Tim Meacham

 

Exorcism 2018

 

The woman lived in the last house in the street that had not been vacated and gutted prior to demolition. The streetlights had been disconnected and there was no sign of occupation apart from the solitary light in her window. The only the other light flared from sodium security lamps which illuminated the demolition machinery parked opposite the houses.

Originally built as part of a small factory, her front room had once been the gents’ toilet. The walls were tiled cream and blue and shelves had been built across and around all but one urinal. Furniture, including a small piano of light wood and a rug sat awkwardly on the cold concrete floor. When she spoke her voice vibrated the piano strings – her words resonating through the floor and walls.

After I’d completed the brief ceremony the woman offered me a cup of tea. We spoke of her life on the street and the changes she had witnessed. As I rose to leave, a light vapour curled through the keyhole of the door.