Steven Marshall
Journey into an enigmatic world where superstition and the supernatural intertwine as one; a paranormal paradox where restless spirits and demons encounter the world of blood and bone. Where innocence and corruption collide and equilibrium transforms into a delirious pandemonium.
A man finds himself trapped in a skipping dream from which he cannot wake, only to discover he is being stalked by lost souls of the dead who are vying for possession of his body…Recently learning of his wife’s infidelity, a lawyer has a strange encounter with a women he’ll never forget…A butcher falls victim to a new flesh eating disease that’s found in the beef tongue he is serving…A young couple in the woods encounter a strange mutant race of cannibals who are low on nourishment. To preserve their existence they must seek out life beyond in a faraway world.
That’s only the beginning…
A sheriff investigates an elderly widow recently bereaved by the loss of her decapitated husband…Poor young Anne Marie Ripley is running from domestic violence, only to be greeted by two escaped psychiatric patients, who will show her real violence…Two innocent souls in the 1692 Salem witch trials are falsely accused of practicing witchcraft and are treated accordingly by the villagers…Finally a boy’s worst nightmares come true when he learns his grandma is coming home from an insane asylum. Just a drop of blood in a cup of tea and you, too, will be able to see “Them”.
The curse of the Gods is weaving a tapestry of terror and havoc into society’s worst nightmares. And its power culminates when mankind succumbs to their most accessible vulnerabilities that peril them into oblivion.
A top graduate of Long Ridge Writers Association in Connecticut, Marshall first established himself with published works in The National Library of Poetry and select short stories in New Blood and Weird Tales magazine by the age of 25. His teacher was the editor of the 1970’s TV show, “The Nightstalker Series.”
His debut novel “Rituals of Terror” was published in 1995, but never released due to the publisher going into bankruptcy. His follow up novel, separately titled and published, is an evolved variation to the original novel of intertwining short stories. Now, a decade later, the original is republished and released with his latest collection of nightmarish tales in “The Dark Art of Wonder.” These are the only two novels Marshall has had published to date.
Marshall was born in Brooklyn, NY in 1970 and currently resides in Florida with his wife, Samantha who is his chief editor. Marshall has been praised as the voice of horror’s future. According to New Blood Magazine “Stephen King is the emperor of horror, Marshall is the law.” Actually, Marshall’s style is more in the tradition of a modern-day Poe or Lovecraft, where the darkest horror lies in the mind. In fact, his writings are likely to darken your daydreams and illuminate your nightmares and leave your mind disturbed.
Current Novels:
Rituals of Terror
The Dark Art of Wonder
As she backed up further, she found herself standing with her back against a tree. She panted fiercely out of breath as her mind danced with frantic thoughts. She was so weak that her knees started trembling uncontrollably, barely able to support her body weight in her traumatized state. She felt her back scraping along the coarse edges of the tree and almost succumbed to blacking out but couldn’t even achieve that. Suddenly from behind, a large silencing hand wrapped around her mouth with such vigorous constraint she couldn’t even part her head from the tree. So dominating was its grasp that when she screamed, tension swelled in her throat and her cheeks bulged with the air from her lungs, but it was scarcely heard over the roar of the falls. She felt four long claws digging ferociously into her right cheek as its webbed, scaly hand stayed tightly compressed over her mouth. Nightmarish as it seemed, she kindled no hope that she might have been dreaming.
She couldn’t even muster the energy to open her mouth, as the hand suppressed her head against the tree with the maliciousness of a vise grip. Opening her mouth seemed to be more difficult than wedging apart the jaws of a steel trap after decades of rust. But when she finally did, she bit down hard on the soft flesh between its thumb and index finger so triumphantly that a chunk of flesh dropped on her tongue like an old half-melted chunk of caramel. Realizing instantly what it was, she spit it out, but couldn’t move her face. She thought it bizarre that no scream or reaction came from the exquisite pain she inflicted. The hand neither twitched nor pried itself from her mouth. It did, however, loosen its grip with just enough leeway to allow her to turn her face to the left; still, she couldn’t free herself. The creature managed to hook a claw into her right ear while her left cheek was conforming to the wrinkles of the tree. Using her right foot and all the strength of her leg, she was able to spring off the trunk and break away. She ran back toward the water, her lobe severed in half and blood trailing everywhere.
The creature’s claw tensed and dug deeply into the tree, scraping off solid fragments of bark, while she clumsily darted away, on the verge of tripping at any given moment. Not even having enough time to steal a quick glance at Leo, she ran toward the direction of the falls; her mobility now regaining a steady, quick-paced momentum. She was confronted with limited means of escape, yet two paths were immediately visible to her - both of which would drastically impede the speed necessary for her escape: it was either up the slopes of the waterfall or into the water. To her right, no path was visible but rich wilderness was plentiful. Instinct forbade her from chancing that route. She would either be a vulnerable target for tripping and falling or worse, she might plunge into the perilous clutches of something even more macabre.
From behind, she could hear short-bursted grunts and long-striding thunderous steps, snapping branches and aggressively pursuing her. She turned, almost by instinct, to at least see the face of her unrelenting predator. In doing so, she stepped awkwardly, which further aggravated her twisted ankle. As she stumbled backwards, her thighs became tightly wedged between two large rocks along the base of the waterfall. She looked up and screamed a wailing cacophony, as there was just enough light remaining to renounce its heinous configurations.
Like the creature that had attacked Leo, this one had the same waxy, scaly flesh and deformed features. But worse; its right eye was festering severely like a freshly popped zit and its pupil was forever looking downward. The left eye, however, was permanently sealed at the lid. Its hair was flimsy and dilapidated like used steel wool and there was a bald spot on the side of its head where the left ear was conglomerated like cauliflower under melted wax. Varicose veins and protruding blood vessels pulsated along its temple, which led out to a small reservoir of a blood clot behind its ear. Acid burns and dried wrinkles marred its face as it snarled, revealing its foaming dirty teeth and blackened tongue.
Certainly if Yvonne never burned her energy in praying, or never dedicated herself to religious faith, she would have been more than delighted to start now. Seeing she was wedged between the rocks, the creature approached slowly, almost purring in its growl. She desperately tried prying herself free, but was too awkward to gain the momentum required for the task. She looked up and saw the creature hulking over her; spreading its webbed fingers and extending its claws. Powerless and frantic, a shrill cry filled the valley before her world faded to black.
