Tagged: Martin P. Fuller

Unholy Trinity: Emergence, The March & Necromancer by Martin P. Fuller

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.




The grave is cold, devoid of light. Something urges it to lift decaying limbs, breaking the rotting coffins lid. A cascade of soil crashes through. It digs, claws, and pushes upwards.

Time is irrelevant as it tunnels higher. A fierce desire to bite and devour settles in what passes for its mind. 

A fist breaks the surface. A final lunge. Rebirth from the womb of the tomb. It is compelled to wander the world, driven by a voracious need to sate a taste for flesh, the drip of blood on dry withered lips, and the crunch of bone. 


It walks.


The March


The dead thing was joined by a fellow journeying cadaver. They walked abroad, stumbling occasionally, decaying legs almost crumbling beneath them. Something had changed their rotting tissue, making it harder, stronger. Muscle and tendon transformed, becoming similar to rusted iron. Regeneration, especially after the first victim’s been torn apart by sharpened teeth. Flesh invigorated and restored. Their addiction to consume human meat increases. The companionship of other reanimated corpses returns a memory of community. They are given purpose. Hunt, kill, render, and feed. Bring the living into the herd of the dead.

All travel on into a blood red future.




He falls to his knees, exhausted after the incantation, hands and chest smeared with the sacrificial victims blood. The cemetery trembles with a shimmer of movement as the dead arose through the cold earth. Their decomposed brains were congealed into instruments of his will, and his will was strong.

The world would fall with his army of the dead, each containing the seeds of death and re-birth in their bite and scratch. The hellish host would thus increase and march on, blood and flesh their payment for being soldiers of the grave.

The Necromancer stands, ready to own the world.



Martin P. Fuller

Martin lives in Menston in West Yorkshire. He was in previous exitances: beer salesman, pall bearer, car delivery driver, and oh yes… a police officer for over 34
years. He now runs a small antique shop selling haunted and cursed items to the public. He started to writing in 2013, preferring the darker genre’s. He’s been published in Horror Tree, Sirens Call and a number of anthologies.

Unholy Trinity: Legend of the Moon Children by Martin P. Fuller

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.


The wounding

It was once part of our molten world, ejected and exiled when our solar system was young. Apart, but still linked to the chosen ones.

The planetoids revenge

The small gods challenge failed, consumed but not before ripping part of it conquerors body away, where it orbited, waiting, brooding, demanding a blood price.

The mystic light emerges

As the Moons rock cooled, a power grew. A weird force which oozed out of its heart, drifting towards the wounded Earth on reflected light.

Union of the light

The special light could not be filtered by dark storm cloud, or rock or roof. It found the special children, the wild, and changed them.


The curse of the moon gift

The Moon, torn from the body of the Earth, retained a link of mystic evil. Sunlight reflecting from its surface,  gave out more than just photons. The light sought out the Moon children with a gift of change. Tooth, claw, fur, jaws of razor teeth, and a maddened insatiable savagery.


The worship

The Moon loves the wolf and the wolf adores its Mistress.  The savage that is man fears the wolf, knows of the bite and the tearing sickle claw. That terror draws the Moon’s attention and dark influence. Certain mortals bear the dark honour of being disciples of the lunar queen.


The law of the werewolf

You cannot hide from the light or its malign influence. It seeks you out, invades your trembling mind, controls sinew and muscle. Bone bends to its command, reshaping, reforming. And the desire for the smell and taste of blood, the crush of teeth through flesh dominates your thoughts. Be wild, progeny of dark nature, seek out the living and survive. Never forget to give thanks to the  Goddess who watches over you in the darkness. Howl out your vicious hymn, scratch your mark in the landscape. You that were once human, wear the skin of a worshiper of the  moonlight. 


Martin P. Fuller

Martin P. Fuller lives in his shoebox house in West Yorkshire. He was in his previous exitances: –

 a beer salesman, a pall bearer, a car delivery driver, and oh yes… a police officer for over 34 years.  

He started to write in 2013 after attending a creative writing class and since then has become a writing course junkie. 

Discovering his dark side, Martin has had a number of stories published in Trembling with Fear and several other anthologies including Deadcades published by Infernal Clock.

Trembling With Fear 08/01/21

Please note: We are temporarily closed to short flash stories (unless for one of the Specials) but open to drabbles, unholy trinities and serials. We hope to reopen later in the year once we have caught up with the publication of those already accepted. Please also remember to read our guidelines, especially on word counts!

Dear all,

I had written up an editorial and it was all primed and ready to go but that will now be held over to next week. On Thursday, I received an email from Stephen Bustanoby’s former landlady letting me know that Stephen sadly passed away on the 26th July. Looking back at our records, I found he started submitting to us early summer 2020 with serials and short stories and was building up a solid record of acceptance with his actual publications appearing earlier this year. His landlady also told me that she is nowhere the character’s age or description in his serial, The Boarder(!) and that she will miss him. It is sad to see an emerging talent cut short in this manner and Horror Tree would like to extend their condolences to his family and friends.

On behalf of Stuart, Steph, Amanda and everyone at Horror Tree



Trembling With Fear 1st Aug:

Due to a slight mix-up – such things happen – we have two short stories in Trembling with Fear this week. The first of these is The Phobic Vampire by Martin P. Fuller. Martin is always someone I can trust to bring in some lovely touches of humour to our dark little genre. The Phobic Vampire is an exploration of what it takes to fill such a bloody role adequately, and perhaps a warning to those who seek to ‘turn’ others that they should look into their history first!

Our second short story is A Time of Loneliness by Varian Ross and is one of the most beautiful and touching zombie stories I have ever read. This tale brings back the humanity to those often thought of as nothing but rotting flesh, reminding us that maybe, just maybe, there is something still left behind.

Fortune Cookie by RJ Meldrum plays into the human weakness of believing the old fortune teller. Is it luck that causes the outcome of this story or something else though?

Purblind by Patrick Winters gives a whole new meaning to the term recycling and reuse, all in the name of greed.

The Convent by Mike Rader is a lovely little religious chiller. It makes you look at the main character in two ways – is she someone with compassion, or someone who wrought horror in the first place?

Enjoy our stories and send in yours!



Stephanie Ellis

Editor, Trembling With Fear

Hello all! I’m busy traveling this week and the next week and a half so things are a bit messy. Not much in the way of updates this week though I’m hoping to have some news next! 
One final reminder – All of this year’s Trembling With Fear copies are now available both in physical and digital format which you can find below! Please, if you’ve ordered these or previous installments, do leave a review on Amazon!

Stuart Conover

Editor, Horror Tree