Vamp-Ireland

Right on cue a canine barks loudly outside, a familiar landmark on the soundscape here, appearing almost with the same regularity as the cathedral bells visible over the rooftops. The dog’s owner issues the usual growl in response; “Shut the fuck up you useless cunt!” Viewed from behind the woman might be mistaken for a youthful colleen with her raven locks flowing like spilled porter far below her waistline. Always a shock when she turns to unveil that pale banshee face, made more ghastly by the vampiric hunger in her eyes. I stay firmly rooted in my chair, no need to peer out the small window to confirm where she’s deposited herself. Using a form of echolocation akin to that of bats I can see her sat on the outer rim of the Zen Garden where I feed the birds. Even the pigeons usually very sociable keep their distance. There’s just no talking to her, the flock of voices squawking in her head makes it impossible to even say hello. Addictive fangs are in her so deep at this late stage all the goodness seems to be extracted. Above all I feel compassion for her, so close to deaths door and yet the expanse of a universe separating her from the ocean. Wish I could take her by the hand and gently guide the woman out of Vampireland.

But I am a realist too. Her chosen escape route is what’s keeping her puddled in prison. Although she may not be aware, the best course to help her at this stage is to simply listen.

 ‘Are yee calling me a witch?’  She shouts accusatorily at herself, kicking off a witch hunt. I know the witch trial in her head inside out, all the witnesses and the evidence too no more than shadows cast by echoes. The dog ceases with his barking prosecutorial cross- examination, perhaps understands it’s pointless arguing with a courtroom full of spooks. ‘ Which witch is which?’ Asks the woman cackling, the question hanging in the air for a lengthy spell before answering. Here we go again, this won’t take long, strap yourself in!

Extract from Seescapes Intro.

All Images © Stuart Christie