Creepypasta Stories And Rituals

The Brimstone Conspiracy

"Through me you go into a city of weeping;

Through me you go into eternal pain;

Through me you go amongst the lost people."

– Dante's Inferno

"Okay, you're not driving if you keep that shit up."

Mark snatched the keys from Scott's hand, who couldn't even bother to protest while shot gunning down his second twenty ounce can of beer. He belched loudly, wiping foam from his lips with the sleeve of his black trench coat.

"Yeah, why do you think I'm doing this? It's been your turn to drive for at least thirty miles now." He said, washing down the malt liquor with a sip from his flask, as an extra assurance that he was well past the legal limit. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going to stock up on cheap vodka and poptarts. Back in a minute."

From the gas pump, Josh checked his phone for the time. "Make it quick Scott, I'd like to get to Ashville before noon." The fourth member of the group, Chloe, was tuned out of the conversation by her headphones. To her, this trip was about padding her portfolio with black and white photographs of crumbling buildings. The sort of thing that would make her look well rounded without requiring any real effort. They all had their reasoning for traveling to Ashville, Kentucky.

Mark wanted to have a kind of fun, kind of spooky adventure, and maybe get a little closer to Chloe. Josh wanted to show people how coal mining destroys homes, ecosystems, and natural beauty. And Scott, well he wanted to check up on his childhood home. And drink, heavily of course. Together, they were legend tripping, the age old practice of visiting strange locations of urban myths. Places such as the Baird chair monument, the Screaming Beaches, or the Spider Gates Cemetery. Popular sites frequently visited by tour groups or rowdy teenagers, locations with a history of the tragic, the horrific, or just plain old supernatural acclaim. Anyone with an authentic sense of skepticism who has visited those places knows that a haunting is nothing more than psychological priming. Stories that are just that; scary words that mean nothing but still manage to trick the lizard brain into pricking up neck hairs. And for the most part this was the working assumption of Ashville. The only discernable difference was the scale, Ashville being an entire town rather than a bridge or farmhouse.

"Let's a go-go!" Scott shouted as he tossed his alcohol into the backseat of his 2003 piece of shit Saturn. Josh hung the gas pump and Mark turned the ignition, and they were off to the hills. Approximately nine minutes later, Mark had a thought.

"You didn't pay for those, did you?" He asked Scott, now irritated with his increasingly erratic behavior.

"Of course not idiot," he replied, beginning to open his toaster pastry with his teeth. "You guys didn't want to cover an even split of the gas. Now I gotta steal stuff. Really it's more your fault than mine." Scott took a bite of the crumbling frosted deliciousness without concern.

"You're a goddamn asshole, you know that right?" Scott just chuckled to himself. At this point in the journey, there wasn't anything any of them could realistically do to get back at him. It was Scott's car, and he was the only one of the four who knew how to get into Ashville. In the fifteen years since it was abandoned, no new road maps had any of the town printed within a ten mile radius. GPS wouldn't register the place, and the two bridges that lead into the town had been demolished and marked up with roadblocks just in case someone ended up going in the wrong direction. Plus, the county sheriff patrol was under the orders to arrest anyone trespassing within the city limits. Scott knew how to get around these barriers, having lived in the town until the age of ten, committing large portions of the geography to his long term memory.

After a few minutes of silence, Josh decided to start working on his environmental project, asking Scott to talk about what he remembered about his family's forced removal from their property. He held up a digital audio recorder close to Scott.