After their tentative first meeting, in which Arthur protests that he has never acted and does not wish to be Laurence Olivier, The Actor begins to play young Kipps, and Arthur (begrudgingly at first) takes on multiple roles as the world evolves around him. The rules are established early on - a wicker box becomes a train, a bed, even a pony and trap, on the journey from the London smog to the mist and mire of the Nine Lives Causeway. Our imagination soars, we are immersed, we are hooked, and as the tension ramps up, we are terrified too.

There are many reasons why this story has stood the test of time. The acting is exceptional. Mackay is compelling as Arthur, sensitive, raw, quietly unravelling under the weight of his grief. Burke is equally mesmerising as The Actor, charming and commanding at first, then slowly, terrifyingly consumed by the mystery of Alice Drablow and the horrors of Eel Marsh House.

And the direction (powered by Robin Herford with Antony Eden) is as fresh, controlled and rhythmically on point as it's ever been. They shrink the world around us, so effectively that nobody in the theatre feels safe; teenagers huddle together in the darkness, I hear the words "I'm traumatised" ring out. Aren’t we all? Rod Mead's evocative, inescapable sound design sends shivers down spines. Things that weren't dead appear, the inevitable twist shocks, the curtain call draws whoops and hollers, and deservedly so.

The Woman in Black is a storytelling masterclass, escapism at a time when we need it most, inspiring generations of theatre makers since its debut, and one has to wonder, would horror theatre even exist on stage without it?

It demands to be seen. Go if you've never experienced it, go again, and again, and again if you have. Thanks to this stellar creative team, and of course, the iconic Woman, horror theatre is still in the best of hands.