Irish slang has this wonderful word: craic, pronounced "crack." Its several meanings include "gossipy banter" and "fun," which tells you all you need to know about what constitutes fun for the Irish.

A weir, on the other hand, is a dam in a river or stream. It's a place where a current is briefly interrupted, and that's what happens in Conor McPherson's plot-light 1997 dramedy The Weir. The current of life slows for a while so visitors to a rural Irish pub can tell and reflect on their own ghost stories. In her production at Tacoma Little Theatre, director Pug Bujeaud allows an unhurried pace. Garage owner and regular patron Jack (David Wright) arrives first and helps himself to a bottle of Guinness (the tap isn't working). Enter Robert McConkey as Brendan, the owner/operator of the unnamed tavern, followed by Jack's mild-mannered assistant Jim (Brian Jansen). They await the arrival of ladies' man Finbar (Gabe McClelland), who's been out playing welcome wagon for Valerie (Ellen Peters), a new renter from Dublin. Together, these five everyday folks drink, smoke, and tell spooky stories, and that's about it.

But oh, what magical stories! As an eerie wind howls outside, courtesy of Gabe Hacker's realistic sound effects, we discover there may be no better place to pass a night like this than Brendan's unpretentious pub. The set, a four-day refit of last month's Steel Magnolias salon, is, as the Irish would say, bang-on. You'll wish you had a bar like it in your neighborhood. Of course, you'd insist it come complete with Wright's Jack, an avid raconteur who makes his favorite word, "feck," sound adorable. As in Harlequin's production of The Seafarer last year, Wright seems custom-made to play in McPherson's boozy wheelhouse.

You can tell when gifted actors are playing in their comfort zone, and sometimes, as here, it's like warm comfort food. Then there's Ellen Peters. She's played epic roles before (Ophelia, Medea, Catherine from Proof) in Maine, but this show represents her Washington debut. For most of Act I, she has little to do but listen and soak up the competitive attention of four lonely Irishmen. But about halfway through Act II, she gets to tell her own horror story, and damned if it isn't the best of the lot. Not only is it movingly written, but Peters deploys credible emotional fury in the telling. I suspect we'll see her often in years to come.

If there's such a thing as the perfect early November show, this is it. By Jaysus, it even smells right, thanks to sage-y mock tobacco exhaled on stage. You'll catch shivers of Halloween, then feel thankful for good friends, adult beverages, the leisurely spinning of yarns, and the memories your ghosts left behind.

Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a shot of Bailey's somewhere with my name on it.

THE WEIR, 7:30 p.m. Friday and Saturday, 2 p.m. Sunday, through Nov. 17, Tacoma Little Theatre, 210 N. I St., Tacoma, $12, 253.272.2281