September 17 2012 – Bush and Wilkie

NOTE: Oh, guys I really don’t know okay? I’m just trying to be true to my impulses. It is what it is.

Bush and Wilkie

WILKIE and THE GHOST OF KATE BUSH. A trashed hotel room. An empty bottle of Bushmills. WILKIE is in his 30s. THE GHOST OF KATE BUSH is mid-20s, dressed sort of The Dreaming-era. WILKIE sits on the floor at the foot of his bed, hands clasped to his head, staring out, terrified. THE GHOST OF KATE BUSH is perched on the edge of the bed above him, pulling a series of Kate Bush Moves and chanting in an alternating high and then low voice, like in the chorus of Sat In Your Lap.

THE GHOST OF KATE BUSH
YOU! NEED! TO! CLEANTHISPLACEUP!
YOU! CAN’T! A! FFORDTHEDAMAGE!
NOT! ON! YOUR! MOTHERSCREDITCARD!

Shift. THE GHOST OF KATE BUSH speaks. It is a soft, lilting voice, but, owing to the fact that it comes from a ghost…bit spooky. The elongation of certain words should not be done like a traditional “oooh spooky” ghost. It’s a little less musical and more unsettling than that.

Wiiiilkiiie…

WILKIE starts rocking back and forth.

Wilkie, you don’t believe me. What if I touched you, would you believe me then? Just…on…your…head.

WILKIE hyperventilates, waiting for the touch. THE GHOST OF KATE BUSH laughs.

I had a ghost too one time, Wilkie, and I didn’t believe him either. My lighting man. Fell from the catwalks to the chairs. He was a boy really, but I was a child so he was a man.

I’m going to touch your cheek, Wilkie.

WILKIE hyperventilates, THE GHOST OF KATE BUSH laughs.

Is it because I’m still alive, Wilkie? That you don’t believe my ghost? Settled and happy, somewhere in Devon, Wilkie, Somewhere in my 50s? Trips into London for awards for shopping, back out to Devon? Is that why you don’t believe my ghost, Wilkie, your neck Wilkie, I’m almost touching…

WILKIE hyperventilates, THE GHOST OF KATE BUSH laughs.

Well I’m your ghost Wilkie, alive or no. This me is dead, and I’m the ghost of this me. I’m going to hug you around your belly Wilkie I’m coooming-

WILKIE hyperventilates, throws himself away from the bed. THE GHOST OF KATE BUSH gestures and sets the whole room (but her) spinning. WILKIE lands roughly on all fours, barely holding himself off the floor.

Caaaareful, Wilkie, you don’t want to move like that you’ve got a whoooole bottle in you. You know what made mine go, Wilkie, my boy I didn’t believe… I made a change, made a big change that cracked me down to the base of my life and he went. I did it, even though I didn’t believe and it worked anyway, he went. That’s what he came for Wilkie that’s what I needed that’s why we bring them. That’s why you bring us. You love a good scare.

WILKIE is listening now, has quieted some. The room has slowed its spin, almost to nothing.

What about your eyes, Wilkie, if I come for those.

WILKIE, lost in thought, does not panic right away and THE GHOST OF KATE BUSH takes her chance. She is suddenly behind him and slightly over him hands over his eyes. WILKIE makes a guttural noise and the room goes off again. He begins to sob, mouth wide with fear, as THE GHOST OF KATE BUSH speaks.

Make the change Wilkie. Or you’ll never be anyone’s ghost one day. There’ll be no one to conjure you ‘cause nobody knew you. You’ll never have the honour. Believe me, don’t believe me, I’m here. And I will be til the change is made.

As WILKIE continues to sob in the spinning room, THE GHOST OF KATE BUSH extends her tongue. A small, old-fashioned key rests on it.

Creative Commons License
This work by Ryan F. Hughes is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

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