The Bridge of No Return

by CrackedInkWell

Rating: teen
Tags: Suicide / Self Harm, Horror, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Death, Alternate Universe, Thriller, Original Character
Length: 4002

Between Ponyville and Appaloosa, there is a bridge that if one were to walk across on a moonless night, they would never return. A reporter goes to investigate. This is what he finds.

Warning: The following story you are about to read is currently unedited and contains some disturbing themes that may be too sensitive for readers. Viewer discretion is advised.

Editorial, a journalist for The Manehattan Times is tasked to go to one of the most haunted places in Equestria. In particular, to investigate a bridge that connects Ponyville to Appaloosa. Over the Gastly Gorge, when the moon is absent and the sky is dark, the location is known as "The Bridge of No Return" because those who dare to cross it end up disappearing. Even if there wasn't a paranormal reason for the disappearances, the reporter is determined to find the real reason why.

This is his findings.

Published 2019-07-24 06:40:02 UTC
Last updated 2019-07-24 06:40:02 UTC

Into the Void

Author's Note

Before anyone says anything: This is just a ghost story and a creepy enough idea that I thought would be entertaining to do as I haven't done horror in a while.

Also, a special thank you to Sparrow for taking the time to do a reading of this.

Into the Void

Bridge of No Return

Ponyville, Equestria.

Between the towns of Ponyville and Appaloosa, the dark forests of the Everfree and the vast, unforgiving desert; there is a lonely place known as the Ghastly Gorge. An empty, rocky place where the only noticeable feature that suggests ponies have visited this place at all is the bridge. A railroad bridge that connects the two towns, where passengers and goods are carried across not only the gorge but over the white, wild rapids below. In the daylight, the bridge doesn’t seem to be out of the ordinary. Made out of wood, nails, and iron rails, the bridge on the outset seems unremarkable as it does its job to help trains cross it.

However, to those who work on the railroad, very few would dare cross it on a moonless night. The reason for this is simple – it is rumored to be cursed. Or rather, if one were to ask the railponies, it is haunted.

In truth, there isn’t an official story as to why this is. Whenever the moon is absent, those who try to cross the bridge never make it to the other side. Some say that the spirit of a vengeful buffalo, who is a desperate attempt to keep the settlers out, is keeping to his word and refusing to let anyone go by him before being hit by a train. Others say that on new moons, the bridge becomes a gateway to the afterlife. There are even stories that tell of a demon who is very processive of the bridge. According to one story that on a moonless night, if one were to walk out to the middle of it, and knock three times on the bridge, the demon would appear.

But regardless of what is the truth, it all springs to one particular fact about the bridge: those who attempt to walk across it on a new moon, are never seen again. Some ponies are convinced that it’s the place where suicides happen, or maybe its prone to accidents. Either way, given how wild the rapids are below, finding a body is an impossibility. It’s a dangerous enough place that no one, not even the Buffalo that roam, would go near it.

“It’s not enough…” A stallion sighed, looking at his typewriter. In the only inn in the town of Ponyville, the reporter stared at his latest article, with the nagging, biting feeling that something was missing. On the bed, a web of notes, carefully detailed interviews, and pictures of the supposed haunted bridge south of the town. On the table, his typewriter sat next to a picture of half-empty lemonade and a lit kerosene lamp. Getting up, the reporter went over to the window at a sleepy town where very few ponies are about at this time of night.

The glass provided the only reflection in the room. He looked at himself, a tired eyed white unicorn, he took notice of the wrinkle that was forming above his cheekbone, and that his rich purple mane was showing some lines of gray. The stallion wasn’t old by any means – just that being a reporter has given him enough stress as it is. So much so, that his five o’clock shadow was an indication of how little time he has to himself.

‘When’s the last time I bathe again?’ the stallion asked himself but tossed that though easily aside to focus back on what was at stake. With October being around the corner, the editor for the Manehattan Times thought it would be a brilliant idea to have a series of articles about hauntings all over Equestria. Thirty-one days of the creepiest “true” ghost stories out there. From haunted forests and hotels to abandoned asylums and factories, the reporter remembered the day where he drew his assignment out of a hat. “The Bridge of No Return,” at first, does have a nice spooky ring to it. However, the location of it was rather… troublesome. Not just because it’s outside of Manehattan – along with any other city – but the haunted site was in the middle of nowhere.

‘Tomorrow night, it’ll be a new moon and all I have left to do is visit the place. Then after nothing happens, I’ll be going straight home and get that paycheck.’ In truth, it was the only motivation. That if he volunteered to cover this story, his paycheck will be a little bit higher for October. ‘The sooner I get that stupid paycheck, the sooner I’ll be able to quit. I’m so tired of this…’

A knock on the door took him out of his thoughts. Upon answering, it was one of the rail ponies, a cream-colored stallion with a red bandana and a train conductor’s cap. “Took long enough to find you.”

“Ah, Mr… Steamer Voice, was it? Is it past nine already? I’m sorry, I was so focused on my article that I forgot what time it was.”

“You’re not very specific with where you were staying.” The railpony walked in. “Just to let you know, Mr. Editorial, that I did manage to get some time off so I can take you to the bridge.”

“Oh, good.” Editorial nodded. “And I expect you want your payment, here,” he lit up his horn and out of a suitcase near the bed, he levitated a bag of bits. “Here’s half, and you’ll get the other when you take me there and back tomorrow.”

“Uh, about that,” Steamer said uneasily, “are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”

The journalist chuckled. “Don’t tell me that you believe those stories, do you?”

“Well… not exactly. But it’s just not safe going there. I know you wouldn’t be alone but, still.”

“It’s dangerous?” He nodded. “Well, I’m not surprised. But being a field journalist, I’m sadly used to this sort of thing of going into dangerous territory just to uncover the truth. Of course, I prefer not to, but it still has to be done regardless. At least compared to all the places I’ve been to; this shouldn’t be that difficult.”

“Yeah, but the bridge is different.”

“How so?”

Steamer tugged on his bandana. “Forgetting what’s been said about the bridge, there are no safety railings to prevent you from falling off. If you do slip, you’ll be like falling through the equivalent of a thirty-floor building. So, hitting the water below would be like landing face-first in concrete. And even if you do survive the fall, there are rapids that you could be sucked under and never resurface. Not only that, but you’ll be hopping from one beam to the next in the dark.”

Editorial nodded. “Understandable. But this isn’t much of an issue for me. After all, I know how to teleport.” He tapped his horn. “So even if I do fall, I should have enough time to cast myself back to safety before I could hit the bottom of the gorge.”

“And that’s another thing… While I don’t exactly believe all that ghost and demon stuff, the ponies that have tried to walk across the bridge during a new moon, they just… disappear. I don’t know if it’s some spell or what, but the risk rate goes way up when it’s completely dark there. Not to mention that it’s on the very edge of the Everfree Forest where it’s notorious for being unpredictable.”

“Which is exactly why I must go there. Even if it isn’t ghosts that’s behind the disappearances, wouldn't you be slightly interested as to the real reason why nopony returns from that bridge?”

Steamer couldn’t find any reason to counter with. “It’s just dangerous is all, and I’m worried what would happen if you ended up getting-”

“Remember that agreement I had you sign?” He nodded. “Even if something were to happen to me, you won’t be held responsible for it. I knew of the risks going in and you won’t be punished for taking me over there.”

The railpony sighed. “I’ll still do it – I just don’t think that I’ll like it.”

Hours before the sun was laid to rest, Editorial and Steamer were making the journey southward through hoofcar. With nothing with them except the journalist’s saddlebag, some canteens, and two lit lanterns, the two of them pumped the bars that propelled them forward down the track. The lanterns were the only source of light as above them, there is no moon and the clouds had covered the stars. It was completely black. All around them were twisted swaying trees that stretched over and around them. As they neared their destination, both stallions took notice of how… quiet everything was. Except for the moaning of the wind, and the click-clack of the wheels, the forest was eerily silent. There wasn’t so much as a buzzing bug to let them know that something was alive.

It was baffling, if not unnerving. With every mile they went, there was almost an expectation that the branches above would snatch them up to tear them into pieces. Even Steamer wanted to turn back, but even when he did voice this, he was replied with: “We can’t when we’re so close, not without paying you the other half.”

Editorial could sense the growing frustration with his guide, but after passing the first bridge several miles back, they knew they were getting close.

And then, finally, the dark forest gave way to a clearing. Almost immediately, Steamer pulled the brakes of their hoofcar. Editorial looked at him confused. “What are you doing?”

“We’re here.”

The journalist looked around, from what light their lanterns showed, it was completely dark. Even the shiny rails seem to fade into the void. Regardless of how Editorial tried to squint at the parallel lines, he couldn’t make out that much.

“Are you sure?”

“The bridge is just right ahead of us. About a few yards, that way is where you’ll find a wooden platform that leads up to the Gorge.” Hopping off, the journalist levitated both lanterns down to the ground while the railpony inquired. “So what exactly are you planning on doing?”

“Simple. If the bridge is indeed cursed, I probably would detect it. You know,” he tapped his horn. “If it’s haunted, then the next thing to do is to taunt the spirit out into the open. I’ve brought a few things in my saddlebag. Candles, a spirit board, you name it I got it. Or if nothing else, I could try knocking on the thing three times to see if anything happens.”

“You’re really trying to provoke something out there, aren’t ya?”

“Hey, I’m being set here to find out what’s going on and why ponies on nights like this disappear. Maybe it’ll be because of some curse, or maybe it’s because of the lack of safety rails. The point of this is to find out for absolute certainty.” Putting on his saddlebag and taking a lantern, he paused. “One more thing, in case something does happen to me like falling off and I’m not able to save myself – go back to Ponyville immediately and wire the newspaper that something happened to me. Also, ask them about my birthday, because that’s the combo to the safe in my room back at the inn.”

“Okay.” Steamer nodded. “So, I take it that you want me to wait here or…?”

The journalist nodded. “Wait for me an hour. If for whatever reason I don’t come back, then go to Ponyville. Got it?”

With a nod from the railpony, Editorial started to walk forward between the parallel lines into the dark. Every so often he would look over his shoulder to make sure that the light of Steamer’s lantern was still there. At first, the unicorn walked on, his eyes focusing on the ground. He took notice that the land was tilting with every step he took until he notices that the planks underneath the rails had flattened out into a sort of platform. Instantly he realized that he just stepped onto the bridge.

Taking great care to watch his step, he did pause for a moment to look behind him. The lantern from behind him was like the only star in this void. It reassured him that he wasn’t abandoned out in the middle of anywhere. Still, he continued on; taking step after cautious step. Below him, apart from the iron tresses that held the structure together, there was nothing he could see. Although he could barely make out the rapids below, up so high, they were but a murmur. In the light of his lantern, the beams and the rails look all the same to him looking forward or backward. There was a part of him that half expected to see a cloaked figure standing in the middle of the bridge.

But there was nothing.

‘I think I should be at the halfway point by now…’ Editorial thought as he stopped in what he thinks is the middle of the bridge. Glancing behind him, he still can see the glimmer of light before setting everything he had down. He took a seat on the cold rail and for a moment took in his surroundings. Being up so high, he expected to face some strong winds, but he didn’t feel any. It was certainly cold; not freezing, but still uncomfortable to be in. Except for the other lantern, there was absolutely no other light from anywhere. In a way, Editorial thought, this would be the absolute perfect setting for somepony’s nightmare. And still, it was quiet apart from the low mummer of the rapids. Amazingly, just being able to hear the river below was a strange comfort as it might have been disorientating.

‘Okay, so far I’m not detecting anything magic related. I guess that’s good. And I haven’t encountered any vengeful spirit to demand to get off the bridge. There’s barely anything here.’

He waited for a moment to sense if there was anything at all that seems out of the ordinary. Maybe a distant birdcall, or perhaps a sudden gust of wind, an even colder spot to rush through him or perhaps a whisper in his ear to get out.

But there was nothing.

“Hello?” He called out, hearing nothing but an echo. “Is anything on this bridge with me?” He waited.

But there was nothing.

“Okay…?” So without any change, he decided that now would be the time to bring out the candles and the spirit board. After lighting five candles and place them in a circle with the board in the middle of the bridge, Editorial place a hoof on a wooden planchette. For a moment, nothing happened. So he started to ask aloud: “So… are there any spirits whatsoever here?”

But there was nothing.

“Are there any demons on this bridge?”

Silence.

The journalist looked around, half expecting to see… something out of this. “Is there anything at all that doesn’t want me on this bridge?” No reply. “Or rather, something that does want me here?” Nothing. “Hello!? Anycreature here? I’m conducting a séance and I’m expecting something weird to happen!”

But there was nothing.

“Okay, suit yourself.” After doing the ritual of closing up the spirit board and blowing out the candles, the stallion was more than ready to go back to Ponyville to write up an article of how big of a waste of time it was to come out in the middle of nowhere. But before he could, a thought came to him. That apparently, according to local lore, if one were to knock on the bridge three times, a demon would appear.

Editorial sighed. ‘What do I got to lose anyway?’ he thought as he looked down and let his hoof knock on the iron rail. The sound of which echoed in the cavern below like the ringing of a funerary bell.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

But there was nothing.

“Well, that’s it then,” he said to himself. “Now I can finally go back home laying this mystery to…” Editorial never finished his sentence. Because when he looked up, his heart froze, dread knifed him in the chest when he saw what was ahead of him. Or rather, lack thereof. No matter what direction he looked, the light of the other lantern, it seemed, had gone out.

“Hey, Steamer!” He called out. “Steamer! Are you still there?!”

But there was nothing.

While he waited for a reply, he also took notice of something rather disturbing too. It wasn’t so much of what he heard, rather it was the lack of it. He checked his ears to make absolutely sure, but there wasn’t a single sound to be heard. Even the rapids below had gone silent. There was absolutely nothing around him.

“Hey!”

Even the echoes of the gorge didn’t come back to him.

“Hello!? Steamer? Anypony?” Levitating his lantern, he desperately waved it around his only light source to help him illuminate his situation. “Is there anyone here?” He called out, almost hoping to hear some dark, deep, demonic voice to answer his question. Perhaps see a melted face of some ghost before it lunged at him. It didn’t matter if he would encounter his worst nightmares all at once, at least he would see someone that was with him.

But there was nothing.

He pauses for a moment to take in some deep breaths. “It’s okay… keep it together…” he told himself. “There’s no need at all to panic. Perhaps Steamer had waited long enough and uh... has gone home. And I’m probably just freaking out over nothing… yeah…” He looked over to the inky darkness, towards the direction where he came from. “How long have I been on this bridge again…? I couldn’t be on here for more than fifteen or so minutes, right?” He shook his head. “Or maybe his lantern just gone out. It’s no big deal, I’ll just walk back over and then I can get back to the inn.”

It was a reasonable plan for sure. After gathering up his things and putting them into his saddlebag, he started to carefully walk back. All the while, he listened to each step he took, not just to make sure he didn’t step on any squeaky beams, but for any sign of life. Maybe the moan of the wind, or for the rapids to murmur again, perhaps with some luck, he might catch the complaints of his guide as he might be trying to refill his lantern with oil in the dark.

Silence.

Editorial continues to walk… and walk… and walk… and walk… and walk… He assumes that he had been walking for at least ten minutes or so. Stopping, he looked both in front and behind him. Should he have reached land by now? Surely it took him at least three minutes just to get what he thought was the center of the bridge. So what was taking so long?

‘Maybe I didn’t notice?’ the Journalist tried to reason with himself. But deep down he knew that reasoning didn’t make sense. As he continues to walk on, there was a growing fear that something wasn’t right. His mind plagued him with questions that he hoped to get an answer to. Why hasn’t Steamer lit his lantern? Didn’t he hear him when he was calling out to him? Has he gone home? What happened to the sound? Where on the bridge was he?

Then he stopped again with another thought.

‘Am I going in the right direction?’ he wondered to himself. ‘I can’t be going the other way… right? Even if that were the case, I should be reaching one end of the bridge by now. It’s like…’ Ice filled his lungs as a dark thought entered into him. ‘Is the bridge getting bigger?’ Of course, it was a foalish thought, but it was clear that something wasn’t right about this.

He thought up of an idea. Taking out a candle, he lit it before setting it down on the middle of the track. Editorial reasoned that maybe he should try out how big the bridge is by counting the beans. That at every fiftieth beam, he would place a lit candle down so it would give him some idea of how big it was. Besides, it would at least give him some light to look at besides his lantern. And so, he started to count every step he took.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. Fifty. Stop, light a candle.

Count again.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. Fifty. Stop, light a candle.

Count again.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty. For-

A light! Such relief, Editorial thought. Maybe Steamer had finally lit his lantern and is coming on the bridge to see if he’s alright! His steps quicken but still cautious enough to not fall. His nightmare is over!

“Steamer!” Editorial called out. “Steamer, oh thank Celestia, I was worried that you…” He stopped.

In front of him was a lit candle.

“What?” He looked behind his shoulder, and he couldn’t see the candle he lit behind him. “How…? How is this possible?” He went up to the candle nearest to him and found that judging by the wax, it wasn’t lit for very long. “What’s going on? I can’t be going into a loop... am I?”

He decided to do another test. Taking out the spirit board, he placed it right underneath the candle and began to go in the other direction. Surely, if he really was going in a circle, then he would encounter the board again. But Editorial knew that this would be impossible. All the evidence that he had studied up on about this bridge is that it goes in a straight line from one point to the next. There’s no curves or anything.

Taking careful steps, he passed by one lit candle… then two… and then when he reached the first candle he lit; he froze.

“No…”

There was a candle, and underneath it was the spirit board.

Frantically, the stallion spun around and around, trying to find some explanation, some rational reason for this. His horn scanned for a spell that, maybe he overlooked. Desperately trying to explain why he was going in circles.

But there was nothing.

“HELP!!!” He screamed in the darkness. “Someone! Help me!”

But there was nothing.

His eyes looked in every direction, especially what was underneath his hooves. “Get me down! Somepony!”

But there was nothing.

An idea came to the pony’s head. If going forward or backward just leads him to the same place. Then what if…? Stepping over the rails, he peered down into the abyss below him. Is this the only way out? Is this the only way to escape this nightmare? To take another exit besides going nowhere? Perhaps he might end up falling back onto the track again. Perhaps he might land on the other end of where he would jump from.

Only… What other choice did he have?

Breathing deeply, his shaking legs crouch down for only a moment. He reasoned with himself that as soon as he sees or hears the river below, he’ll just teleport back. What does he have to lose?

He jumped. Hoping that perhaps he could pull himself out from this helplessness. This nightmare. That he would be free.

But there was nothing.

From the other side, Steamer was screaming as he saw the light of the other lantern fall straight down into the river below. He shrieked for him to use his magic to save himself. His yells of desperation echoed in the gorge.

Silence.