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Blackwater Bay has a reputation. Whether you’re a believer or not, it’s a town that has really leaned into its haunted reputation.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, Marram Bay has its ghost stories. Hope Abbey, on Hope Island – our tidal island – has been in ruins since the eighteenth century, and tourists flock there. Apparently, there’s a secret tunnel network underneath the island, which the monks who lived in the abbey used to use as an escape route – God knows from what – back in the day.

Hope Abbey is often used as a wedding ceremony venue, or a spot where people go to propose – which is funny, because it isn’t haunted by a monk, like you’d probably guess, it’s supposedly haunted by a jilted bride. Anyone who grew up here knows the tale of the woman who caught her groom kissing her younger sister on their wedding day. To teach him a lesson, apparently she went down into the tunnels to hide, to make him think she had left him, see the error of his ways or something like that. Instead, she got trapped and died down there, so now apparently her soul is trapped, and if she sees any happy couples she rises up and curses them or kills them or something. I love spooky stuff as much as the next girl, but you will never convince me that story wasn’t concocted by parents trying to ensure their kids would be too scared to ever dare mess around in the tunnels, or that their teens would be too frightened to fornicate in the grounds after dark.

Otherwise, Marram Bay is a generally wholesome place. Blackwater Bay, though, that’s the real deal, genuinely terrifying. From the good (fountains where you can make wishes) to the bad (a stretch of windy road with an alarming fatality rate) to the ugly (some kind of terrifying creature people swear they’ve seen on the moors) – plus your usual witches, vampires and ghosts. The place has everything. Naturally, going there in the same week as Halloween feels terrifying – thrilling too though. Especially because it’s my first time going to their relatively new Scareground.

It’s in a field, behind a garden centre, which admittedly doesn’t sound scary, but I googled it on the way here and apparently people are having to be carried out of their haunted barn.

‘I can’t believe this is your first time,’ Adam says. ‘Call yourself a local.’

‘Well, I haven’t been a local, not for a while,’ I remind him. ‘I might have come back sooner, had I known I could pay a stranger to chase me through mud with a chainsaw.’

He laughs.

‘The more I think about it, the more I think this might actually be too scary for me,’ I think out loud.

‘Ahh, come on, I thought you were a brave girl,’ he says. ‘And don’t worry, if you’re scared, you can hold my hand.’

‘Okay, fine, but I can’t believe you’re bullying me into this,’ I say with a laugh.

Now that I think about it, he’s not bullying me into it at all; he’s flirting me into it.

We finally arrive where it’s set up, in a huge muddy field, with temporary fencing around the outside and strings of eerily flickering bulbs hanging over the entrance. There’s a giant wooden sign that says Blackwater Scareground, which looks like it’s been painted in blood. There’s a man in a filthy clown costume standing by the gate, staring at people as they arrive. At least, I think it’s a man; maybe it’s a statue. Bloody hell, I’m scared to walk past him now.

There’s a rickety-looking big wheel turning slowly against the dark sky, a row of food vans selling ‘maggot-filled’ hot chocolate and bloody burgers, a zombie hook-a-duck stall, and a carousel made up of the most cursed horses I’ve ever seen.

‘This is amazing,’ Adam blurts, like a kid at Christmas.

‘This is how people die,’ I reply.

Again, he laughs at me.

Adam is wearing black jeans, boots and a dark jacket, which makes him blend right in. I, on the other hand, am wearing a bright red jumper which, now that I think about it, is like having a target on my back. In the dark corners, I’ll be the brightest thing for the masked monsters to prey on.

‘So,’ Adam says, ‘what’s your strategy?’

‘For what?’

‘The maze.’

‘No one said anything about a maze – have you seen The Shining?’ I reply.

‘That’s the whole point,’ he replies. ‘Would you prefer the haunted mine or the doll house?’

Suddenly, the maze doesn’t sound so bad.

‘Come here,’ he says, presumably laughing at the look on my face. He takes me by the hand.

Okay, now I really am terrified, not by the maze, or the monsters, but by how good it feels to have my hand in his.

His fingers close around mine, warm and steady, making the butterflies (or I guess bats might be more appropriate) in my stomach go berserk.

Naturally the first place we go to is the maze, my logic being, if I can survive that, I can do anything.

We step inside, and immediately the noise of the funfair drops away behind us. The path is narrow, hemmed in by tall walls of dried corn and black netting, with low orange lights marking the various routes. Somewhere ahead, a woman screams.