Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#187Reader Mode

#187

Pete moved like nothing human. He scuttled forward on all fours with a chilling, insectile grace that was extremely menacing! Somehow, this was worse than the earlier shambling—the awkward, top-heavy teetering on mismatched limbs. Now those same finger-feet churned against the floor, driving him forward while his teeth gnashed with a sound like grinding metal.

The noise reminded Seojun of an old saying about fighting with your gums when you’ve got no teeth. Pete had chosen the opposite path. Where Samantha had become claws and malice, Pete’s entire being had concentrated into his mouth.

How strong is a human bite supposed to be?

Seojun found himself pressing his tongue against his own teeth. They felt blunt and feeble by comparison. Not that it mattered. Whatever Pete had become, those teeth weren’t meant to wound. If he bit you, you wouldn’t need a doctor. You’d need a coroner.

“Run!”

Everything went to hell at once. Behind them, the sharp clatter of high heels was punctuated by a scream that echoed through the air. Seojun didn’t know who it was. McCullan ran beside him, stumbling as he went, tears and snot running down his face. Still, his legs didn’t stop moving.

“Is this actually real life? This is bullshit!”

Seojun shouted, the words bursting out of him as panic overtook any attempt to hold it together. Curses spilled out of him, useless against the horror closing in behind them.

“Fuck! Goddammit! Shit—!”

A hot hand closed around his wrist. He didn’t even have to look to know who it was. Johan. Seojun’s sneakers skidded as Johan yanked him forward, nearly sending him sprawling. His throat was raw, but he still managed to scream:

“Emergency exit! Go to the emergency exit!”

The emergency exit. Their only shot at survival. Behind them, Pete was gaining, galloping across the floor like a rabid dog. Seojun screamed the words until his voice was ragged, clinging to the thin hope that Pete—whose ears were now stitched onto Samantha—couldn’t track them by sound anyway.

Not that logic applied here. By any reasonable measure, Pete shouldn’t have been moving at all. Misplaced limbs, missing ears—his body should have given out. Instead, he moved with a terrible, liberated speed, as if he’d shed every human limitation. Just like Samantha, running on toeless feet. Ghosts clearly operated on different rules.

The emergency exit was still their best chance. It was closer than the stairs. Levi had used it earlier, which meant it might still be unlocked. Better yet, with his hands and feet reversed, Pete probably couldn’t turn a doorknob. If they could get through and slam it shut, they might actually live.

Because as terrifying as Pete was, he wasn’t Samantha. Samantha was a weapon incarnate. Pete was just all teeth. And Seojun had an advantage now: a former quarterback hauling him to safety. Johan’s thickly corded muscles and powerful stride inspired a confidence Seojun’s own lazy life never could. Johan would smash through whatever stood in their way, and Seojun would follow in his wake like a cyclist catching a ride in someone else’s momentum.

I’m counting on you, Johan Gentil! I’m—

The thought died as white-hot pain exploded in his ankle.

Unfortunately, Seojun had forgotten one thing. No matter how strong the person pulling you is, it doesn’t matter if the body being pulled is already injured.

His ankle gave way mid-stride. The wound Samantha had left—her final, vicious parting gift—split open. Of course it did. He’d been too busy running for his life to properly bandage it.

“Shit!”

Thanks to that unwelcome gift, Seojun hit the ground hard, skin burning as he tumbled. Knees and elbows competed for which could announce their damage loudest. The elbows won—twin strikes to the funny bone that sent electric jolts to his fingertips and made his eye water.

Johan’s hand was suddenly empty. He could have kept running. Most sensible people would have. Instead, he turned and sprinted back toward where Seojun lay sprawled on his back.

Levi and McCullan were sensible people focused on survival. They blew past without a glance, throwing themselves at the emergency exit door.

Beyond it was a darkness so absolute it hurt to look at.

McCullan hit the door face-first. Metal met forehead with a dull thunk, snapping his head back. He didn’t even get a chance to curse out before Levi grabbed his collar, yanked him forward, and pulled him into the pitch-black stairwell without hesitation.

In that split second before the door swung shut, Seojun caught a flash of the vine tattoo curling down Levi’s arm. The flowers woven into the design came into sharp focus. Each one was distinct. Absurdly, they looked exactly like the flowers from the bouquet.

Then the door closed, and they were gone.

The world punished his distraction.

Something heavy crashed into his chest, driving the air from his lungs. Warm, viscous fluid splattered across his shirt, reeking of rot. A strand of bloody drool swayed above his face before another drop landed on his cheek.

Nurse Pete loomed over him.

His jaw hung open, stretched far beyond human limits. Deep inside that gaping maw, the black nub of his tongue wagged with obscene eagerness. A sharp red heel pinned Seojun to the floor, pressing slowly, deliberately, into his sternum.

“Ah…”

He couldn’t help the whimper that slipped out. Seojun didn’t want to look at those cruel teeth, but now they were all he could see. Someone had filed them into jagged points. They jutted out in every direction, a chaotic mess of fangs made for shredding, not chewing. A butcher’s toolkit disguised as a smile.

Pete’s mouth opened wider. The flesh at the corners began to split with wet, tearing sounds. Flakes of red lipstick clung to the shredded edges as the maw expanded, growing large enough to engulf Seojun’s entire head.

Can it open even wider?

For one ill-timed paralyzing second, Seojun froze between terror and awe. Then his body moved on its own. His arm snapped upward, driving the bouquet he was still holding up.

“JUN!”

Johan’s voice cracked like thunder just as something punched through soft tissue with a wet shluck. Blood sprayed across Seojun’s chest. A heartbeat later, Johan’s foot slammed into Pete’s ribs, sending him tumbling away. Then strong arms hauled Seojun up and crushed him in a hug so fierce it stole his breath.

“You okay? Did he bite you anywhere?”

Johan’s big hands didn’t wait for an answer. They were everywhere at once—cupping Seojun’s cheek, combing through his hair, fingers checking his scalp. He turned Seojun’s head left, then right, exposing his neck. Those blue eyes had gone feral with focus, scanning every visible inch of skin. His thumbs brushed beneath Seojun’s eyes, traced his cheekbones, ran along his jaw. Then again. And Again.

Seojun could barely keep up. His head lolled with each touch, body still locked in shock. All he managed was a shaky nod while Johan kneaded his face like dough. His butt, which had taken the brunt of the fall, throbbed in protest, but complaining about that felt ridiculous. He focused instead on his ankle, rotating it slowly. It ached, but it held. He could stand.

Seojun swallowed thickly, forcing the words through dry lips. “I-I’m fine. He didn’t bite me. I just fell. That’s all.”

Seojun scrubbed frantically at the wet patch on his shirt, trying to wipe away Pete’s smelly drool before it soaked in. Probably pointless, but it gave him something to do. Something other than thinking about how close he’d come to being eaten alive. He jerked his chin toward the nearby sound of movement.

Johan followed his gaze, brow furrowing.

Pete, who had been crawling after them with murderous intent moments ago, was now writhing helplessly on his back. With hands where feet should be and feet where hands should be, every attempt to rise just flipped him sideways. He looked like an overturned turtle, except this one wore stilettos and leaked blood from a fresh wound.

The horrifying sight turned Seojun’s stomach.

He watched in silence as Pete flailed. It should have been satisfying. This thing had just tried to bite his head off. And yet, seeing him now, broken and struggling, triggered a pang of unwelcome pity. It felt wrong, like watching someone bully a wounded animal, even though Pete was the monster.

Seojun braced himself, shaking off the feeling. But the chill that ran through him had nothing to do with Pete and everything to do with the body-modification doctor who’d made him. What kind of sick mind could do this to another person? Ghost or not, dead or alive, the man who had transformed Pete into this grotesque shape operated on a level of madness Seojun didn’t want to comprehend. Goosebumps prickled his arms at the thought.

Something glinted inside Pete’s mouth.

The scalpel-finger. Samantha’s other parting “gift.” The one Seojun had jammed into Pete’s mouth just before the bite landed. The blade had driven upward into the roof of his mouth where a tongue should have been.

Now fresh blood spilled out in bright rivulets, stark against the older, darker sludge. Pete’s body convulsed, limbs thrashing. He was clearly in agony.

But his eyes…

The stitches kept them in permanent crescents, corners pulled upward in perpetual amusement. Even now, choking on blood, seizing in pain, those eyes maintained their sewn-on smile.

Seojun couldn’t look anymore. He turned to Johan instead.

Johan was fidgeting with his hands. The gloves probably made holding hands feel awkward, though Seojun doubted his own scrawny arm would have felt any better. No point dwelling on it. He asked the obvious question.

“Where’d Levi and McCullan go?”

“They left.”

That was it. Nothing else. And nothing else needed saying. They’d taken their chance and hadn’t looked back. Thinking on it, Seojun recalled how neither had been especially keen on his pepper-spray plan to take down the deranged doctor. It wasn’t surprising they’d cut their losses.

Maybe because he’d expected little from strangers, he didn’t feel angry. Not even disappointed. Just weary.

The real problem was still thrashing on the floor.

Pete wasn’t going to stay turtled forever. Eventually, he’d figure out how to move with those reversed limbs, and then what? They could run for the exit or double back to the stairwell, but if he came after them… No, when he came after them, they’d just end up cornered somewhere else.

Worse, what if Pete and Samantha stopped taking turns?

The thought clenched Seojun’s stomach. They’d been lucky so far, only facing one at a time. But if the two of them started working together…

Seojun shut down the thought before it spiraled.

Then something caught his eye. Pete’s skirt moved oddly as he flailed. The way the hem twisted, the shape beneath it… Something clicked. His breath hitched. Johan, watching him closely, stiffened.

“Huh..?”

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Jun, talk to me.”

“No, I…” Seojun trailed off, mind racing backward through the last few minutes like rewinding a film.

Pete had appeared out of nowhere. No echoing footsteps from above. No crash of the third-floor gate being forced open. Which meant he hadn’t come from upstairs.

He’d come from below.

But this was the second floor. Beneath it were only the first floor and the basement. They hadn’t searched every room, but nothing down there had looked big enough to hide someone like Pete. Not without being seen.

And yet, here he was.

Seojun’s face paled.

Unless… there was some kind of spawn point. A place where these ghosts simply appeared, like enemies popping into existence in a horror game. The possibility made his knees buckle. Johan caught him before he fell, steadying him with both hands and pulling him close.

He glanced down at Seojun’s trembling legs, concern flickering across his face. Then he leaned in and spoke quietly.

“Want me to carry you?”

That snapped Seojun right out of it. His back straightened, shoulders squaring with indignation.

“No! Absolutely out of the question, Johan!”

“Really? Is it that terrible?”

Johan actually looked a little hurt by the vehemence of the rejection. But Seojun was mortified by the mental image of being carried through a haunted hospital like some fainting damsel.

Yes, every muscle ached. Yes, his knees were jelly. But Seojun pushed through, furious at his own weakness for making Johan suggest something so impractical. Besides, being carried meant Johan couldn’t use his hands. And that was asking to die.

Johan drooped, sulking. Seojun glanced at him, then forced himself to look away. No time for that.

Pete was still writhing nearby, using one red-heeled foot to scrape at the scalpel in his mouth. Clearly trying to dislodge it. But a stiletto heel wasn’t made for finesse. Each awkward nudge seemed to drive the blade deeper.

We have to deal with him before we can even think about the basement.

Seojun shut his eye and focused, sifting through jumbled memories. When he’d first reached the second floor, he’d been too busy running from Samantha to take in his surroundings. But some part of his panicked brain must have been paying attention. There had to be something he’d seen. Something useful.

Johan had taken down Samantha with a flowerpot. There had to be something else like that. Something his instincts had registered even if he hadn’t realized it.

His eye snapped open.

Seojun turned toward the stairwell. Lurking in the shadows, barely distinguishable, was the outline of an old sofa.