Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#098Reader Mode

#098

Tim’s voice faded as he lost himself in the story, his eyes frantically darting around as if searching for Timothy’s killer himself. Seojun, unimpressed, cleared his throat to cut in.

“Isn’t this just your typical hitchhiker ghost story?” he asked, trying to sound polite. “I’ve heard variations of this urban legend from every corner of the globe.”

Tim let out a chuckle. “Yeah, fair point. They do start to blend together after a while. But trust me, this one’s got some key details and unexpected twists.”

“Twists? Actually, you know what, never mind. You must be tired. Get some rest, I’ll wake you up when we arrive.” Seojun tried to gently shut down the conversation, not really in the mood for more spine-chilling specifics about Timothy’s sordid past.

“Hey, no way, I’m not about to fall asleep when I scored a free ride!” Tim protested indignantly. “Everyone knows shotgun is in charge of keeping things lively with witty banter and killer stories. Them’s the rules.”

Seojun had never heard of this supposed “shotgun seat” rule before. As far as he was concerned, car rides were prime nap opportunities, with the steady vibrations of the engine soothing him into a blissful slumber. But Tim was a different breed altogether. He was like a one-man horror show, determined to initiate Seojun into the twisted world of Timothy’s ghost story.

“So, according to the legend, when Timothy gets in a car, he hangs around until he makes up his mind about the driver. If he decides they weren’t the one who killed him, he leaves them a little ‘parting gift’ before vanishing into thin air. Pretty chill for a ghost, don’t ya think?”

Seojun let out a harsh laugh. “More like a participation trophy from the afterlife, if you ask me.”

As Tim continued to ramble, the sky above seemed to transform into a turbulent, dark expanse, as if night had finally devoured the day. The leaves, which had gently swayed in the breeze just moments before, vanished, leaving behind an soft rustling sound. Even the moon seemed to retreat, hiding behind clouds as if something wicked was approaching.

The truck’s headlights were the only thing standing between them and the darkness that was closing in from all sides.

Suddenly, Seojun was struck by an intense, unmistakable sensation of déjà vu, sending shivers down his spine. The world outside the windshield began to blur and distort, with memories of Utahpia bleeding into the present like eerie apparitions. A looming sense of dread filled the air, echoing the same feeling he’d had that fateful night at Devil’s Crossroads when he’d encountered both the devil and a ghost.

“Huh…” Seojun tilted his head, thoughts swirling in a jumbled haze.

“You okay?” Tim’s voice carried a note of concern that only amplified Seojun’s mounting unease. Tim’s frenzied, almost obsessive storytelling had sparked a fire of fear that refused to die down.

Seojun bit down on the inside of his cheek, the sharp pain a desperate attempt to ground himself in the present. Sweat trickled down his forehead, but he barely noticed, his attention fixed on Tim with an intense, sidelong gaze.

Could this guy be… not human either?

His lone dark eye flickered like a flame in the wind as the old warning echoed in his head: making assumptions could be deadly. But the suspicion clung to him like a second skin. Ever since he’d fled Wraithwood, a town that had never truly felt like home, he’d been surrounded by a cast of weird and eccentric characters. And among them? Way too many ghosts for comfort.

A dark, insidious thought crept into Seojun’s mind like a cloud of cigarette smoke. The way Tim had told Timothy’s story, with such vivid detail… it was as if he’d lived it himself. As if he were shackled to his own painful memories. And the parallels between Timothy and Tim kept stacking up like omens – the flash of the wounded knee, the glimpse of the scar slashing across his wrist.

With ghosts becoming a disturbingly common part of Seojun’s already messed-up life, the possibility that Tim might be more than he seemed was a terrifying reality he couldn’t afford to ignore. Not if he wanted to make it out of this encounter alive.

But how the hell am I supposed to tell the living from the dead? Every ghost I’ve run into has been different, each with their own bizarre quirks…

Seojun couldn’t help but wish for a guidebook on how to deal with the undead. But these ghosts didn’t seem to follow any damn rules. Each one had their own unique set of abilities. Leah was your typical ghost; the Laurens were more like zombies with their souls trapped inside; April, though, could shape-shift between a ghost, a scarecrow, and some nightmarish abomination in between; and then there was Doade. Dead, yet effortlessly blending in with the living as if it was nothing.

How the hell am I supposed to know what to do? I can’t exactly ask to see his ghost ID, can I?

Seojun’s tongue darted out unconsciously to moisten his suddenly dry lips. The loud thumping of his heart filled his ears as he sneaked a glance in the rearview mirror. Tim’s face reflected back at him, and for the first time, Seojun truly saw his “passenger.” Gone was the half-baked pity he’d felt earlier, replaced by a growing fear that curdled in his stomach.

Where he’d originally seen a kindred spirit in those eyes, Seojun now noticed the unsettlingly wide, black pits that seemed to bore into his very soul. Tim’s features were sharp, his skin rough and battered, as if life itself had dealt him a relentless beating. But it was the expression in those dark eyes… that chilled Seojun to the bone. They were no longer vacant, but wild and predatory, their keen intelligence at odds with the emptiness he’d perceived earlier.

As Seojun studied Tim’s face from every angle, a terrifying question forced its way into his thoughts, demanding to be heard.

Do ghosts even show up in mirrors?

It’s the kind of question that makes you double-check your reflection in the dark, right? Some urban legends swore they did, while others adamantly denied it. If only he’d considered testing that idea during his past paranormal encounters. But those were far from controlled experiments; more like frantic battles to stay alive.

With a nervous breath, Seojun stealthily glanced at the rearview mirror again. Tim’s reflection stared back at him, for now at least. But was Tim really a ghost, or just some sick psycho playing mind games with him?

Seojun had his fair share of ghost encounters, but he was far from being a paranormal expert. He’d just stumbled into some seriously messed-up, inexplicable situations. It was as simple—and terrifying—as that.

A suffocating silence descended upon the truck, and Seojun’s typical comfort with awkward lulls was replaced by a rising tide of fear. With the chance of a homicidal ghost along for the ride, his heart thrummed like a frenzied beat, making the quiet feel like a thousand needles pricking his skin.

Seojun’s frantic brain, in all its dubious wisdom, thought it might be a good idea to share some of his own ghost hitchhiker stories.

But that might just be an invitation for more trouble than I can handle.

He snuck a peek at Tim. No matter how hard he stared with his one good eye, he couldn’t tell if there was actual flesh and blood beneath Tim’s skin or simply… emptiness. Apparently, his newly discovered supernatural skill was pretty much useless when it came to navigating run-of-the-mill paranormal encounters.

Seojun’s voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a nervous jumble. “Uh… I haven’t had my license for long actually.” He cringed inwardly, aware that he sounded like a transparent attempt at false modesty. “Is the ride… you know… okay?”

How obvious am I being?

He braced himself for a sarcastic comment about his questionable driving skills, but Tim was too engrossed in rummaging through his backpack, the rustling noises filling the awkward silence.

When Tim finally looked up, a wide grin spread across his pale face. “Okay? Man, you’re a natural! Feels like you’ve been driving for years.”

Seojun’s forced laughter sounded like a dying animal’s last gasp, even to his own ears. “Haha, yeah…” The words trailed off, leaving an uncomfortable silence in their wake.

Seojun casually reached for his phone, feigning nonchalance as he checked for a signal. “Wonder if my mom, dad, or friends are missing me yet…“ However, as expected, the damn “No Service” icon mocked him. He glowered, his handsome face twisting with annoyance.

“Seojun? Everything okay?” Tim asked, cocking his head, his hand still rifling through his bag.

“Yeah, just no cell service out here.“

Tim nodded. “Yeah, that’s pretty typical for this area. My phone’s not getting any either. No worries, this road’s a straight shot anyway.”

“You seem to know your way around… for someone who’s never been here before.” Seojun’s eye narrowed on the hitchhiker, who might or might not be Tim or Timothy.

But Tim just smiled, untroubled by the unspoken accusation. “Huh… Did I say it was my first time?”

As Tim continued to chat amiably, his gaze seemingly fixed on the darkness beyond the headlights, he abruptly thrust a dirt-streaked finger forward.

Seojun’s heart slammed against his ribcage like a trapped animal as he followed Tim’s gesture. There, caught in the harsh glare of the headlights, lay another dead crow, its wings outstretched across the asphalt like a dark omen.

It was like a scene on repeat, as if someone had hit rewind on a horror movie. The sight was even more disturbing, considering the truck’s front tires still carried the grisly remains of the previous bird – dried mud, crushed flesh, and blood-soaked feathers.

“Another one,” Tim murmured.

Seojun’s throat tightened, his grip on the steering wheel so fierce that his knuckles ached. This time, he swerved hard to avoid the disgusting carcass on the deserted road, desperate to escape its foreboding presence.

Although his tires didn’t get a fresh coat of blood, Seojun couldn’t shake off the fear that coursed through his veins. The dead crows, appearing one after another, felt like a warning, a terrifying message from the universe itself.

Tim’s ghost story about Timothy plagued Seojun’s thoughts, the image of the doomed hitchhiker, forever trapped in a cycle of vengeance until he found the driver who had wronged him, seared into his mind. Seojun’s already pale complexion blanched even further as his thoughts spiraled out of control, feeding into a growing anxiety that threatened to consume him. The supernatural events he’d experienced only served to fan the flames of his paranoia, dragging him deeper into an abyss of uncertainty and fear.

His heart pounded in his chest, the icy dread gripping him with an iron fist. Should he confront Tim now, insist he wasn’t the driver who had killed Timothy? The very thought brought desperation and terror in equal measure. Was he just losing his grip on sanity from his overactive imagination playing tricks on him? It felt like his mind was spinning out of control.

Seojun knew that if he saw another dead crow, his focus would shatter. He needed to keep his wits about him behind the wheel, knowing all too well how a split second’s distraction could lead to a horrific, blood-stained crash.

The road ahead seemed to stretch on forever, a black void that swallowed the faint beam of the headlights. The monotonous drive was draining his energy, and the constant rustling of Tim’s backpack beside him grated on his already frayed nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.

A ghostly pale hand shot out of the darkness, startling Seojun as he yanked the wheel to the side in a panic. His heart threatened to leap out of his chest as he whipped his head around, neck stiff with tension. Tim’s face emerged from the shadows, a flicker of apology in his eyes that struggled to conceal a strange glint.

“Did I scare you?” Tim asked, his voice tinged with a hint of shameless amusement. “Sorry about that! You looked like you were about to nod off, so…”

Tim’s fist slowly uncurled, revealing a single candy resting in his palm like an offering. The bright yellow wrapper stood out against his pale skin, emitting a tangy, citrusy aroma that was almost cloying. It seemed Tim had been rummaging through his backpack to find this small, sugary treat.

With a nervous fidget that belied the unsettling intensity in his eyes, Tim extended his hand, the candy gleaming like a tiny, tantalizing lure. He held it out expectantly, as if waiting for Seojun to take it. But Seojun’s tongue felt heavy and dry, his words stuck in his throat as he stared at the ‘gift’.

“This is…,” Seojun started to say, his voice barely above a whisper.

A lemon candy.