Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#143Reader Mode

#143

“I still don’t get it. Madison, honestly, what’s going on?”

Johan awkwardly turned the stiletto heel over in his hand. He had no idea how to use a shoe as a weapon. He wondered if he’d said something wrong about that video on her phone. But no, he liked it. Even complimented it. The more he thought about it, the more wronged he felt.

“I didn’t even criticize the video,” he grumbled, his lips forming a slight pout. “Didn’t throw a single tomato…”

“Tomatoes? What are you even—oh, wait. You’ve finally realized your chest is about to get sliced open like a ripe tomato, haven’t you?”

Her eyes glinted, not with humor, but with something darker—cold and gleaming with malice. The knife in her hand caught the light as she gripped it so tightly her knuckles turned white. She didn’t look nervous. Not even slightly. She looked like someone who had made up her mind to kill.

“Now I get it. You’re one of those guys. All looks, zero substance. Actually no, you’re both dumb and irrelevant. Congrats. Men like you are everywhere online. Walking meatheads with social accounts. Thinking a defined jawline and a few gym selfies count as a personality. I saw someone just like you recently. Had some pretty little thing hanging off him while he paraded around like he invented masculinity.”

Then, with disturbing composure, she began slowly unbuttoning her coat. Her polished nails made soft clicking sounds against each button—tok, tok. The sequined jacket caught the light as she straightened up, letting it fall open like curtains revealing a stage.

What she unveiled wasn’t just skin. It was trauma in vivid, horrifying detail.

Johan’s eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of her brutal stab wounds. Deep, jagged gashes cut into pale flesh, angry red muscle visible through torn fabric and blood-soaked skin.

Before Johan could speak, Madison interrupted him, her lips curling into a vicious smile.

“Don’t tell me. You still think this is some kind of prank? Trying to pretend this isn’t happening? Let me guess—you were just about to say, ‘Wow, those special effects look so real!’” She threw her head back in a high-pitched mockery. “Squawk, squawk!” Then she leaned forward, voice dropping cold. “If that’s what was about to come out of your mouth, do yourself a favor—zip it, birdbrain. This isn’t a movie. It’s your damn reality.”

There was excitement in her voice, a hunger in her eyes that clashed with the gruesome display on her body. She slowly licked her lips. Her tongue—bright, wet, and red—emerged, disturbingly similar to the exposed flesh beneath her torn skin.

And then Johan did something completely unexpected.

He smiled.

Not arrogantly. Not nervously. Just… gentle. A small, nose-scrunched kind of smile—the same one kids make when they’re being innocent but definitely up to something. He moved his lips silently, as if forming words without sound, and then, still holding the stiletto, brought it up and pretended to zip his mouth shut. Exactly as Madison had instructed.

Big mistake.

A moment later, his nose wrinkled. His entire face crumpled like he’d just smelled death itself. Of course, Madison was pissed. Her playful, taunting manner disappeared—replaced by a sharp, venomous outburst.

“You damn bastard! My feet do not stink!”

Johan nodded and responded with fake sympathy, like a therapist gently correcting a delusional patient.

“Right… I get it. You probably actually believe that. I totally understand…”

Madison’s face turned deathly white with anger. Her jaw clenched with a noticeable click, her eyes burning with rage.

“You really don’t get it, do you? Let me explain this simply. Pay attention—if you’re capable of that—and listen. Poor, helpless me? I was murdered. For absolutely no reason. You understand that? Doesn’t that seem unfair? And you’ve heard about the haunted mirror, right? That story everyone talks about? It’s not just some stupid urban legend. It’s real. I was killed right in front of it, and now both my body and soul are trapped inside. Unless someone takes my place, this mirror won’t release me. No one had to explain it to me… I just… knew. Like this is how it has to be.”

Her voice faltered, and the anger in her expression melted into something more vulnerable. Sadder. Her lips pressed together tightly. Her rage transformed into something delicate and almost breakable.

Johan watched her as if he were viewing an intriguing scene in a movie. In his mind, he was impressed.

What a performance. She could’ve had a career in acting.

Madison met his eyes, hers glistening with tears she wouldn’t let fall. When she spoke, her voice was quiet but determined.

“So, to get out of here… I’m going to kill you. I need you to give me that big body of yours. For my freedom.”

What she was proposing wasn’t just selfish. It was completely monstrous. Johan blinked, tilting his head as if weighing whether he was fascinated or just confused. He glanced quickly at the mirror, then finally said:

“Okay, let’s say that video I saw earlier was authentic—no editing, no effects. Just real footage. And let’s assume this mirror is genuinely cursed or magical or haunted or whatever spooky adjective you prefer.”

He tapped the mirror lightly with his foot. Nothing happened. The mysterious mirror didn’t tremble, didn’t ripple, didn’t snap off his leg like the stories claimed it could.

“So if all that’s true… then the real Madison Camry died after drinking the coffee you gave her, right? I mean, it’s pretty hard to play the victim when you poisoned someone. Don’t you think?”

His tone wasn’t even harsh—just mildly unimpressed, like someone pointing out a predictable plot twist.

But surprisingly, Madison didn’t erupt like before. No shouting, no accusations. Just a slow, enigmatic smile as she lifted her chin with a quiet kind of pride. She straightened her posture, shoulders back, chest up—and in doing so, made the deep wounds across her chest pull open, raw and bloody.

“That was a necessary step. Unavoidable. Part of the process to become the real Madison Camry. Like a caterpillar turning into a chrysalis, then becoming a butterfly. That’s just how it works. Don’t tell me I actually need to explain that even the most beautiful butterfly started as a plain little worm?”

Johan couldn’t buy into Madison’s bizarre “Butterfly Metamorphosis Theory,” but he also didn’t feel like wasting energy arguing. He tuned her out halfway through, letting her voice fade into background noise.

Unfortunately for him, Madison had a sixth sense for detecting when someone stopped listening. For someone who rarely cared about others’ opinions, she had an uncanny ability to know when she wasn’t the center of attention. It was almost eerie really.

Her grip tightened around the knife as she waved it at him in a lazy arc. Johan’s eyes darted to the blade, then to her face, and he instinctively stepped back. She had just announced her plan to kill him, after all—but this motion felt more like a warning than an actual attack.

Instead of attacking, she gave him a contemptuous look.

“You fucking idiot. This is exactly why losers like you never gain any followers or influence—because you don’t understand anything.“

This time, Johan was able to get a word in. He raised the stiletto, holding it across his chest defensively.

“Popularity only matters when it comes from people who actually mean something to you. What’s the point of getting attention from strangers you’ll never even know?”

But halfway through speaking, his expression became wistful. His eyes became unfocused. His mouth relaxed, his words becoming quieter, as if he wasn’t really talking to her anymore.

“…Though, it would be nice if you were at least a little jealous.”

“This is exactly why I can’t have a real conversation with desperate nobodies who can’t even get a single like! I’m stuck listening to this pathetic garbage. I deserve better than this!”

Yelling angrily, Madison recoiled dramatically as if disgusted, then lunged forward with the knife.

Johan caught the attack and deflected it smoothly, using the stiletto heel she’d kicked off earlier. Metal struck against the designer shoe as he pushed her knife aside.

She’d thrown herself too forcefully into the attack, causing Madison to stumble, off-balance but not fall. Johan moved to close the distance with a strike of his own, but Madison wasn’t giving up easily. Even with her knee buckling, she spun and slashed in a wide, wild arc, the blade cutting through the air. A sharp rip followed as her skirt tore at the seam.

Johan leaned back just in time, the knife narrowly missing his chest.

And just like that, their positions reversed.

Now she was on the defensive, and he—composed, focused, strategic—wasn’t dropping his guard. His ice-blue eyes locked onto her intently. That knife. That was the problem. Without it, this would’ve been over a long time ago. Physically, he completely outmatched her.

Madison knew it. She bit her lip as she glared up at him, eyes burning with frustration.

But Johan wasn’t intimidated. Not by her stare, not by the aggression in her stance. He tilted his head slightly, curiosity crossing his face.

“A heart, huh…” he said quietly. “You know, Madison—thinking about what you said… does that mean yours isn’t beating anymore?”

He gave a small, intrigued smile.

“Now that’s interesting.”

At Johan’s strangely detached question, Madison’s face became ugly. Her fingers clenched tighter around the knife.

“Oh, I see. This is your brilliant strategy? Reminding me how I died? Wow. Really tasteful. You’re something else.”

But as the bitter words left her mouth, the edges of her lips began to turn upward, and her eyes brightened with malicious delight. That smile—wide, cruel—made her look unnervingly alive for someone claiming to be dead.

“So… you’re curious about my heart? Fine. I’ll show you. I don’t mind doing a little charity work. Think of it as a preview of your future.”

Without breaking eye contact, Madison reached toward the center of her chest with her free hand. Her fingers touched the wound there, then pushed inward. Deeper. Until they disappeared beneath the torn flesh and into her chest cavity.

It was a sickening sight.

Madison didn’t wince with pain. She thrust her hand in eagerly—tearing tissue, breaking strands of flesh, ripping through muscle with disgusting wet sounds. She was relentless. As if her own body meant nothing to her.

And when she finally pulled her hand back to show Johan what was inside, what he saw was… pitiful. A withered, nearly black mass. Her heart, long dead. Cold. Still.

“Go ahead, look closely! Take it all in! This is going to be you soon! Ahaha! Hahahahaha!”

Madison cackled like someone unhinged, pulling the wound in her chest wider so Johan could get a complete view of the dead heart inside.

And oddly enough… he appreciated it.

With genuine curiosity, Johan leaned in slightly, examining it. Thanks to Madison’s enthusiastic “show and tell,” he now had a clear view of the interior of her body. He took his time, studying the details—then straightened up, a look of realization flashing in his eyes.

He looked directly at her and said, with absolute, unwavering certainty:

“Madison, you’re not a ghost. You’re probably… a genetically modified human.”

It was, of course, a completely ridiculous theory.

“…What?”

Madison’s jaw dropped, completely caught off guard.

“Well, think about it. It makes sense. You were involved in some classified government experiment or maybe an underground biotech project. You were injected with experimental compounds, your body mutated, and now, after watching some fake paranormal video, you’ve convinced yourself you’re a ghost. It all adds up!”

Madison hadn’t expected any response, much less this one. But Johan’s eyes were practically shining with excitement, like he’d just solved some major conspiracy.

Madison, meanwhile, was absolutely furious. It was bad enough having to admit she was dead—but having him completely deny it? Her anger exploded into total disbelief.

“I know my own body better than you do, you moron! I died! I’m a ghost! Why are you acting like you know more than me about this?!”

“You’re not exactly a certified paranormal expert, Madison. And let’s be honest—if people truly understood their own bodies that well, hospitals would only need emergency rooms for accidents. No one would ignore strange symptoms or wait until it’s too late. But they do. All the time.”

He gave a casual shrug. “If self-awareness was that easy, would Socrates have needed to say ‘Know thyself’?”¹T/N: Socrates was an ancient Greek philosopher who lived around 2,400 years ago. He’s considered one of the founders of Western philosophy. Socrates is best known for asking deep questions to help people think more clearly and examine their beliefs. One of his most famous sayings is “Know thyself,” meaning you should try to understand yourself and your values. He believed that asking questions and seeking truth was the key to living a good life.

Madison stared at him in disbelief, her murderous intent momentarily derailed by his absurd confidence. She pointed her knife at him as if it might help her understand his ridiculous logic.

“You saw my heart! It wasn’t beating! And that’s your response? How can you even say that with a straight face?!”

“Well, you know that story about the chicken that survived for weeks without its head, right? The brain is at least as important as the heart. Probably more important. So by that logic, sure—people could survive without a heart, too.”

Madison’s eye twitched.

“…Are you seriously calling me a chicken-brained idiot?!”