Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#090Reader Mode

#090

WHAM!

Seojun’s fist slammed into his cheek, the sharp sting yanking him back to reality. He clenched his jaw, watching stars dance across his vision.

I must be losing it. What’s with this melodramatic angst? Are you a teenager going through puberty?

Nothing like a good old self-inflicted wake-up call to banish those pointless, irrational thoughts that weren’t worth a single penny. The cost-benefit ratio was unbeatable.

Running his tongue over the burning inside of his cheek, Seojun crumpled the information guide, ugly creases distorting the laminated surface.

“Get it together… If all seems lost, escape through the window. If that’s impossible, face the ghost head-on. You can give up when you’re dead. Are you really going to let this dingy motel be your final resting place?”

His heart steadied as he spoke his thoughts out loud, tired of his own feeble mind that had been daydreaming about paradise or whatever nonsense before.

This world isn’t a movie. So ditch the delusion that movies and reality are the same.

He nearly tossed aside the hard-earned lesson that had cost him an eye. It took a special kind of stupid to forget that, and Seojun could only scowl at his own foolishness. Luckily, ‘Real Life Situation!’ made it easier to wrap his head around what was happening. The key was to be discerning. Seojun hammered that point home as he glanced at the next rule in the guide.

No need to treat ‘A Real Situation’ like gospel. But no sense in ignoring a goldmine of information either.

7) Do not write on the bathroom mirror

He didn’t even dare set foot in the bathroom. Licking his perpetually dry lips, he recalled ‘Real Life Situation.’ Joseph hadn’t written on the mirror either. Though, some ghostly entity apparently had… In any case, since he hadn’t scribbled anything himself, Seojun moved on to the next rule.

8) Please note: The hot and cold faucet labels are reversed. Use caution to avoid scalding water.

“This is…”

Seojun narrowed his alluring eye, dubious. This rule was certainly odd. Joseph had taken great care to follow rule 8 when he accidentally got scalded and turned the faucet to the side labeled ‘hot’ to run cold water over the burn. However, instead of the expected refreshing water, it was scalding hot water that gushed out of the faucet, exacerbating the burn and sending Joseph into fits of agony. If the faucet had dispensed cold water as the rule dictated, Joseph wouldn’t have panicked and made that enraged phone call. So why did the exact opposite happen – with hot water coming out from the side labeled for ‘hot’ water instead?

“Wait a minute. No, it can’t be.”

Seojun’s face went as white as a ghost. A terrifying thought flashed through his mind, freezing his core with a chilling dread. A wave of dizziness, similar to physical pain, washed over him, causing his lips to quiver in distress. His tense gaze darted back to the information guide, desperately searching for answers. Finally, he found what he dreaded the most.

“What the hell…,” he uttered, barely able to hide his horror.

The guide was laced with subtle deceptions, and upon closer inspection, the devious nature of it became clear. Most of the instructions were written as harsh commands, but some rules had a more subdued, polite tone. These seemingly innocent suggestions were camouflaged so well amid the commands that he didn’t notice their different tone before. Joseph would have been oblivious as well, and that was the trap. When he isolated the rules that didn’t match the commanding language, a chilling message emerged:

2) You’re welcome to enjoy the complimentary beverages in your room’s refrigerator.

4) Housekeeping will visit your room daily. Please let them in.

8) Please note: The hot and cold faucet labels are reversed. Use caution to avoid scalding water.

13) Press 0 on your room’s landline to reach the front desk.

15) Please note: TV channel DULC233E is currently experiencing technical difficulties.

In total, five items stood out due to their conspicuously different phrasing, even down to the use of periods at the end of the sentences. Seojun quickly analyzed each rule in his mind.

The first rule, “enjoy the complimentary beverages in the fridge,” actually meant the opposite. Fortunately, Seojun had brought his own drinks and hadn’t touched the fridge. Joseph, however, hadn’t been so lucky, and his attempt to have a drink had led to a mishap that sent chills down Seojun’s spine.

Next, there was the rule about “letting the cleaner in.”

Opening that door was a surefire invitation to chaos. Then, there was the nonsense about the swapped water labels in the bathroom, which seemed like a harmless prank on the surface, but knowing it was the trigger for Joseph’s breakdown made Seojun’s blood run cold.

Lastly, there was the instruction to dial “0” on the landline for the front desk. Another lie. Seojun glanced at the TV. Joseph had dialed 0, intending to complain about the water label prank. However, the person who had picked up had pretended to be from the front desk and promised to send someone up. But if that wasn’t the front desk, then who had Joseph actually called? The call Seojun had received, claiming a cleaner was on the way, reeked of suspicion.

Is this really just a coincidence?

Seojun turned to the now-silent door, his fists clenched tightly. The rule about the TV not working—that was a lie too. The tense final moments of “Real Life Situation!” replayed in his mind, Joseph’s horrified expression etched into his memory. When Joseph realized the camera he was using was also broadcasting to the TV, he panicked. Although Joseph couldn’t remember the channel number, Seojun did.

Channel DULC233E.

It was an odd combination of letters and numbers, and it had caught his attention when he was skimming through the information guide earlier.

Trusting this guide blindly is a dangerous mistake.

As soon as Seojun realized the malicious intent hidden within the sheet of paper, it took on an ominous aura. The guide doubled as both a lure and a landmine. He now focused on deciphering the concealed commands within its contents.

Most of the instructions were mundane—common-sense rules like not to clog drains with hair, and other creepy requests that, while manageable, were foreboding. It was when he came across one particular line that his heart skipped a beat.

16) Do not unplug the room’s TV and telephone

“Oh no…”

Seojun forced his gaze away from the haphazard pile of blankets in the room’s corner.

“And lastly, if there’s an issue with the VCR, remove the cause. Ugh…”

Seojun stifled a groan. The last instruction was oddly blunt, as if sneering directly at him: “Deal with it yourself if things go wrong.” After reading through all the commanding sentences, he sensed a shift in the air around him.

Clack!

Once again, a loud clattering noise emanated from the bathroom. Seojun was the only one in room 999, so he couldn’t help but wonder—or rather, dread—what could be making such a commotion? The noise seemed to beckon him, tempting him to step inside and investigate, which didn’t sound too appealing, but…

Now that I think about it, it’s odd how many of the rules seem to revolve around the bathroom. Maybe there’s a hidden hint in there somewhere?

There was no more time for careful planning or waiting for the perfect moment. As always, the situation demanded immediate action. Seojun let out a weary sigh, finding himself at a crossroads, compelled to make a split-second decision.

Desperate for something, anything to use as a weapon, he scoured his surroundings in vain. Fate seemed to have turned a blind eye, leaving him with nothing but his own two hands. His fingers, slender and bony, trembled in a tight fist. They would have to do.

Seojun’s heart raced as he inched forward, his steps cautious and measured. Reaching the door, he closed his eye, collecting himself. He took a deep, shaky breath, gathering his dwindling courage. With newfound resolve, he shuffled sideways and pressed his body against the door, like a crab clinging to the wall. Slowly, he raised his trembling hand to the peephole and took a peek outside.

His logic was simple: if the cleaner had discreetly snuck away, there’d be no need to search the bathroom. No cleaner in the hallway meant he could grab his belongings and make a frantic escape.

Be gone, please. Please be gone!

He silently pleaded, squeezing his eye shut and willing it to be true. But his fragile hope shattered as soon as he opened it. His strength evaporated, and he slid to the floor, a feeble, whistling groan escaping his lips.

The cleaner was still there. Not only had he not left, but now he was looking up from his lowered position, his gaze fixed directly on the peephole.

No… Could you even call that a gaze?

The face was so melted and deformed that it was nearly impossible to make out any facial features. It was a disgusting mass of skin, silently staring into the lens. A single drop of water fell from the cleaner’s black, matted hair, sliding down a ridged forehead before plummeting off the chin onto the floor below.

“Ah…”

Seojun barely managed to stifle a scream by clamping his trembling hands over his mouth. The sight of the cleaner’s melted features was unbearable, but it was the unnervingly realistic quality of his mutilation that truly unsettled him. In any other situation, Seojun might have brushed it off as a macabre prank with an exceptionally well-done costume, but there was something about the apparent permanence of the cleaner’s warped visage that sent chills down his spine.

Clenching his jaw, Seojun retreated as the cleaner revealed a terrifyingly inhuman form, confirming that escaping into the hallway was no longer an option.

Just as he was debating on whether to walk into what was obviously a trap, a sudden bright light flickered on behind him. Whirling around, he saw that the TV had turned on, illuminating the bed. His gaze fell on the remote control on the floor, which must have slipped from the bed when he yanked off the bedspread earlier. Heart pounding, he instinctively scanned the room – no one had touched it.

Seojun pulled himself up, wobbling with each step. He thought he’d made peace with the fact that anything could happen in this room, but reality always found a way to hit him harder. As he stumbled past the tiny entryway and back into the room, he heard footsteps echoing, like two pairs moving in perfect sync.

On the TV, which should have gone dark after the ‘Real Life Situation!’ playback, a figure appeared.

It was a young man in a black turtleneck and pants. His slender waist swayed unsteadily, as if he might collapse any second. The corners of his eye were red and wet, and his gloved hands trembled. Despite his ghostly pale complexion, a fierce determination burned in his dark eye. He stared straight ahead, lips red and swollen from being bitten, parting slowly.

“…F*ck… “

“…F*ck… “

The explicit curse slipped out of both Seojun’s mouth and the TV at the same time. The channel, of course, was DULC233E—that eerily familiar combination of letters and numbers.

Time had finally run out.