The narrator wakes up restrained in a broom closet, having been committed to Bedlam asylum by his former lover Maria Delacroix. He is brought to the filthy, overcrowded patient quarters where he learns that release is unlikely after years of neglectful treatment. After one year's confinement, the narrator has lost his sanity and breaks Nurse Prudence's neck, believing her to be his tormentor Maria, before being subdued.

1. 16th Century Bedlam
I wake up and find that I am unable to move. My vision is blurry but it would seem that I am
restrained, tied down upon a bed. I cannot say for certain the cause of my dilemma, but it almost
undoubtedly has something to do with Maria Delacroix. One should never trust a woman which
one hath scorned so terribly as I have scorned Miss Delacroix. I do not place blame on her for
despising me. There was once a time I saw her the loveliest creature in all of God's creation. It
was all a lie, for the malice of her soul makes her a terror upon mankind. She is a wicked woman
and it is not unlikely that she has caused me to be in this place. This place is filthy. The room I
lay in is small and cramped. I do believe that it is not a room, but merely a broom closet where
they have stashed me away. It is dark. Not a candle is lit in here. The only light I have is from
the cracks beneath and along the sides of the door. However, my blurry vision has adjusted. A
man opens the door. The sudden brightness makes me squint my eyes, trying to be able to see
straight.
"Good morning poppit," the man says to me. He mocks me by the tone of his voice.
"Where am I?" I ask him, ignoring the impetuous grin on his face.
"Welcome to Bedlam."
My eyes are surely expanded, and I know my shock is evident. Bedlam. Of all places in the
entire world, she chose to punish me by sending me here. It is so very easy to be sent here... and
nearly impossible to escape. Undoubtedly it was Miss Delacroix who whispered lies unto her
father's ears and I was captured in night, dragged to Bedlam.
"I do not belong here," I speak to him as a reasonable fellow, "I have no mental disability, no
tendencies of insanity. I ask that you release me at once."
I did think that I spoke with the utmost clarity on the situation, and for a moment the man seems
dumbstruck, his jaw aslack as he stares at me. I think that surely I have come across correctly,

2. but he laughs at me.
"You really are a looney aren'tcha?" he says, "Well, now that yer awake and all, let's getcha up to
yer new room."
I look around and see that I really was kept in a broom closet. Cleaning implements are scattered
about. My eyes roam all over the small space. I feel the man untie me and the moment I am free
I kick him and make a run for it. I know it is inevitably in vain, but I must try. If ever I find
Miss Delacroix again they will surely have to hang me. I make it half way across the room
outside the closet. It is just as filthy out here as it was in the cramped enclosure. Two larger men
tackle me to the dirty floor. It wreaks of urine and feces though all that can be seen is dirt and
mud.
"Now, now Mr. Jones," the smaller of the two men says, "We cannaw haff ye runnin' off."
Frankly, I am too dizzy from the impact of them crushing me into the floor as well as the awful
smell filling my nostrils to make a reply. They force me into a jacket that inhibits the movement
of my arms and drag me off. I am all but tossed into a room with other men near my age. The
floor in the hallway had smelled bad, but the odor of around fifty dirty men nearly knocks me off
my feet. I stare around my surroundings. One of the young men is clawing at the wall, I imagine
in hopes of escape. His fingers are torn open and bleeding badly. It is a horrific scene before my
eyes. There is a smell of death about the room and my knees buckle. I cannot deny the terror
that is gripping me. Dead men have been tossed into a corner, it is uncertain of how they died,
but I do hope that they are disposed of soon for the smell is more than I can bear.
I move about the room, seeking a man who, like myself, is not mad, but here out of error. I see a
man who appears to have a sense of hygiene and decorum and move towards him.
"Sir?" I speak to him softly. His eyes snap up like a wild animal.
"What do you want?" he snaps.

3. "I... I am recently admitted here and...I wanted to know... when can I be expected to be
released?"
All those men who hold a scrap of sanity begin to chuckle and guffaw at my question. Their
scruffy faces leer at me and
I feel very small, cowering back slightly.
"Don't you know anything child?" the man I had directed my question to asked, "The likelihood
that you will ever be released is rather slim."
"How long have you been in here?" I ask, the fear evident in my eyes.
"Three years," he replies.
"That long?"
"That's nuffink," another man says, "I been 'ere for ten years and they ain't lettin' me out any time
soon."
The small candle of hope I held onto is snuffed out as I listen to these men speak of their time
here. The room that we stand in is so dark. I believe there are only three candles to illuminate
the space. I feel that this may be, in fact, a blessing. I am unsure if I would want to see these
men clearly. Knowing that several dead men are piled in the corner turns my stomach and I am
very glad that I cannot see them clearly.
Several hours pass before the door to our crowded room is opened once again and we are led into
a large dining hall. The women are on the other side of the hall. Their appearance is far worse
than the men. Their hair is all stringy, it looks as though they haven't bathed in months or maybe
even years. The food is tossed upon the heavy wooden tables; hardly more than rotten scraps. I
watch in horror as the women tear at their rations like vicious animals, fighting one another for

4. the food. The men behave in a similar manner, shoving each other out of the way. I linger back,
fearful that they may try to do me harm if I get too close. When the clatter clears there is
nothing of sustenance remaining, so I must go hungry.
It is difficult for me to explain the terror of Bedlam. It has been nearly one year since I was first
admitted. The rules are strict, the rooms are crowded, and everything wreaks of bodily fluids and
decay. I do not know if I will be able to endure this treatment for the amount of time that some
of the older men have and still maintain my sanity. Already, I swear I can feel it slipping. I can
only imagine Miss Delacroix's delight if she knew the kind of torture that I am enduring. I am an
intellectual being with no means of stimulating my mind. With no means of using my mind to an
end that I would find gratifying, the mind stagnates. I am reaching a breaking point. I tell you, I
cannot stand this for three years and definitely not for ten or more.
The nights are the worst. Once the candles are snuffed out and only moon and star light stream
in from the single barred window high upon the wall. A man's fingers scrape upon that wall,
leaving bloody stains where the shadows are cast. All night it persists so that in the morning one
can see, clear as day the marks of where the bars would be.
Yesterday, the old man, my first companion here in Bedlam, died. His body lay in the corner. He
died in a fit of panic and though I tried to assist him he ran from me, refusing to let me near. He
is beaten, bruised and his neck is snapped, I know not how, but now I find myself so utterly alone
for no one will come near me, no one will provide me with company.
It is my strongest desire to escape and repay Miss Delacroix for this deed she has overseen.
Every night I think of it. I claw my way through the red bars, ever certain it will lead to freedom
from this place. My fingers bleed from my efforts. Sweet Miss Delacroix, if only I could see her
again; behold that lovely face of my cruel miss.
The door opens and light shines in. I see a woman, can it be she? The terrible harlot who caused
my imprisonment? By candle's light I see her face. She is lovely to behold.
"Mr. Jones it's time for your treatment," she says to me. She would say that, the terrible

5. beauty. I smile at her, a twisted an evil smile of one who shall see his vengeance.
"No, Miss Delacroix," I whisper, "It is time for your treatment."
I throw myself at her slender form and though she screams I pay it no heed. Sweet
screams. Lovely screams. Like a melodious church choir they fall on my ears, until she screams
no more. Her neck is broken. I toss her body aside.
The doctors have come rushing in, but they are too late for my beauty is dead.
"Nurse Prudence!" One of them shouts. There is a flash of light and a crashing sound. A pain
buries deep in my chest.

6. beauty. I smile at her, a twisted an evil smile of one who shall see his vengeance.
"No, Miss Delacroix," I whisper, "It is time for your treatment."
I throw myself at her slender form and though she screams I pay it no heed. Sweet
screams. Lovely screams. Like a melodious church choir they fall on my ears, until she screams
no more. Her neck is broken. I toss her body aside.
The doctors have come rushing in, but they are too late for my beauty is dead.
"Nurse Prudence!" One of them shouts. There is a flash of light and a crashing sound. A pain
buries deep in my chest.