It began with Disturbing Events, evolved into Hybrid Moments, and now prepare to be sent headfirst into the afterlife by Final Remains, the most EXTREME anthology yet from the twisted mind of Steven Stark
The new and the original cover designs for Hybrid Moments by Dezign.me
“Unfolding before his eyes, there came a series of disturbing events: an altar painted in blood, something gnawing at a denim clad leg, a baby torn from its mother‘s arms.
There was a room full of severed human heads, giant claws ripping flesh, a deformed figure crawling through dirt, and then there was Lucifer himself, his teeth like needles, eyes like the sun.”
excerpt from Disturbing Events
Angel of Mercy
“Every day is a good day when you run.”
The dirt track was better; Paul from the office had been right about that. If there was one good thing to come out of the day it was that Angela could keep on running without worrying too much about her knees or her ankles. Not that she was old, just that at twenty nine, having been into running since her teens, the daily shock to her bones had taken its toll.
She’d learnt her lesson, bought better shoes, cut down to five runs a week and was now acting on the latest tip.
Yep, earth was better for running than concrete, but the uneven and unfamiliar terrain made things a little tougher in its own way, especially when fleeing for your life. Angela was already cut and bruised, her Lycra vest and shorts torn from having forced her way through brambles and dense growth. At least she couldn’t hear the voices anymore. Not like before when they were practically breathing down her neck. She figured it a good time to risk breaking into the open.
Thin branches snapped and coils of thorns were shed as Angela exploded from the crowded woodland back onto the dirt path without breaking stride. Her muscular thighs powered her on, her own heartbeat in her ears, her own breathing louder than the world itself. She was thirty seconds from the entrance, the parking lot and freedom when she heard them coming towards her from the opposite direction.
by Steven Stark
The Neanderthal face went blank, those dark, sunken eyes widened and the heavy brow furrowed making trenches and dunes in the scarred forehead. Geoff Clay AKA Clayface, named so by the press for his mottled skin, was lost for words. He’d been distracted by how the woman opposite him shifted in her seat, how the movement disturbed her suit jacket and revealed a tantalising glimpse of cleavage. He hadn’t touched a woman in a while, not without paying.
‘So like I was saying,’ he began then faltered, lost for her name. Had she given one? ‘Like I was saying…err…baby.’
He winced as the word fell from his mouth; journalists were normally uptight, even the tabloid ones. But this one smiled, brilliant white teeth, clean and new as if they’d never chewed a meal.
‘You can call me baby,’ she said.
He smiled back, relief at first then an ember of lust flickered behind those eyes. ‘Good, good,’ he said. ‘You know, I always had a thing for coloured birds. We don’t say coloured no more though do we? What do you call yourselves now?’
The dazzling smile stayed fixed, the words were forced through it. ‘I’m mixed race.’
Clay snorted. ‘Political correctness eh? In my day you were half-caste.’
Her smile faded. ‘As you were saying, Mr Clay? The code?’
‘Yeah, sorry love.’ He slapped his big skull lightly, punishing himself for losing the thread on his well-worn speech; he should have been able to say it backwards by now. ‘Yeah, like I was saying, I never ripped off an honest bloke in my life. Everyone I took it to had it coming. They were drug dealers most of ‘em.’
Her hands made a tent; no need to take notes with the Dictaphone on the glass table between them. She arched a pencil thin eyebrow. ‘And those that weren’t?’
Clay shrugged his broad shoulders, neck thickening as he did in a way which made him resemble a toad.
‘As good as.’
His eyes fell to her long legs. They were perfect, utterly unmarked and beautifully shaped; lean curves meeting at dainty joints. He watched one loop over the other the way that dogs watch people eat.
by steven stark
Darren Reeve was flying.
His heart was racing in time with the staccato beat of the music and his pupils, big as buttons, were dazzled by the ever changing light as he moved on limbs filled with limitless energy. An unseen force was drawing him forward, carrying him through the sea of sweating flesh. It was a hand, a soft, sweaty hand half the size of his own. It was Jenny, all in black but for her thighs, her hands and her head, which in the random waves of darkness all appeared to be floating.
She was right, this was something else, as intense as anything he’d ever felt and yet it seemed to smooth out all the edges as well, remove all the fear, the insecurity, the paranoia he’d known for so long. She was dancing in front of him then, her pupils like buttons too, and Darren imagined fucking her, seeing her lithe body arching the same way when she came, or when she pretended to.
A smile, whiter than white under the UV light, then Jenny opened her mouth showing him she had another tab resting on her tongue. Darren’s eyes bulged, his lips trying to form words that can’t be sounded with a jaw in spasm, but she knew what he wanted to say.
By the scruff of the neck she pulled him toward her firmly, a little too firmly, and pressed her wet lips to his. Open Sesame: Darren’s rebellious jaw suddenly gaped and as their tongues met they exchanged the goods. Hers probed his mouth a little further, making sure he’d received the gift, his second of the night, then she pulled away, danced off into the crowd without a word.
Darren swallowed and Darren followed but something was wrong. His head was hot, getting hotter, frying. He put a shaky hand up and wiped the slick sweat back into his hair, fingers finding the rapid pulse in his temple quite by accident. They stayed when he felt it, pressed hard as if attempting to contain a fresh sprung leak, and through them he could tell his heart had overtaken the music, running two beats to its every one.
Hand still pressed tight Darren began to stumble through the crowd, no longer flying, now quite certain he was falling.
The hood shuffled closer, lifted the demon’s frail form with ease and carried him toward the altar. He held the creature as lightly and tenderly as possible, thinking only of how well he’d done, wondering what reward he might receive, what praise. He was about to speak again when, with a burst of infernal rage, the demon snapped at his throat, catching only lightly for a fraction of a second, so lightly that the hood barely noticed and didn’t realise any harm had been done until his legs gave way beneath him.
Three feet off the ground the demon was dropped, brittle bones snapping and splintering as it landed and the hood fell face first in the dirt, blood flowing like running water from his neck. Three bodies now lay in various states upon the mud, the wind still spreading the ashes of the fourth from the altar.
Excerpt from Disturbing Events
The creature loosed a rasping roar and leapt from the stage into the middle of the dance floor, instantly crushing three revellers flat underfoot. The nearest human to the mess on the ground stared up at Belial in disbelief. Perhaps he was a friend, a relative, a lover to one of the squished corpses? It mattered not to Belial, who reached into the human’s mouth, seized him by mandible and maxilla, and wrenched.
Now they screamed.
Excerpt from Disturbing Events
Belial’s roar continued, its still rising pitch, causing all in the room to cover their ears in pain. Directly beneath him a short pile of corpses burst like bubbles, their fluids flooding out across the floor, touching and spreading around the trainers of the skinny lad, who paused at the sight. His face grew ashen and in his eyes there crept an utter despair, threatening to drag him down into insanity. Belial knew the look, having driven many mad in his youth. He’d since grown to consider madness an escape from the pain and acted quickly to snap his prey back into reality, thereby prolonging his own fun.
Excerpt from Disturbing Events