So the premise of Room 13 is that everybody – and I mean everybody – has their own supernatural story to tell; an experience they’ve had that they just cannot explain on this Earthly plane.

*Tentatively raises hand* I recently spent the night in haunted Gloucester Prison, where I didn’t even merit a shiver-down-the-spine moment. In fact, ghosts – and humans – avoided me like the plague. (Sensitivity check: as far as I know, none of the ghosts were plague victims.) And… I once consulted a medium, who told me I would move to the countryside. As I was pretty much living in a cabin in the woods at the time, I’m still expecting the sinister knock on the door, followed by transportation to a Russian gulag.

The second premise of Room 13 is that everybody – and I mean everybody – is harbouring a deep, dark secret of the most horrific kind.

*Happily raises hand* Got me there.

(Image: Alex Tabrizi) The script pays a certain homage to MR James (initials; I’m not subverting house style). You know, the man who pioneered the kind of horror tale where nobody realises they’re in a ghost story but jumps a lot anyway.

So the play opens with an atmospheric hotel room that looks even worse than a B&B I stayed in once in Cambridge in June 1985. Damp patches, rickety old furniture, a slightly sinister painting on the wall whereby – if it isn’t haunted – the buyer should have demanded a refund. (The strange thing is that none of the hotel guests asks for money off during the whole of the performance.)

We’re in Denmark, where a storm of great ferocity is underway, taking out the internet and even, terrifyingly, the television signal.

Ed Anderson (Samuel Collings) is a research fellow at Cambridge, complete with heavy suitcase of rare medieval books (not sure why he’s with them in Jutland; missed this; but they are occult). He’s relieved to find out he’s staying in room 12 (or 14; he’s uncertain which, but just relieved it’s DEFINITELY NOT room 13).

(Image: Alex Tabrizi) When he hears alarming banging and cries from the room next door (no, don’t jump ahead on this), he meets a fellow guest (staying in room 14 or 12; he’s uncertain which, but just relieved it’s DEFINITELY NOT room 13). Paul Jacobs, artist-turned-curator, denies the noise was anything to do with him; actually, he thought it was coming from Anderson’s not-13 room.

And so begins a tale of such creepy proportions that (SPOILER ALERT) I not only jumped sky high several times; I once even took part in a spectacular double-jump where I – slightly late to the party – was deeply startled by the audience jumping.

So this is a really fun night, and far from devoid of humour. The performances of this cast were excellent: (Ffion Jolly as Mary, whose husband Kristen (Philip Pellew) owns the hotel; Alice Bailey Johnson as Lena.) In fact, it’s their completely natural way that brings this play to life (or death, depending on which way you want to go with this).

At times, if I’m honest, a similar effect would have been achieved by somebody banging two pan lids behind me. But you have to run with the fun: pretty much every element of the macabre (including dead red herrings) was stuffed into Duncan Abel and Rachel Wagstaff’s script, directed by Loveday Ingram.

This is a world premiere: a ‘Built By the Barn’ production – and bravo to the Barn for trying something new. *Claps but not too suddenly* For a Hallowe’en treat, you’d be dead silly to miss it.

The Barn Theatre, Beeches Rd, Cirencester GL7 1BN; 01285 648255; barntheatre.org.uk