Hyacinth

Hyacinth asks Richard about the people in the house. Has he seen them too?

When she, Richard, and Sheridan first moved into this house, decades ago, Hyacinth had the notion that there was an old couple still living there. She never saw them, but she felt them, in the air, behind her, around corners. There was never a feeling of solitude. There was always somebody else there. Eventually, the old people left. Or perhaps Hyacinth just became accustomed to filtering them out, like the low hiss of a detuned radio.

Now, she is worried they've returned. She feels echoes around her, feels breath. Feels the somethingness of a presence in the room.

'A darkly surreal daydream - with purity and precision, Will Cox turns a 90s television classic into a hall of mirrors for the soul.'- Jessica Au, author of Cold Enough For Snow

'An offbeat, metatextual ode to TV, books and art ... this is a Frankenstein's monster for fans of classic literature and magic realism.'- The Big Issue