The silence pressed in from all sides, heavy and suffocating, and Seojun was certain that even the smallest noise would echo, giving him away. He crept forward like a shadow slipping through the dim light.
The left path led to a dead end, so he quickly turned to the right. Not far ahead, a door stood at the end of the hallway, just as the storage room had been described. There were no extra locks, only a simple one that fit the key he held.
Seojun crouched, peering through the keyhole. A faint beam of light illuminated a shadowy room beyond.
This has to be it.
But he hesitated, his gaze drifting back to the hallway. Behind what he had assumed was the front of the courtroom, he noticed a staircase. It split in two different directions—one path descending into the basement, the other rising to a second floor blocked by iron bars.
The gate wasn’t anything advanced, just a basic padlock. Still, with only the key to the storage room, it might as well have been sealed for good. He gripped the bars and gave them a hard shake. The clanging echoed sharply, bouncing off the cold walls. As usual, luck wasn’t on his side.
With a frustrated sigh, he let go of the bars and glanced at the staircase leading down. It was like staring into a void, a darkness so thick it seemed to creep out, wrapping around him like it was alive. Something deep inside him stirred—a primal instinct warning him of danger. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
Even though he knew he was alone, Seojun couldn’t shake the feeling of being exposed, vulnerable. A prickling sensation crept up his neck, prompting him to glance over his shoulder. His grip tightened around the gavel until his fingers ached, but he forced himself to move, one step at a time.
Thud, thud, thud… Each step down felt solid beneath him—concrete, not wood. The air grew colder with every descent, and the sense of dread deepened with it. Every instinct whispered him that he was walking straight into something terrible, like he was descending into the very jaws of hell. The chill seeped into his bones, but he pushed the fear aside, determined to see this through.
“Haa…”
Another heavy sigh slipped from Seojun’s lips. When he reached the bottom, the basement door loomed ahead, shut tight. His fingers brushed the cold metal. Like the courtroom door, this one had a special lock, meant to keep intruders out.
His forehead, damp with sweat, rested against the icy metal door, the chill piercing through the rough fabric of the burlap sack still loosely draped over him. His long lashes fluttered against the coarse material as his pulse quickened—a quiet, simmering fear lurking beneath his exhaustion.
He turned, glancing up the stairs. The hallway above was bathed in a steady, warm light that seemed oddly comforting. The amber glow softened the mansion’s ominous presence, a strange contrast to the horrors it was rumored to contain. For a place built to house nightmarish experiments, the Invisible Man’s mansion gave off an unsettlingly cozy vibe.
Without a second thought, Seojun hurried back up the stairs, his long legs carrying him quickly away from the oppressive weight of the basement. But instead of heading straight for the storage room, he took a detour, retracing his steps to the courtroom.
— No luck with the storage room?
[Forgot my sketchbook.] Seojun scribbled quickly, then added another note before the Wizard could respond:
[Found the storage room. There’s a staircase to the second floor, but it’s blocked by security bars. I tried everything, but they won’t budge.]
He couldn’t resist throwing in a joke about how ridiculously strong the bars were, which earned a soft chuckle from the Wizard.
— Too bad. Would’ve been nice if you’d rescued me like a prince right away. Guess the storage room takes priority, huh? Seems important, just like that shared journal mentioned.