The streets are cold, damp, and dark. The only sound is the that of the church bell; a solitary, terrifying knell for the living.
The people of New Bedlam would welcome you to their town, but they're a bit preoccupied at the moment. There's something alive here, something dangerous, something evil.
Even Morpheus fears to tread these streets at night...
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Vol.2 Iss.4 Now Live!
The staff of The New Bedlam Project would like to welcome new visitors Neil Colquhoun and Gerald So, and a hearty hi-dee-ho to returning vacationers Zoe E.Whitten, Wayne Goodchild, and Jeff Parish. We're happy to have you stopping over with us!
Courting Morpheus on Kindle!
The New Bedlam Project is now CLOSED to submissions. We open again April 1st following some exciting changes!
The New Bedlam Project
Some years ago, a small flicker of light lit the window of the old New Bedlam Library's attic. A solitary figure waited by the candle, while three fellow survivors took their seats around a battered oak table. When they were all as comfortable as they could be, considering the circumstances under which they met, she began to speak.
That meeting began a chain of events that has led us back to New Bedlam, back to the insanity and the insomnia. In early 2006, Louise Bohmer and I discussed what goes on in the depths of a writer's mind when they are afflicted - perhaps blessed - with insomnia. Within days I had outlined a proposal for an anthology set in the nearly-fictional town of New Bedlam, and by the end of the year the wheels had been set in motion.
While the time that passed has brought some changes to the bigger picture, the idea of developing the town itself stuck with me. I wrote the beginnings of two novels set in and around New Bedlam. I've become close, personal friends with the madness that lies within those darkened corners and hidden shadows. As I like to tell my children - I've stepped through my grandmother's mirror once again.
Why don't you follow along, and see where the darkness takes us?
A taste of what you'll find...
Staring up at the imposing, dark-bricked theater, with its time-weathered gargoyles and arched, church-like stonework, Lolly said "I never noticed just how creepy this place is."
Despite the mild afternoon weather, I found myself agreeing with her.
Night after night he came to the Institute, waited in the shadows and watched. A figure at a window was all he ever saw. Nothing else, nothing more. He needed to see more, to confirm what he had heard, then maybe he could sleep.
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