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Episode Eight, BEDLAM; A Wychwood Ghost Story. BEDLAM: A Wychwood Ghost Story, #8
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- ISBN8232984571
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- Date de parution24/10/2025
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- Infos supplémentairesepub
- ÉditeurHamza elmir
Résumé
BEDLAM: A Wychwood Ghost StoryA Victorian Horror Serial for the Season of ShadowsLondon, 1895. The empire is at its height, industry surges, and Queen Victoria presides over an age of progress. Yet beneath the gaslight and grandeur, a darker current stirs-one whispered of in drawing rooms and alleyways alike. Private asylums flourish, promising solace and cure for the weary minds of Britain's upper classes.
But not all institutions serve the cause of healing. Fairheather Asylum for the Infirmed and Lunatic stands as a monument to this deception. Ostensibly a refuge, in truth it is a house of despair: corridors echo with sobs, locked doors conceal the broken, and in the shadows of the wards something older than madness itself festers. Into this place comes Emily, unwilling and restless, a young woman whose life has been marked by tragedy and whispered secrets.
From her seat at a favorite window in the Day Room, she searches for fleeting beauty-a flash of blue wings, the fabled emperor butterfly said to bring wishes to the pure of heart. Around her, the flowers bloom defiantly, bright splashes of color against the asylum's gloom. Yet one window remains bare, lifeless, avoided even by the smallest insect. It is a void, and in that void waits something she knows too well: the specter that has stalked her bloodline for generations.
The figure at the glass is gaunt, a woman-shaped ruin draped in rags, hair tangled like roots, skin drained of all warmth. Her blackened eyes are abysses in which no light survives. Her lips part in noiseless speech, mouthing the same unanswerable question: Where are my beads? Where are my beads?Emily is bound to this apparition by ties older than her own lifetime. The truth of it lies far from Fairheather, buried in the soil of the Cotswold's where four counties meet-Gloucester, Warwickshire, Worcestershire, and Oxfordshire.
Long before Emily's confinement, on the grounds of Oddington House, a secret was unearthed in a farmer's field, an artifact never meant to see the sun again. Its unearthing sowed a curse that tangled itself through generations, a corruption that no amount of wealth or piety could banish. Now, in Fairheather's crumbling halls, Emily feels that curse tighten around her like a noose. What begins as a series of spectral visitations will unfurl into a descent through memory, madness, and myth.
Each episode of BEDLAM: A Wychwood Ghost Story peels back a layer of rot, revealing the tangled roots of an evil that thrives in both earth and blood. This is not merely a tale of haunting-it is a tale of inheritance, of sins repeated and debts unpaid. The dead do not rest because the living have stolen their peace. What Emily sees in the window is not a phantom bound by chance, but an ancestor's crime made flesh.
To confront it, she must brave more than candlelit corridors and locked wards: she must step into the forgotten past, where the line between reason and lunacy blurs, and where salvation may demand a sacrifice too dreadful to name. BEDLAM: A Wychwood Ghost Story is more than a serial-it is a séance held in prose, a gothic descent crafted for autumn nights. It blends the unsettling atmosphere of Victorian London with the folkloric eeriness of England's ancient countryside.
Readers who savor the uncanny, who find beauty in shadows and dread in silence, will discover in these pages a ghost story both intimate and vast, both historical and timeless. Step into Fairheather. Listen for the whispers in the hall. Watch the windows. And if you see the gaunt figure gazing back at you, do not answer her question. For she already knows where the beads are buried.
But not all institutions serve the cause of healing. Fairheather Asylum for the Infirmed and Lunatic stands as a monument to this deception. Ostensibly a refuge, in truth it is a house of despair: corridors echo with sobs, locked doors conceal the broken, and in the shadows of the wards something older than madness itself festers. Into this place comes Emily, unwilling and restless, a young woman whose life has been marked by tragedy and whispered secrets.
From her seat at a favorite window in the Day Room, she searches for fleeting beauty-a flash of blue wings, the fabled emperor butterfly said to bring wishes to the pure of heart. Around her, the flowers bloom defiantly, bright splashes of color against the asylum's gloom. Yet one window remains bare, lifeless, avoided even by the smallest insect. It is a void, and in that void waits something she knows too well: the specter that has stalked her bloodline for generations.
The figure at the glass is gaunt, a woman-shaped ruin draped in rags, hair tangled like roots, skin drained of all warmth. Her blackened eyes are abysses in which no light survives. Her lips part in noiseless speech, mouthing the same unanswerable question: Where are my beads? Where are my beads?Emily is bound to this apparition by ties older than her own lifetime. The truth of it lies far from Fairheather, buried in the soil of the Cotswold's where four counties meet-Gloucester, Warwickshire, Worcestershire, and Oxfordshire.
Long before Emily's confinement, on the grounds of Oddington House, a secret was unearthed in a farmer's field, an artifact never meant to see the sun again. Its unearthing sowed a curse that tangled itself through generations, a corruption that no amount of wealth or piety could banish. Now, in Fairheather's crumbling halls, Emily feels that curse tighten around her like a noose. What begins as a series of spectral visitations will unfurl into a descent through memory, madness, and myth.
Each episode of BEDLAM: A Wychwood Ghost Story peels back a layer of rot, revealing the tangled roots of an evil that thrives in both earth and blood. This is not merely a tale of haunting-it is a tale of inheritance, of sins repeated and debts unpaid. The dead do not rest because the living have stolen their peace. What Emily sees in the window is not a phantom bound by chance, but an ancestor's crime made flesh.
To confront it, she must brave more than candlelit corridors and locked wards: she must step into the forgotten past, where the line between reason and lunacy blurs, and where salvation may demand a sacrifice too dreadful to name. BEDLAM: A Wychwood Ghost Story is more than a serial-it is a séance held in prose, a gothic descent crafted for autumn nights. It blends the unsettling atmosphere of Victorian London with the folkloric eeriness of England's ancient countryside.
Readers who savor the uncanny, who find beauty in shadows and dread in silence, will discover in these pages a ghost story both intimate and vast, both historical and timeless. Step into Fairheather. Listen for the whispers in the hall. Watch the windows. And if you see the gaunt figure gazing back at you, do not answer her question. For she already knows where the beads are buried.
BEDLAM: A Wychwood Ghost StoryA Victorian Horror Serial for the Season of ShadowsLondon, 1895. The empire is at its height, industry surges, and Queen Victoria presides over an age of progress. Yet beneath the gaslight and grandeur, a darker current stirs-one whispered of in drawing rooms and alleyways alike. Private asylums flourish, promising solace and cure for the weary minds of Britain's upper classes.
But not all institutions serve the cause of healing. Fairheather Asylum for the Infirmed and Lunatic stands as a monument to this deception. Ostensibly a refuge, in truth it is a house of despair: corridors echo with sobs, locked doors conceal the broken, and in the shadows of the wards something older than madness itself festers. Into this place comes Emily, unwilling and restless, a young woman whose life has been marked by tragedy and whispered secrets.
From her seat at a favorite window in the Day Room, she searches for fleeting beauty-a flash of blue wings, the fabled emperor butterfly said to bring wishes to the pure of heart. Around her, the flowers bloom defiantly, bright splashes of color against the asylum's gloom. Yet one window remains bare, lifeless, avoided even by the smallest insect. It is a void, and in that void waits something she knows too well: the specter that has stalked her bloodline for generations.
The figure at the glass is gaunt, a woman-shaped ruin draped in rags, hair tangled like roots, skin drained of all warmth. Her blackened eyes are abysses in which no light survives. Her lips part in noiseless speech, mouthing the same unanswerable question: Where are my beads? Where are my beads?Emily is bound to this apparition by ties older than her own lifetime. The truth of it lies far from Fairheather, buried in the soil of the Cotswold's where four counties meet-Gloucester, Warwickshire, Worcestershire, and Oxfordshire.
Long before Emily's confinement, on the grounds of Oddington House, a secret was unearthed in a farmer's field, an artifact never meant to see the sun again. Its unearthing sowed a curse that tangled itself through generations, a corruption that no amount of wealth or piety could banish. Now, in Fairheather's crumbling halls, Emily feels that curse tighten around her like a noose. What begins as a series of spectral visitations will unfurl into a descent through memory, madness, and myth.
Each episode of BEDLAM: A Wychwood Ghost Story peels back a layer of rot, revealing the tangled roots of an evil that thrives in both earth and blood. This is not merely a tale of haunting-it is a tale of inheritance, of sins repeated and debts unpaid. The dead do not rest because the living have stolen their peace. What Emily sees in the window is not a phantom bound by chance, but an ancestor's crime made flesh.
To confront it, she must brave more than candlelit corridors and locked wards: she must step into the forgotten past, where the line between reason and lunacy blurs, and where salvation may demand a sacrifice too dreadful to name. BEDLAM: A Wychwood Ghost Story is more than a serial-it is a séance held in prose, a gothic descent crafted for autumn nights. It blends the unsettling atmosphere of Victorian London with the folkloric eeriness of England's ancient countryside.
Readers who savor the uncanny, who find beauty in shadows and dread in silence, will discover in these pages a ghost story both intimate and vast, both historical and timeless. Step into Fairheather. Listen for the whispers in the hall. Watch the windows. And if you see the gaunt figure gazing back at you, do not answer her question. For she already knows where the beads are buried.
But not all institutions serve the cause of healing. Fairheather Asylum for the Infirmed and Lunatic stands as a monument to this deception. Ostensibly a refuge, in truth it is a house of despair: corridors echo with sobs, locked doors conceal the broken, and in the shadows of the wards something older than madness itself festers. Into this place comes Emily, unwilling and restless, a young woman whose life has been marked by tragedy and whispered secrets.
From her seat at a favorite window in the Day Room, she searches for fleeting beauty-a flash of blue wings, the fabled emperor butterfly said to bring wishes to the pure of heart. Around her, the flowers bloom defiantly, bright splashes of color against the asylum's gloom. Yet one window remains bare, lifeless, avoided even by the smallest insect. It is a void, and in that void waits something she knows too well: the specter that has stalked her bloodline for generations.
The figure at the glass is gaunt, a woman-shaped ruin draped in rags, hair tangled like roots, skin drained of all warmth. Her blackened eyes are abysses in which no light survives. Her lips part in noiseless speech, mouthing the same unanswerable question: Where are my beads? Where are my beads?Emily is bound to this apparition by ties older than her own lifetime. The truth of it lies far from Fairheather, buried in the soil of the Cotswold's where four counties meet-Gloucester, Warwickshire, Worcestershire, and Oxfordshire.
Long before Emily's confinement, on the grounds of Oddington House, a secret was unearthed in a farmer's field, an artifact never meant to see the sun again. Its unearthing sowed a curse that tangled itself through generations, a corruption that no amount of wealth or piety could banish. Now, in Fairheather's crumbling halls, Emily feels that curse tighten around her like a noose. What begins as a series of spectral visitations will unfurl into a descent through memory, madness, and myth.
Each episode of BEDLAM: A Wychwood Ghost Story peels back a layer of rot, revealing the tangled roots of an evil that thrives in both earth and blood. This is not merely a tale of haunting-it is a tale of inheritance, of sins repeated and debts unpaid. The dead do not rest because the living have stolen their peace. What Emily sees in the window is not a phantom bound by chance, but an ancestor's crime made flesh.
To confront it, she must brave more than candlelit corridors and locked wards: she must step into the forgotten past, where the line between reason and lunacy blurs, and where salvation may demand a sacrifice too dreadful to name. BEDLAM: A Wychwood Ghost Story is more than a serial-it is a séance held in prose, a gothic descent crafted for autumn nights. It blends the unsettling atmosphere of Victorian London with the folkloric eeriness of England's ancient countryside.
Readers who savor the uncanny, who find beauty in shadows and dread in silence, will discover in these pages a ghost story both intimate and vast, both historical and timeless. Step into Fairheather. Listen for the whispers in the hall. Watch the windows. And if you see the gaunt figure gazing back at you, do not answer her question. For she already knows where the beads are buried.
