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BEDLAM; A Wychwood Ghost Story
BEDLAM: A Wychwood Ghost StoryA Victorian GothicLondon, 1895. Beneath the grandeur of Queen Victoria's reign, shadows lengthen. Private asylums thrive, promising rest for troubled minds, yet many conceal despair rather than cure it. None more so than Fairheather Asylum for the Infirmed and Lunatic-a place where hope decays in candlelit corridors, and whispers linger long after midnight. Emily, unwillingly confined, seeks solace at her favorite window in the Day Room.
Beyond the mews she chases glimpses of the emperor butterfly, said to grant wishes to the pure of heart. Yet one window remains bare, lifeless, avoided even by insects. And there, framed in peeling paint and grime, waits the figure she dreads most: a gaunt specter draped in tatters, hair like tangled roots, eyes black as voids. Its lips move without sound, repeating the same chilling demand-"Where are my beads? Where are my beads?"The haunting is no accident.
Its roots lie far from London, in the ancient soil of the Wychwood borderlands where four counties meet. A century ago, in a plow-field near Oddington House, something was unearthed that should have remained buried. What was disturbed has cursed Emily's bloodline ever since, binding her to the phantom that now stalks her reflection. Step into Fairheather. Listen for the whispers. Watch the windows.
But do not meet her gaze too long.
Beyond the mews she chases glimpses of the emperor butterfly, said to grant wishes to the pure of heart. Yet one window remains bare, lifeless, avoided even by insects. And there, framed in peeling paint and grime, waits the figure she dreads most: a gaunt specter draped in tatters, hair like tangled roots, eyes black as voids. Its lips move without sound, repeating the same chilling demand-"Where are my beads? Where are my beads?"The haunting is no accident.
Its roots lie far from London, in the ancient soil of the Wychwood borderlands where four counties meet. A century ago, in a plow-field near Oddington House, something was unearthed that should have remained buried. What was disturbed has cursed Emily's bloodline ever since, binding her to the phantom that now stalks her reflection. Step into Fairheather. Listen for the whispers. Watch the windows.
But do not meet her gaze too long.
