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A middle-aged man, dressed in a suit and tie, and standing on Carlaw Avenue, raps on the exterior window. Bang. Bang. Bang. The pane reverberates. An echo streaks through the theatre. Inside: a moment of confusion. Who is this man? Is he even part of the play? 

It turns out that he is — at least after a stage manager lets him in. The man eventually settles down. He moves a heavy wooden table to the centre of the stage. And around this playing space, he pours out a circle of salt. 

This start is disquieting, to say the least. It also hints at what’s to come in “The Veil” — a one-man, psychological thriller that initially begins at a distance before burrowing deeper and deeper to reveal the evil within its main protagonist, as well as within its audience. 

The man, we learn as he recounts his story, is a lawyer, grinding away to achieve partnership. But his ambition, one that knows no limits, quickly gets the better of him. 

When he’s presented with an offer from his boss, Edward, to become a partner at his firm, it comes with a condition: the man must also inherit a curse that Edward has secretly carried with him.

This hex, the man explains to the audience, lifts a “veil” — an invisible barrier protecting a person from an evil entity, “made up, exponentially, of every wrong you’ve ever committed, every terrible word, every awful thought. And this being, is eager, and hungry, to torment you.” 

For some reason — hubris, perhaps — the man accepts the offer from his boss, in full knowledge of the possible consequences.

Initially, his life only changes for the better after he makes partner. Then, one day, the curse suddenly takes effect. The man’s reality starts to warp and blur. A suffocating haunting descends onto him, enveloping not only his life but also those of his wife and six-year-old daughter. 

Juvonen’s well-paced production is eerie. Yes, it contains an obligatory jump scare or two. But the show’s tension primarily emerges from Barker and Jones’s taut script, which draws its audiences in with a firm grip, and holds them there for all of 90 minutes. 

Byron Abalos plays the lawyer with similar authority. His character tries to hold himself together as he recounts his story. But eventually, slowly, he unravels. He rubs his hands in fear, thumbs pressing into flesh. It’s as if he knows there’s something eating away at him — from the inside out. 

Jareth Li’s lighting and Ashley Naomi’s sound designs are among this production’s highlights. Subtle, almost imperceptible, they conjure a feeling of unease. Flickering lights, the faint sound of dogs barking in the background — you see it and hear it for an instant. Then, it’s gone. Li and Naomi’s designs leave you questioning your own sense of reality, just like the lawyer. 

“The Veil” ends, as the best horror shows do, by turning the tables on its audience, forcing us to confront our greatest fears and insecurities. That evil within us lurks right there, rapping on the window. Will we let it in?