The World Premiere of Thriller


Grace has the only colour portable in our first year hall of residence, so we leave the Friday night disco far too early, well before the last record, before last orders, and crush into her shared room. Twelve of us, on two beds, hugging pillows, clutching tea and toast. The adverts end, a hush, Chris screams, and then it begins…


We nod our heads to the beat we know, watch monsters syncopate, transform in dark woods, spurt hair, roar, while limbs drop away. Want that red jacket, to learn the zombie dance, to shake like Michael, prince of ghouls,


and even when he offers his hand, and everyone shouts don’t, knowing what will, we still jump at the animal eye, the freeze frame, that laughter, fading, wonderful,


witnessed once, those thirteen minutes.


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