Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#167Reader Mode

#167  

Seojun’s sincere proposal died a quick death, shot down by a snort from McCullan before the words had even finished leaving his mouth.   

“Not a chance in hell. You want me to tangle with that crazy bastard and his knife? Forget it.”    

But not everyone shared McCullan’s resistance. Brown shifted forward, worry creeping into his voice. “Seojun’s got a point, though. We won’t be safe just sitting here doing nothing either. Rescue will come, sure, but who knows how long we have before that guy comes back for us?” 

“Ugh.” McCullan’s groan said it all. The guy had a point, much as he hated to admit it. 

Before the dread could fully settle in, a flash of color and a cloud of hair wedged itself between them. It was Luciel, who’d somehow managed to tease her pigtails into an impossible volume, physically forcing Brown and McCullan apart in the cramped space. 

“What about this?” She held up the pepper spray. “That evil, wicked demon showed great interest in the beer. But he can’t exactly drink with that mask on, can he? So when he takes it off…” She gave the canister a meaningful shake. “We bless him with this sacred holy water and vanquish the evil.”  

Seojun was immediately captivated by her idea. It was logical and had a real chance of working. He nodded so enthusiastically his neck started to ache. McCullan looked thoroughly disgusted by Seojun’s enthusiasm and tried to back away, though the cramped room didn’t exactly give him anywhere to go. 

“Luciel’s onto something,” Seojun said, trying not to sound too eager. “The guy might be dim, but even he’s not gonna try drinking through that mask.” 

He licked his lips, the motion pulling at the small cut on his mouth. The sting was sharp, but Seojun barely felt it. All he could picture was the factory manager’s shocked face as it got a full blast of pepper spray. The thought sent a jolt of adrenaline through him, though he tried to play it cool while sizing up their little group. 

If Luciel’s observation was right. The factory manager’s half-assed search suggested he was planning to drink soon.  

Or maybe he just figures we’re trapped anyway. 

Either possibility meant one thing: the bastard had let his guard down.  

Wasting this chance would be criminal.  

Seojun locked eyes with Brown, trying to convey the urgency he felt. “We have to move now. While he’s not expecting it.”   

“Exactly! The evil spirit’s gaze has turned elsewhere!” 

The voice, full of righteous conviction, came from Luciel. She wasn’t looking at either of them. Her focus had shifted to the grimy little window, her reflection a determined smudge in the dirty glass. She straightened her back, clutching the pepper spray like a holy relic.   

“Now is the perfect time to obtain my second wing!”   

Seojun had to bite his tongue to stop himself from blurting out why the hell Dennis was suddenly part of this plan.   

Next to him, Brown leaned over to McCullan, muttering, “Come to think of it… didn’t Dennis take a pretty bad hit to the head?” 

“Probably.” McCullan didn’t even try to keep his voice down. “Guy’s got a mouth on him and a shit personality for someone with that face, but if his brain was working right, no way he would’ve just let himself get dragged around like that.” 

Luciel’s eyes flashed at that. She puffed out her chest like a tiny, furious bird, ready to defend her newfound holy quest.  

“As one who glimpses the future, as a being of great and noble purpose, I cannot simply abandon a soul in need! I will rescue Dennis myself.” 

A crowbar. Seojun would rather be looking for a goddamn crowbar than playing knight in shining armor for Dennis, but voicing that thought would probably get him even dirtier looks than McCullan was getting. So he kept his mouth shut and swallowed the complaint.  

So that was it. The mission had officially been sidetracked to ‘Operation: Rescue Dennis.’ Every fiber of his being screamed to just forget it and storm the manager’s office right now. Instead, Seojun sent a desperate prayer up to whatever might be listening.   

Please, please let that asshole take his sweet time with that beer. Really savor it, you bastard. 

With a shared, silent sigh of resignation, they started down the hall toward the mysterious room at the center of the second floor. 

Creeping down the hall felt like something out of a bad spy movie, only a lot less cool and a thousand times more terrifying. The darkness was a physical presence, pressing in on all sides, and every creak of the old building sounded like a shriek. Seojun kept one hand plastered to the wall, a lifeline in the suffocating black, until his fingers brushed against the cool metal of a doorknob. 

Getting the key Brown had slipped him into the lock was difficult. His hands were shaking, and the metallic clink as it scraped against the plate sounded loud enough to wake the dead. Seojun whipped around, heart hammering against his ribs, only to see Luciel give him a tiny, encouraging wave. Her way of saying “it’s okay,” probably. He swallowed, turned back, and finally twisted the key. 

The door barely cracked open before the others were practically falling over each other to get inside. It was a clumsy, silent stampede—all sharp elbows and frantic energy. Seojun slipped in last, clicking the lock shut behind them. The sound was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. 

A long sigh escaped him as he leaned against the solid wood of the door. But relief would have to wait.  

He pushed off and took in their new sanctuary. The mysterious room turned out to be just some old conference room from back when this factory was actually a functioning business. A round table sat in the center, a ring of plastic chairs stacked against walls that were more gray than white. The whiteboard looked like it hadn’t been touched in years, hell, maybe decades. The air was thick with the smell of stale paper and dust. 

And sprawled on the floor, tucked between a filing cabinet and a stack of old boxes, was Dennis. He looked like just another forgotten thing in a room full of them. 

“Dennis!” 

Brown rushed over as quietly as he could manage. Dennis was completely out, slumped against a box, his chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths that ended in a weak groan. 

“Mmm…”  

Up close, Dennis was a wreck. McCullan’s casual comment hadn’t done it justice. A nasty, swollen lump dominated his forehead, the skin split and crusted over with dark, flaky blood. A deep gash ran down the arm where his camera strap hung, limp and useless. The rest of him was a messy map of scrapes and bruises that told the story of exactly how he’d been dragged here: like a bag of trash. 

But Seojun’s brain registered the injuries for about half a second before latching onto something far more important: the box Dennis was using as a pillow. He pulled it free and almost laughed out loud: it was a toolbox. And there inside, like the universe had finally thrown him a bone, was the crowbar he’d been dying to get his hands on. The weight felt perfect, solid and reassuring in his grip. He couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face.   

While Seojun was having his religious experience with a crowbar, Luciel made her move. She dropped to the dusty floor, gently lifted Dennis’s head into her lap, and then, with a look of intense concentration, she pinched his nose between her thumb and forefinger and twisted. Hard. Like she was trying to unscrew it from his face.   

“Gah!”  

Dennis shot upright with a strangled gasp, eyes flying open in a blind panic. Before he could even process the pain, Luciel had him by the collar of his shirt, looking immensely pleased with herself.  

“You’re awake, my second wing!”  

His face twisted in murderous rage—whoever had just tried to rip his nose off was about to die. But the rage immediately melted the second he focused on Luciel’s face hovering inches from his own. Relief washed over him, slack-jawed and absolute. His mouth fell open, and Seojun felt a cold spike of panic.  

Oh no. He was going to yell. A big, stupid, “You saved me” yell that would bring their pig-masked lunatic running.  

Seojun’s hand clamped over Dennis’s mouth before a single sound could escape. The relief in Dennis’s eyes instantly curdled back into a murderous glare, but Seojun didn’t have time for pleasantries. He launched into the world’s fastest explanation.      

“Shut up Dennis. Just listen. We’re hiding from the psycho in the pig mask who attacked you. While you were unconscious, we started calling him the factory manager, Pig Mask, or wannabe murderer—take your pick. Bad news is, he’s like fifteen steps away from this room. So obviously, if you yell, scream, or even sneeze too loud, we’re all dead. Got it?”  

Dennis gave a weak little head-bobble that could have been a nod, a shake, or him just trying to breathe. That wasn’t good enough. Seojun brought the crowbar up, not to hit him, but to press the cold, heavy steel flat against Dennis’s cheek. The guy went completely stiff where the metal touched him.    

“Look, even if you’re not following yet, just listen. While you were busy getting your ass kicked, messing up your arm, being completely useless to Luciel, and getting dragged around like a piece of luggage, we managed to escape from the freezer— all thanks to Brown, by the way—and tried to get the hell out of here. Brown, cover McCullan’s mouth. Yes, good. Anyway, turns out the factory doors are locked thanks to whatever that bastard did. So our only option is to bash his skull in first. Since he just beat the crap out of you, we’ll call It payback. Eye for an eye and all that. Plan’s dead simple: rescue you, then jump the factory manager. Should be easier than making instant ramen, right? Now if you actually get it this time, give me a clear nod. None of that wishy-washy head wiggling that could mean anything.”   

When Seojun finally wrapped up his speech and looked down at Dennis with benevolence, Dennis gave a series of jerky, unmistakable nods. The glare behind his glasses could have started a fire, but it was a nod. Seojun would take it. 

The second he pulled his hand away, Dennis’s head whipped toward Luciel. Showing a hell of a lot more compassion than Seojun had, she was already unwinding the bandages from her arm, ready to hand them over to someone who clearly needed them more.   

“Oh, Luciel, I’ll treasure this sacred gift and pass it down through the Rodney family for generations.”  

Actual tears welled up in his eyes as he started wrapping the bandages around his head and forearm. He fumbled with his camera strap for a moment before finally getting the damn thing off. Seojun was hovering nearby, ready to offer some more “helpful advice” if Dennis started getting dramatic again, when he saw it.  

A single Polaroid was sticking half-out of the camera. He plucked it free.  

The image made the hairs on his arms stand up. It was Pig Mask. But not right. The flash had bleached him out, turning the mask into a floating, ghoulish face. The edges of his form were blurry and indistinct, like a ghost accidentally caught on film.  

“Jesus. When did you take this?” McCullan had apparently gotten bored of playing lookout and was now peering over Seojun’s shoulder.  

Dennis winced, hissing as the bandage pulled at a fresh cut. “I don’t know. I didn’t even mean to…”  

He was right. The shot was a chaotic, accidental mess, which somehow only made it creepier. Seojun stared at the ghostly figure for a second longer before grabbing a beer can from McCullan’s bag. It was warm against his palm. 

***  

Clang… clang… 

The sound of the can skittering across the concrete floor echoed down the empty hallway. A moment later, the manager’s office door creaked open. Pig Mask stepped out. His fingers were damp, and the faint, sour smell of beer drifted towards them. But he wasn’t holding a can.  

He was holding the knife, its blade still smeared with dried blood.  

His head tilted, tracking the sound. His attention focused on the beer can as it wobbled to a stop.  

In that split second of distraction, they jumped him.  

“Ahhh!”   

Brown’s battle cry was a strangled, desperate thing as he threw his entire body at the manager’s knife arm. His sheer bulk was the only thing that stopped the blade from swinging free. At the same instant, Seojun and McCullan slammed into his other side, a clumsy but powerful force of pure adrenaline and just enough muscle to match one grown man.  

Alone, neither of them would have stood a chance. Together, they barely managed to pin his other arm down. McCullan, who’d been threatening to bail right up to the last second, was fighting with the ferocity of a cornered animal. A little ‘encouragement’ from Seojun and his new crowbar buddy had apparently done the trick. 

“Dennis! Now!”  

Dennis came charging out of the conference room where he’d been hiding with Luciel, bandages flapping behind him like streamers. Dennis had either drawn the short straw or the most crucial one, depending on how you looked at it. His job was simple: get the mask off.    

The factory manager’s arms thrashed around like worms on hot pavement, jerking and twisting with terrifying strength. Even with three of them hanging on, his grip on the knife was unbreakable, his knuckles bone-white. But gravity and mass were on their side. The sheer, clumsy weight of three bodies was slowly winning. 

Their plan was actually working, human wave tactics at their finest! Granted, their “wave” was pathetic enough to count on one hand, making the whole “sea of people” thing a pretty ridiculous stretch. But honestly, there wasn’t a better way to describe what they were pulling off. Trying to time their attack for the exact moment the factory manager took a drink would’ve been basically impossible, so Seojun had figured they’d just create the opportunity themselves. They were nothing special, just a random bunch of misfits, but bodies were bodies, and right now that was their only advantage.  

“Luciel!” Dennis’s hands weren’t gentle; he clawed at the mask, digging his fingers under the edge and yanking with everything he had. 

Seojun could feel the crowbar’s reassuring weight at his waist and had to fight the urge to use it. He was dying to take a swing with his new “friend,” but pepper spray—the legendary go-to for cheap self-defense—would probably work better than whatever damage he could do with a crowbar.  

Luciel was there in an instant, a small, avenging angel in the gloom, pepper spray aimed like a pistol. Her voice cut through the grunts and curses, impossibly clear and confident. 

“Sacred attack!” 

The pig mask ripped free at the exact same moment she squeezed the trigger. 

“Ah…”  

Here’s the thing though: The factory manager had seemed so damn human. All those sloppy mistakes, the way he’d swung that knife around like some unhinged criminal—exactly like someone who’d snapped and fallen through the cracks. And that drunken giggling over his beer? The man had acted too much like a living, breathing person.  

“Uh… UAAAAH!”  

McCullan’s scream was a high, thin shriek as he scrambled backward, landing hard on the filthy concrete. For once, Seojun couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t even breathe.  

Where the pig mask should’ve revealed a face, there was only ruin.  

This wasn’t something you’d ever see in real life. One side of the man’s head was a crater of raw meat and splintered bone, caved in on itself. Gray matter pulsed in the open wound. And the eye on that side was a swollen, milky orb pushed halfway out of its socket, rolling blindly for a second before it swiveled and locked directly onto Seojun with a horrifying, impossible awareness. 

Screams spread through their group like a virus.  

Pig Mask really was the Factory Manager. The son who’d inherited the Happy Pig Factory and fallen to his death, was now haunting what was left of his abandoned kingdom.