An impulsive Saturday late show. I start on the fifth floor, wanting to enjoy the stillness at the top of the show. The matron sits in her hut, pensive, tearful. She sits and sits, as the wind gets stronger, thunder rolls in, and music echoes throughout the woods.
The music swells, a light cue. The matron stands at the window, looking out into the bushes, out at…nothing. No nurse appears from the shadows. The matron slowly exits her hut and proceeds to do the mirror dance on her own. The movements smaller, more hesitant—a memory long passed.
As the loop goes on, the matron continues to walk in the nurse’s steps. A long pause at the desk. Walking to the bathtub, gently closing the drawer. Standing at the table, by the window. All as if feeling the presence of the nurse, remembering.
Finally, Lady Macbeth breaks the silence, her screams echoing from the next room. No longer is the matron alone. She helps Lady M get undressed and bring the clothes downstairs, laying them out carefully.
Back up the stairs and into the hut once more. Alone, silent—a ghost of the fifth floor, going through the motions.