A superbly haunting tale that whispers beyond the stage and into the Liverpool night.
In the candlelit hush of the Unity Theatre, Weeping Bank’s Way Marker unfolded like a folktale rediscovered: something ancient, unearthed from the soil of England’s darker, sodden corners. The company’s UK tour arrived in Liverpool tonight, the eve of Halloween.
The clocks have gone back, the nights are drawing in, and the city itself feels that familiar tilt toward the mysterious and uncanny. It’s the perfect season for a ghost story, and those who gathered in the dim warmth of the theatre weren’t disappointed. What followed was an evening of gothic storytelling that balanced the chill of the supernatural with a rare literary grace. Shadows seemed to shift and breathe with every line.
Way Marker is a deceptively simple but brilliant piece — just one performer, known only as “The Librarian,” seated in his study, reading aloud a tale that slides effortlessly between the folkloric and the psychological. There’s no elaborate set to hide behind, just the slow pulse of a grandfather clock, the restless dervish dance of candlelight, and that heavy, expectant silence that falls when people truly listen. But that simplicity is its magic. You can feel the story taking shape in your mind, every image conjured not by light or sound effects, but by language and suggestion.
The Librarian’s performance is masterful. His voice has that calm, measured cadence of someone who knows exactly how to hold a room. Every pause, every flicker of a look, is deliberate but authentic — as if part of some quiet ritual. There is indeed linguistic alchemy afoot. At times, the audience seemed to lean forward in unison, drawn into the rhythm of his voice like parishioners at an unholy sermon. You can hear echoes of M. R. James here, but also something newer — a modern anxiety that hums beneath the surface, making the tale feel unsettlingly close to home.
But much of Way Marker’s strength also lies in its restraint. The writing is precise and evocative, steeped in mood without ever tipping into melodrama. It evokes places and emotions with just a few deft strokes, leaving space for our imagination to wander — and sometimes, to dread what it might find there. There’s also a faint echo of old radio drama: that peculiar intimacy between voice and fascination, where every listener creates their own ghosts in the dark…The most powerful of all.
By the time the final candle fades into the darkness, the subsequent deserving applause felt like the lifting of an incantation. For a few heartbeats, it seemed that no one wanted to move, as if breaking the stillness might summon something back, something perhaps unwanted. Outside, the wind had risen along Hope Place, snatching at coats and whispering through the railings like a voice that hadn’t quite finished its own tale.
It was the night before Halloween, after all, and Liverpool seemed to hum with its own old stories as well as creating new ones. Way Marker didn’t just end inside the Unity — it followed you out, threading itself into the restless dark. And somewhere in that darkness, it felt as though The Librarian’s voice was still turning the page, encouraging you to follow a newer path perhaps…
