Dracula: The Shadow of the Man - Chapter Four – A Visitor at the Gate

The castle gates groaned in the wind, their iron hinges straining like bones under weight. Dracula stood at the high window of his keep, gazing down at the road that wound through the forest below. Few ever dared approach. Peasants whispered that even birds flew wide of his towers, as if the very stones exhaled curses. Yet tonight, a lantern bobbed along the path.

He watched it draw nearer, swaying gently in the dark, until the faint outline of a carriage emerged. Horses steamed in the cold air, their hooves striking sparks on the stone road. The coach halted before the gate, and a lone figure stepped out—a man, cloaked and hooded, his movements purposeful rather than fearful.

Dracula’s lips curled faintly. A visitor. How long had it been since one dared cross his threshold unbidden? Curiosity prickled in him, a sensation almost human in its warmth.

Summoning the servants—phantoms bound by centuries of his will—he ordered the gates opened. The old iron yawned wide, and the carriage rolled into the courtyard. When the stranger knocked upon the castle door, Dracula was already there to receive him.

The visitor pushed back his hood, revealing a pale but earnest face, framed by dark hair. His eyes held a nervous spark, yet not the terror Dracula expected. He bowed stiffly.

“My lord Count,” he said, voice low, “I come seeking shelter.”

Dracula inclined his head. “Few men seek it here.”

The stranger hesitated, then met his gaze. “And fewer grant it. But I have travelled long, and I was told you are… a patron of knowledge.”

The words stirred something in Dracula’s chest. Patron of knowledge. Once, long ago, he had kept libraries, had prided himself on the scholarship of his court. The human part of him leaned forward, yearning for conversation beyond the hollow whispers of his own mind.

“You speak truly,” Dracula said at last, gesturing toward the hall. “Enter. Warm yourself.”

The stranger stepped inside. The torches flared as if eager to greet him, casting long shadows against the walls. Dracula studied his guest closely. He was young, perhaps no more than thirty, with a scholar’s hands ink-stained at the tips. A book protruded from his satchel, its leather cover worn thin from use.

They dined—or rather, the visitor dined, while Dracula observed. Bread, cheese, and wine were set before him, untouched by the Count. The scholar glanced at Dracula’s empty place but said nothing. Instead, he spoke of his travels, of the ancient texts he sought in forgotten lands. His voice carried excitement, hope, the cadence of a man still alive in every sense.

Dracula listened in silence, torn. The beast within whispered of warm veins pulsing just beneath the skin. The man within hungered too—but for the echo of conversation, the taste of company not tainted by fear.

When the scholar finally paused, raising his cup, Dracula asked quietly:

“And tell me, traveller… do you believe a man may live with two souls? One pure, one damned?”

The visitor blinked, startled by the question. The lantern light trembled. And for the first time in centuries, Count Dracula waited—truly waited—for another man’s answer.

Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model