'Gelder describes the Australian Gothic as 'a shadow ... fallen over the colonial ego'.5 This shadow and its oft-acknowledged associations with the uncanny aspects of the colonial experience6 are perhaps most widely recognised in Picnic at Hanging Rock, be it Joan Lindsay's original novel (1967), Peter Weir's film version (1975), Matthew Lutton's Malthouse stage adaptation (2016) or the Foxtel-produced television serial (2018). With this description, people seem to understand that, broadly speaking, the Australian Gothic is a genre concerned with the terror-inducing effect of vast landscapes, the lurking dread of the natural world, the loss of sanity experienced by colonial settlers in the face of natural and human-generated adversity (fire, famine, drought), and the framing of the landscape as mysterious, malevolent and threatening to immigrant European cultures.7 As Turcotte notes, the Gothic mode, a 'form which emphasises the horror, uncertainty and desperation of the human experience', was a perfect genre to articulate the uncanny aspects of the colonial period.8 As a playwright and performer with my theatre company Suitcase Royale, I have created the Australian Gothic plays Chronicles of a Sleepless Moon (2006), The Ghosts of Ricketts Hill (2008), The Ballad of Backbone Joe (2009) and Zombatland (2011). For the best part of fifteen years, I have toured these works nationally and internationally - from staging The Ballad of Backbone Joe at the Sydney Theatre Company to touring Chronicles of a Sleepless Moon at London's Soho Theatre - and have faithfully spread the Gothic myth: rural Australian towns at best are not to be trusted and at worst exist as claustrophobic prisons filled with murderous villains. Since 2016, I have also regularly toured Victoria, and been generously supported by Regional Arts Victoria (RAV) and their 'Home Is Where the Hall Is' and 'Connecting Places' initiatives, for both regional centres and small communities. To analyse the development of the rural Australian town as Gothic location par excellence is therefore to contrast it with my experience of touring to such towns where, post-performance, locals are set mainly on plying me with homemade sponge cakes, Mars Bar slices, and sausage rolls the size of my head.' (Publication abstract)