II. Jonathan Harker's Diary, 13. When I reached this conclusion, I heard heavy footsteps approaching behind the great door, and through the cracks, I saw the glow of a light coming closer. There was the noise of chains clanging and the creak of heavy bolts being drawn. A key turned with the familiar sound made by long disuse, and the immense door opened inward. In it appeared a tall man, already old, clean-shaven except for a long white mustache, dressed in black from head to toe, with no spot of color anywhere. He held an ancient silver lamp, in which the flame burned without a globe or any protection, casting long and wavering shadows as it flickered from the draft of the open door. The old man made a gesture with his right hand, a courteous movement, and spoke in excellent English, although with a strange intonation: «Welcome to my house. Enter freely and of your own will!»
He made no move to approach me, but stood immobile like a statue, as though his welcoming gesture had turned him to stone. However, the moment I crossed the threshold of the door, he impulsively stepped forward and, extending his hand, took mine with a strength that made me recoil, an effect that was not lessened by the fact that it seemed as cold as ice; that it seemed more the hand of a dead man than of a living one. He spoke again: «Welcome to my house. Come freely, go safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring with you.»
