This will be the fright night of your life

REVIEW: Ghost Stories – Malvern Theatres (Tuesday, July 22 to Saturday, July 26).

Showtime! stars rating: * * * * *

THE narrator asks for all those in the audience who believe in ghosts to put their hands up.

Roughly half – mainly women, I notice – do so. He then requests that the disbelievers do the same. Yes, it’s about evens.

My wife and I are in the first group. And with good reason, too. But more about that later.

Oh yes, I’ve been a sceptic. But not about what I regard as a ghoulish reality, rather the hype that often accompanies plays about the paranormal.

For instance, all that fuss about Susan Hill’s The Woman in Black. The publicity machine would have had you believe that it was the most effective laxative since prunes and All-Bran. But quite frankly, it was all a bit of yawn when it came down to it. All right, just my opinion.

But not so with Ghost Stories. For this record-breaking West End hit is truly disturbing and – like a real haunting – you quite possibly take some of these disembodied souls home with you. Or the lingering memory, at least.

Yes, just you think about that for a moment. They’ve attached themselves to your very being and now reside with or in you… forever. Maybe.

Writers Jeremy Dyson and Andy Nyman have presented us with three case histories, presided over by an academic who never misses an intellectual, reasoned trick to explain away what actually cannot be explained.

True to his calling, the task in hand is to ensure that the rational triumphs over what he would regard as the irrational. His is the dismissal-without-proof trade.

Trouble is, he can’t explain anything really. All those bumps, bangings, moans, groans and angry voices – yes, spirits are often angry, possibly about having suffered the frustration of premature death – are very real indeed if you have also experienced them. As I said, more about that later.

So. Professor Goodman (Lucas Albion) takes us by our sweaty hands and first introduces us to night watchman Tony Matthews (David Cardy) a man whose calling takes him to a deserted warehouse in the dead of night. Where, unsurprisingly, he is about to meet the undead.

The tension builds as he sits alone in his shed cum office. The knocks and bangings intensify… then a voice. Who’s there? WHO’S THERE!

The next piece of creepiness to crawl out of the crypt concerns a teenage driver whose car breaks down on a lonely road, miles from anywhere. Yup. This is the perfect setting for something truly horrifying to happen. And yes, it does.

Many accounts of paranormal experiences revolve around such scenarios. Spectral lorries on head-on collision course, highwaymen eternally plying their trade along Watling Street, glowing orbs tailgating cars late at night… these are stories from just one area of England alone, my home county of Warwickshire. No wonder then that I’m convinced.

And yes, you really feel the terror and misery of motorist Simon Rifkind (Preston Nyman) as in desperation he tries to call someone, anyone, on his mobile phone. But technology cannot help you, Simon. And, of course… you are not alone, are you?

Casebook number three is arguably the most unsettling one of all as businessman Mike Priddle (Clive Mantle) steps out of the shadows, proudly telling us of the impending birth of his first child. Will this be a happy event? Not a chance in hell.

What transpires is utterly bizarre and relentlessly uncomfortable to watch. If this is some manifestation of a parallel universe, or a suggestion that other time zones can exist alongside that of the present, then the awful possibilities most certainly start to multiply in one’s imagination…

My own experiences of the supernatural? Well, one occurred in the top room of a Worcestershire antique shop, and the other took place several years ago while on a family holiday in the Cherbourg peninsular, northern France.

In the middle of the night, I was woken by scraping sounds and loud bangings – yes, just like in this play - that at first I thought was being caused by intruders. But gradually, I realised that no burglars would ever go about their trade making such a deafening racket.

Then it dawned on me – there was a poltergeist active in the house. So I lay in bed wide awake, staring at the ceiling, pouring with sweat, helpless and fearful of going downstairs.

But then, the next morning there was a truly strange twist. For despite the sheer volume of the noises, no one else had heard it. No one. Just me. Was I some sort of conduit for the poltergeist, the noise being channelled through me, and me alone? And for what purpose?

This incredible piece of stage drama brought all this crashing back to me, and every credit should go to the writers, actors and special effects team who have not only created a masterpiece of suspense, but perhaps also caused some of those disbelievers in the audience to think again. As for me, it was a case of preaching to the converted.

One day, we might learn some answers. But until then, I suggest you go along to Malvern Theatres for the fright night of your life.