Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

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#123

7. Perfect Lover ♥ Powder (1)

It was the dead of night. Inky darkness pressed against the windows like black tar, seeping through every crack of the rundown house—if you could even call it that. It was barely more than four walls holding up a roof. Empty cans, bottles, and containers, carpeted the filthy floor. Getting across the room without stepping on trash was about as likely as glimpsing a star through the city’s smoggy sky.

The man inside didn’t seem to notice or care about the disgusting mess surrounding him. He was slumped on a couch that had seen better days, its cushions long since surrendered to the tyranny of broken springs. His eyes remained fixed on the TV’s flickering screen, where a glowing figure commanded his full, undivided attention. The filth around him was inconsequential, a forgotten backdrop to the scene playing out before him.

She was captivating, like a dream preserved from another era. Honey-brown curly hair framed her face, cascading to her shoulders with a supernatural gleam that made her seem untouched by time. Her every movement radiated a refined grace, each step imbued with the elegance of a bygone age. A gingham apron cinched her impossibly tiny waist, completing the perfect image of a 1960s housewife—a living portrait of the American Dream.

But it was her eyes that truly ensnared him. Serene and intense—sambaegan, as some might say—they should have been intimidating. Instead, they sparkled with a charm that was both sunny and disarming. Her almost fox-like gaze promised warmth and understanding, an allure so potent it made resistance unthinkable. He couldn’t look away, and perhaps he didn’t want to.¹T/N: Sambaegan (삼백안) Refers to how the white of the eye is visible on three sides of the iris – on both sides and either above or below it. The name comes from the words “sambek” (삼백, meaning “three whites”) and “an” (안, meaning “eye”).

Yet, there was something unnatural about her perfection… more like a life-sized porcelain doll than a woman made of flesh and blood. Her dazzling smile, with teeth so white they could have been sculpted from pure snow, glinted under the studio lights. She moved with effortless grace, leaning forward to rest her delicate arms on the table.

Her slender arms weren’t what captured his attention though. His gaze was fixed instead on the objects she held: a gleaming red kettle in her right hand and a mysterious container of white powder in her left. The kettle shimmered under the studio’s bright lights, while the powder seemed to emit a faint, almost ethereal glow.

Then, her lips—painted a shocking, almost violent red—parted, and out came a voice dripping sweetness, bright enough to sting.

“Hey there, fabulous viewers! It’s me, Gary, your friendly guide to the world of Happy Life products. I’m here to add a little sunshine to your day, as always! Make sure to keep watching, because you definitely don’t want to miss what’s coming up next!”

A quiet murmur trailed behind her cheerful delivery.

“Ha, Harry here…” the man muttered, his voice barely louder than a sigh.

He looked like death warmed over. Sunken eyes stared out from deep hollows, framed by thin, gray skin that clung tightly to sharp cheekbones. The sparse, wiry hairs on his scalp sprouted like stubborn weeds breaking through cracked concrete. He seemed so fragile, so insubstantial, that a faint breeze might scatter him to the winds.

And yet, despite his decrepit state, his lips twisted into a grin. It wasn’t an expression of joy—it was disquieting, stretched impossibly wide, as if it had been carved into his face by some cruel hand.

Gary’s laughter broke the moment, light and melodic like wind chimes in a summer breeze. She leaned over and gave Harry’s bony shoulder a playful smack, the motion almost affectionate—if not for the biting edge to her words.

“Oh my goodness, Harry! You’re looking especially dreadful today. But wait, don’t tell me why. Let me guess. Give me a second!”

“Haha, ha, ha-ha…” Harry’s laughter sputtered out in strained, jerky bursts. His mouth twitching as if the act itself pained him.

Gary snapped her fingers sharply, the crisp sound cutting cleanly through the room. “Aha! I’ve got it! What you need, my dear Harry, is the perfect lover!”

“Yes, yes!” Harry’s voice cracked with frantic, almost desperate energy. “That’s it! That’s exactly what I n-n-need. A p-p-perfect lover!”

Gary leaned toward the camera, her expression conspiratorial, as though she were sharing an irresistible secret with her audience. Her flawless smile never wavered, not even for a second.

“In today’s fast-paced world, it’s not easy for an ordinary man like yourself to find the ideal match. A dream lover who’s just as skilled at managing daily chores as they are at, shall we say, igniting the spark in the bedroom.” She threw in a flirty wink. “But fret not, darling!”

With a move that was equal parts theatrical and mesmerizing, Gary raised her left hand. The camera zoomed in, capturing every exquisite detail. Slowly, almost reverently, she tilted the small container she held. A fine white powder spilled from its lip, glittering like crushed diamonds in the studio lights.

“Are you longing for a soulmate who understands your every thought? A lover whose appearance matches your deepest fantasies? Perhaps you long for an intellectual with a heart of gold… or maybe…” She paused, drawing out the moment, her voice dipping into a sultry whisper, “someone who gazes up at you with unwavering devotion? But why stop at one when you can have it all?”

Her radiant smile grew wider, dazzling and almost too perfect, like staring directly into the sun. “With this miraculous powder, the lover of your dreams is finally within reach! Harry darling, be a dear and fetch the rest of our ingredients, won’t you?”

“R-right away…”

Harry’s hands trembled violently, as if chilled to the bone, as he began placing a collection of peculiar items on the table. Each movement was hesitant, almost reluctant, like he knew he was setting the stage for something terrible. The table, pristine just moments before, quickly became cluttered with objects that wouldn’t have been out of place in a dark ritual rather than a cheery TV demonstration.

A slab of raw, glistening meat, still slick with blood, dominated the center under the studio lights. Beside it, a bottle of golden cooking oil gleamed innocently. Chunky grains of salt sparkled like shards of broken glass scattered across the table, and a piece of parchment, covered in strange symbols, seemed to writhe faintly under the harsh lighting.

Through it all, Gary’s voice carried on, light and breezy, as though she were listing off ingredients for a charming family dinner.

“Fear not, my darlings! Everything you need to whip up this enchanting little potion is easy to find, and the process? Oh, it’s as simple as pie!” She gestured grandly toward the table. “All you’ll need is one jar of our fabulous Per-fect-Lov-er Powder, 150 grams of high-quality pork, a dash of salt, three tablespoons of premium olive oil, one enchanted parchment, a heart full of yearning, some warm water, and—ah, yes!”

She leaned in toward the camera, her smile coquettish. “We mustn’t forget the most crucial ingredient… just a teensy, tiny piece of human. And voilà! Your dream lover will appear right before your eyes! Now, shall we show everyone how it’s done?”

The words barely had time to settle before a guttural scream ripped through the set like a jagged blade.

“AAAAAGH! N-NO! PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP ME!”

Harry’s agonized cries ricocheted off the walls, raw and desperate, each word drenched in pure terror. His voice cracked, pleading for mercy, only to be drowned out by the wet, nauseating sound of fingernails being torn from his spasming fingers. The scent of blood filled the air, mingling with the sounds of his torment.

And yet, Gary didn’t falter. Her smile remained fixed, her voice as sweet and airy as ever, a jarring counterpoint to the horror beside her.

“Fingernails make for the most exquisite ingredient! And they’re so conveniently accessible!”

As Harry writhed and howled in agony, his suffering faded into irrelevance against her practiced, almost hypnotic performance. With the poise of a master chef, she drizzled warm water over the bloody mixture before her. Each movement was deliberate, precise, and unbothered, as though the grisly ritual was nothing more than an everyday task.

The camera stayed focused on the table, its lens capturing every detail of the concoction with the same clinical indifference Gary exuded. The slab of raw meat, the shimmering powder, and the now-bloody water blended together under Gary’s deft hands, highlighted by the soft hum of studio lights.

Gary’s impeccably manicured index finger rose with deliberate grace, her poised hand demanding attention as she pointed toward the camera. Her eyes, alight with an intensity that defied explanation, seemed to pierce through the lens, holding the viewer captive in their own home. It was as though the screen itself could not contain her presence.

The man sat frozen on his couch, every nerve in his body trembling beneath the weight of her gaze. His teeth dug into the raw, tender flesh of his nail-less finger, the sting barely registering as blood pooled in his mouth and dripped down his chin. The sickly glow of the screen illuminated his hollowed face, the skeletal ridges of his cheekbones, and the sweat slicking his pallid skin. In the warped reflection of the TV, he caught a glimpse of himself—a bloodshot-eyed shell of a man clinging to the frayed edges of his sanity.

“But my sweethearts,” Gary purred, her voice a perfect blend of seductive allure and saccharine sweetness, “you must avoid hair in this concoction. Imagine the horror!” She wrinkled her flawless nose in distaste. “Your perfect lover, tainted with unsightly dandruff? Absolutely gauche, don’t you agree, Harry?”

Harry’s reply was nothing more than a strangled mix of sobs and gasping breaths. Tears carved glistening tracks down his sunken cheeks as he forced himself to choke out, “Sn-sniff… I… Sob… S-stay tuned! You’ll n-never get another c-chance like this!”

Gary’s laughter bubbled forth, light and sparkling, utterly unbothered by the spectacle of Harry’s misery. Her eyes crinkled with delight as her smile widened, stretching impossibly bright. “The orders just keep flooding in! Isn’t it marvelous? Why not join the ranks of our Happy Family and create the lover of your dreams today? Oh, and would you look at that!” she cooed, clapping her hands together with childlike glee. “Our most devoted customer is leading the charge once again. Simply splendid!”

As Gary spoke, a vibrant, almost obnoxious shade of pink flashed across her face in the form of an order counter. The numbers climbed at a dizzying pace, each cheerful ping! resonating with the sharpness of a bell toll. The neon glow bathed her flawless skin in an ethereal, almost alien radiance, amplifying her magnetic presence as though she were not just a host but a deity commanding devotion.

In the dim squalor of his home, the man felt paralyzed. His breath hitched, shallow and uneven, as though the very air had been stolen from his lungs. He didn’t register the filth around him, the rancid staleness of the room, or even the blood still dripping from his gnawed fingertip. His world had narrowed to her face, her voice, her commanding gaze. He didn’t notice his hand moving, his trembling fingers groping desperately for his phone.

At the bottom of the screen, a disclaimer crept by, its muted gray text blending into the background as though it hoped to go unnoticed:

※ Caution ※

Lovers created through the miraculous Perfect Lover Powder have an extremely limited lifespan and must be disposed of immediately upon expiration. This network, its affiliates, and the creators of Perfect Lover Powder bear no accountability for incidents resulting from the expiration of these lovers. Additionally, any alterations to the prescribed ingredient ratios will result in the full transfer of all liability to the user.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Amidst the misfortune of his kidnapping, one small mercy stood out: his truck was still there, parked haphazardly but intact near the Invisible Man’s mansion. It seemed the kidnapper hadn’t gotten around to dealing with it yet since all of his belongings inside were untouched. Seojun’s hands shook as he turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, its low growl syncing with the pounding of his heart as he tore away from the mansion, the looming shape shrinking behind him like a bad dream he was desperate to forget.

He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been gripping the steering wheel until his fingers ached. How long had he been driving? Hours? Days? Time blurred, just like the scenery whipping past the windows. Trees, houses—everything dissolved into a smudged, meaningless backdrop. The highway stretched ahead of him, an endless gray ribbon under a sky bruised with the threat of rain. Only when the mansion vanished completely from his rearview mirror did his shoulders release even a fraction of the tension knotted there.

He reached for a cigarette, his movements sluggish, like he was wading through molasses. The first bitter drag burned his lungs but brought an odd kind of comfort.. He slumped back against the worn leather seat, his body sinking like a deflated invertebrate. Smoke spiraled lazily from his lips, drifting in the still air of the cab as if it, too, shared his exhaustion.

His gaze wandered to the window. “Wandered” might even be too generous—his eyes were just pointed somewhere, unfocused, lost. When he managed to blink away the haze, the sky above stared back at him, gloomy and heavy with swollen storm clouds. It felt fitting, like the whole world was waiting to break open and pour.

“So… tired…”

Rest. That’s all he needed. A place without monsters lurking in the shadows or devils wearing human faces. Somewhere he could breathe without the weight of ghosts pressing down on his chest. Somewhere—anywhere—that felt safe.

“But… does a place like that even exist anymore?”

A bitter laugh slipped out as tears pricked the corners of his eye. He’d finally broken free from Wraithwood, yet somehow, the memory of the courtroom in that terrible mansion felt like the safest place he’d ever known. The realization settled in his mind like a lead weight: maybe leaving Wraithwood had been the real mistake. Out here, the world was so much worse. It was that terrifying.

Escape. Escape. Escape. It was all he knew anymore—an endless cycle of running with no finish line in sight. He almost laughed at himself. Remember when his biggest worry was the dumb, cringe-worthy nonsense he’d blurted out that one night? That moment felt almost… peaceful now. These days, he could probably face Johan and shrug it off like nothing. Embarrassment was nothing compared to the grim realities he’d been dealing with.

Seojun let out another long sigh, his fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the small teddy bear keychain attached to his wallet. The soft fur felt warm from the heat of his hands, and its presence brought back memories. He turned the wallet over in his palm, the leather pliant and worn. Having attached it to something as important as his wallet meant its previous owner drifted into his thoughts from time to time.

Johan had given him the keychain, probably hoping it would serve as a constant reminder of him. Seojun smirked faintly at the thought. To him, Johan was always more coyote than bear—a happy smile, quick reflexes, and a knack for showing up uninvited. But as the thought lingered, his brow furrowed, and a surprising realization crept in.

“Wait… isn’t he actually more bear-like than I thought?”

The parallels stacked up in his mind: the sly cunning, the absurd strength, the surprising speed, and, yeah, even the capacity for brutality. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. Johan’s smoldering gaze had always reminded him of a “predator,” but looking back, his actions didn’t really line up with the swiftness of a coyote. No, this was something far more… ursine. Calculated strikes, that overwhelming presence, the cheerful, yet predatory grin that always came just before delivering a crushing blow…

“Was Johan literally a bear in disguise this whole time?”

The ridiculous thought tumbled out before he could stop it, and for a second, he nearly let himself fall into the absurdity. Thankfully, his brain drew the line at entertaining shapeshifting conspiracy theories. Still, if Johan had decided to lean into his inner grizzly, who was Seojun to judge? His own attempts to channel Christina-God-Toolbox had been nothing short of pathetic.

Christina was practically a saint, always ready to sacrifice herself for others. And him? Just another mortal choosing the path of least resistance.

Conscience? He’d learned to live just fine without carrying that particular burden.

Steeling his will—flimsy as a spring reed—Seojun made what he could only describe as a thoroughly garbage resolution. He bit down hard on his cigarette, the taste of ash mixing with his newfound determination to be ruthless. After all, he was already ruthlessly committed to killing off his lungs. Might as well extend that commitment to his moral compass.

But, as always, the world remained unimpressed by his dramatic declarations. The sky loomed gray and dismal, the road beneath his tires wasn’t much better than a dirt track, and the truck groaned and rattled like it was on its last legs, or wheels, as it were.

“Hmm?”

A strange sight broke through his haze of cynicism. Several vehicles lined the roadside, their drivers clustered together, murmuring conversations carried on the breeze. It was strange. Highway 4-4-4 usually felt more like a forgotten stretch of purgatory than a place for human activity.

As he slowed the truck, a woman detached herself from the group and began waving frantically. She had auburn hair flowing over a cute puff-sleeved blouse and simple jeans. A delicate beauty mark sat above her right eyelid, like the perfect finishing touch to her delicate features.

“Stop! Please, stop the truck!”

“What’s going on here?” Seojun called, leaning out the window. He caught the brief flicker of hesitation in her expression and couldn’t blame her. He knew what he looked like: an eye-patched, haggard mess straight out of a horror movie, with wild, unkempt hair and a complexion that hadn’t seen daylight in longer than he cared to admit.

Still, she seemed committed to her decision to flag him down. With a determined breath, she squared her shoulders and answered.

“There’s been a landslide up ahead. It’s completely blocked the road. Everyone who tried to get through had to turn back.”

“A landslide?” Seojun groaned, his face crumpling. Of course. Highway 4-4-4’s upkeep was about as dependable as a paper umbrella in a monsoon.

“Camry!” A sharp voice cut in before he could say more. “Seriously? How many times do I have to tell you? You can’t just chat up random strangers! The world isn’t exactly a safe haven for that kind of naive crap!”

The first woman—Camry, apparently—turned toward the voice, with a practiced patience that comes from dealing with this on a regular basis.

“Leimia.”

Seojun followed her gaze as another woman stormed over, grabbing Camry’s arm like she planned to haul her away. Her auburn hair, tied in a neat bun, swayed with every irritated step. She cut a striking figure in a low-cut top and short skirt that showed off toned legs, but it wasn’t the outfit that caught Seojun’s attention… it was her face.

Above her right eyelid sat a beauty mark. The same beauty mark. And, apart from a sharper jawline, her features were practically a carbon copy of Camry’s which could only mean one thing.

Twins.

T/N: ( •̀ ω •́ ) Bonus Korean folklore for nerds like me:

Korean cultural beliefs have long attributed special significance to sambaegan eyes. These eyes are often seen as a window into a person’s character, typically suggesting a powerful or intense personality. Some people view this eye shape with a mix of fascination and caution, as it can hint at everything from sharp intelligence to an intimidating coldness, depending on the context.

Traditional Korean folklore takes this a step further, suggesting that individuals born with sambaegan eyes might be destined for an unusual or challenging path in life. This cultural association has carried over into modern entertainment, where directors and artists often use this distinctive eye feature to create memorable characters. In Korean dramas and other media, characters with sambaegan eyes are frequently portrayed as mysterious figures or individuals with complex destinies.

In Korean storytelling, it’s a subtle physical trait that can convey a lot about a character before they even say a word.