The Skriker

Caryl Churchill

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2014
• eBook ISBN: 9781780013589
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

An extraordinary collision of ancient fairytale and fractured urban England.

In a broken world, two girls meet an extraordinary creature. The Skriker is a shapeshifter and death portent. She can be an old woman, a child, a young man. She is a faerie come from the Underworld to pursue and entrap them, through time and space, through this world and her own.

Caryl Churchill's play The Skriker was originally produced at the National Theatre, London, in 1994.

Underworld.

JOHNNY SQUAREFOOT, a giant riding on a piglike man, throwing stones. He goes off.

The SKRIKER, a shapeshifter and death portent, ancient and damaged.

SKRIKER.	Heard her boast beast a roast beef eater, daughter could spin span spick and spun the lowest form of wheat straw into gold, raw into roar, golden lion and lyonesse under the sea, dungeonesse under the castle for bad mad sad adders and takers away. Never marry a king size well beloved. Chop chip pan chap finger chirrup chirrup cheer up off with you’re making no headway. Weeps seeps deeps her pretty puffy cream cake hole in the heart operation. Sees a little blackjack thingalingo with a long long tale awinding. May day, she cries, may pole axed me to help her. So I spin the sheaves shoves shivers into golden guild and geld and if she can’t guessing game and safety match my name then I’ll take her no mistake no mister no missed her no mist no miss no me no. Is it William Gwylliam Guillaume? Is it John Jack the ladder in your stocking is it Joke? Is it Alexander Sandro Andrew Drewsteignton? Mephistopheles Toffeenose Tiffany’s Timpany Timothy Mossycoat? No ’t ain’t, says I, no tainted meat me after the show me what you’ve got. Then pointing her finger says Tom tit tot! Tomtom tiny tot blue tit tit! Out of her pinkle lippety loppety, out of her mouthtrap, out came my secreted garden flower of my youth and beauty and the beast is six six six o’clock in the morning becomes electric stormy petrel bomb. Shriek! shrink! shuck off to a shack, sick, soak, seek a sleep slope slap of the dark to shelter skelter away, a wail a whirl a world away.
	Slit slat slut. That bitch a botch an itch in my shoulder blood. Bitch botch itch. Slat itch slit botch. Itch slut bitch slit.
	Put my hand to the baby and scissors seizures seize you sizzle. Metal cross cross me out cross my heartburn sunburn sunbeam in my eyelash your back. Or garlic lickety split me in two with the stink bombastic. Or pin prick cockadoodle do you feel it? But if the baby has no name better nick a name, better Old Nick than no name, because then we can have the snap crackle poppet to bake and brew and broody more babies and leave them an impossible, a gobbling, a no.
	I’ve been a hairy here he is changeling changing chainsaw massacre massive a sieve to carry water from the well well what’s to be done? Brother brewed beer in an eggshell. I said I’m old old every so olden dazed but I n...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Contents
• Original Production
• Note on Layout
• Characters
• The Skriker
• About the Author
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information