At Norfolk’s ‘premier scare attraction’ there are ghouls, chainsaws, satanic cults and a haunted hospital. But what goes on behind the scenes?

‘We always say to the scare actors, you’re going to think the boys will be the worst. They are not.” Backstage at PrimEvil, billed as “Norfolk’s premier scare attraction”, park director Ben Francis is sharing the advice he gives each year to his new crop of performers, before they set out to give punters the fright of their lives – or at least their Saturday night. As Francis covers each demographic, he ticks them off on his fingers. Teenage boys “scream like banshees, and run in packs”. Teenage girls tend towards being unimpressed: “Do your scare and move on, because they will get nasty.” And mixed groups? “There will be an alpha and he’ll be wearing a North Face top.” Francis’s advice is to not waste time. “He will not react to anything … Aim for the weaker one at the back.”

This is part of the workplace induction at PrimEvil, one of many immersive “scream parks” that pop up across the UK in the lead up to Halloween. For about £40 a ticket, groups of all ages spend the night roaming themed attractions and being terrorised by actors and special effects. Though the risks are minimal, the spikes in heart rate are very real.

‘It’s the best form of therapy and you get paid to do it’ … park director Ben Francis

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My earliest reading memory
Apparently I taught myself to read when I was three via the labels on the Beatles 45s we had: I remember the moment of recognising the words “I” and “Feel” and “Fine”. It took a bit longer to work out the word “Parlophone”.

My favourite book growing up
Sister Vincent taught primary six in St Joseph’s, Inverness, and was a discerning reader with very good taste, plus the kind of literary moral rectitude that meant she removed Enid Blyton from the class library because she believed Blyton’s books were written by a factory of writers. In 1972 she and I had a passionate argument when the class was choosing a book to be read out loud to us and I championed Charlotte’s Web by EB White, with which I was in love. Sister Vincent put her foot down. “No. Because animals speak in it, and in reality animals don’t speak.” I recently reread it for the first time since I was nine, and it moved me to tears. What a fine book, about all sorts of language, injustice, imaginative power and friendship versus life’s tough realities. Terrific. Radiant. Humble.

The romantic proclivities of the Shelleys, a notable corpse and a diner delight – test your knowledge with questions posed by favourite authors

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