Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#063Reader Mode

#063

The pitchfork’s blades glinted ominously in the harsh sunlight, held high as if to challenge the heavens. Seojun’s brow furrowed as a voice, dripping with disdain, whispered into his ears. “You’re not planning on dying that easily, are you?” The voice, though strange, was familiar – it was his own. A surge of injustice coursed through his veins.

I survived that hellhole of a camp, only to face death for showing a little kindness?

This was no shadowed campground from his past. Despite the searing heat threatening to blister his skin, it was just an ordinary cornfield bathed in the glare of high noon. No psycho serial killers lurked here, no colossal, man-devouring tentacled monstrosities from the cosmos. Just two dead bodies and a really creepy scarecrow.

Seojun set his jaw determinedly. He’d been given a second chance at life and he wasn’t going to let it end like this. He was a survivor, a talent who had stared down a star-spawned horror. Sure, he hadn’t single-handedly defeated alien Monster X – that was largely thanks to Airi and Christina’s heroics. But his molotov cocktail and lemon insights had definitely helped turn the tide.

As the shameless spirit he had cultivated throughout his life stirred, adrenaline pumped through his veins. His remaining eye gleamed with an obsession for survival, banishing the fear that had clouded his vision. That’s when he noticed a ghostly pale face peeking out from the cornstalks behind the scarecrow.

At first, Seojun thought it might be April. The figure was small, about the same height as the child. But unlike that weird little kid who was always wearing a straw hat obscuring his face, this person had deep, soulful brown eyes that met Seojun’s boldly.

The strange child mouthed words silently, glancing nervously toward the scarecrow. Luckily, the burlap creature didn’t seem to have eyes in the back of its head – it hadn’t noticed the child yet. As Seojun hesitated, the ghostly youth repeated the silent words, bigger and slower this time:

Run this way.

The message was straightforward, but could Seojun really trust this eerie child?

Everything in this cornfield had been completely bizarre so far – the mummified corpse, the Laurens who were definitely not human, April randomly vanishing without explanation. Now there was a murderous scarecrow trying to impale him on a pitchfork. Doubting the motives of some pale, haunted-looking child seemed pretty reasonable.

But as usual, Seojun had no time to overthink. The moment his focus drifted, the scarecrow swung its pitchfork in a deadly arc, aiming to slice him in two. The sound of the razor-sharp blades slicing through the air, gripped tightly in bony leather gloves, was pure primal fear. If the scarecrow’s twisted patchwork body was a waking nightmare, that pitchfork was dread made physical – its cruel tines coiled with intestinal ropes that were clearly more than just twisted decor.

“Agh!”

Seojun’s instincts kicked in just in time, his body twisting to the right as the pitchfork came slicing down. It missed him by inches, the sharp tines shearing off a few strands of hair. Chunks of gore and guts wrapped around the pitchfork went flying, slapping wetly across his forehead. A foul-smelling mix of blood and sweat dripped down his face, a nauseating reminder of how close he’d come to getting skewered.

“Ahh, what the–!”

Seojun fell on his butt and scrambled backward in shock. His movements were awkward and panicked, every muscle tense with fear and adrenaline. It was an ugly and pathetic sight, and somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he could’ve sworn he heard the Laurens laughing at him.

But fortune had smiled upon him, for the scarecrow did not strike again immediately. The pitchfork had lodged deep in the hard-packed earth, buying Seojun a few precious seconds to catch his breath.

“Hey, listen.” Seojun licked his dry lips, his voice coming out in a harsh rasp as he forced himself to stand.

The scarecrow, it seemed, possessed a myriad of talents, but turning its head was not one of them. It silently pulled at the pitchfork, ignoring his presence entirely. But Seojun knew it wouldn’t be stuck forever. Running was his best option but his legs felt like wet noodles, weak and numb from exertion. In a desperate bid for time, he began to babble, his words tumbling out in a stream of consciousness.

“You’re…Mr. Paul, right? Or is it Pole? Whatever, I don’t think names matter much when it comes to looks anyway.”

Creak, creak, creak… The scarecrow’s upper body groaned with each jerky tug. Its woven legs seemingly useless for anything but walking around. Seojun stood before it, his mind wandering to the nature of appearances and the folly of discrimination.

“You know, I’ve always believed in looking beyond appearances,” Seojun mused, his voice taking on a philosophical tone. “Things like racial discrimination on skin color or how every many legs you have… they’re so outdated, don’t you think?”

He meant every word. Aside from Bobby, Seojun tried to treat everyone with sincerity, even Golden, despite their bicycle-related drama.

“I believe we can understand each other, no matter how different we are on the outside. Actually, I have a friend like you. His name’s Richard, a cool guy with silver hair. Not sure if it’s dyed or natural, though.”

As he spoke, Seojun’s thoughts drifted to the people in Richard’s life. Henry, his brother, born with hair that shimmered like stars. Golden, with his dyed blond locks, and Brass, surprisingly a natural. And then there was Johan, whose hair seemed woven from golden threads, his natural color since birth.

A memory surfaced, unbidden. It was a summer day, and a football game was nearing its end. American football, though not Seojun’s favorite, was a beloved sport among Wraithwood students. Johan’s team celebrated their victory, and someone removed his helmet, the chinstrap untied, just as the sun reached its zenith.

In that moment, Johan’s face glistened with sweat, his curly hair catching the light. Surprise flickered across his features, quickly replaced by a dazzling grin, his teeth gleaming. It was a smile as bright as gold itself, and anyone who witnessed that golden-hued young man would undoubtedly agree.

Seojun shook his head, pushing the distraction away. No, now’s not the time for such things.

With a deep breath, he put on his most charming smile and spoke to the scarecrow in a honeyed voice. “Hey, I can introduce you to Richard if you want. You two would totally hit it off. Similar speeds and all…”

CRACK!

The scarecrow’s pitchfork slammed down mere inches from Seojun’s foot, cutting him off mid-sentence. Apparently, the homicidal scarecrow wasn’t in the mood for making friends.

“F*ck, nevermind! Damn!”

Seojun ducked and rolled, barely evading the scarecrow’s relentless attacks. Every muscle burning from the constant dodging, a ridiculous thought crossed his mind: even a crazed bundle of straw would be pissed if someone suggested they were Richard’s soulmate.

Out of options and almost out of steam, Seojun glared at the advancing scarecrow. His eyes darted to the child with the listless face, who was motioning behind it. It was a long shot, but what other choice was there?

His surroundings hadn’t changed, still an endless sea of corn stretching as far as the eye could see. The Laurens’ cruel laughter echoed around him, a twisted soundtrack to his desperate situation. Seojun weighed his odds. Was there seriously no other way than an all-out frontal assault?

Seojun charged forward; his eye locked on the scarecrow blocking his path. This time, he wasn’t running away—he was running towards his enemy. He sprinted straight at the creature, its pitchfork raised high, but he had no intention of engaging in direct confrontation. Not with a creature decked out in actual intestines like some twisted Christmas ornament. Without knowing its weaknesses, as with the alien monster, Seojun didn’t have the guts to be that bold. He had only one goal in mind.

“Ugh!” He let out a grunt, sliding forward with an outstretched hand.

The scarecrow’s legs? If they were functional, taking them out would be perfect. But with the scarecrow standing on two woven legs, anchored by a pole, targeting just one leg or the pole would still leave it secure. It’d be nearly impossible to knock it off balance in one go. The risk of failure was too high.

The pitchfork, then? It was way up there, gripped tightly by the scarecrow. Without the crazy strength and reflexes of someone like Johan or William, Seojun’s clumsy skills wouldn’t let him snatch it clean. Even for someone as quick-witted as him, relying on his height alone wasn’t going to cut it.

Then finally, his gloved hand plunged straight into the hanging, dripping clump of the scarecrow’s intestines. He could feel the sickening mushiness even through his gloves, the squelching sound enough to make anyone cringe. But a bright grin spread across Seojun’s face.

Human intestines are pretty damn long, so the drooping coils still reached the ground despite the scarecrow’s pitchfork raised high. Not hesitating a second, Seojun wrapped the visceral coils around his left hand and yanked with all his weight. The sudden jerking force lurched the scarecrow forward, completely knocking it off balance.

Huh, lighter than I expected.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. That brief moment of contact was enough to send the creature crashing to the ground, a cloud of dust rising in its wake. Seojun’s veins surged with the thrill of his hard-won victory, briefly overshadowing the absolute disgustingness of having intestines wrapped around his arm.

But there was no time to bask in his gross glory.

“This way, hurry!” The soft, urgent voice belonged to the strange child, already disappearing into the cornfield.

Seojun’s eyes went wide as he followed the voice, finally catching what had been hidden in the corn stalks. Copper hair, black t-shirt, gray shorts ending just above the knee – it was the first tiny body he’d seen since entering this nightmare cornfield.

A chill shot down his spine, that brief victory over the scarecrow now overshadowed by a new wave of dread. Was he facing another ghost? A zombie? In this twisted place, such distinctions seemed to matter little. The Laurens, with their ghostly, zombified bodies, had made that abundantly clear, as had the convicted man with the sack over his head. The dead here followed their own perverse set of rules.

So… this child could be… a ghost… or a corpse! It’s possible, right?

Seojun’s thoughts spiraled, clinging to the idea that children were supposed to represent boundless potential and hope. A desperate bid for self-comfort amidst the mounting terror.

His heart was far from settled as he ran breathlessly after the child, his body pushed to its limits again. But if he had to be physically tortured, might as well keep his mind engaged too.

Abruptly, the child slowed to a stop. The girl, hair fluttering at the nape of her neck, turned to face him. “We should be safe here,” she said calmly, gaze drifting to his hand. “And that thing you’re holding…”

“Huh?” Seojun glanced down at the slimy intestines still coiled around his arm. They must’ve ripped free when he yanked down the scarecrow.

“Yikes!” He flung the gooey ropes to the ground with a sickening splat.

The girl frowned slightly, voice soft but firm. “Those…were my parents’. Please don’t be so disrespectful.”

Her articulate manner was striking, but it was the implication of her words that truly jolted Seojun. His eyes darted between the scattered intestines and the girl, a realization taking hold.

“What? Your parents?”

The intestines obviously couldn’t be her parents, which could only mean one thing—the owners of these gut-spilling entrails were. Seojun’s mind flashed back to those ghastly figures, corn spilling from their ripped open stomachs as they consumed more.

“Don’t tell me your parents are… the woman with the laugh that could shred your ears, and… a man with a grip strong enough to tear out your hair… Tracy and Bailey, right?”

“Yes, those are my parents.” The girl’s casual, dismissive response was somehow more disturbing than anything. It was enough to drive him crazy.