Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#159Reader Mode

T/N: Thanks for the coffee K and Somecatmsybe! Double Upload today!

Update: I’m alive! My computer? Still in the grave. But behold! With tablet and keyboard in hand, I returned to the grindstone like a proper goblin translator. Let the translation hell resume! Yay~ Wooo! (/≧▽≦)/ 1/2

#159

Seojun shook the notebook and instantly regretted it. Dust exploded everywhere, making him cough like crazy. The thing was absolutely disgusting—so gross that even someone with serious germophobia would think twice about touching it, even with gloves on. He pointed his phone’s flashlight at the cover, trying to make out what used to be a title under all that grime.

Something felt off about this entire situation. It reminded him of the Invisible Man’s mansion, but not in the same way. Back then, the kidnapper had basically left a trail of breadcrumbs for them to follow. Everything had been way too clean, almost like it was staged. This was completely different. He’d found the notebook himself, stuffed behind some warped boards in a forgotten corner that nobody had touched in forever. And unlike that perfectly preserved journal from before, this one looked like it had been through hell.

The pages were all warped and puffy from water damage—the kind that happens when something gets completely soaked and then dries out all wrong. He was still trying to figure out how to open it without the whole thing falling apart when a bright light hit him right in the eye.

“Ah—!” He threw his hand up, blinking hard against the sudden glare. Footsteps came toward him—one set quick and light, the other slow and heavy.

“The Obsidian Eye finds what was meant to be found. As expected!”

Luciel stepped out of the shadows with Brown’s big frame behind her. Apparently, she’d decided his full title was too much of a mouthful and just shortened it herself. Brown quietly took her phone and pointed it down at the floor instead of blinding Seojun.

“What’d you find?” Brown asked, now shining his flashlight properly on the notebook.

“It was stuck next to the stairs.” Seojun held it out, being careful not to shake off more dust. “Might be nothing, but…”

Luciel’s eyes lit up like she’d just won the lottery. Even in the dim light, you could tell she was excited as hell. She leaned in, practically vibrating with curiosity.

“Beginner’s luck,” Dennis muttered from somewhere behind them. “First-timers always find something. Then it’s nothing for years.”

Seojun bit back a comeback. Whatever Dennis’s problem was, he wasn’t getting dragged into it. He already regretted coming here—the last thing he needed was to become another one of Luciel’s groupies or, God help him, her third or fourth wing.

His eye automatically went to Dennis’s jacket pockets before he could stop himself.

Get it together. He’s not carrying the teddy bear. Just keep your mouth shut and stay out of it.

They’d all go their separate ways when this was over anyway. That thought helped. Seojun told himself to just be patient and handed the notebook to Brown without his hands shaking.

“McCullan, over here!” Brown called out.

McCullan walked over, and everyone crowded around as Brown set the notebook down on a wooden board that was propped against the stairs. The board was stained dark—old blood, maybe, probably from cutting meat. Either way, finding a cutting board blocking the stairs wasn’t exactly reassuring. Someone had definitely left in a hurry.

Seojun stepped around the broken furniture and leaned in over Brown’s shoulder. For such a big guy, Brown’s hands were surprisingly gentle as he opened the notebook.

“Let’s see what we’ve got…”

Most of the pages were trashed—oil stains, water damage, years of dirt and grime. Brown sighed as he carefully turned the fragile paper, trying not to rip it.

“This stuff’s like tissue paper,” he muttered.

“Just skip to the parts we can actually read,” Luciel said, already getting impatient.

Brown looked like he wanted to study every single word, but everyone else was clearly on Luciel’s side. The first few pages were boring anyway—shift schedules, supply lists, work stuff. Only Brown seemed interested in all the details.

Then, about halfway through, everything changed. The neat work notes turned into something way more personal. Like a diary.

The whole tone shifted instantly. Angry, like someone who was about to lose it and needed to vent.

[Manager showed up drunk again. His screaming’s giving me a migraine. Seriously considering earplugs. Or murder. Not that he’s much better sober.]

[Drunk idiot’s on the second-floor walkway again, yelling about how he needs to “supervise” from up there. Every day with this crap. When he falls and breaks his neck, I’m buying everyone drinks.]

[Boss lost it today. Screaming about missing keys. Guess who had them? Yeah. Him. Stone cold sober, too. So that’s a new one.]

Then things got darker.

[Boss had another meltdown about someone messing with the office safe. Thing is—I didn’t even know we had a safe until today. None of us did.]

[No joke: Boss showed up in a Happy Pig costume. Full pig mask, butcher cleaver, completely wasted, doing some kind of “meat-cutting demonstration.” Nearly gave me a heart attack when he walked through the door. His brain’s completely pickled.]

[Some days I picture him hanging from one of the meat hooks. It helps.]

[Bastard stumbled in drunk again, told everyone the spare key’s under the flowerpot. Why even bother hiding it at that point?]

Then came the last entry. The handwriting was shaky and uneven:

[I didn’t mean it. When I said he should die. I didn’t really mean it…]

The diary went on for pages and pages, each one more bitter than the last. Whoever wrote this had kept track of everything—every tantrum, every drunken rant, every cruel moment, long before the drinking got truly out of control.

“The factory manager… that’s the son who died here?” Seojun asked quietly.

“Has to be,” Brown said, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “One of the workers must’ve written this while he was still alive.”

“Somebody really hated this guy,” McCullan said, way too cheerfully. He leaned in, eyes lighting up. “No wonder people think it was murder.”

“Whether they left this here on purpose or just forgot about it…” Brown trailed off, still wiping his face with his sleeve. “He sounds like a nightmare to work for.”

Next to him, Luciel mumbled something under her breath—too quiet to make out.

“This is what happens when you let drinking take over,” McCullan added, taking a swig from his paper bag. “Get this bad, you’re basically asking for it.”

Seojun didn’t say anything. The guy drinking beer in an abandoned factory probably wasn’t the best person to be giving advice about addiction.

“We need to check the manager’s office upstairs,” Dennis jumped in, his voice all excited and sharp. He had that look again, like a treasure hunter who’d just found a map. He was already licking his lips, obviously thinking about whatever might still be in that safe.

“Think it’s still there?” Luciel asked, looking at Brown.

“If he was even half as paranoid as this diary makes him sound?” Brown nodded. “Definitely.”

The Occult Night members huddled together, whispering like they were planning some kind of heist. Seojun hung back, watching them get way too excited about breaking into a dead man’s office.

Then something flickered in the corner of his vision.

The double doors behind them had closed somehow. Through the dirty glass panels—still glowing faintly with afternoon light—something shifted.

A shadow. Moving where it shouldn’t be.

Seojun walked over and put his hand against the glass. It was cold. Far colder than it should have been.

“Bored already?” McCullan strolled up, paper bag tucked under his arm. “What are you staring at?”

“Something moved out there,” Seojun said, tapping the glass. “Just now.”

McCullan squinted through the door. “I don’t see anything.”

“Right there. Look again.”

“My eyes are perfectly fine,” McCullan snapped, suddenly getting defensive. “Perfect vision, unlike some people.” He waved a hand at Seojun’s face. “If something was out there, I’d see it.”

With that lovely little dig at his missing eye, McCullan turned and walked off, leaving Seojun alone at the door. Now really annoyed, Seojun wiped more dirt off the glass, not caring about the black streaks it left on his sleeve.

The entryway beyond looked exactly the same. Empty. Still.

But he knew he’d seen something.

Seojun cracked the door open and leaned out. The entrance stretched ahead, quiet and empty. He looked around—behind barrels, in the corners, up on the walkway. Nothing. Not even the slightest movement.

The place was just as dead as when they’d first walked in.

Seojun pulled the door shut and pressed his thumb to his temple.

Maybe I’m losing it. Just paranoia again.

He’d been on edge ever since noticing the blocked windows. The whole place felt wrong… like they were rats stuck in a trap. He tried to take a deep breath, told himself to calm down. It didn’t help.

“Let’s finish checking this floor before we head upstairs,” Brown said, closing the journal. He sounded done with reading about how much the workers had hated their boss. Not that there was much left to find down here—Brown was just being thorough, giving the rest of them a chance to look around.

Dennis still had his eyes glued to the staircase like it was Christmas morning. He was dying to get into that office. Meanwhile, Brown had pulled out another handkerchief—this one a different color from the last—and was carefully wiping his hands again. The guy probably carried a dozen of them, one for every situation.

McCullan had wandered off to look at the old rail tracks. Luciel headed toward the storage room on the right. For once, neither Dennis nor Brown was following her around like overprotective bodyguards.

A rare moment alone for their so-called prophet.

She walked straight into the storage room without hesitating. Seojun hung back in the doorway, not quite as eager to explore dark corners.

“Luciel?”

“Obsidian Eye, check for a light switch out there?”

“There’s no electricity,” Seojun reminded her.

“Still worth a look. Never know.” She was already moving deeper inside. “We’ll make do either way.”

Seojun felt around the wall outside. No switch, but his fingers hit something else. A thermometer.

Right. Meat processing plant. Cold storage.

He turned on his phone’s flashlight and stepped inside.

“No switch, but—”

The door slammed shut behind him.

The sound cracked like a gunshot in the small space. Then came something worse—a low, steady rumble from deep inside the walls. Machinery coming to life.

Seojun and Luciel stared at each other. In the dim glow of their phones, he could see his own fear reflected in her eyes.

The freezer was turning on.