It was a quiet, drizzly night, fog rolling across the city, with rustles of domesticity around the house. The cantankerous, silver-haired laundry maid quietly folding washing; the housemaid sitting in the drawing room writing a list for tomorrow’s activities; the cook preparing the kitchen for tomorrow’s breakfast; the gardener preparing to leave for the evening. In the quiet of his study, Augustus Knock drew his attention to the unopened letter on his desk. A man of a rugged countenance, burly and bearded with dark eyes and a thick upper lip, Augustus had entered the parlour in dismal spirits, tired of contract signing and inheritance claims, with a bowl of hot three bean soup prepared earlier.
The parlour housed a suite of a reading chairs, a sofa upholstered with emerald-and-brown-striped brocade, and a short, upholstered piano stool. Three small tables were positioned in various corners; two were bamboo, another a polished table with three twisted legs. A warm fire burned in the grate; over the mantlepiece hung a deep plum drape with large gold daisies embroidered on it by some great aunt of whom Augustus had never met.
He placed the soup on the small drinking stand beside him, illuminated by the light of the yellow-tinted gibbous moon streaming through the window, and cut a thin slit in the envelope with his letter opener, reluctantly retrieving the scented leaf of paper. Augustus scanned the page as he made his way to his reading chair by the fire, nose wrinkling as he took in its contents, written in an unfamiliar scrawl.
September 1838
Herr Augustus Knock,
It has come to my attention your brother Heinrich is an estate agent dealing with the buying and selling of houses in Germany and abroad. I have attempted to contact him several times over the past four months, however, as of yet have received no response. I last heard he was corresponding with the aristocrat Count Orlok from the Carpathian Mountains regarding property and have sent forth inquiries to confirm.
I would be ever so grateful if you could reach out to Heinrich and inform me of his whereabouts if you are able. I have an urgent business matter to discuss with him and require his attention post haste.
Cordially yours,
Mr Arthur Ships.
Augustus stroked the fraying ends of his beard, eyes narrowed as he studied the letter. Arthur Ships? He could not recall meeting the man before, nor had his brother ever mentioned him by name. He wondered how Mr Ships had come across his place of residence. In any case, the mention of his brother gave him pause. How long since he had laid eyes on him? Three months? Or perhaps longer? While Heinrich was often away for work, it had been many months without correspondence. However, he was not one to forego business dealings, no matter how small or of little monetary worth. His attention turned to Count Orlok. His name was familiar to Augustus, for his brother had mentioned the recluse several times.
Frowning, he returned the letter to its envelope and looked to the window, stomach flipping. He had been meaning to visit Transylvania for some time now, though had always told himself he never encountered the right business opportunity to warrant such a trip. But he had to be honest with himself: his brother was no longer gallivanting around on a trip—he was missing, and there was every chance his brother had fallen ill or had become entangled in matters of which he required assistance. Or worse.
Augustus twirled the end of his moustache, furtively glancing over to the window, jumbled thoughts whirling around in his head. Nothing else could be done from here—he had to travel to Transylvania and fetch his brother himself.
The melancholy forest was silent, save for the gentle hoof falls of his dapple-grey steed as Augustus made his way through the inhospitable landscape. The path, a sculpture of boot- and hoofprints and the tracks of other animals along disturbed dirt and rugged stones, ventured out of the forest, weaving up the mountain. The grey-green grove of trees bent at odd angles like contorted bodies, their spindly branches jerking like puppets in the brisk wind.
He’d hired a solemn-faced guide from a nearby village, yet the man refused to leave the woods, instead pointing up to the Count’s residence, ashen-faced, abandoning Augustus with a rattled horse and a swift farewell. Augustus rode towards a bridge, but the horse refused to step onto the wooden planks. It reared, threw him off into a clump of prickly, dry bushes, and galloped away. Bruised, yet not severely injured, Augustus brushed the dirt from his coat and stockings, and loosened his silk tie, setting off on foot at a steady pace towards the castle.
The journey was slow and quiet as Augustus travelled countless dusty roads, making his way across the mighty sloping terrain, the jagged rocks and pointed crags of the mountains as grey as the bestrewed masses of birch trees huddling together along the road, housing a variety of ghoulish birds. The eerie call of a barn owl and the croaks of the black-crowned night heron filled the still, hot air.
Over time, the road narrowed and almost disappeared, until finally, he scrambled up to the pinnacle, reaching the bridge leading to the Count’s domain. The castle was a formidable fortress, rising steeply, its high granite walls melding with the limestone karst on which it sat, rendering it impregnable from outside forces. Great windows sat in four turrets, high enough a sling, or bow, or culverin could not reach; thick clouds hung so low as to press upon the turrets. To the west, the terrain divided into a great valley, and beyond the mountains rose giant barren peaks studded with mountain ash and thorny trees spotting the horizon.
It took another half-hour for him to reach the giant doors leading to the castle courtyard, and he paused at their size, dismayed by the termite-infested oak. Wiping beads of sweat from his brow, Augustus pulled off his travelling coat and knocked. As soon as his knuckles touched the door, they swung open of their own accord, ushering a gust of impetuous and violent wind, impelling him forwards. Gasping, he looked to the doors and stared at the thin fog enshrouding the courtyard inside, snaking around the various old stone statues of nymphs and fairies, many broken and cracked. Thunder rumbled in the distant mountains, soft at first, then hard as the crack of a whip; rain broke free from the heavens and Augustus hurried to a covered walkway leading towards an old wooden door. It swung backwards, and a thin shadow scuttled along the wall like a spider, rising atop the edges of an archway, until disappearing, replaced by a short, unpleasant-looking man. He was bald, devoid of even a wisp of hair, and dressed in a military-style coat. A rat-like overbite protruded from behind his thin lips. His elongated, ghastly fingernails, stained with a hideous yellow hue, curled towards his palms.
“Yes,” Augustus stuttered, expecting a servant. “And you are Count Orlok, I presume? Is my brother here?”
“Come, come inside. Your brother is quite safe.”
“Safe? Has he encountered danger?” Augustus dry-swallowed as he entered the foyer, eyes darting around the large room in hopes of catching a glimpse of Heinrich.
“Oh, no, he has been a little unwell and is sleeping in his chamber. I am sure he will awake soon enough. Come, it is quite dark. I have no doubt you are eager to retire for the evening.”
“If my brother is unwell, I must see him. Is he of a stable countenance? Has a doctor seen to him? Is a nurse with him?”
“Why, he is being cared for by the best doctors in all of Europe. Now, please, come inside. My home is yours. Is there anyone you need to notify of your safe arrival?”
Augustus shook his head, following the Count as he led him through the draughty hall to a winding wooden staircase. “I have told no one of my journey.”
“Very well, Augustus. Your room is on the second floor,” he said, narrow, knobbly finger gesturing upstairs. “Third door on the right. There you will find writing utensils and a warm bed. I trust everything will be to your satisfaction.”
The Count clasped his hands together. “Now, you must forgive me, but I have much work to do this evening, so I will excuse myself. I find I’m more attentive to my work in the night. Do you not agree?”
“Oh yes, often I feel there are not enough hours in the day.”
Orlok smiled, revealing yellowed, pointed teeth. “You must remain in this wing. The castle is old and there are many hallways and many stairs, so it is easy to lose yourself in this immense labyrinth. Why, I often find myself wandering passageways and turning up in rooms I had quite forgotten about.” The Count gave a short bow. “Good evening!”
Augustus waited for the Count’s shadow to disappear around the corner before making his way up the narrow, steep stairs to the second floor, marvelling at the extraordinary bareness of the castle. Orlok was a count after all: a nobleman with wealth and connections. Where was his family crest? His rugs? Where were his bejewelled wall sconces? Why were the stairs uncarpeted? The house was as bare as an animal’s cage.
Ascending the staircase did not soothe his nerves—his ears pricked up as he listened to the footsteps of Orlok retreating to his room. He imagined his brother walking up these very stairs; had Heinrich felt the same uncomfortable rising of hairs on the back of his neck? He thought perhaps to call out to the Count—perhaps he had a servant who could escort him?
The second-floor hallway was lighted, though empty; Augustus could hear no rustles of a housemaid making her way about the house. He wondered if they’d retired earlier. He followed the hallway and counted the thin wooden doors left from right, stopping at the third. He reached forward to turn the handle.
“Do you need anything before you retire?”
Augustus gasped. “Count Orlok, why, I did not hear your footsteps. I thought you were still on the first floor.”
“My step is as light as my sleep. Tell me, what stops you in your tracks? Are you hungry? Thirsty? Shall I have the maid bring something to your room? How rude of me—I should have asked if you had eaten during your travels. Myself, I dine later than is custom; it is rare we should cross paths in the dining area during your stay.”
“Oh, I am in need of nothing, Count Orlok. Except I would like to see my brother. I don’t mean to press the issue.”
“Ah, well, you see, your brother is ill, as I mentioned. Perhaps overworked. His stay has been extended by new laws and regulations, no doubt extremely complicated matters. I don’t have the head for finances like he does. Anyway, you must let him rest. I doubt he would like to be roused in the middle of the night, do you? Now, return to your room, my friend. Blessed sleep awaits—how nice it sounds to close my eyes and fall into a restful slumber, bringing no fear, nor worry, but pleasant dreams.”
“If I could only see my brother—”
“Goodnight.”
Wild winds raged throughout the evening. The heavens broke before dawn to release a torrent of rain. A bolt of lightning shattered the darkened sky. Wrenched from his slumber, Augustus cowered under his blankets and listened to the thumping bolts, combative and catastrophic as they raged on. With his residence in the city, he’d never been subjected to such mighty roars. Rubbing his eyes, he rolled onto his side, staring at the wall. A shadow ran around the room, pressed onto the wallpaper, sliding behind the wooden writing desk and his bedhead, the only furniture in the room.
“What in the world?”
Heart thumping, Augustus searched the room for the shadow, ears prickling as the violent wind beat itself against the castle walls. A heavy scraping a rattling, emanated from his door. Augustus rose from his bed, crept to the door, turned the handle and peered outside. He gasped. Across the hall, where there had hours before been a blank stretch of wallpaper, was a golden tapestry, rippling as though roused by a breeze. Augustus stepped towards it and pulled it aside, eyes widening as he stared at a set of stone stairs descending into the dark.
Augustus stepped towards the top of the stairs, inclined his neck, and peered around the corner. While the rest of the castle was old and crumbling, the staircase was in pristine condition, boasting a luminous golden handrail. Augustus swallowed a lump in his throat as he descended, wiping the sweat from his palms on his nightshirt. How curious the stairs would be so well cared for when the rest of the great house was gloomy and drab. He imagined a servant swept and scrubbed them daily.
Biting his bottom lip, he wondered if perhaps his brother had come across the stairs, and fallen down them? Perhaps it had always been there across from his room, and he’d been too fatigued to notice it? He recalled the E.T.A. Hoffmann detective stories he had read as a child, with Doctor K, with his clairvoyant abilities, exploring hidden passages and walls, which, when leaned against, turned to reveal secret rooms. Augustus wished he had the doctor’s clairvoyant abilities or at least a power granting him a sliver of confidence. He had never been as confident as Heinrich, nor as self-assured. Heinrich had been the older brother he’d looked up to, even idolised, which increased his concerns for his well-being. If anything had happened to him, he wouldn’t know how to navigate the world alone. He had no wife, no close friends. Only his brother’s letters of his travels abroad.
After descending the staircase, Augustus took a tentative step out into a dimly lit hallway. Three of the five wall sconces burned, though they barely illuminated the moist, moss-covered stones, cold and grimy under his bare feet. Anxiety dug its claws into his bones as he started down the hallway, twisting his stomach into knots. Though the stone ceiling was high, it felt as though the walls were closing in on him, pressing against his chest so hard he feared the air would be syphoned from his lungs. He reached the end of the hallway and looked left and right. Both directions ended in darkness. Teeth clenched, he turned left, eyes squinting as he struggled to see in the murky blackness. And then he heard it. Whispers. Muttering. Moans.
“Count Orlok—his lordship—I must return to him.”
“Heinrich.”
Augustus rushed forward in the darkness and dropped to his knees. Heinrich crouched in a dimly lit corner, knees drawn to his chin, arms wrapped around his legs.
Augustus could not believe the man before him was his brother. Heinrich was a strong, handsome man, known to court many ladies. Who was this ghoul before him? His face was cadaverous, eyes watery, gaze unfocused, hair thin and dry and floating around his face, lips pallid— could he truly be his brother? His breathing seemed laborious and strained, as though he had no energy left within him. His skin was covered in strange marks, purplish and bruised. And his expression, once alight and full of wonderment, was downcast as if he had just received the most terrible news. Augustus stared at him in a mixture of pity and awe at such a disturbing sight.
“Heinrich, what has happened to you? Are you ill? My concern for your safety was clearly justified!”
“Count Orlok… His Lordship… I must return to him…”
Augustus clasped his brother’s shoulders, shaking him gently. “The count! Has he imprisoned you here?”
“I am…quite well. The master… Do you not hear him…calling your name? I pray you never will. For he consumes…my every waking moment…when I slumber. I must return to him…”
“Brother! This is madness! Come—I will take you home!”
“The count… He says…humans are like caterpillars…waiting for the summer to come…and in the meantime…they are grubs and larvae…ugly…easy to squash underfoot… or even eat… if you are hungry enough…”
Augustus shook his head wildly. “Brother, you are raving! You are feverish! We must leave.”
“But I cannot… The count…”
Augustus clenched his fists. Had some religious mania seized his brother’s wits? What was he doing here in the dark? How long had it been since he’d seen sunlight?
“What hold does the count have over you?” he exclaimed, shaking his brother’s shoulders. “Tell me, brother! Are you in debt? Is he blackmailing you?”
“On his lips…fresh blood… A filthy leech, my master…yet I must obey. There was a woman… She was here… He fed… He…enters without…opening the door…”
“Fresh blood? Woman?” Augustus gasped. “What are you saying, Heinrich?”
“I went into…his room. And the box…was there. A coffin! I opened…the lid…and the count…he was renewed…his cheeks were ruby red…full…. Engorged… A mocking smile…even as he slept… He is here… even now… inside my head…”
“Please, you are making no sense, brother!”
“He opened his eyes…and they were red…like blood…and he rose…and I was paralysed… That horrid thing… My body… I could not move… Scream…run… He knows…he knows…”
“Who knows? The count? Tell me, Heinrich!”
“It is almost…akin to a savage form of love… I have many dreams, dreams which will stay with me forever… They move through me and alter the colour of my mind… Whatever blessing God once granted me is gone forevermore… I am…trapped in this abyss… I have lost…my soul!”
“What is the meaning of this?”
Augustus looked up, dropping his hands from his brother’s shoulders. Orlok, followed by rats, appeared in the doorway, wearing his military-style coat, now covered in dust and dirt. His face, formerly thin and hollow, was now full. His eyes glistened in the darkness, like two bright stars in a moonless midnight sky, locked on Augustus’ own.
“You have made a grievous error coming here, Herr Knock. Especially as I did not extend an invitation. How rude of you.”
“What have you done to my brother? Release him at once!”
The count smirked. “Why, he is free to leave as he wishes. Do you see shackles on his ankles? His wrists?”
“You have shackled his mind! You have bewitched him! He cannot form a sentence.”
“This is the manner in which he speaks. I assumed it was an impediment of speech.”
“He has no such impediment! You have done something to him, I am sure of it! His addled mind and those queer marks on his neck are proof. He should never have come here. However, I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt because of your noble status. But here is proof of my reservations!” he said, gesturing to his cowering brother.
“You know,” the count said, voice icy, “people infect one another not only with disease, but also with superstition and fear. They spread dangerous ideas based on very little evidence. Your brother is weak, and we of sounder minds should not trust the weak. Cast him aside—he is but a husk with no sound substance.”
Tears rolled down his cheeks as Augustus stared at his brother, pitifully inferior, cowering and feeble. He seemed smaller than the proud young man he’d known and loved.
“I will never abandon my brother! Our bond is stronger than blood!”
The count laughed, his mouth a twisted aberration of a grin and a glower. “A terrible mistake, I must say.”
Before Augustus could retort, the count leapt towards him, mouth wide, yellowed teeth hungry, and Augustus held out his arms, screaming.
Augustus opened his eyes. His first instinct was to shriek. However, his mouth was so parched no voice issued from his burning lungs; instead, he gasped. His heart palpitated furiously as he struggled to comprehend his surroundings.
Am I dead? Is this Hell?
He licked his lips and felt around, quickly realising he was enclosed by satin. A coffin. He was in a coffin. Tears sprung from his eyes as he beat his fists upon the lid; sweat gathered on his upper lip and brow, and his mind whirled, unable to settle on any one thing. Arthur Ships. The forest. The count. My brother. How had it come to this? He uttered short, sharp breaths as he tried to focus, but the darkness and confinement brought overwhelming tiredness, and after what felt like hours, he surrendered to slumber, his sepulchral dreams a world of gloomy phantasms and fanged-toothed tyrants. When he awoke, it was to the rustle of the coffin. He was being lowered, down, down, and though he could not see through the lid, he knew he was being interred, and would never see the light of day again.
Why had the count not taken a blade to his throat? Pierced his heart? What had he done to deserve such a cruel fate? All he had wanted was to find his brother and take him home. Where was Heinrich now? They would both die here, alone. Augustus pounded his fists against the lid once more but to no avail. A poem came to mind, one his brother had read to him not too long ago. To His Dying Brother, Master William Herrick by the poet Robert Herrick.
“Life of my life,” he whispered, “take not so soon thy flight,
“But stay the time till we have bade good-night.
“Thou hast both wind and tide with thee; thy way
“As soon dispatch’d is by the night as day…”
Augustus closed his eyes.
“Let us not then so rudely henceforth go
Till we have wept, kiss’d, sigh’d, shook hands, or so…”