For readers who found themselves transported by Mervyn Peake's trilogy or viewers captivated by the BBC's stunning serialisation, the idea such a richly bizarre experience could be recreated in one play must seem impossible. (Perhaps that disbelief resulted in only a half-full theatre on Tuesday, or maybe Gormenghast sounded too odd for Horsham.)

Yet, with a mere seven actors and a near-empty stage, the David Glass Ensemble managed to do just that.

Glass said the production intended to "evoke and invoke" Peake's world and the labyrinthine castle, complete with endless corridors and stairs, the vast library and sweltering kitchen were vividly created by simple props and the clever use of sound effects, music and masterful mime. Fire and flood were visited upon the castle with the swish of a well-placed swathe of silk and a dramatic change of light. Cast members carried out scene changes clothed in black, like Japanese Bunraku puppeteers.

You learn to ignore these shadowy figures, seeing only the players, whether actors or puppets.

Doubling up was inevitable to create 12 characters but each was such a marvellously grotesque individual this didn't distract.

The elaborate costumes helped, too, with the cook's prosthetic paunch, old retainer Flay's hunchback and gorgeous robes for the women. Yet, presumably, they were all easily shrugged on and off.

Gormenghast was physical theatre at peak perfection. The credibility of the whole enterprise depended on precise timing, convincing action and confident delivery. An amateur cast would have come to grief but this skilled group carried it off fabulously.

When the cook slaughtered an invisible animal, casting its still-beating heart to the floor, the audience flinched with Flay as he stepped on it - done badly, it would have been ridiculous.

From the astonishing birth scene (the Countess laid a giant egg), to the dramatic fight between Titus and murderous Steerpike and Titus's renunciation of his inheritance, the company did not put a foot wrong.

It was the most thrilling evening I've ever spent at a theatre and I suspect the rest of the audience would agree. Those who might have peopled the empty seats will never know the extent of their loss.