I’m working on a new project, something that came to me during a discussion of insomnia and writers and writers b—k. After mulling it over for a while, giving it a theme and a body, I approached the most wonderful, patient and giving bosses in the world – Jason Sizemore of Apex Publications – and he gave Courting Morpheus the nod. The introductory story to this themed anthology has been posted to a blog set up for the terrified residents of New Bedlam, the fictional town where Courting Morpheus is set. However, I thought I’d lead you down the path a little ways, before shoving you head first into the bramble patch…er…submissions guidelines.

I remember thinking that New Bedlam was an unfortunate name for a town, as I eased my car to a stop on the side of the road. Even for a town as small as this one. I killed the lights and the engine, and got out to stretch my legs. It’d been a long drive.

When the blood flow seemed to return to my toes, I took a seat on the hood of the old car, sparked a match and brought it to the tip of my last cigarette, and gazed down at the sleepy, unassuming town below. Not really much of a town; in all honesty it was more of a village. Only 1800 people in the population, and that seemed to include the farms immediately surrounding the town. Lit up as it was this night, it was almost pretty… Would have been too, had it not been for the drifting mists and fog that wound its way through the streets.

It wasn’t just the eerily drifting fog, or the full moon above that gave me a case of jitters. It was the fact that out of the entire population tucked into their beds in the homes below, at least half were writers of some degree. And half of those were writers of disturbing material that would give even Freddy Krueger nightmares.

The federal issue radio crackled on the seat where I left it. Reports of all sorts had been leaking from the local authorities who didn’t know how to handle what looked like a serial killer with numerous Modus Operandi. The townspeople themselves had been loose-lipped too; the internet was alive with conspiracy theories and tales of mysterious goings on in New Bedlam. The Assistant Director thought someone ought to check it out.

He asked for volunteers and I wasn’t paying attention. Next thing I knew it was silent in the room and everyone was looking at me. Fifteen hours later, there I was, contemplating the view from the crest of the hill outside New Bedlam.

Next time I’d pay attention. I hopped off the car, got it running and headed on down to the New Bedlam Inn. Time to get to work…

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