Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#101Reader Mode

#101

The initial shock faded, replaced by a crushing wave of terror. The body, broken and bleeding, spasmed and gurgled in a growing pool of blood. Tim’s eyes darted wildly around. Was anyone else out here? Had anyone seen the horrifying thing he’d done? But the only answer was the rustling of leaves, a detached whisper in the wind that felt utterly disconnected from the turmoil inside him.

The darkness felt oppressive, closing in like a suffocating blanket. Even the moon seemed to hide behind the clouds, as if ashamed to illuminate the scene. But wasn’t that the whole point of choosing this deserted road? To avoid witnesses…

Tim’s eyes, dark and unfathomable, reflected the meager light like twin black holes swallowing every gruesome detail. He pressed a shaking hand to the rough asphalt, flinching as it came away coated in the warm, sticky blood flowing from the broken body. So much blood… gushing out with terrifying speed. No one could survive this kind of blood loss, not even if help arrived this very instant.

His heart pounded a frantic rhythm against his ribs, drowning out all other sound. Each beat was a sharp spike of pain in his chest, a hammering against his skull from within. Tim gritted his teeth, desperate to silence the deafening roar only he could hear.

Sucking in a ragged breath, Tim extended trembling hands, ignoring the sticky blood coating the victim’s cold, lifeless ankle. He gripped the thin limb and started dragging the body away from the idling car, away from the dimly lit road, into the concealing darkness of the woods. Skin ripped, and fresh blood welled up as the body scraped across the asphalt, leaving a gleaming red trail. The sharp, coppery tang of blood filled Tim’s nostrils, and for a fleeting second, a strange expression flitted across his face… a twitch of a smile.

It wasn’t the nervous grin of relief, nor the grimace of someone confronting the gruesome. No, this was something darker, a primal rush of adrenaline laced with a certainty that resonated deep within him. Luck, it seemed, truly belonged to him. Fate itself was smiling down on him.

Facing his own mortality, the young man found a perverse thrill in taking a life. It was a power he couldn’t exert over his own failing body, but here, in this act of darkness, he held absolute dominion. The buzzing in his head wasn’t fear, but the intoxicating hum of limitless possibilities. This newfound power ignited a ravenous hunger within him, a desperate craving for more.

Over the following weeks, he pushed the boundaries of his seemingly lucky existence. He meticulously orchestrated a string of “accidents,” each one a wicked masterpiece of deceit. The quiet countryside became his hunting ground, the growing tally of unsolved missing persons cases a convenient smokescreen for his activities. He left no witnesses, no fingerprints – the perfect crime. His once ordinary mechanic skills morphed into deadly instruments, erasing any trace of his dark handiwork.

But the initial high was already waning…

…The thrill of the hunt had lost its edge, each kill blurring into the last. The cleanups, once meticulous rituals, now felt routine. For a budding psychopath like Tim, the predictability was stifling. Where was the artistry, the spark of ingenuity he craved?

He returned to the scene of his first kill, the genesis of his murderous path. The land had swallowed all evidence of the horrors committed there, but standing there, inspiration struck. What if, instead of targeting people outside their vehicles, he focused on those trapped within?

A slow, predatory grin stretched across Tim’s face. This was it, the next level of his craft, a way to plunge deeper into the unknown. And he couldn’t wait to get started.

For Tim, a car wasn’t just transportation anymore; it was a weapon forged of steel and chrome, a deadly extension of his will. But it still felt like an obstacle, a physical separation between life and death. Determined to shatter that barrier, Tim set out to elevate his gruesome craft to a new, intoxicating level.

His preparations were meticulous, yet deceptively straightforward. A seemingly harmless candy, laced with a powerful cocktail of sedatives, potent enough to render his victim completely incapacitated. The ominous touch? A trail of dead crows, their lifeless eyes staring vacantly, strategically positioned along the winding road ahead, silent heralds of the impending doom. The plan? To drug the unsuspecting driver, turning them into a puppet in their own violent demise.

But his first attempt had failed…

Tim’s eyes locked onto Johan, a sly grin twisting his lips. The first driver had been smarter than he expected, kicking him to the curb without a second thought. No matter. The beauty of his new plan lay in its foolproof design. If he backed out now, he was innocent. If he didn’t… well, failure simply wasn’t an option.

The weight of the drugged candy in Tim’s palm was a stark reminder of his earlier screw-up. Like a hawk circling its prey, he dissected every moment of that encounter, each word replaying in his head. And then it struck him—a glaring hole in his made-up ghost story. He’d described the aftermath of the hitchhiker getting “hit” by a car, a detail that should have raised red flags immediately.

But Tim wasn’t one to back down. He obsessively fine-tuned his lie, plugging every gap in his narrative. This time, there would be no room for suspicion.

Oblivious to the danger lurking beside him, Johan was lost in his own world as Tim spun his elaborate web of deceit.

“Hey Johan,” Tim’s voice was deceptively cheerful. “Long drive, right? I’ve got some candy if you’re bored. It’s got a little zing to it—perfect for staying awake.” He offered the lemon candy, its bright yellow wrapper a false promise of innocent sweetness.

Johan glanced at the candy, his infuriatingly handsome face still holding that enigmatic smile that gave absolutely nothing away. “Thought you said you ran out of food.” His tone was maddeningly casual, a perfect match for Tim’s fake cheer.

Tim’s hand twitched, a flicker of something darker crossing his face before he masked it with a nonchalant shrug. “Oh, this isn’t really food. More like… a good luck charm. Helps me get through tough spots.”

“Not sure I want to eat your good luck charm, Tim,” Johan countered playfully, his tone mirroring Tim’s, expertly hiding any suspicion he might have.

Tim hesitated, unsure. Johan’s profile was captivating, a rugged handsomeness mixed with an oddly calculated gentleness. It was impossible to decipher what he was thinking. Tim pressed on, his voice smooth as silk. “Come on, man. I’ve been a pain, and you’ve been cool enough to give me a ride. Just a small thank you.”

“Hmm.” Johan’s low hum hinted at his hesitation. He looked at the lemon candy in Tim’s outstretched hand, then nodded towards the glove compartment.

“Mind opening that for me, Tim?”

“Huh? Sure.” Eager to get Johan to take the damn candy, Tim complied. But as he opened the glove box, his usually composed expression faltered. His eyes widened in disbelief. The compartment was overflowing with lemon candies, burying anything else that might have been in there.

Tim carefully closed the glove box, afraid of dropping the candy he held. He looked up at Johan, a sour expression replacing his smile, the dark circles under his eyes twitching.

“You really like your lemon drops, huh?”

Johan’s reason for refusing was simple. If he already had a stash, gifts from Seojun, why would he need another? He shrugged casually; the hitchhiker seemed a bit annoyed by the rejection. Johan preferred the candy specifically from Seojun, not just any lemon candy, but there was no point in explaining that to Tim.

But the hitchhiker was persistent. Tim believed in his own unwavering good luck, a gift from God, he often claimed. He was convinced that the opportunity sitting next to him would present itself again and again.

Just as Tim was about to lose his patience, a dark shape in the road caught his eye. He stifled a laugh and casually pointed.

“Hey, check that out.”

It was a dead crow, beak slightly open, wings twisted at an unnatural angle, eyes not quite closed. The dark feathers hid the worst of its injuries, but it was a large bird, and the sight was unsettling.

Johan grunted and expertly swerved around the crow. His face was calm, not even a hint of surprise. But Tim’s mind was already racing, planning his next move. With a nonchalance he didn’t feel, he dropped a name like bait.

“You know,” Tim said, his voice low and thoughtful, “the last thing that hitchhiker, Timothy, saw before he died was a crow, too.”

Johan kept his gaze fixed on the leaves rustling in the breeze. “Lots of woods around here. Bound to be birds.” He nodded vaguely towards a dark shape flitting between the trees. “See? There’s one now.”

The crow’s harsh caw echoed through the quiet car. Johan seemed oddly relaxed, almost lost in the untouched beauty of the forest, but something felt off to Tim. His words felt… hollow, his gaze distant, as if his mind were elsewhere, occupied by something far away.

A restless energy thrummed beneath Tim’s skin, a growing impatience for another dead crow to appear. After what felt like forever under the oppressive grey sky, it finally did. This time, Johan saw it without Tim having to say a word.

“Huh,” Johan murmured, tilting his head slightly as he steered around the carcass. “Another one. Makes you wonder if there’s someone hunting out here.”

Tim’s voice dropped, a chilling edge creeping into it, a darkness that clung to him like a shadow. The murders had changed him, leaving an invisible stain that seeped into everything he said and did. Most people couldn’t quite put their finger on it, but something in his eyes… a flicker of something cold and predatory, made them uncomfortable. The way his tongue darted out, quick and snake-like, only added to the unsettling effect.

“Don’t you think it’s a little strange?” he asked, his voice a soft, suggestive whisper. “We saw one dead crow already, which you avoided, and now another one, just like it. Seems like a hell of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

Tim knew how to get under people’s skin, even someone as stoic as Johan. He believed in mind over muscle, in the power of suggestion, of planting seeds of doubt and watching them blossom into full-blown paranoia. It was his weapon of choice, his strength. Brute force was nothing compared to the subtle, insidious poison of his words.

“They weren’t exactly the same.”

Johan’s words were simple, yet they hit Tim like a punch to the gut, cracking the veneer of arrogance he’d mistaken for confidence. He turned his head slowly, his pale neck stark against the deepening shadows in the car.

Tim, who’d been posturing as some kind of omen prophet, stared, completely thrown. Johan, however, remained unfazed, his face an impassive mask, his voice steady.

“The first one had broken wings and a beak, but its legs were fine. This one? Crushed eyes, broken legs. Different bird.”

He spoke as if stumbling upon ominous dead crows on a deserted road was an everyday occurrence. Then a wide, unnervingly cheerful grin spread across Johan’s face.

“Since you shared a story, I’ll tell you one too. A ghost story. Interested?”

“A ghost story…?” Tim echoed, a shiver crawling down his spine, a dread that should have belonged to Johan. But it was Tim’s hands that trembled, his breath catching in his throat. Johan, on the other hand, seemed lost in his own world, his dreamy blue eyes staring into the distance. His voice dropped to a low, almost hypnotic hum as he began.

“It’s about a killer… He’s driving down a lonely road, surrounded by dark woods, with a dead body in his trunk. He’s desperate to get rid of it, but he can’t risk stopping. And then…” Johan trailed off, a slow, knowing smile curling his lips. “He spots a hitchhiker sprawled across the road.”