Middle Ground Theatre Company recently brought a new adaptation of Charles Dickens' The Signalman to Storyhouse. 

Set in 1880, the play follows a tormented railway signalman (Walker), stationed alone in his isolated signal box and haunted by visions of impending disaster along his stretch of track. When a passerby (Burton) appears, the signalman cautiously invites him inside.

What begins as polite conversation gradually gives way to darker revelations, as the visitor uncovers the signalman's repeated encounters with a mysterious and premonitory spirit. As the narrative unfolds, the tragic weight of these hauntings becomes chillingly clear.

Designed and directed by Michael Lunney, this extended revival of a hugely successful production was marked by meticulous set design and compelling central performances from Chris Walker and John Burton.

From the moment the curtain rises, the production's design is striking.

The stage is split in two: on one side, a fire-lit Victorian signal box rendered in intricate detail, complete with levers, bells and ironwork; on the other, a bleak, moonlit railway. The set is so richly realised that I found myself scanning it for clues, bracing for whatever horrors might follow.

Sound plays a vital role in shaping the atmosphere, becoming almost a character in its own right.

Stretches of heavy silence are shattered by piercing winds and the thunderous rush of passing trains. These contrasts heighten the sense of unease, ensuring the tension rarely dissipates.

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Leading man, Walker, delivers a superb performance as the troubled signalman, capturing both his fragility and mounting desperation. Burton provides an effective counterbalance as the inquisitive yet grounded visitor, drawing out the signalman's story with quiet persistence.

Their chemistry on stage feels natural and measured, allowing the horror to build gradually rather than explosively.

Ultimately, this adaptation proves to be, indeed, "the perfect way to spend a dark winter's evening." It achieves genuine fear through restraint, relying on atmosphere, lighting, and sound rather than melodrama or cliché.

The result is a production that lingers long after the curtain has closed.