Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#182Reader Mode

T/N: 🔥🔥 Double Release 🔥🔥

#182

Forget the key. Whatever it was for, it didn’t matter right now. Samantha was the real problem, and avoiding her took priority.

Seojun’s eye flicked to the staircase. The steps were mangled—deep gouges carved into the concrete, each one drenched in dark, almost-black blood. A gruesome trail marked the nurse’s path, leaving no doubt where she’d come from.

Now that he thought about it, the ground floor had been empty when they first arrived. So she must’ve come from upstairs. Of course. That tracked.

The thought of her brought Seojun’s mind back to his phone. He cast a glance at McCullan, who stood rigid, shoulders drawn tight, jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his neck twitched. Tears still tracked down his face—clear proof he wasn’t keen on screaming for another encounter with her after barely getting out alive.

About time he learned his lesson.

But Seojun wasn’t about to congratulate him for finally using common sense. All he gave McCullan was a flat, unimpressed look.

As the man crept forward, Seojun slid a hand into his suit pocket. The motion made McCullan flinch violently. He whipped his head around, eyes wide, mouth parted in a stupid look of outrage. Seojun just met it with a dead-eyed glare of his own.

Seojun took the phone without a word, wrapping his fingers around it like it was rightfully his. Whatever protest McCullan had been about to make never made it past his lips. Seojun had lost his own phone—this was just backup. Contingency planning. A man needed options.

He flicked the screen on as they climbed the stairs. No passcode. Of course. McCullan was that kind of person. The wallpaper made Seojun recoil internally: a shirtless selfie in a foggy bathroom mirror, McCullan flexing like a gym bro cliché dragged straight from the bowels of the internet. What karmic debt was he paying to deserve this?

Seojun shoved the phone—his phone, for now—into his pocket and tried not to think about the one he’d lost. By now, Samantha had probably smashed it to bits. He could always call his parents’ number later, if he wanted to speak to Johan again. That much, he could salvage. But the photos from the trip? The field notes he’d been gathering?He had no cloud backup so they were probably gone for good.

Is this what people mean by “the impermanence of life”?

The thought had barely formed before his legs gave up. Not from exhaustion—though he was definitely running on fumes. Not from the strange aftertaste of blood and adrenaline in his mouth—though that was there too. Not even from the tangle of spiraling thoughts he was trying hard to ignore.

No. This was something else.

He looked up, blinking fast, eye struggling to focus.

A thick metal security shutter blocked the stairway to the third floor. Vicious claw-like gouges could be seen all over its surface. A cold chill crept into his bones, and it had nothing to do with the air.

Seojun gave a sharp shake of his head and motioned back toward the second floor. There was no chance he was getting that shutter open—not now, not even if he were fully rested and at the top of his game. And in his current state? He could barely breathe, let alone brute-force a security barrier.

A closer inspection only confirmed the worst. The base of the shutter was bolted straight into the concrete. There was no gap to wedge anything under, no latch to undo. Forcing it open would take more than strength—it would take noise. A lot of it. The kind that echoed like banging drums and crashing cymbals through empty corridors. The kind that might as well spell out: Dear Samantha, here we are.

After everything they’d done to shake her, it would be the worst possible option.

They turned back toward the second floor, only to freeze at the sound that crashed up from the lobby below. A scream might have been easier to handle. This was worse. Something heavy—a gurney, maybe—had been shoved hard across the floor, the impact echoing through the stairwell.

The sound sent a jolt through Seojun’s spine. McCullan paled instantly, his eyes flitting between him and Levi in alarm.

Samantha had noticed they were missing.

That realization barely had time to register before another sound followed—a softer, more chilling noise that slid up the stairwell like a warning.

The rhythmic scrape of blades dragged across concrete.

She was coming.

Scrape. Click. Scrape.

Seojun scurried down the stairs like a mouse whose tail had just been stepped on. The sharp stink of rotting soil hit him as he flew past a shattered flowerpot, but he didn’t slow. He lunged for the nearest door—right beside the staircase, the emergency room on the first floor—and yanked at the handle.

Locked.

“Dammit!”

Given time and leverage, he might’ve been able to snap the handle off the old frame. But he had neither.

Without missing a beat, he swerved left and grabbed the next door he saw. It swung open so fast he nearly lost his balance. Levi caught him by the arm, steadying him just as McCullan came crashing in behind.

“Move! Get in!”

She shoved Seojun forward, and all three of them tumbled through the doorway in a mess of limbs and panic. The door slammed shut behind them, but the frame was warped. It wouldn’t catch. A sliver of the hallway remained exposed, a thin cut of darkness stretching into the room like a blade.

They pressed their backs against it anyway, hearts hammering in their chests. Their breathing was ragged, too loud in the close, echoing dark.

Seojun fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the phone, turning on the flashlight. A narrow beam cut through the gloom. Beside him, McCullan muttered nonstop, panicked words buzzing in Seojun’s ear, his shoulder pressing hard into Seojun’s side. He wasn’t listening.

The only thing that mattered was surviving the next sixty seconds.

The room they’d stumbled into was in terrible shape—far worse than anything they’d seen on the first floor or in the basement. The floor was fractured and uneven, dangerous to step on. Most of the furniture was either missing or wrecked. The chairs were gone, and the only desk—massive and outdated—had a broken leg and lay sideways on the floor, half-blocking a second door at the far end of the room. What looked like a wall-mounted monitor hung crookedly, its corners caved in and the screen spiderwebbed with cracks.

An exam room? Maybe.

Seojun’s eyes darted around, scanning for options. In the far right corner, someone had rigged up a curtain rod, likely meant to section off a makeshift changing area. It was narrow—tight enough that all three of them couldn’t cram inside at once—but there were two separate sections. Maybe they could split up. Maybe it’d be enough to hide.

SCRAPE. CLICK. SCRAPE…

The sound echoed up the stairwell.

Closer. Definitely closer.

McCullan dove into the far stall without a word. The curtain rings shrieked as he yanked them shut. Levi and Seojun shoved themselves into the remaining one, awkwardly twisting to fit. The space was barely big enough for one person, let alone two.

Seojun’s back pressed hard against the wall, sending a dull throb up his spine. His heart was thudding like it wanted out. Being pressed up against a woman in the dark, this close—should’ve felt like something else entirely.

It didn’t.

Not even a flicker of that kind of tension. Just fear.

Outside, the metallic clatter never stopped. It skulked back and forth like a predator sniffing for prey.

Seojun’s skin had gone clammy. His palms were slick. His throat clicked with every dry swallow. Levi looked up at him, reading the fear in his expression. Without a word, she gripped his shoulders, lowered her head, and leaned in. Her shallow breath brushed his throat. It was probably just an attempt to stay silent, but the warmth of it sent a shiver down his spine. When she finally spoke, her lips grazed his collarbone.

“Is that really Samantha? Seriously? Since when—no, how is she even moving?”

Seojun rested his chin gently on her head and whispered back.

“If I had any idea, do you think I’d be hiding here like this? I’d be off writing a thesis, collecting a Nobel Prize in biology, becoming a famous cult leader…”

“I saw it with my own eyes, and I still can’t believe it. This is bad. Really, really bad. I didn’t think she had that much strength left in her.”

Levi’s voice trembled. But Seojun couldn’t bring himself to scold or mock her. He felt the same. Where was Samantha getting all this energy? Ghosts were supposed to fade once their grudges were settled. But Samantha wasn’t following any rules he recognized.

“She’s running on something else entirely. But like I said, this doesn’t change the plan. Not really.”

In the panic earlier, they’d sprinted all the way to the third floor without thinking. But their actual destination had always been the emergency exit on the second floor. Technically, getting forced down here just meant they were back on track. If they could slip past her and make it to the basement unnoticed, all the better.

Seojun quietly shared his revised plan. Levi nodded, silent but uneasy. As she shifted, something hard in the chest pocket of her overalls jabbed into his side.

“Hm…”

Levi let out a doubtful hum, the kind that said she didn’t have much faith in the pepper spray. Understandable. Even for someone who spent hours lurking on paranormal forums, there were limits to what you could believe—until you saw it with your own eyes.

Seojun suddenly stilled.

The air had shifted.

Why was it so quiet?

The steady scrape-click of her footsteps had vanished.

That was the only warning.

Thwip—

A scalpel sliced through the curtain just above his head, flashing silver in the dark. A hand followed—five gleaming blades in place of fingers—ripping across the fabric in one brutal swipe. The curtain tore apart like paper, fragments of cloth and dust showering over them.

And then the curtain dropped.

She was there.

Nurse Samantha. Towering over them.

From where he crouched on the floor, Seojun could see the full horror of her hands—scalpels embedded deep into skin and bone, metal and flesh fused together. She hadn’t been fooled. Not for a second. Every whisper, every breath—they’d all been heard.

She’d been listening the entire time.

The scalpels had sliced through exactly where his throat would’ve been—if he’d been standing. If Levi had been standing. Either way, someone’s neck should’ve been wide open right now.

Seojun’s legs wouldn’t stop shaking. A heavy, seductive fog crept over his mind, tempting him to slip into unconsciousness, to let go. But passing out now would mean never waking up again.

“Aaaargh!”

The scream ripped out of him. It didn’t bring any miracle strength with it. Still, he shoved Levi to the side and lashed out with one leg. For once, his long limbs were a blessing—his heel slammed into Samantha’s thigh. The mangled one. The leg they’d crushed with the waiting room chairs.

Samantha went down hard, unable to keep her balance with no proper toes to brace her.

Seojun scrambled to his feet, trying to leap over her body. but the space was too tight. Samantha thrashed in the narrow aisle between the stalls, limbs flailing in every direction, blades flashing in the dark like a storm of knives.

Something whipped across his ankle.

“Augh!”

Seojun didn’t need to check—he already knew. Just above the ankle bone, something had sliced clean through skin. But stopping wasn’t an option. Gritting his teeth, he forced his leg to keep moving. He wrenched the door open and stumbled into the corridor, running blind, led by instinct more than reason.

Unfortunately, instinct was just as lost as he was.

Seojun had no idea where he was on the second floor, and with the third blocked off by the shutter, that left him with one option.

Down.

He limped toward the stairs, hot blood streaming from his ankle with every step. It spattered across the floor in a messy trail, like a breadcrumb path meant just for her.

A flicker of hopelessness bubbled up through the haze in his mind.

So I really can’t escape this place, can I…?

But the despair barely had time to settle before he heard a door slamming open behind him.

Seojun glanced back.

Samantha stumbled into view, one finger twisted at a crooked angle. She must’ve barreled through a room to intercept him, taking a shortcut through the very corridor he’d used earlier. As she advanced, a chill raced across his skin.

He was out of options.

Behind him, the stairwell waited. Just one step back.

“…Ha…”

A breath slipped from his lips—heavy, tired. His body felt like it had been wrung out and left soaking. Every inch of him ached, and his ankle pulsed with pain. Could he really stand a chance against Samantha like this? Levi and McCullan were nowhere in sight. Maybe they were already dead. Maybe they were hiding and just smarter than he was.

The temptation to give up rose like a tide.

She’d lost a finger. Big deal. She still had nineteen blades left. Meanwhile, Seojun didn’t even have a stick to swing.

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. Warm blood flooded his mouth. His hands clenched into fists, trembling.

When she charges—sidestep. Dodge left. Or right. Just move.

He repeated the plan in his head like a prayer.

To the side. To the side. To the side.

But all he could see was her face—those sewn-shut eyes, bleeding and straining, locked onto him. Could he really move fast enough?

Then—footsteps.

Pounding up the stairs. Fast. Five steps, maybe six from here. Before Seojun could even look, a rush of warmth pressed in behind him. A hand skimmed past his neck and landed firmly on his shoulder.

“Jun, duck.”

The voice was unmistakable. Someone he knew all too well.