Based on the untrue writings of the Satanic Panic. The Satanic Panic was a moral outcry in the United States over supposed “satanic” influence in media that were warping the youth of America. Claims that playing an elf in Dungeons and Dragons could lead to demonic possession, that playing heavy metal music backwards would reveal satanic messages, and that therapists could uncover repressed memories of satanic ritual abuse, were all too common. Volumes and volumes of material were produced on this fake subject. These texts lead to What Hell May Come, which takes a look at what the world would actually be like if all of the claims of the satanic panic were true. Set in 1986, Jon St. Fond’s life is a living Hell. Deliberately abused and neglected by his parents, the only joy he has in life is an escape into a fantasy land of role playing games. Soon he discovers that his parents are part of a secret occult religion with hidden ties all across the world. As Jon and his friends dig, they learn more of the secret history of the world and discover the power of making deals with creatures from Beyond. However, power has its price, as Jon and his friends quickly discover. One-by-one they begin to become consumed by their own desires and hatreds. Jon learns there is method behind the madness of his life, as his Father begins to bring him closer and closer into the ways of the cult. Ultimately, Jon must make a choice between all the pleasures of the earth and the future of his soul. ©️ Crystal Lake PublishingView More
CHAPTER 15Slouching Towards BethlehemJon came back to the beginning. For eighty one days, the beast was fed. Crixen Runeburner, in human flesh, ate, drank, fucked, and shit in the mausoleum below Goodleburg Cemetery. All the cousins below, several hundred of the St. Fond family, continued non-stop until they were hollowed-out zombies, merely a shell for their magical egos.Acolytes scuttled up and down the rows of participants, picking people up where needed, making sure the cauldrons boiling with fat—animal and human—were well-stoked, adding incense to five massive burning braziers, occasionally shitting in them to add extra heat to the aroma, and scooping up animal carcasses littered about the altar. They were just menial ones, clothed only in black. Those in red robes, like Jon, performed the tasks. Endlessly chanting the spells of invocation. Having rough and degrading sex with all genders on soiled mattresses scattered about the chamber. Then taking turns slaughtering a creat
CHAPTER 14The Devil’s BellowsWas there ever a city fouler than Paris? The whole place was putrid. The food stank, the air stank, the water stank, and the people stank worst of all. No wonder it was the French who invented perfume. It was needed to knock out the fetid odors leaking out the hairy crevices of every Parisian. The metropolis was built on a foundation of human waste. Take two steps across any yard and your feet would scuff up some vile fart entombed two millennia ago by Roman soldiers.Adding to their stinkiness was their foul attitude. People say New Yorkers are rude, but they are nothing compared to the average Parisian. They all speak English but pretend not to. They will shove you aside. They don’t break for traffic lights. One whiff of an accent will bring on a barrage of insults spouted right to the person’s face—in French, of course. They assume the average tourist doesn’t speak their lingua. Even if you make an attempt to speak their language, it makes no differ
CHAPTER 13The Conqueror WormJon was burnt out. The world didn’t spin on its axis and his attempts to find out the ways of his family made him feel more and more the drone of some sinister hidden ant queen. Father had allowed him to drink on the plane, shooing away the disapproving flight attendants so the trip quickly became a blur.“It’ll take a little time to work out your trip to the ancestral family estate. Our sanctum sanctorum,” Father had told him on the cab ride back to Black Rock. Jon blinked and suddenly the old man’s yellow eyes were in front of his. “That is, if you’re still interested.”Drunk and emotionally exhausted, Jon nodded stupidly. The world was a blackout nightmare. The alcohol did help make him not care, though. It pushed all the problems into a tiny box on a far-away island. Even if he tried to focus on his fears and worries and the evil deeds of the last few days, they wouldn’t come closer. He was happy for that.Back at their home, Mother stared darkly
CHAPTER 12Deal With the DevilIt had been days. Most of it was spent in darkness, as his captors kept his head covered by a stinking burlap sack. After he first was kidnapped, the villains had surrounded him, licking their lips, each wielding a knife, a gun, a chain, or a broken beer bottle. They all had cheap clothes adorned by some bizarre accessory above their social rank. A ruby ring, a diamond stud, a glittering belt buckle bragging about the size of Texas. His shoes were taken, along with his leather belt. The crooks seem very interested in his teeth, and whenever a new member of the gang came in, they delighted in showing them off.Only one spoke actual English—sort of spoke it.“You money, eh?” the man asked, scraping a bowie knife across Jon’s throat.“I don’t have any money.”“You money!” the man thundered, then reconsidered. “Papa? Daddy? Daddy?”Jon nodded vigorously. “Oh, yeah, he’s loaded. Money all over.”“Good. Good,” the man smiled, showing an upper row of rot
CHAPTER 11Vaya Con DiablosTijuana, Mexico—The rank scrotum sack of North America. Named after someone’s syphilitic aunt—or tía—who had been run out of Spain after her whorehouse was burnt down for allegedly holding occult rituals in the wine cellar. The woman, Juana, ran to the New World and opened a trading post, offering hospitality and cheap native pussy to leftover conquistadors and Jews escaping the Inquisition.The city would’ve ended up a cum-stained husk if, by luck, the American border hadn’t been slapped right in front of it after the annexation of Texas in 1845. Since then, it’s thrived on offering flimsy goods and illicit services to every gringo wandering into the country.None of this was on Jon’s mind as he flew into the airport attached to the region. The gravity of his actions still weighed him down, still clutched him like a tumor on his conscience. Father had been right to suggest he take this trip. For some reason, a change of scenery made all that horror seem
CHAPTER 10Blessed are the VictoriousLombardos was not a small place, but it was carefully designed so that every table felt intimate. It was close, warm but not hot, with tasteful, but not distracting, art about the room. Taken as a whole, each room in itself could be considered a work of art, so elegantly did every table, chair, color, and painting swirl together.Jon did not notice any of this. All he had eyes for was the young lady across the table slurping down lobster ravioli. He picked at his salad, filled with odd vegetables he’d never heard of and sipped a diet Coke, served to him in a wine glass to help make him seem grown up. As he did so, Jon mused on what it had taken to bring them both to this spot.After Jon had told him of the success the previous day, Michael had stormed off up to his room, predictably reciting one of his foul limericks.“There died a young girl named Maria,Well known for slutty behavior,When the priest thought her shriven,And fitted her fo
CHAPTER 9Drowning the Ceremony of InnocenceOn the way out, Jon was subjected to all the nocturnal haunts exactly as what happened at Goodleburg Cemetery. With every blink, a new horror filled his sight. It was so ghastly he nearly fell through a hole in the floor. Michael needed to guide him down the treacherous stairs. He asked questions all the way about what Jon saw.As had happened at the cemetery, visions of evil clouded his senses. Up and down the structure, people from different times and fashions committed vile acts. Beatings, thefts, rapes, and murders viciously played out around him. Dark creatures with indistinct features floated all around. Dark tendrils, rippling with profane power, rubbed over the evil doers, transferring a joy of sin to the men.A spectral Brian Elder was on the bottom floor of the grain elevator, dressed in the style of the 1920s. He had pinned down one of the demonic things and was sucking power from it via a paper straw punctured into its skull.
CHAPTER 8SnakelandMichael claimed he was fatigued, so they agreed to meet after school the next day to attempt contacting Brian Elder. The school day stretched on at an agonizing pace, until that blessed final bell released them all from captivity.The day would’ve easily been forgotten, tossed into the lump of other boring days in their memory, except they were about to leave the building with a gaggle of Italians, led by the snarling Gabbaducci. As usual, the girls followed. Jon’s nightly fantasy girl was among them.“I heard you’ve been telling people that I’m a faggot,” Gabbaducci yelled at Michael. His nose bumped Michael’s.“I ... I didn’t.”And of course, he hadn’t. It’s just that the boy wanted to fight and rather than find a reason, he manufactured one to justify his assholeishness.Gabbaducci slammed Michael’s head into the wall.“You want to fuck me in the ass? How ‘bout I do it to you and we’ll see who’s the queer.” He punched Michael in the nuts and s
CHAPTER 7Hammer or Anvil?“They do not listen, but they hearCowards who strut like a buccaneerThey’re committed to evil,Their soul’s past retrieval; You’re the devil’s puppet, I fear.”That was Michael’s opening line as they drank coffee and ate scumdogs at one of the innumerable all-night Greek diners riddling the area. After the coffee was dropped off, he had dumped twelve creamers into it and churned the mixture slowly with a spoon, turning the black liquid light tan. He refused to tear his eyes away from the vortex being created in the middle of the cup.Jon bit into the scumdog. The specialty of the house. Onions, eye-watering mustard, hot sauce, and some kind of Greek glop were ground together into a lumpy greyish-brown paste and dumped over a lonely hot dog. It needed to be eaten fast as the concoction had a tendency to dissolve the bun into a sticky blob. The mixture sounded disgusting, but damn it tasted good. Hurt going out the end, though, especially after about f
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