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SUMMARY: This is the opening chapter of my novel.

I stood at the edge of a large precipice, set high in the Vosges Mountains of France. Leaning forward, I peered down into the valley far below. From experience, I knew the villagers would be doing what generations before them had done each and every sunset: preparing for the night. Fires would be burning brightly to keep out the cold, doors locked, windows shuttered and secured to keep out the unwanted and the feared. Before nightfall, which was fast approaching, the innkeeper would have served and said goodbye to his last customer before securing his premises.

The journey from the village had been difficult. Deeply scarred with ruts from the wheels of countless coach journeys to and from the castle, the road, such as it was, was no more than a narrow track, extremely steep and hardly fit for man or beast.

To my right, pine trees marked the boundary between track and oblivion as the ground suddenly dropped away. To the left, more trees, dense, dark and foreboding, clung to the mountain-side. Now, over three gruelling hours after leaving the comfort of my room at the inn, I had reached my destination: Castle Vasislaw.

I remembered Van Helsing telling me of this place some years before. His last communiqué was almost a year ago to the day. It had been rather vague, which was typical of him, so I thought nothing of it. Now, his trail had led me here.

My having to walk had been unavoidable as no-one from the village had been willing to bring me here, not even for a generous reward. To be honest, their fear and loathing of this place and its owner was understandable. People I spoke to, which I ad-mit, were no more than a handful, cowered at the very mention of the name Vasislaw. They begged me not to go and made it quite clear that they expected no return journey.
This day was to be, as I was so emphatically informed, my last should I enter the castle.

Evening twilight. The boundary between night and day. Shadows creeping out from their hiding places like a tide of darkness swallowing everything in sight. A no-mans land, where, in many villages and hamlets throughout the world, good folk retreat to the safety of their homes, while the unholy ones prepare for their nightly tasks.

My gaze turned towards the sky and I watched as one by one, stars twinkled in the gathering gloom as the cloak of darkness slowly descended.

I took my pipe, then, having lit it, filled my lungs with the aromatic smell of tobacco, and marveled at the surrounding scenery as the dying sun, now pale orange, dipped below the trees on the horizon. The moon, which earlier had been a pale disk, had gained in brightness in the early evening sky. I have never ceased to be amazed at such incredi-ble beauty so far away. Before me, as if on an artist's canvas, was a picture of pure peace and tranquility. Behind me... I felt a sudden chill as the hairs on the back of my neck bristled. What torment lay there, inside that castle of death and depravity, I could only imagine. In the distance, somewhere deep in the forest, I heard the howling of wolves paying homage to the moon.