Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#172Reader Mode

#172

The petals felt so fragile beneath his fingers that Seojun instinctively pulled his arm back, afraid they might crumble at the slightest pressure. Delicate petals drifted down, settling on the dirty chair seat below. When he rubbed his hands together, a fine dusting of pollen clung to his palms.

He swept the beam of his flashlight across the row of flower pots under the main entrance window. Just as he’d figured. Every last plant was a shriveled, rotted corpse.

“Ah.”

It clicked. The image of the dead flowers brought McCullan’s slurring voice back to him when they were at the dusty, forgotten lot outside the old factory, rambling on about that guy.

With a sigh that was part pity, part annoyance, Seojun reached down, grabbed a fistful of McCullan’s collar, and hauled him to his feet. The man’s face went the color of a cheap wine.

“Guhk!”

The sound that escaped him wasn’t a word, more of a wet, panicked squawk, like a duck getting a very rude surprise. Not anger, Seojun realized, just a distinct lack of air. Feeling a little bad about it, he loosened his grip and gave McCullan’s Adam’s apple a couple of apologetic taps.

McCullan staggered backward, his boots scuffing on the cracked marble floor in a way that was almost slapstick.

“Wha—what the hell are you doing?!” he wheezed.

“McCullan, focus,” Seojun said, ignoring the outburst. “You said Kira had someone with her, right? Not Mina. The one who actually bought the flowers.”

The question seemed to cut through his gasping like a splash of cold water. McCullan’s scowl melted away, replaced by a nasty, crooked grin.

“Yeah. That bastard, Yon!”

Yon. People have some weird names in this world. Then again, who am I to judge?

It worked. Seojun had dangled the name ‘Yon’ like a piece of bait, and McCullan’s rage, which had been aimed squarely at him a second ago, now had a new target. Seojun pressed his advantage before the man could get any other ideas.

“Right. Yon,” he said, gesturing to the dead petals on the floor. “You said he bought flowers. Looks like he made it inside the hospital, at least.”

“So we haven’t been searching in vain after all,” Brown sighed with relief. He handed his phone off to Luciel and bent down to pick up whatever McCullan had dropped. McCullan snatched it out of his hand without a word. Brown didn’t even flinch, already moving on. “Wait, who exactly is Yon? I don’t think I’ve heard that name.”

“Has to be Mateo!” McCullan spat, the name souring his whole face. “Yeah, definitely Mateo. That pretentious asshole, always playing the refined gentleman. It’s all an act. He probably heard Mina and Kira were coming and couldn’t resist worming his way in. Buying flowers to kiss ass… Jesus, have some self-respect.”

Brown frowned. “Mateo? Would he really show his face at a place like this? The guy’s so paranoid he won’t even post a picture of himself online.”

“Well, just as Brown and I brought the Obsidian Eye along,” Luciel chimed in, shrugging. “Kira might have invited someone she knows too.”

Seojun blinked. Huh. For once, Luciel actually had a point.

“Let’s just hope it’s not another weirdo,” Brown muttered.

A blinding flash cut through the gloom, making them all jump.

It was just Dennis, of course, completely oblivious to their conversation. He was still crouched by the creepy baby doll, snapping another picture with his Polaroid. He pulled out the print and waved it gently in the air to help it develop, a small, smug smile on his face as he took a jab at McCullan.

“Scared of a little doll?”

McCullan stopped gnawing on his lip and let out a noise that was half snort, half scoff, clearly convinced Yon was actually Mateo from Occult Night.

“At least I’m not the one taking glamour shots of a creepy-ass doll,” he shot back at Dennis. “By that standard, I’m the most normal person here.”

McCullan had apparently decided to draw very specific boundaries around what counted as “normal.” Seojun had seen this argument between them start up a hundred times already. Before it could derail them completely, he stepped right between them, breaking their line of sight.

He jerked his chin toward a door that was cracked open just enough to be interesting. “You guys check in here yet? We cleared a storage room and what looked like the ER.”

The beam from his phone cut through the darkness, catching the edge of a desk inside. Looked like an old examination room.

When Seojun mentioned they were pretty much done with their section, McCullan’s brief flash of confidence vanished. He ground the heel of his boot into the debris on the floor, suddenly very interested in a broken piece of marble.

“I only peeked in the first room,” he mumbled, waving a vague hand down the hall. “Dennis was supposed to get the rest. But, uh… check it good. It’s bigger than the others, so it takes longer. Obviously.”

To be fair, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Seojun glanced down the hall from the main entrance. Three doors lined the right side of the hallway, all missing their nameplates, leaving just faint, grimy rectangles behind. The first one was definitely wider than the other two.

Dennis suddenly whipped out a marker. He scrawled a messy ‘101’ on the door McCullan had just confessed to barely checking, then moved on to label the next two ‘102’ and ‘103’ with the casual authority of a landlord.

Seojun couldn’t fathom why Dennis had thought to bring a pen but not a flashlight.

According to McCullan, Room 101 was nothing special, just another trashed office. Cluttered, decaying, but not dangerous. He’d mentioned a big desk, a pot with a dead plant, and a toppled coat rack. Whatever medical texts or computer equipment had once been useful were now just part of the general ruin.

Dennis reappeared from Room 102, which was even smaller than the first, and just shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Do not despair. The next, I’m sure, will hold far greater things.”” Luciel offered her follower some halfhearted encouragement.

That left Room 103.

Seojun was expecting more of the same—another forgotten office, another layer of dust over peeling paint. Rooms 101 and 102 had been practically twins, right down to the dents in the radiators. But the second their flashlights cut across the room, everyone stopped dead in the doorway. The bored, tired slump in their shoulders straightened.

This was different.

“Was this a pediatrics wing or something?” Seojun asked, the words out before he even realized he was speaking.

Toys. The place was full of them. They were spilling from half-open desk drawers and scattered across bookshelves. Everything was covered in a thick coat of dust, but you could still make out the shapes: puzzle boxes with pieces long gone, a teddy bear big enough to hug with both arms (if it still had a head), and stacks of faded picture books.

Brown carefully nudged a loose glass marble aside with the toe of his shoe. “This must have been a general hospital. They said it was the only thing out here for miles.” He paused, his light sweeping back towards the main entrance. “That doll on the chair… bet it came from in here. You think Mina set it up as a prank?”

A sudden, sharp gasp from the corner cut him off.

Everyone’s head snapped toward Luciel. She was practically swaying, hugging a thin, colorful book to her chest like she’d just found a holy relic. She didn’t seem to notice them staring, too busy hopping from one foot to the other.

“It cannot be… It is here. The PipiPepe’s Good Children’s Neighbor.” Her eyes were wide with excitement. “The fabled Errands edition! A relic, lost to the world for years! My long search is finally over!”

Seojun stared. Luciel was acting like she’d just unearthed a priceless artifact, and for what? A dusty kids’ book? A weird flicker of familiarity tugged at him. He leaned in, peering at the faded orange hardcover, and then it hit him.

Of course. He knew that book. He had the exact same one gathering dust on a shelf back home.

He remembered the old thing all too well. As a kid, he’d had one of his premonitions—a flash of a heavy book falling squarely on his big toe. Trying to be clever, he’d decided to hide it. But when he’d pulled it from the shelf, he’d brought the entire row of books crashing down on top of him. So much for saving his toe; his entire foot had been one giant purple bruise. Not exactly a fond memory.

Such a simple story, too. Just a children’s book.

The plot of PipiPepe: Good Children’s Neighbor Errands Edition couldn’t be simpler. Pipi the bear kindly helps an elderly neighbor and is rewarded with a jar of delicious honey. Meanwhile, Pipi’s friend Pepe acts out of selfishness, accidentally causing the old bear’s death, and ends up being swarmed and stung by furious bees.

The moral was equally uncomplicated: be kind to your neighbors, speak gently, don’t hurt others. Just an ordinary fairy tale with a lesson wrapped inside.

Luciel, however, was running a reverent finger across the dusty cover. “My second wing, look at this… it’s a first edition.”

“Every step you take brings miracles, Luciel.” Dennis declared with his usual dramatic flair.

She hugged the book to her chest, completely unfazed by the decades of filth, beaming like it was solid gold. And just like that, the search of Room 103 was over, leaving them with one unexpectedly happy collector.

They moved back out into the main lobby. The first floor was mostly one big, open waiting area, which at least made it easy to cover. Debris was everywhere, but nothing so bad they couldn’t pick their way through it.

Seojun swept his light across the wreckage as they walked: a dead elevator with its doors jammed shut, a lone wheelchair tipped on its side, emergency exits that looked like they hadn’t been opened since the place was built. The space that had felt so huge and intimidating at first began to shrink as they cleared one section after another, until finally, there was nowhere left to look.

“Alright, there doesn’t seem to be anyone on the first floor,” Brown said, his voice cutting through the silence. “Time to head up?”

No one argued. If Mina was hiding somewhere down here, she was in the wrong line of work and missed her calling as a spy.

They found the stairwell tucked away in a northwest back corner, a pocket of absolute blackness that no stray moonlight could reach. Not that they had a choice. The emergency exits were rusted shut and the elevator looked like a death trap waiting to happen. Stairs it was.

Please don’t let these stairs be rotten…

Seojun sent a prayer to whatever was listening, the memory of almost falling at a certain haunted house flashing through his mind. He kept the thought to himself, watching the others.

Luciel, oblivious as ever, was already buzzing with theories. “The mirror must be on the uppermost floor, right?” she chirped, looking up at Brown. “The legend spoke of a secluded place. These lower levels would have been contaminated by the daily traffic of the living.”

Behind her, Dennis adjusted the strap of his Polaroid, while McCullan sped up with anxious energy, already halfway to the door.

“Yon…” he was muttering under his breath, the name sounding more like a curse every time he said it.

When they finally pushed through the door into the stairwell, everyone’s flashlight beams converged on the same spot. A set of concrete stairs led up, and another led down into what had to be a basement.

No one moved.

A small, sharp intake of breath cut the silence. Maybe it was his own.

Leading down into the darkness was a trail of dark red footprints. They weren’t smeared or accidental. Each one was a clear, perfect print, marching deliberately down into the black.