A Story That Breathes Unease
There’s a certain kind of story that doesn’t just sit quietly on the page—it hums, it haunts, it lingers. The Forest That Merrill Grew by D.P. Scuderi is that kind of story. It pulls readers into the fragile psyche of Merrill Crowley, a young mortician who knows how to care for the dead but can’t seem to care for himself.
At twenty-seven, Merrill’s life feels like a series of closed doors. One tragedy—left unnamed but felt in every word—shatters what little peace he had. His days are spent embalming bodies, his nights haunted by whispers that sound too much like his own voice. Then comes Ritz—his shadow, his reflection, his conscience. Whether Ritz is real or not doesn’t matter. What matters is that he becomes the only thing keeping Merrill company as his grip on reality slips further away.
Scuderi paints this unraveling with unnerving intimacy. The prose pulses between clarity and confusion, echoing the mind it describes. You’re never quite sure where Merrill ends and madness begins—and that’s the point. The forest in his head grows thicker with every chapter, a living metaphor for grief, guilt, and the things we bury but never let die.
The Book That Grew From Darkness
Behind this haunting fiction is a truth that’s just as raw. D.P. Scuderi didn’t write The Forest That Merrill Grew with an audience in mind. In his own words, “What started as my suicide note eventually developed into what I would consider my magnum opus.” It’s hard to imagine a more vulnerable origin story for a book—and that vulnerability bleeds into every line.
Scuderi wrote the novel as a kind of self-exorcism. He treated each chapter like an entry in a private diary—something no one else would ever read. Revisiting his memories was painful, sometimes unbearable, but he kept going. The act of writing became its own kind of therapy, one word replacing another heartbeat.
The result is a novel that feels alive, trembling with emotion. It doesn’t offer easy answers or polished morals. It simply exists as a reflection of someone who’s seen both the pit and the climb out of it. “My goal,” Scuderi says, “was to project a light to those who suffer from mental illness—especially men who suffer from mental illness.”
He’s direct, almost urgent, in his message. Hope isn’t abstract here—it’s survival. “Never give up on yourself,” he insists. “Salvation may be just around the corner.” The sincerity is disarming. Scuderi doesn’t preach; he pleads. He knows the darkness too well to romanticize it.
A Tale of Horror—and Humanity
At first glance, The Forest That Merrill Grew reads like psychological horror, and it is—but that label barely scratches the surface. It’s horror built from honesty, fear crafted from memory. Merrill’s descent isn’t a gimmick. It’s a mirror held up to anyone who’s ever felt lost inside their own head.
The imagery is stunning in its simplicity—rooms heavy with silence, the scent of formaldehyde, the weight of hands that once belonged to strangers. Merrill’s work in the mortuary becomes a cruel reflection of his emotional decay. Every body he prepares feels like another version of himself—cold, distant, unfinished.
And then there’s Ritz. He’s both tormentor and savior, the embodiment of the voices that live in grief-stricken minds. Their dialogue reads like a fight between two halves of a single soul. Through them, Scuderi captures something few writers dare to approach: the way pain speaks when no one else is listening.
But woven into that despair is an unshakeable thread of hope. Scuderi reminds readers that pain isn’t permanent—it’s a state that demands patience. “Pain is temporary,” he writes. “It only lasts as long as you let it.” For all its darkness, the book glows faintly with the promise of healing.
The Man Behind Merrill’s Mind
D.P. Scuderi’s story is as compelling as the one he’s written. Born in Long Island, New York, and now living in Wake Forest, North Carolina, he spent over four years in the mortuary field—a deliberate choice made to lend authenticity to his writing. At twenty-nine, he’s already written four books, but The Forest That Merrill Grew feels different. It’s deeply personal, the kind of story that leaves fingerprints on its author.
His background gives him a rare understanding of life’s quiet moments—the spaces between breath and stillness. Working with death every day has taught him how fragile existence is, and that awareness echoes in his prose. Scuderi’s writing carries both the weight of sorrow and the courage of survival.
He ends his note to readers with words that read more like a promise: “I love you more than I did yesterday, but never as much as I will tomorrow.” It’s tender. It’s human. It’s proof that even after walking through hell, a person can still believe in love, in hope, in tomorrow.
The Forest That Merrill Grew is more than a book—it’s an experience. A meditation on the thin line between life and loss, madness and meaning. It’s for anyone who’s ever felt alone in their own forest—and for those still searching for a way out.
The Forest That Merrill Grew is available on Amazon, Goodreads, Apple Books, and Barnes & Noble.
We had the privilege of interviewing D.P. Scuderi. Here are excerpts from the interview:
Hi, thank you so much for joining us today! Please tell us about yourself.
Greetings, I’m the author of The Forest That Merrill Grew. I was born and raised in Long Island, NY, for 26 years, and I now reside in Wake Forest, NC. I’m 29 years old, and for the past four and a half years, have been heavily involved in the Mortuary field for the sole purpose of writing this fictional novel, my 4th book.
Please tell us about your journey.
In desiring to obtain deeper knowledge in the mortuary field, gaining a more intimate understanding of death, this novel was my primary goal, my ultimate passion. The accuracy of everything involving the embalming side of things, these aspects were extremely important to me. I admire the gritty truth when it comes to telling a story.
What are the strategies that helped you become successful in your journey?
Always be curious; research is key. Ask questions. Get your hands dirty and do not be afraid to push boundaries. Best piece of advise I’ve received is to treat your written work as if it were a diary entry, that no one will ever read it. Pour your heart and soul onto the page. Go against the grain, and do not be afraid to write something absolutely wild and crazy. Study movies, music, books, and artworks that truly speak to you; there is a reason they stand out to you, so utilize that. Dissect and strip it down to its finest details and try to get into the head of these artists. Don’t replicate what you find; use it to inspire you to create something completely new and something that no one has ever seen before. Scare not only your audience, but yourself.
Any message for our readers?
What started as my suicide note eventually developed into what I would consider my magnum opus. To you, I implore— never give up on hope, for salvation may be just around the corner. I was the last person who thought that would happen to, and I promise you: not that it can— it will happen to you as well. Never give up on yourself, and always strive to become the best version of yourself that only you can make exist. Never succumb to sadness, for it is only a delusion. Pain is temporary, and only lasts as long as you let it. This was a piece of work written by a person who suffered from the same ugly thoughts— so it’s possible. Just like you breaking free from underneath the invisible boundary line separating you from your personal heaven. Paradise is worth fighting for, and I am living proof of that. We are all stars in the night sky, and the one you look up to is looking down at you through the same lens. You crossing paths is not a matter of if, it’s when.
Thank you so much for giving us your precious time! We wish you all the best for your journey ahead!
