Roll up, roll up for an evening of terror:

*    Gasp at the stage-school tribute to Michael Jackson's Thriller zombies

*    Sigh as each short play's initial promise crumbles like a piece of smouldering ash.

*    Wince at the soporific effect of the final play

*    Weep with relief at how not a single hair has been raised on the back of your neck

*    Cry at the fact that you aren't going to ever get those two and a bit hours of your life back and any credability in recommending friends come along to see a play too has now gone

Yes, I was unimpressed. Can you tell? I love the Southwark Playhouse and thought, where better than the dimly lit, exposed brick arches of London Bridge station with the faint demonic rumbling of trains overhead to see a Hallowe'en inspired series of short plays?

And if two of those short plays were written by Neil LaBute and Mark Ravenhill then all the better.

Now I scare easily and I went along with friends in easy grabbing distance but the main problem was I've seen baby rabbits that were scarier.

It started with some promise. The curtain raiser was an warning sung operatic-style by a slightly sinster singing nurse (it's the old nurses uniform which does it) not to leave our mobiles on.

*spoilers follow*

The first play, Exclusion Zone by Mark Ravenhill also started promisingly in the pitch black with two voices. Hate the dark and when one character produced a torch I thought 'hello, here we go Blair Witch territory'.

The concept was supposed to be the classic 'there is something out there' but the story about what 'it' actually was, was lame rather than tantalisingly scary and what should have been a really atmospheric and chilling piece just turned into a bit of a damp squib.  And then a joke, when a load of 'extras' came on dressed as zombies and did a bit of a song and dance routine. Zombies are rarely scary and the certainly aren't scary when performed in a style of a school play.

Then more nursey singing a scary song, which despite my dislike of musicals, I actually quite enjoyed.

Second play The Unimaginable by Neil LaBute, again started with a lot of promise. One of those old fashioned trunks (like Harry Potter uses), lid open, full of the sort of dolls that look a bit demonic and usually come alive during horror films.

A voice from no where starts warning us about leaving our children unattended and how they might be snatched. And eventually you can just make out the creeping figure behind the voice moving about slowly at the back of the stage. He gets closer and closer to the box going and you know he is going to slam the lid down with a snap that is supposed to make you jump.

So you wait for it and he goes on about the kids and you wait and he goes on a bit more about the kids and then finally he snaps the lid down by which point you are just relieved.

Interval. Thank goodness. Time for a drink and a quick catch up with the West End Whingers (still waiting for their revue but am looking forward to it as always).

Then it was back in for what was starting to feel like a bit of a tortuous evening for all the wrong reasons but I remained hopeful.